An Abundant Life

On the shortest day and the longest night of the year -
when it seemed that darkness would prevail - a light was snuffed out.
Her name was Julia Bayer.

I knew her through her suffering.
I met her when I watched her 100 Huntley Street interview.
She had cancer too and I felt our connection.
I had just wanted to get ready for my own interview that was coming up soon; I had just wanted to see what an interview looked like; so I clicked on her story.

The Spirit was guiding my hand.

I clicked, I watched, I connected because much of Julia's story was similar to mine.
Hearing the word "cancer" and realizing that this was where God was taking us next.
Going through surgeries, chemotherapy, radiations and appointment after appointment.
Crying out to God and seeking His purpose in all the pain, prodding, poking, and pricking.
Praying constantly.
Shedding tears with loved ones and clinging to one another because we were all feeling a little more uncertain about the length of our days here on this earth.

And yet...
God has written up all the days of our life before even one of them came to be; and all our stories are so different.
Because, tonight, here I type.  My heart is heavy, but here I type.  Still a part of this world while Julia has passed on to the next.

I never actually got to meet Julia.  A friend of mine - another homeschooling mom battling cancer - met Julia at The Nutcracker several weeks ago; she met her and embraced her while I missed out on that privilege.  But I did watch Julia's interview, I read her blogs and, tonight, I watched her memorial service.  It was a beautiful testimony of a beautiful woman who lived a beautiful life.  A bold and abundant life.  A life that constantly pointed to her everlasting HOPE:  Jesus Christ.

While cancer whittled away at her health and cut short her days, Julia continued to proclaim a steadfast, steady and sure confidence in God's love.  When the darkness that is disease and death, trouble and tribulation, sin and suffering crowded in close, Julia pointed to the LIGHT that is JESUS and stated that she had found her unspeakable joy.
Her joy.
Her place and purpose.
Her unshakeable confidence.
Her light.
In Jesus.


Rest in peace, Julia.  You have lived well.
May our Heavenly Father abide with, strengthen and uphold your beloved Andy and family.
Thank-you for constantly pointing us to the LIGHT of this world; to Jesus.
love Brigette


Check out Julia's blog:  Anchor of My Soul (anchorofmysoulblog.blogspot.ca)

"The LIGHT shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (John 1: 4).

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."  Romans 12: 12

The Christmas Ick of 2016

We'd been preparing for seconds, minutes, hours, days and weeks!  Twinkling lights were hung with care.  The way-too-gigantor tree that I had bought for a great price off of Kijiji several years ago was fluffed up.  Fake tree-needles littered the floor.  They were a nice addition to the birdie feathers beneath our budgie cage, the cedar chips tossed about artfully by our guinea pig friends and the doggie and kitty hair that gently blanketed the carpet....like a gentle snowfall of pet debris.
We're all about floor decor around here.
Who needs clean floors?
They are so last year, people!

Homemade decorations heavily lined with gloss and glitter fought for tree space with the shiny, store-bought hangings on our tree.  There is never any rhyme or reason to what hangs on our tree.  Once I found a budgie cheeping cheerfully on a branch beside seven dinky cars.  Gwen and Lochlan asked to hang some candy canes, so I had given them four each and they were hung with care.  All in a row.  A tree bough dipped dangerously low to the floor under the heavy weight of eight sugary canes.  I'm sure we could put more care into ensuring the tree decorations were hung with some sort of feng shui thoughts in mind but I like this haphazard look.  It's a whole lot like my family.  And my life.
Caringly cluttered.
Boisterously busy.
Eclectically engaging.

Besides the heavily laden Christmas tree and the sparkly lights, random festive things were strewn about.  Wreath on door.  Crayon-coloured nativity scenes taped to windows.  Statuette snowmen lined up next to cherub-cheeked glass angels.  Various Christmas literature stacked on the kitchen counter to ensure they would be read:  "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" where little Gladys Herdman shouts out from the pages, forever commemorated as the skinny girl with angel wings yelling "Hey, unto YOU a child is born".

An Advent calendar count-down complete with foil-wrapped chocolates and daily activities were laid out every night on the kitchen table.  Upstairs, tape-slathered gifts were piling up.

Pentatonix had been belting out their harmonizing Christmas tunes from our computer speakers for many days.  The setting was set.  The days were being counted down.  I had even braved Costco for edible supplies and made it out of there relatively unscathed.  There was only one incident that got a little crazy and that was when my shopping cart was pulled up short by a woman LOUDLY expressing her RAGE at the fact that two elderly shoppers were greeting each other with a hug.
"The NERVE!" she seethed and hissed and real, live smoke smoldered from her ears, "blocking up the aisles like that!" Because, you know, there's genocide and then there's blocking-the-freaking-aisles-in-Costco.  They're on the same plane for some people, I tell ya!
The elderly couple drew apart when they heard the scornful remarks slicing their way.  I tried not to make eye contact with the Angry Woman and frantically began humming "Joy to the World" under my breath.   Thank goodness for all involved that the aisles were finally unclogged and everyone could continue consuming.  Whew!  We almost died!

But back to my house:  we were all ready for Christmas to come.
And then.....I was out one night and Paul texted me.  He wasn't feeling well.
I wasn't sure how to interpret that.  Was Paul talking the Man-Cold?  Because then I should be speed dialing the Emergency and maybe contacting all our family.   Or was he talking about something a little more sinister?
Sinister, it was!
The next day, I woke up with a scratchy throat and a headache.  I cancelled the coffee date I had made with a friend and then laid down on the couch.

"Imma just gonna lay here for a minute," I literally slurred and then fell asleep.  It felt a little more like passing out.  I wasn't even sprawled out in a comfortable position but it was like my body could not stay awake.  On the other end of the couch was Paul.  The sinister sickness had taken him out as well.  When I awoke next,  the pounding in my head had amped up, like, a lot!

"Moan moan," I moaned in pain and then noticed through pain-slitted eyes that there were bodies lying everywhere.  Lochlan was curled in a ball in front of the patio doors.  Paul was nestled under a hand-knit blanket on the couch.  Gwen was dozing at my feet and Donovan had one arm slung around the dog's neck while he slumbered on the soft pet-bed beside him.  Only Liam seemed okay.

"Oh, hey, mom," he whispered when he noticed I was awake, "I'm kinda bored....." he trailed off and cast a hopeful gaze towards the giant tv screen on our wall.
"You can watch tv...." I murmured waving a hand weakly at him before succumbing to sleep once again.
The next time I awoke, my back ached so I crawled off the couch and slunk to the floor.  And passed out again with a dull roar of pain radiating about my head.  I felt bodies nestle up next to me and the next time I woke up, Gwen and Donovan were curled up against me, Paul was still on the couch, Lochlan was next to him and Liam was watching cartoon creatures cracking jokes on tv.

"Uuuuuugggg," I moaned clutching my head.
This pattern continued for the rest of the day.
At least we are together, I thought.
At least no one is barfing, I reflected.
At least we have a whole day to get better before the Christmas festivities begin, I mused.

That evening we all felt a little better and our family of six split a banana for dinner.
Sweet deal! I silently celebrated, we could totally save big bucks if we continue eating like this!

But when the sun came up the next day, we were not much improved.  It was December 24 and that night we were to celebrate with family.
Gwen was feeling a bit better and she was excited about going out and hanging with her cousins.
Liam was still healthy as a horse and ready to go.
The rest of us gathered weakly together on the couch and......fell asleep.
Hours passed in a feverish haze.
We dozed and slumbered and drowsed.
We nibbled on another banana.
I began to feel nauseous and crawled over to the bathroom.  I leaned my head on the toilet seat and bemoaned the fact that I share this house with four males.

"Oooooooh....gross...someone get me lysol wipes...." I moaned and dry-heaved several times for dramatic effect.  I fell asleep for several hours leaning up against that porcelain seat.
It was soon time to leave but most of us were too sick to even consider vacating the couch cushions.
We made some phone calls to family and we decided to reschedule our actual Christmas events.
Paul and I sank back relieved.  He handed me some advil.  I passed around children's tylenol.  We nibbled another banana.
"Wait!" Gwen yelled out and we all clutched our throbbing heads in pain, "You mean, we aren't going tonight....?"  The realization had just dawned on her.
"No, honey," I responded feebly, "we're all too sick..."
Gwen's eyes widened and filled with tears.  "NO!" she howled and stomped to her room to mourn alone.
"Oh, man...we just told her Christmas is cancelled," I whispered to Paul.  Both of us fell back, too weak to comfort our baby girl.
This kinda sucks, I thought.
I've never been sick on Christmas before, I ruminated, not even last year when I was just finishing chemotherapy.  Even then, I had been healthy enough to celebrate with loved ones.
But this year, it looked like we were all in for a special sort of ick.

And then my sister called.
Like the sister-hero she is.
She asked how she could help.
She suggested picking up the healthy kids and taking them to festivities.
She said she could drive them.  She said they could sleep over at her house.  She said it was no problem.  I'm certain her cape was fluttering in a breeze while she made all these promises to me over the phone.
She completely and totally saved the day.
Gwen and Liam packed up their clothes and made a swift retreat from this plague-plastered-house-of-grossness.
Paul and I were relieved because when you are battling fever, raging headache and sleepy stupor, you are in no shape or form to be entertaining the masses.  Us four remaining sickies hunkered down, passed around some medicine and plumped our pillows.

"Merry Christmas," someone muttered, "pass the bananas..."

Maple Mutt-Skin II

Once upon a time a handsome, cream-and-white coloured guinea pig was born.  He had dark, brooding eyes and sharp, white teeth.

He was a member of the "bad hair day" guinea pigs and this did NOT mean he had messy hair. Nor did it mean that he had a propensity for mohawks or other-such rebellious forms of hair-dos.  What this DID mean was that he had several rosettes - similar to cowlicks - situated all over his body and these gave the appearance of the poor fella having a bad hair day.

When he was but a few weeks old, he was chosen to be the birthday gift of a lively young boy.  This boy welcomed him with tears of joy and a promise of long-abiding love.

"I'm going to call him Maple II!" the young boy declared to his grinning family, "after Maple-the-Hamster who is no longer with us...."

Young Maple II grew to a whopping 2 lbs and his hair swirls could have been the envy of any guinea pig out there.  He loved short walks in his cedar-chip lined cage and long runs on the green green grass of the outside world.  Carrots and green leafy vegetables were seized from any proffered hand with glee and nibbled and gnawed on to completion.  His favourites were snap peas.

Maple II grew to recognize the sound of vegetables being chopped and would squeak shrilly as a means of gaining access to munching on said vegetables.
His family grew stealthier and stealthier about removing vegetables from the fridge, but Maple II was shrewd and clever and could always detect food that he loved!

"Squeak squeak squeak," he would squawk loudly and continuously until the crunchy veggies were jammed into his cage.

Maple II loved food but he also loved to be cuddled.  A gentle rub between his large, floppy ears was delightful as was a friendly pet by his rump.  Then he would purr and rumble joyfully.  If his family would scratch at his nose he would nudge their hands to the top of his head....he preferred a head-scratch, thank-you very much!

Maple II would squeak, purr and rumble but he could also chatter his teeth very loudly.  This chattering sound was reserved for when that pesty Fudge - the other bad hair day piggie - would be overly obnoxious.  Fudge is decidedly younger and zippier and sometimes Maple II just wants to lie around and consider the meaning of life.

Although Maple II may not be aware of this, his existence has inspired the children in his family.  His boy and the siblings love watching him and imagining his life.  They have spent hours and hours drawing a cartoon version of Maple II and dreaming up his adventures.  The invented character grew more and more alive;  he became another living, breathing entity in his family's household and went by the name of Bob Mutt-Skin.
"Bob is Maple's spirit animal!" declared one of the children.  No one was exactly sure what he meant by that but the antics of Bob were wildly hilarious and enjoyed by everyone in the family, with the exception of Maple II, who never learned how to read.  Literacy is not that highly esteemed among guinea pig clans.  Maple II did have one encounter with books but this ended with the book being nibbled and transformed into a massive pile of brown, banana-shaped droppings.  After that, his family kept books far far away from him.

Bob - Maple's cartoon character - was most known for his wise sayings that usually went like this:  "Mutt mutt."  Apparently this was the sound attributed to guinea pigs by his boy.

All the children loved to draw Bob Mutt-Skin and his experiences.  He had a friend named Snakey and he loved to dab.....I mean, who doesn't?  Right?  Isn't dabbing the most normal thing, like, ever?
Bob also had gigantic eyes and wore sunglasses often.

But, alas, yesterday Maple II's family noticed that he was not eating or moving around with any sort of vigor.  He seemed lethargic and dull-eyed.  His boy tried to hand-feed him and researched what the problem might be.  There seemed to be no improvement by this morning, so his family removed him from his cage and wrapped him tightly in a soft towel.  He was displaying all the characteristics of a dying guinea pig.  His family took turns cuddling him and scratching him in all his favourite spots.  They poured on the love.

"You are loved, Maple."  they said over and over again.  He could feel it emanating off of them in waves.  All that love.  Their hands caressed him and held him close.  He could feel blackness closing in but before he succumbed, he lifted his head up once more and gazed steadily at his family.  "You are loved, Maple," they repeated gently.

And then.....he breathed his last breath and grew so so still in their arms.

Dearest Maple Mutt-Skin II,
You were loved.  You were precious.  You brought laughter, joy and warmth to our home.  We loved getting to know your spunky personality.  We love that you were so loud when you wanted something.  We love that you were always gentle and never bit all the hands that held you.  Your passing away was so sudden and we miss you.  Especially Fudge.  He is sitting quietly in his cage and we all know that Fudge hates to be quiet.  He is lonely.
Thank-you for all the years that we could spend together.
Good-bye, Maple II.
Love,
your family.

Sharing

For several months, I taught Grade 1.

This was quite some time ago and I was taking over the maternity leave of a woman who is now a close friend.  These kids that I taught in Grade 1 are now sporting facial hair and driving vehicles, but that is another story for another day.  The point is that while I was teaching, these kids taught me a wonderful lesson.  Actually they often chanted this lesson in sing-song, squeaky Grade 1 voices: "sharing is caring" they would squeak, usually whilst holding out grubby hands to receive some sort of snack or goodie.

This lesson came back to me today when I read a poem entitled "Sharing".  Ironically, this poem is found inside a book that someone shared with me today.  Look at all that caring going on!

Here goes:

Sharing (Author Unknown)

There isn't much that I can do, but I can share my bread with you, and sometimes share a sorrow, too - as on our way we go.

There isn't much that I can do, but I can sit an hour with you, and I can share a joy with you, and sometimes share reverses, too - as on our way we go.

There isn't much that I can do, but I can share my flowers with you, and I can share my books with you an sometimes share your burdens, too - as on our way we go.

There isn't much that I can do, but I can share my songs with you, and I can share my mirth with you, and sometimes come and laugh with you - as on our way we go.

There isn't much that I can do, but I can share my hopes with you, and I can share my fears with you, and sometimes shed some tears with you, - as on our way we go.  

There isn't much that I can do, but I can share my friends with you, and I can share my life with you, and oftentimes share a prayer with you, - as on our way we go.

You and I can't erase hurts.  Only God can wipe away every tear.  But God has given us one another and surely we can do some sharing.  Can't we?

Like, a little food can go a long way.  As can moments of our time.

Let's not be too busy to stop and share our stories: our joy, our hope, our sorrows.

Let's be ready to share encouraging words, uplifted prayers, pieces of our life that show our love.  

Because, like some wise little people once told me, Sharing IS Caring.

BV

Dedicated to Freda O.  Thanks for sharing your books with me!

Pass It On

I don't know if you have this experience, but I do time and time again: as long as my head is up and I am paying attention, God is sending messages my way.  Messages of his constancy and his faithfulness, messages of his love and compassion, messages that remind me that he is with me always.

I don't know about you, but I need these constant reminders.

Maybe its because my mind is like a fluttering butterfly that flits to and fro....lighting upon one thought and then getting waylaid by another.  Maybe its because there are so many distractions slamming in upon my brain....children yanking on my clothes and saying, "Mom MOm MOM" in growing volumes, my phone buzzing and chirping to indicate that there are VERY IMPORTANT TEXTS THAT SHOULD BE ADDRESSED, LIKE, NOW; laundry that should have been folded several days ago because we have been out of socks for a while now and we are all wearing dad's socks which, incidentally, are too big....  There are so many distractions that dismantle any coherent thought that I may have been piecing together so very nicely.

I don't know about you, but I am so glad that God just keeps on sending his messages.
Messages of his love and care for a creation that is breath-taking.....my morning walk with the dog was back-dropped with an orange-splashed sunrise.  An evening walk with my Beloved hinted at a full-moon mysteriously peeking out from a moody, night sky.

Messages about delighting in the minutiae.....hanging out with my kids who MUST fill their pockets with chestnuts EVERY time we pass the chess-nut tree on our walks so that they can plant them and grow trees for tomorrow.

Gospel messages preached by a pastor that seems to have been written just for me.  "The more you embrace suffering," he intoned this morning, "the less it overpowers you..."  

Written messages straight out of God's Word or straight out of my daily devotional.  Tonight I tucked my big boys into bed.  Before I wrestled a kiss out of these pre-pubescent noodle-heads, I pulled out their evening devotional.  It's a beauty.  It focuses on one Bible verse each night and explains it in very simple language.  I opened the book, read today's verse and snickered.
"There you go again, God," I felt like saying.  Actually I did say, it in my heart-of-hearts...."there you go again, feeding me just what I needed to hear.  Completing a thought that was niggling away in the deepest, darkest recesses of my brain-matter."

Tonight our devotional was from 2 Corinthians 1: 3, 4.  Here it is for you to enjoy:

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies 

and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, 

so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, 

with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.  

For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share 

abundantly in comfort too.""  

A bit of a mouthful, right?   Now, from hanging out with my sports-minded kids, I have learned that we can find competition in pretty much anything.  Thereby, I noticed this:  Comfort - 6; Affliction/Suffering - 3.  Win goes to Comfort!   Woot!

Now, this Word-Nerd loves to investigate terminology so I googled The Message's translation of these same verses:

"All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah!  

Father of all mercy!  God of all healing counsel!  

He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, 

he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there 

for that person just as God was there for us.  We have plenty of hard times that come from 

following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort - 

we get a full measure of that, too."  

This life is hard.  Sometimes it just down-right sucks.  I know people who have experienced such grief and despair that they can't even GO THERE.  

But then God comes alongside and whispers, "I know.  It hurts, doesn't it?  I'm here.  I've got you."

And knowing a comfort that only God can truly and purely give....well, it's inspiring.  

Knowing His all-encompassing compassion - "I will wipe away EVERY tear," he tells us - it's motivating.  

I've felt His comfort and compassion.  I've felt His reassurances "Brigette, I am your refuge and strength; your very present help in trouble.  Brigette, I will go before you and be with you.  I will NEVER leave you nor forsake you.  Brigette, seek Me and I will deliver you from all your fears..."

Let me share these Truths with you.  

Now, go ahead and grab a firm hold onto these Truths!  Got 'em?  Now sling them with all your might against the Lies that have been building up inside of you.  

Be comforted by God's love.

Be reassured by His presence.

And keep your head up for all those messages He is sending your way.  

*************************************************

I would like to share some exciting news.  Remember all the "gain outta pain" stuff from several blog-posts ago?  No?  Well, I'm pretty sure I said something like:  "suffering often creates a space for opportunity".  I've seen it constantly where people find their path/ their meaning / their destiny, if you will, through or after a tragedy or a trial.   

Well, this Word-Nerd has had a secret dream of being a Speaker.  And God has plopped several opportunities right down into my lap.

"Thank-you, God!"

I am so humbled to have been asked to speak at an up-coming Women's Conference and then an Encouragement Cafe put on by the Christian Counselling Centre.  Also, 100 Huntley Street - a Christian daily tv show - will be interviewing me on Oct. 24 at 9:30am, asking me to share.....

God came alongside me and my family during our hard times with cancer, during our hard times with mental illness.  

He gave comfort upon comfort.  

And before I knew it, he was bringing me alongside others who were going through hard times.....it is my honour to share some Comfort.

I want to pass it on.

bvh

"Look to the LORD and his strength; seek his face always."  

- Psalm 105: 4

Je me Souviens

Several weeks ago, my family was treated with a five-day cottage stay.

This cottage was cozy, comfortable and picturesque.  It was neatly nestled among trees and located near Mont Tremblant in the province of Quebec.

Our family had registered for this vacation through a program called Cottage Dreams; a program that provides donated cottage-stays to families who have been "touched" by cancer.
I think I would have used terminology like "ravaged" or "rearranged" by cancer, but I know what they meant.

Cottage Dreams hopes to provide a place for "rejuvenation" and "reconnection" in the aftermath of cancer diagnosis, treatments, surgeries, radiation, needles, rearrangements and appointments.
It's like a wondrous reward all packaged up with four walls, a fireplace and lake frontage.

A beautiful, fellow breast-cancer survivor told me all about this program one evening.

"Our family went to this AMAZING cottage through Cottage Dreams!" she enthused one night.  We had met at a local Tim Horton's and were nursing our coffees over several hours, "Ours was huge!  Like, bigger than our house.  And so beautiful!  We had a wonderful time just being together that week."

"Wow!  Seriously!?" I had responded incredulously, "that sounds amazing."  Like, maybe the first super-amazing thing I had heard in a long time.
I had been getting used to hearing bad news.

"So, you need to have needles for 8 consecutive days following your chemo infusions.  They will occur from day three to day ten...."
Hurrah.

"These needles we are going to give you will help with your white blood cell count....but they may cause bad bone pain."
Wonderful.

".....oh...and your teeth will get yellow....and soften, so watch for extra cavities."
Great.

"....and chemo often causes something called 'chemo brain'; so if you notice that you lose your train of thought suddenly or forget words, that's 'chemo brain'..."
Yippee.

So, when my friend told me about the Cottage Dreams program, I was uber excited.  This was something my family could look forward to when all my treatments were done.

I did some investigating and got right to work getting registered.
Fill in forms?  Done!
Get 'em signed by the family doctor?  Completed!
Send said filled-in and signed forms away by mail?  Check and check!
And then we played a few weeks of The Waiting Game.

This game is NOT very fun.
The rules are simple.  You sit.  And wait.  Winning occurs when the waiting period is over.  I DID tell you it was not very fun.  You should not play this game when you invite your friends over for a night of comradery, companionship and cookies.  Unless you would like your friends to no longer be your friends.
Then you should play The Waiting Game all night.  With raw beef.

So, Paul, the kids and I all engaged in a riotous round of The Waiting Game and, one day, we received an email from Cottage Dreams.

"Congratulations!" the email proudly proclaimed, "Your family is eligible for a cottage in the  Cottage Dreams cancer recovery program.  Please let us know when you are available to go on holidays.  Also, let us know what region you are most interested in visiting........the Kawarthas, Muskoka, Haliburton Highlands, Bruce Peninsula, the Thousand Islands area, Barrie, Tobermory, Quebec...."

My family was so excited.
We reread the list of cottage locations and then checked them out on Google Maps.
We were giddy and giggled together over the possibilities.
We were like a bunch of kids in a candy shop.  Rich kids with extensive sweet tooths surrounded by aisles and aisles of sugary goodness!
We knew that any cottage stay would be fantastically super, but a cottage in Quebec had us all intrigued.

"Let's go to Quebec," one of our kids shouted because our children do not have Indoor Voices.

"Oui Oui.  Nous allons à Québec!" I intoned lyrically.  I was trying my French on for size and it was feeling good.

We made our choice and soon received further updates from Cottage Dreams.  They had a cottage for us and we could click on the link provided to check it out.
We clicked.
We checked it out.
We tried not to faint with excitement.

Not only was the cottage gorgeous and filled with every amenity known to mankind, but it was located on Lac Forget.

For reals, y'all!
Lac Forget.

Our family was going to cottage near the magical waters of memory loss.
A place where the memories of a year of pain, illness and crazy could be forgotten or, at the very least,  set aside for a time.  A time where we could be together and heal emotionally.
Spiritually.
Physically.

And what a vacation it was!
Most of the time, we had all of Lac Forget to ourselves.
We were surrounded by the soothing sounds of lapping lake and wind-rustled trees.
Paul and I spent a lot of time crayon-colouring and conversing with our kids.  At night, we gathered around the glowing embers of a campfire or lounged on soft red couches and read.  Candles flickered and dispelled the deepening darkness.
We fished for hours off the back dock.  Well, the kids fished for hours off the dock.  Paul and I spent copious amounts of time sliding wiggly worms ONTO hooks and then removing wiggly fishies OFF those same hooks several minutes later.
We took a panoramic gondola ride to the top of Mount Tremblant and then hiked.
We kayaked and tried out paddle-boarding for the first time ever.
We reconnected.

Tonight, I wish I could provide a cottage stay for anyone out there who feels stuffed-to-the-gills with suffering and sorrows.
I wish you could all experience the laying down of burdens on the shores of Lac Forget like we did.
But I cannot.
I am so sorry.

What I can do is share my story and encourage you.  So I will try.

For starters, let me tell you that despite hanging out at Lac Forget for five whole days with my family, I have no intention of forgetting.
I plan to remember our hill-top hiking, fishing frenzies and countless hours of colouring.  I plan to remember illness, baldness and surgeries.

Je me souviens.
I remember.

Because alongside those icky-bicky cancer memories are the memories of kindness, compassion and love shared.  While we were suffering, God surrounded us with people who prayed and encouraged and gave what they could to help out.
God sent family, friends and neighbours.
God sent our church-family and fellow homeschool mommies.
God sent out perfect strangers who didn't know us but who donated their cottage anyways so that we could have a place to heal.
Je me souviens.
I remember.

Thank-you from the bottom of our hearts.

Merci beaucoup.


I would like to conclude by sharing some song lyrics by Crowder (?) with you.  Wherever you are, be encouraged.

Come out of sadness 

From wherever you've been

Come broken hearted

Let rescue begin

Come find your mercy

Oh sinner come kneel

Earth has no sorrow 

That heaven can't heal

Earth has no sorrow 

That heaven can't heal

So lay down your burdens 

Lay down your shame

All who are broken

Lift up your face

Oh wanderer come home

You're not too far

So lay down your hurt

Lay down your heart

Come as you are

There's hope for the hopeless

And all those who've strayed

Come sit at the table

Come taste the grace

There's rest for the weary

Rest that endures

Earth has no sorrow

That heaven can't cure

Twas An Ordinary Night

It's just another quiet and ordinary night at the VanHuisstede household.

Son #1 can't get to sleep and gets up at regular intervals to ensure that we are tracking his non-sleep progress along with him.

Son # 2 had a tummy ache and also wonders if I have a night light somewhere that he can hang on his bed.  One that isn't too bright or too dim.  While we are chatting anyway, he ponders when he can buy a new fishing rod because he really wants to catch a marlin when we go to the cottage next summer.   Because apparently there are marlins swimming in the lakes of Ontario.

Daughter is fast asleep and having a hilarious dream because she is laughing her head off while she sleeps.

Son # 3 was sleep-walking until he banged into the vacuum cleaner that was laying in the middle of the hallway.  Then he fell over, peed his pants and woke up.

Yep, just another ordinary night at my house.