So, my church is hosting the annual Women's Weekend Away. They've done something different this year in terms of location. Usually, we go up to this camp around Hope. It's a lot of fun. Good food, cozy rooms. I like it. For this year, they're going to an actual hotel up by Harrison. That should be so pretty. My initial thought was, I'll just go up for the day. It would be too hard to bring Lucy up for the whole weekend, and I'm pretty sure my husband wouldn't like having her for the whole weekend. Plus, the cost went up a fair amount because of the location. Understandably so, but not totally practical for our family.

Then I found out that they don't allow drop ins. Either you go for the whole weekend or you don't go at all. Enter: Jenny's bad attitude. I thought it silly that my leaders would choose a place that didn't allow one-dayers. Didn't they think about that? And the cost. And the "inconvenience". Blah, blah, blah. I think I did a good job reigning in my pity party, so the world didn't see it, but still, the thoughts were there. I've since fixed that part. How great that my leaders took the risk of change. They wanted to do something different and special for the ladies this year. And really, they got a killer deal for staying at the hotel they booked. They work so hard at planning this weekend every year. I have no right to complain.

So, part one corrected. Part two, however, was still very much alive and active. I REALLY, REALLY wanted to go. The speaker this year is a fabulous woman (and friend of mine) whom I have had the pleasure of hearing speak numerous times, and I never get tired of her. I will listen to the same message 50 times over if it's given by her. She is amazing. But, pretty much due to finances, I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be going this year. I would get the CD after the weekend was over.

I couldn't get the thought of going out of my head, though. Talking it over with my husband, he just said, "Let's pray about it." Sounded good to me. For the next couple of days, my prayers pretty much sounded like this, "Lord, I really want to go. Please put me on someone's heart so they'll pay for me." Ugh. How selfish is that? Well, maybe the prayer itself was not selfish, but my attitude accompanying the prayer was selfish. Kind of like it was my right to have someone pay for me because I deserved it. Gross, huh?

One morning, as I renewed my selfish prayer, I really stopped and thought about it. I remembered a teaching I had just listened to a couple of days ago (ironically, by the same lady who is speaking at the retreat). She said, "You will sacrifice for whatever it is you value." I value this retreat weekend. I value the teaching that I could sit under and listen to. I value the time I could spend with some of my friends. I value meeting with the Lord without distraction. What can I sacrifice? So, I've sacrificed a few things. Small, trivial things that don't even compare to a weekend like this. Some might say, "Well, now that your attitude is changed, maybe someone will pay for you". Thing is, I don't want them to. I want to pay for this. My trip. My value. I'll pay the price.

No More Featherdusters

"Evil never surrenders its grasp without a tremendous fight. We never arrive at any spiritual inheritance through the enjoyment of a picnic, but always through the fierce conflicts of the battlefield. And it is the same in the deep recesses of the soul. Every human capacity that wins its spiritual freedom does so at the cost of blood. Satan is not put to flight by our courteous request. He completely blocks our way, and our progress must be recorded in blood and tears. We need to remember this, or else we will be held responsible for the arrogance of misinterpretation. When we are born again, it is not into a soft and protected nursery but into the open countryside, where we actually draw out strength from the distress of the storm." (John Henry Jowett)

I read this at Youth the other night and then challenged the kids to enter the battle and pray hard for their friends, their schools and their country. I believe I also used the word "crap" when telling them how not to pray their usual halfhearted prayers. You know, the ones that are whispered, "Dear Lord, thank you for this day. Please save my school. Amen." Instead, together, we shouted out the words, "OH GOD, SAVE OUR COUNTRY! BRING REVIVAL, RESTORE PURITY! WE NEED YOU!" I even lost my voice a little bit.

It's now Friday morning, and I can't even think of a moment since Tuesday night where I've prayed, let alone cried out for the lost generation. It feels like there are two worlds inside me, and the "protected nursery" is the one in which I most often reside. Over the years, I have had to fight hard to learn how to pray in the countryside. The place where I recognize I'm in a battle, and I need to have blood on my sword. I remember those days. I felt strong. I believed nothing was impossible for the Lord. I recognized the dying world and I signed up to help save them. I learned how to pray the prayers that made evil surrender.

My sword is rusty right now,
sitting dusty on the shelf.
Barely touched.
I feel like I'm wielding a feather duster.
I can't remember the last time tears
Fell from my eyes for the lost.
When did I last raise my voice
Above a whisper?

I miss those days. I know, many would say the choices I make every day are a form of warfare. I believe that. But, I know, down in the warrior part of my heart, there is also a place for a more "violent" lifestyle. Oh, Lord, restore that part in my heart. I signed up for war, and I want to be put back into active duty.

Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do. He rushed straight up to the monster and aimed a slash of his sword at its side...he had just time to duck down and plunge his sword, as hard as he could, between the brute's forelegs into its heart. Then came a horrible, confused moment like something in a nightmare...A moment later he found that the monster lay dead and he had drawn his sword out of it was and was straightening his back and rubbing the sweat off his face and out of his eyes. He felt tired all over...

Peter, still out of breath, turned and saw Aslan close at hand. "You have forgotten to clean your sword," said Aslan.

It was true. Peter blushed when he looked at the bright blade and saw it all smeared with the Wolf's hair and blood. He stooped down and wiped it quite clean on the grass, and then wiped it quite dry on his coat.

"Hand it to me and kneel, Son of Adam," said Aslan. And when Peter had done so he struck him with the flat of the blade and said, "Rise up, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane..." (Lion, Witch and Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis)

Worth the Price

I've been thinking a lot about motherhood these days, being that I am one. Specifically, I've been thinking about how it says in my Bible that children are a blessing from the Lord. I was thinking this around 2:30 am a couple mornings ago, as my darling child was up at that time for the 6th night in a row. I was tired. Really tired. Not feeling blessed at all. How can something be a blessing but feel like a curse other times? It makes no sense.

So, I looked up the word "blessed". Definitions include "happiness," "to bestow good", "to extol as holy". At 2:30 in the morning for the 6th day in a row, I was not happy, did not have good thoughts, and was definitely not exhibiting holiness.

I looked up some verses in my Bible that use the word blessed. This one stood out to me:

The Lord had said to Abram, “Leave your native country, your relatives, and your father’s family, and go to the land that I will show you. I will make you into a great nation. I will bless you and make you famous, and you will be a blessing to others. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who treat you with contempt. All the families on earth will be blessed through you.” (Gen. 12:1-3)

God didn't tell Abram that he was to be blessed no matter what. If Abram choosed to follow the Lord, THEN He would be blessed. I remembered something I have believed and said in the past. Anything worth having is worth paying the price for. Oh yeah. I did say that. I tell that to other people. To my youth kids. I forgot. A blessing will only fulfill its duty as a blessing if I've worked for it. Otherwise, it's just as worthless as garbage I happen to find along the road.

I remember a verse in Deuteronomy (I'm paraphrasing here). Basically, the Lord says to the Israelites:

"Today I put before you blessings that lead to life, or curses that lead to death. OH, THAT YOU WOULD CHOOSE LIFE".

I choose life. I'll pay the price. True life is worth the price.

So, the Lord says to me:

"Jenny, leave the comfort of your bed at 2:30 every morning to be with your child. Change her many dirty diapers. Clean up her spit up every 5 seconds. Wash those bottles. And walk in the life I have shown you. I will make you into a great family. You will have a daughter that loves you and loves Me. Continue to pay the price for having a family. See the heritage that you are paying into. You are and you will continue to be blessed. "

I'll take that over a full nights' sleep anyday.

To love is difficult for me.
I see more black than white.
What shocks me shouldn't.
The very humanity that averts my eyes
Is disguised
In me.

Heroes Diving

A couple of days ago, I was at a pool party, and there was this girl there, trying to learn how to dive. It started with her standing at the edge of the pool, with a friend standing beside her, showing her where to put her feet, how to place her hands, and what to do next. The final result was a belly flop, as the girl kind of panicked and just dropped into the water. But this potential diver didn't quit. She kept trying and trying. And trying. A few more friends came and stood beside her and gave her tips, cheering and encouraging her. It was quite beautiful for me to watch. But, at the end of each dive, it ended with a splash as this girl didn't quite make it. Still, she got up, and tried again. I watched this process for about 20 minutes. The diver's friends eventually gave up and moved on to other games. But, not this girl. She kept going. Never mind the fact that her belly was getting red and the failure was right there in her face. I kept watching. At one point, she did a pretty adequate dive. At least, it finally looked like a dive. No one else had seen it, so I cheered her on from the side. That was enough ammunition for her. With a big grin, she hopped out of the pool, and headed to the diving board to try diving off of that. It didn't work so well. Another belly flop. But, instead of giving up, she went back to the side of the pool and tried diving again. There were more belly flops than dives, but still, she kept going. She had to have been at this for at least 45 minutes by now. At least 100 attempted dives. Never giving up. At the end of the night, I don't know if she was able to accomplish her goal of a dive off the diving board.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Who taught this girl not to give up? Is this a character trait just in her, or has somebody looked her in the eye and said "Never, never, never, quit". What pushed her past the pain and embarrassment of belly flops, to keep trying until she got it? Even when her friends were no longer helping her, and no one was watching, she kept going. What is that?

That led me to think about a conversation my husband and I had a while ago. What is a hero? What makes someone "heroic"? When I first hear the word "hero", I immediately think soldier, or Superman, or RCMP officer. I think a lot of people will first think of those people. But, I think heroism goes a lot deeper. I think, more than an occupation or name, heroism is part of a person's character. It's what's in them that makes them act the way they do. Heroism causes people to make hard choices, even if no one is watching. This diving girl was heroic. She was determined to succeed at her goal - never quitting.

Yes, the quality of heoroism is what makes men jump on top of grenades to save another man.

Yes, the quality of heroism is what makes doctors work crazy shifts and perform crazy surgeries in order to save another's life.

Yes, the quality of heroism is what makes the mother rush out into busy traffic to save her little toddler who has wandered into the middle of the street.

But, the quality of heroism goes deeper than that. It's those hard little choices that people make everyday, without even really thinking about it.

“A boy doesn't have to go to war to be a hero; he can say he doesn't like pie when he sees there isn't enough to go around” – Edgar Watson Howe

The quality of heroism is what makes my husband go to work everyday to a job that isn't fulfilling. But, still he goes, knowing he is supporting me and his soon to be born baby.

The quality of heroism is what makes him kiss my pregnant belly everynight and tell his baby he loves it and can't wait to meet it.

I want to teach my children heroism. Not the kind that makes them become firefighters and police officers and soldiers [although, I would not discourage that if that's what they wanted]. I want them to believe that heroes are everywhere, not just in comic books and movies. I want to teach them the imporance of values such as never quitting; of giving even when it hurts; of putting others' needs in front of their own; of loving no matter what; of being fearless when doing what they know is right. The values of faith and hope and love and courage and truth. That is what makes a hero.

My first post

So, it's my second day of maternity leave. And, I've started a blog. I've always kind of wanted to do one, but never really had the time. But, now, sitting at home, having at least 5 more weeks until my baby is born, I realize I need some sort of project. Plus, I thought it would be fun. I really do love to write, and I haven't written in quite some time now. So, hence, a blog. I can't promise that it will be all that profound or entertaining or clever. Just me and my thoughts on what's going on in my life lately.