noticing...

Today I walk.  It's cool outside but I need to breathe -- deeply.   I huff and puff up the hill as fast as I can till my legs burn and I feel like I am coming alive again - rather than going into hibernation.

I crawl through a fence, an old habit that I haven't yet kicked of needing to explore the boundaries, and follow coyote tracks across fields to the edge of dense far-away woods.

As I make my way across the barren, ice-dusted praire grasses.....

I NOTICE   

this leaf

like me

so many colors

parts alive next to parts dead

sitting beautiful 

in an imperfect way

letting the snow melt

this tree

like me       

branches bare today

stripped of decoration

the shape of 

what was

what is

and what tomorrow 

will be 

this post

like me

wrapped in barbs

sometimes

old and new

rusty-sharp

piercing those close

this pretty weed 

in seed

like me

transforming, shedding

readying for winter

and spring

photos©Melody Armstong

angels anyone?

Who are the angels in your life?  Those special people who make your spirit soar just at the thought of them?  Who inspire you by the way they've chosen to view the world, the obstacles they've courageously pushed through,  the choices they've made to create a world of beautiful in the midst of ugly?

This particular angel of mine sits perched next to the spot where I make coffee every morning --reminding me of what an amazing person I have been blessed to know.  No wonder her students presented her to the world in this particular piece of angelic artwork.  

We met back in university while studying for our education degrees.  I recently found a letter she'd written me all those years ago that broke my heart again.....the way her questions go right to the heart of painful topics with honesty, courage and a forthrightness that is remarkable.  Truly!  

She has taught me so much about childlike trust in God, courage in the face of evil, strength in weakness, and grace that meets all of us right where we are.

I just wanted to take a moment to say a special "thank you."  Words are not adequate.....you will always be one of my most treasured REAL LIFE HEROES.  Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for your immense courage, hope, sunshine and beauty.

For anyone else reading, I invite you to take a quick moment and send some love to an angel in your life today.

photos © Melody Armstrong 

giving or receiving, which do you prefer?

I read it in Donald Miller's book Blue Like Jazz (p. 84) and it smacked me right between the eyes:

"I love to give charity, but  I don't want to be charity."

I knew the moment I read it that his comment describes me too much of the time.  I would rather be the one giving.  I would rather be the hero.  I would rather think my way into believing that I don't need - that I have so much to give.

How foolish.

Whenever I consider myself to be in the "giving" role more than the "receiving" role, I have blinders on.  Not only is that perspective naive, it is arrogant, ugly and completely mistaken.

I am constantly in need.  Why is that so difficult to admit?  I am continually on the receiving end of grace, mercy, and love, every moment of every day.  How could I think otherwise?

I have not earned this life.  I have not earned the love of my family, friends or my Creator.  I have not earned my health.  I have not earned my birth place in Canada.  I have not earned my freedom.

All of these things have been GIVEN to me.

ALL THAT I HAVE TO GIVE, HAS FIRST BEEN GIVEN TO ME. 

ALL IS GIFT.

There is one specific instance where I distinctly remember REFUSING CHARITY....and ultimately refusing a chance at deeper friendship.  It is an occasion I have regretted ever since, and although I asked forgiveness of this friend, it remains to me a painful and powerful lesson about the importance of receiving.

I was a mess!!  I was flat on my back, hurting with back pain and trying to cope with a newborn baby, a 14 month old, and a 3 year old. My lovely neighbour arrived at my house one day with a meal in her hands and a casual "I've come to clean your house."  She was exuberant.  But instead of being overjoyed and  accepting her offer with gratefulness, I refused her with a sort-of joking but overly harsh: "You are not cleaning my house!"  And that was it.

Her countenance changed.  Her excitement fizzled into politeness.  In that moment, a budding friendship was halted because I refused her gift.  The joy that both of us could have experienced, her in giving and me in being super spoiled by such a caring gesture of friendship, was lost.  

I could spend all day trying to justify my refusal:  Why should she have to work so hard?  Her offer was too generous to accept.  Such a kind thought but I'd be fine on my own.  

THE TRUTH WAS,  I NEEDED TO DEAL WITH MY PRIDE. 

I didn't like that I was needy.  I didn't want someone else to have to do my dirty work.  

No, I wanted to be strong, capable and in control.  I didn't want to be laying on my back in pain....I DIDN'T WANT TO BE CHARITY. 

These days, I'm learning to say it out loud.......to caste aside my pride and declare:

I WANT GRACE.  I WANT CHARITY.  I WANT TO BE LOVED.  I WANT MERCY. 

I WANT GIFTS THAT I HAVEN'T EARNED.  I WANT TO RECEIVE. 

 I WANT TO BE FILLED TO OVERFLOWING.

And then, the outpouring of my love to others will be fragrant with humility and a beautiful understanding of ALL THAT HAS BEEN GIVEN TO ME.

THANK YOU, JESUS, FOR BEING THE ULTIMATE GIFT -------- I WANT ALL OF YOU, ALL DAY LONG, EVERY DAY.

(And Hope, if you read this.....please know that although I apologized to you long ago, I have never forgotten this lesson and I have worked very hard since then to remember that  IT IS JUST AS IMPORTANT TO GRACIOUSLY RECEIVE AS IT IS TO GENEROUSLY GIVE.  And I promise to accept if you should ever offer to clean my house again!!!  oxoxox) 

I invite your comments and reflections in the comment area below.

words and images © melody armstrong 2013

when the fog rolls in....

I can't seem to make up my mind about fog.  

Sometimes it's dreamy and delightful.....like the morning of my birthday this August when my husband woke me early on our summer holiday to go out on the lake and watch the sunrise.  The fog sat low in the valley, hovering between mountains on either side.  It drifted in heavy...rolling and teasing and curling around us as we floated.  I loved it.  The morning was straight out of a fairytale.  And when the haze cleared and the sun rose,  a bright and glorious morning unveiled before our eyes. 

Last week the fog stretched past our home and settled into the nearby river valley as if it were sinking into lazy-boy chair.   The river was still there but I couldn't see it.  So was the farm just on the other side of the river, and the hills rising beyond that.  Nothing had changed.  The permanent things that I always count on being there - were still there, I just couldn't see them.

Fog is like that.  When we're in the middle of it, beneath its heavy cloak, we just can't see.  It's unnerving --especially when we tend to rely more on what we see than what we know.  Sometimes our lack of vision even makes us doubt the things we know.  

I have experienced times in my life when the fog has settled in, thick and heavy and bewildering.  I want to see and I can't.  Nothing is clear, nothing is obvious, and I grope and stumble my way through obscurity.   It's not dreamy.  It's not delightful.  

If only I could recognize the hazy times in my life as an invitation to sit in awe and trust.  To rely on what I know, rather than just what I see.  To be still. To cease from striving and planning and pressing forward and controlling. 

 To simply BE.

when life is dusty dirty

when it's dark and lonely

when I'm chipping and cracking everywhere

when the papers pile

when the work piles

when I'm soaked in the rain
JUST BE.

Because EVENTUALLY THE FOG LIFTS, revealing what was shrouded. Clarity comes.  My eyes are able to see what my heart has known to be true all along.

And I give thanks - again.  

For God's faithfulness.  

that I can trust - even when I can't see.  

For His invitation to 
BE STILL AND KNOW THAT HE IS GOD.

text and images © melody armstrong 2012

Thanksgiving......and the love dare

When was the last time you made a list of things you love? 

This Thanksgiving season, I challenge you to the love dare.  

Take a few moments and begin your list.....write down all the things you love....write and write and hopefully your list is too long and you can't fit it all in one sitting and it keeps growing and bursts and overflows till your words somersault off the bottom of the page in exuberant celebration of all things precious and meaningful and hilarious and glorious and beautiful and magical and loved by you.

Write the huge things.  Write the minuscule things.  Just write.   

pages of things of I love in journals past

Add details or write single words.  If you get stuck, look around.  Look inside and outside. List your favourite smells, sounds, feels, touches, tastes. Look at the people in your life, past and present.  Look up and down. 

But whatever you do, watch and look and search and seek to notice the countless things you love.

And then re-read your list and pay close attention -- notice that you are actually reading that ways that God loves you, the ways He pours his soul-filling beauty into your life.

THANKSGIVING. GRATITUDE. SOUL MEDICINE.

Counting the ways you are loved.

And for those of you who, like me, struggle with an aching, just-below-the-surface feeling that an apology should follow our "love list" because we have so much to be thankful for, please consider Ann Voskamp's words in her book one thousand gifts.  She admits what, at first glance, might seem offensive:

"to focus the lens of a heart on the minute, in a world mangled and maimed and desperately empty." 

But then she continues:

"I have lived pain and my life can tell:  I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the sound of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives.  Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is joy that saves us?  Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering.  The converse does.  The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring fullest Light to all the world.  When we lay the soil of our hard lives open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places, let joy soak into our broken skin and deep crevices, life grows.  How can this not be the best thing for the world?  For us?  The clouds open when we mouth thanks."  (p. 58)(emphasis added)

SO HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU ALL - AND LET THE LOVE DARE BEGIN.

Are there questions God can't answer?

My first son Chase was about three years old when he asked me a question that I have never forgotten:  “Mommy, how many ways can you squish a marshmellow?” 

I still chuckle when I think of it. Though it wasn’t really answerable, the question was  adorable and imaginative.  It reflected the way he saw the world, the things that mattered to him, and his curiosity about how life worked.  That was so precious to me.

I wonder sometimes about the questions I ask God.  I have so many.  Are they precious to him, just because he is my loving heavenly Father and he adores me?  I'm constantly asking how...? why...? when...? can’t you...? where will...?  And then there are those times that I behave childishly, stomping my feet and getting pouty when He doesn’t seem to answer.  

Not only do I want the answers, but I also prefer them to be instant and gratifying.  Thank you very much!

Three years ago, after my dad passed away, I read C.S. Lewis‘ A Grief Observed in which Lewis grapples with the agonizing loss of his beloved wife, Helen.  His raw and tender writings were never originally intended for publication, they were simply his own personal reflections and a way to process the pain and questions arising from his own “dark chasm of grief.” (see introduction)  He addresses this idea of questioning God in one particular passage which has come to my mind many times since I first read it, especially in my own seasons of intense introspection and questioning:

“When I lay these questions before God, I get no answer. But a rather special sort of ‘No answer.’  It is not the locked door.  It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze.  As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question.  Like, “Peace, child; you don’t understand.’

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable?  Quite easily, I should think.  All nonsense questions are unanswerable.  How many hours are there in a mile?  Is yellow square or round?  Probably half the questions we ask--half our great theological and metaphysical problems--are like that.” 

(p. 685 in The Complete C.S. Lewis Signature Classics.  Copyright 2002 Harper Collins Publishers.)

I think Lewis is right. Many times, I’m just not asking the right questions.  Not that there’s a trick in it - I can come before God with all the questions of my heart and know that I am received and loved by him.  However, I readily admit that my questions are laced with ignorance, more often than not.  They are sincere, certainly.  But no matter how sincerely I come before my Creator, if I am honest, I can see that my questions reflect a limited and often skewed understanding of who He is and how He works.  Is it any wonder that many of my  questions are not answered?  How does God answer nonsense questions with anything but compassion and love?

being surprised by his stunning
perspective 

I’m beginning to ask the best question:  what is the right question, Lord?  

If I want to get closer - to know Him better, am I willing to surrender my perspective and seek His when asking my questions?  Beyond that, am I really willing to listen for his answer?

I'd be honored to hear your perspective in the comment section below.

photos © melody armstrong

when your path is bumpy....

Bow Valley Provincial Park

Last week I joined my daughter and her class on a field trip to Kananaskis Country.  It was such a gorgeous fall morning and the kid's eager anticipation of a day playing in water and exploring outdoors was contagious.  I had such a great time.  But truthfully, I'm not the greatest parent volunteer.  While 30 grade 5 students were booting it through the woods at mock speed, probably being chased by a bear or something, I was lagging behind - again! - down on my knees taking photos.

For some reason that day, my eyes were so drawn to the paths, the constantly changing terrain that made the day so interesting.   There were long, flat trails that stretched out before us.  There were winding, curvy parts that wove through dense trees and tall grasses, where we couldn't see around the next bend.

beauty for the soul

For a while, we walked single file along a narrow path that traced the reflective edge of a glassy smooth  mountain pond; a feast for the eyes and the soul. It's nice when the way is flat and smooth. The morning dew had draped the woods in an earthy fall fragrance and all was wet and glistening. Even the striking contrast of perfect stillness with the echoing laughter and hollers of far-away children (whoops! ha ha!) only intensified the beauty surrounding me.

when the way is flat and smooth

But there are always bumps on the path.  Large roots of massive trees studded the trail here and there, causing a downward shift in my focus that day. Bumps do that - they force us to watch where we step, to put our heads down and pay more attention to our footing.  And yes, sometimes we roll an ankle or trip and even fall when the path is rough.   

the bumps

  How is the path you're travelling right now?  Is it smooth and flat?  Are you clipping along at a good pace and moving steadily toward your destination?  Or have you encountered some bumps and had to slow down a bit, watch a little closer?  Maybe your path is strewn with obstacles that make your journey difficult and painfully slow?  Perhaps you're even pushed up against the unyeilding face of a sheer, rocky climb and you don't know how you're going to get up and over it.  Has the path you've followed taken you out on a ridge that plunges steeply on either side and you're trembling inside for fear of falling?  

As I continue on my quest to live a joyful life regardless of circumstances, and I observe joy lived out in the lives of those around me who are facing tremendous adversity, the same thread of gratitude weaves through each life.  It is a theme that pulsates through my soul these days .  Everywhere I turn, I see evidence of joy through gratitude - even in the most difficult of circumstances, and I am deeply humbled.     

I am learning, through my own simple struggles and the pain of so many around me, that when the road gets bumpy and we are forced to put our heads down and pay attention to the path, we are often surprised by treasures hidden along the way.  We have a new focus and we see differently - through the eyes of our souls.  Beauty, just off the beaten path, whispers to catch our attention and calm our anxious hearts.  The quiet that comes in slowing down allows us to hear that still, small Voice urging: "just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Trust.  This is the path I have set before you, walk faithful, slow and purposeful.  Keep your eyes wide open for my gifts, my fingerprints, my creative work around you."

"Keep your eyes open for my heart.
My endless love for you." 

his gift.  his love.  everywhere.

I'd like to share part of post called "Love Your Fate" by a favorite author of mine, Katrina Kennison. (Posted on her blog in Aug 2012) After sharing three true stories of great loss and hardship, she writes:

"Amor fati. I have carried this resonant Latin phrase in my heart all summer.  Love your fate. What a challange this is, when what fate has to offer is not your dream come true but rather broken bones, stupid mistakes, dashed hopes, eviction notices, loss and pain and heartache.  And yet, surely we are shaped as much by dashed hopes as by those that come to pass.  We are strengthened not by the easy stuff, but by what brings us to our knees. And we realize our full potential as human beings as much by losing at the game of life as by winning......The pain of life isn't ever going to disappear.  But perhaps it is in our efforts to open our hearts to accept and work with what life hands us, that we grow our souls.  Day by day as we struggle to carry on in the face of grief and disappointment, we begin to see that even a great setback may contain a gift: the opportunity to discover, through practice, what lies behind sorrow.  'How can we reconcile this feast of losses?' asks poet Stanley Kunitz."  (Katrina Kennison.  Emphasis added)

when we come to a clearing

My longing for all of us is that whether our path is smooth, bumpy or seemingly impossible right now, we call out to the One who knows -who's walked this path just for us and walks beside us now.  May we: 

"THROW OPEN OUR DOORS TO GOD AND DISCOVER AT THE SAME MOMENT THAT HE HAS ALREADY THROWN OPEN HIS DOOR TO US.  (MAY) WE FIND OURSELVES STANDING WHERE WE ALWAYS HOPED WE MIGHT STAND--OUT IN THE WIDE OPEN SPACES OF GOD'S GRACE AND GLORY, STANDING TALL AND SHOUTING OUR PRAISE."  (Romans 5:2  The Message Translation. Parentheses added)

I gladly welcome your stories and insights in the comment section below.


photos © Melody Armstrong

frosty joy

Delight is a wondrous thing.

this mornings frosty offerings

We had our first snowfall fly from the heavens last night around 9:00 pm.  We may be the only household that cheers and hollers when the air turns white with dancing, twirling coolness.  

Homework gets tossed aside, hand stands in the living room cease,  jackets are rummaged through and thrown on recklessly, and kids are high-tailing it out the door.  

Delight. It makes my heart soar.  

What a gift - this unique ability to celebrate the strangest things, to have a different perspective - a different way of seeing that allows for surprise and wonder.

This is a lesson my children teach me almost daily....and when they forget, I try to remember and teach them:  it is all in the seeing.  There is always another angle from which to view our circumstances.  

always another angle

Surely an icy snowfall on the 1st of October is only miserable, cold and a mournful loss of last week's 25 degree temperatures!  But, no.  Instead its a joyful indication of all that awaits for children who are eager to toboggan, ski, skate, shovel, build snowmen AND PLAY in the white wonder.

May you be delighted today as you seek and search and keep looking for new angles....whether your day is filled with summery green warmth, or white frosty cold like mine.  

If you wish to share a story when you have been surprised by joy, I welcome you to share your thoughts in the comment section below.  

Photos ©Melody Armstong

have you played lately?

...living "freely and lightly"

Wishing you whooshing joy today!!

photos © Melody Armstrong

on being small

the mossy woods in Caroline, AB.

Have you ever laid down on a soft piece of moss in the middle of the woods and starred up into the trees?  Or laid on a cool patch of grass and been mesmerized by an endless shimmering of stars? Have you ever laid in the sand near the ocean and listened to the rushing, roaring, symphony of waves crashing on the shore?

have you ever felt incredibly small?

What about the times in your life when you've laid flat out - but not by choice?  When you've been completely broken -- in heart or in body?  When life has left you battered, crushed and powerless in a world where we are valued for our strength, power and independence?

My soul has been longing to understand what an abundant, successful life looks like in God's economy, where the first will be last, where if I lose my life - I will find it, and where when I am weak - I am actually strong in Christ. 

And what about my dreams, my grand hopes for the future, my longing to really be somebody one day--all in the name of "accomplishing something special for God"?  How do those secret places of my heart fit with God's perfect plans for me?  Do they have any resemblance at all?

I read the words of F.B. Meyer (in Ann Voskamps one thousand gifts. p. 171) and they tip me right upside down:  

"I used to think that God's gifts were on shelves one above the other, and that the taller we grew in Christian character the easier we should reach them.  I find now that God's gifts are on shelves one beneath the other, and that it is not a question of growing taller but of stooping lower, and that we have to go down, always, down, to get His best gifts."

wildflowers in Kananaskis 

I am so incredibly small, but can I accept that as a good thing?

Nothing in the world tells me that smallness is good.  That, in fact, that it might actually be true greatness.   Nothing I read in magazines or watch on TV tells me that if I want to be great, I need to learn to be the servant of all.  No self-help book that I know of has ever spent a chapter on being meek, reminding me that it is the meek who will inherit the earth.

This idea of "smallness equals greatness" seems only to be a God-thing, completely foreign to the confines of popular thought today.  And really, can God be trusted when the culture I am woven into applauds strength, success, independence, empowerment, and getting ahead at almost any cost?  

God or culture?  What am I willing to risk, to live a life of love and humility?

I'd like to end by retelling (and abbreviating) a story I read in Peter Scazzero's book The Emotionally Healthy Church (p. 119): 

There once lived a water carrier in India who made the same trip every day from the stream to his master's house, using two large pots attached at either end of a large pole he carried across his neck.  The one pot was perfect and became very proud that it always delivered a full load of water at the master's house.  The other pot had a large crack in it and became very discouraged that it only ever arrived at the master's house half full.  Finally the cracked pot spoke to the water carrier at the stream one day and apologized shamefully for its brokenness and for only ever delivering half its original load.  The water carrier smiled at the cracked pot and pointed to the beautiful flowers that lined one side of the path back to the master's house saying: "I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we passed these spots, you watered them.  Now for two years I have been able to pick those beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.  Without you being just the way you are, I would not have this beauty to grace his house."

What gifts of beauty have grown from your brokenness?  What new perspectives have resulted from your smallness?  Is being strong, independent, and powerful really all it's "cracked up" to be? (pardon the pun!)

If you wish,  you may leave your thoughts and reflections in the comment section below.

photos © Melody Armstong