Phew, what a roller coaster. The last few days ended up being about the worst I have experienced in my life so far. No over-dramaticism. I'm trying to recover today in my introverted-self way, while trying to still let myself receive from friends. It is very difficult to navigate this season of joy when you are emotionally and physically exhausted and just seriously in pain. (I don't think I am even aware of how tired I am--I just feel kind of wrung out.) I want to be real and honest about where I am at, but I don't want to dampen anyone else's happiness.
Tomorrow I have to lead worship at church, so help me God! Actually, thanks be to God still. My drive back to Waterloo was once again good for me to "release all" and to receive from God. This song came on the radio and I'm thankful. (I'm not a huge fan when people make cheesy videos, so maybe just listen to the song!) :)
By Your Side, Tenth Avenue North
Saturday, 27 December 2008
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
This Year's Christmas Tune Fav
Not able to find a great video for this one, but here's the song that I stumbled upon this year and am digging this Christmas. It also happens to be in one of my fav keys to sing and play (capo'd). Check it out!
"How Many Kings" by Downhere
"How Many Kings" by Downhere
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Family Foto Flashback
Leafing through some photos here and doing some up as gifts...thought I'd share some with y'all.
1980
Me and Daddy with the '81 Lynx (I think)
Me and Timmy
Mommy and Me. This is at the start of the bad hair era
Four Generations. Five if you count Judy, my adopted daughter from the Cabbage Patch
Wearing Christmas wreaths. I think I'd like to make a Christmas card out of this or something!
1980
Me and Daddy with the '81 Lynx (I think)
Me and Timmy
Mommy and Me. This is at the start of the bad hair era
Four Generations. Five if you count Judy, my adopted daughter from the Cabbage Patch
Wearing Christmas wreaths. I think I'd like to make a Christmas card out of this or something!
Monday, 22 December 2008
A poem
I'm at The Beach again and instead of a miserable rant, I have a hopeful poem to share--reflecting my present feelings and some Christmas carol lyrics floating around.
The clouds have lifted
There is still light
Awake this morning
A restful night
Heavy shadows
Pierced by the dawn
Unrealized burden
Until it's gone
Dismayed no longer
You knew my need
You know my weakness
You do not sleep
Hunger for words
Refreshing and new
Tidings of comfort
And joy from You
Peace on the earth
And in my heart
All is not well
But it's a start
Expectant hope
For each new week
Comforted waiting
Knowing You speak
The clouds have lifted
There is still light
Awake this morning
A restful night
Heavy shadows
Pierced by the dawn
Unrealized burden
Until it's gone
Dismayed no longer
You knew my need
You know my weakness
You do not sleep
Hunger for words
Refreshing and new
Tidings of comfort
And joy from You
Peace on the earth
And in my heart
All is not well
But it's a start
Expectant hope
For each new week
Comforted waiting
Knowing You speak
Friday, 12 December 2008
'Tis the Season
Just thought I'd share this video of my favourite Christmas song from last year (and still holding strong). Jill Phillips again, but singing Andrew Peterson's song, Labour of Love. Someone on YouTube added edits of The Nativity Story and it's pretty good. I was sharing it with my fellow church worship leaders and my pastor wrote back to say that it brought tears to his eyes! Enjoy.
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Still here
I think about blogging. I think about journalling. I think about reading. I think about composing. It takes enough for me to keep praying: without falling asleep. I go to bed at decent hours, but sleep in, dragging myself out from under my cozy flannel sheets. Never getting up early enough to bother with yoga, sometimes early enough to shower or maybe just do that later. Sometimes with motivation enough to scrounge together some breakfast, but really it's brunch time. (Besides I have to eat at strange times now since I tutor English so much over dinner time.) I think about walking to the office, but it's so snowy and cold already that the car just seems best. (Besides I have to drive further after work to my students' houses.)
I keep saying, "I'm ok. God is good and I'm ok." I've had some nice revelations about how I've never felt alone and God has always been here helping me. And there are all these people to whom I come across admirably strong, but I have a new realization that any strength I may have appeared to have has always been from God. I am not particularly strong on my own. And thankfully, I have never been on my own. So yes, God is good. And I am feeling much better about him and his involvement in my life.
But life is hard for me right now and has been for some time. Last night after I left our church's annual Christmas dinner, I was reminded again how I am not enjoying social gatherings right now and how I am generally not that happy. I am not feeling able to join in on people's celebrations (engagements, pregnancies...), or even in on normal and general conversation. No, I have nothing new to report. No, I do not have guys lining up to ask me out and the last date I had a few months ago was lousy. No, my mom is not getting better. No, the marriages of those I care about are not getting better.
Even my friends who are twenty years older than I, have not had to put their mother in a nursing home. And I don't know anyone who has had to listen to irrational, mentally unhealthy words come at them from a mother as I have. (Thank God, that He takes away the words that could seriously hurt me.) And I don't know anyone who has had to hear and bear the pain and the tears of their parents.
Now I know that everyone has had their own doses of pain and their own hard things, but right now, it is striking me that no one my age who I know is having to handle this type of stuff and most are celebrating and anticipating a joyous Christmas. I am not anticipating such a Christmas. There will be one missing at our Christmas table and there will be remaining a broken, depressed, exhausted family with a possible time bomb of fury and irrationality waiting to go off at any moment. Thank God for my nephew, who surely will be a lovely delight over the holiday.
I am at the Beach tonight. My dad turns 64 on Tuesday and I came to visit. I saw my mom today and it actually was a fairly good visit. We played the piano together and I don't think we've ever done that. I was emotional as I left and thought and said, "I miss you."
That's kind of all I have to say, but I don't want to end on that note. I bought an old and a new Jill Phillips cd recently and on my drive last night I found myself singing loudly along to her song "Steel Bars" where she is "fighting back to gain control" from the "rock bottom of despair". I think our little band could do this song well. I'm really enjoying it. Then there is the other little new anthem of hers I'm digging: "Oh I believe, though its hard sometimes: You are the resurrection and the life....I know the words of life to come are true, but sometimes they feel like salt upon the wound. When I’m asking in these moments where are you? Where are you? Oh I believe, though its hard sometimes: You are the resurrection and the life."
At this same Christmas dinner last night, I was complimented on my voice a few times. That always makes me feel happy (see, there is happiness to be found even when you're sad), yet it also always makes me wonder. There were a couple questions posed to me about blues and jazz and once again, I am pondering if there is something more I can be doing with music....
Friends. Friends are a good note to end on too. They are loving. They are supportive. Even if no friend really knows what I am feeling, they know pain and they care. Thanks.
I keep saying, "I'm ok. God is good and I'm ok." I've had some nice revelations about how I've never felt alone and God has always been here helping me. And there are all these people to whom I come across admirably strong, but I have a new realization that any strength I may have appeared to have has always been from God. I am not particularly strong on my own. And thankfully, I have never been on my own. So yes, God is good. And I am feeling much better about him and his involvement in my life.
But life is hard for me right now and has been for some time. Last night after I left our church's annual Christmas dinner, I was reminded again how I am not enjoying social gatherings right now and how I am generally not that happy. I am not feeling able to join in on people's celebrations (engagements, pregnancies...), or even in on normal and general conversation. No, I have nothing new to report. No, I do not have guys lining up to ask me out and the last date I had a few months ago was lousy. No, my mom is not getting better. No, the marriages of those I care about are not getting better.
Even my friends who are twenty years older than I, have not had to put their mother in a nursing home. And I don't know anyone who has had to listen to irrational, mentally unhealthy words come at them from a mother as I have. (Thank God, that He takes away the words that could seriously hurt me.) And I don't know anyone who has had to hear and bear the pain and the tears of their parents.
Now I know that everyone has had their own doses of pain and their own hard things, but right now, it is striking me that no one my age who I know is having to handle this type of stuff and most are celebrating and anticipating a joyous Christmas. I am not anticipating such a Christmas. There will be one missing at our Christmas table and there will be remaining a broken, depressed, exhausted family with a possible time bomb of fury and irrationality waiting to go off at any moment. Thank God for my nephew, who surely will be a lovely delight over the holiday.
I am at the Beach tonight. My dad turns 64 on Tuesday and I came to visit. I saw my mom today and it actually was a fairly good visit. We played the piano together and I don't think we've ever done that. I was emotional as I left and thought and said, "I miss you."
That's kind of all I have to say, but I don't want to end on that note. I bought an old and a new Jill Phillips cd recently and on my drive last night I found myself singing loudly along to her song "Steel Bars" where she is "fighting back to gain control" from the "rock bottom of despair". I think our little band could do this song well. I'm really enjoying it. Then there is the other little new anthem of hers I'm digging: "Oh I believe, though its hard sometimes: You are the resurrection and the life....I know the words of life to come are true, but sometimes they feel like salt upon the wound. When I’m asking in these moments where are you? Where are you? Oh I believe, though its hard sometimes: You are the resurrection and the life."
At this same Christmas dinner last night, I was complimented on my voice a few times. That always makes me feel happy (see, there is happiness to be found even when you're sad), yet it also always makes me wonder. There were a couple questions posed to me about blues and jazz and once again, I am pondering if there is something more I can be doing with music....
Friends. Friends are a good note to end on too. They are loving. They are supportive. Even if no friend really knows what I am feeling, they know pain and they care. Thanks.
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
Another year
For many people, September is the start of the "new year". You can really feel it, particularly living with school teachers, working on a program that runs with the university schedule myself AND with the sudden change in weather. I'm feeling quite sad that it's as cold as it is. Already! This time of year actually is a new year for me, because it is my birthday. I used to hate that my birthday was at the beginning of September. School friends would never remember because we wouldn't have seen each other over the summer and then being back to school was the new excitement instead. Since elementary and high school though, my birthday celebrations have more than made up for the neglect of younger days. And yesterday was no exception.
Cards and gifts arriving in the mail from family started the heart warming. Then there's all the nice Facebook and email birthday messages--some a pleasant surprise. I actually wanted to keep my birthday a bit low key this year, realizing just how much I've been blessed by friends and various forms of all-day celebrations over the last number of years. I tried to put in a normal day at work, but really ended up having a nice time spending the day with co-workers and friends. Fantastic breakfast, fabulous lunch....And at dinner time, I was blown away by the friends around me. Such generous, giving and loving people. I was very moved by the words spoken and prayed over me on my birthday. My friends all spontaneously shared a goal they would like to see my 28th year achieve. From comedy (getting on Hole in the Wall or attracting the attention of Wentworth Miller) to sincere concern for me to have a happier year with much less hard times than I've had over the last couple years.
So here's to hoping! And here's me thanking God for the blessings of friends.
And here I am, at 28.
Cards and gifts arriving in the mail from family started the heart warming. Then there's all the nice Facebook and email birthday messages--some a pleasant surprise. I actually wanted to keep my birthday a bit low key this year, realizing just how much I've been blessed by friends and various forms of all-day celebrations over the last number of years. I tried to put in a normal day at work, but really ended up having a nice time spending the day with co-workers and friends. Fantastic breakfast, fabulous lunch....And at dinner time, I was blown away by the friends around me. Such generous, giving and loving people. I was very moved by the words spoken and prayed over me on my birthday. My friends all spontaneously shared a goal they would like to see my 28th year achieve. From comedy (getting on Hole in the Wall or attracting the attention of Wentworth Miller) to sincere concern for me to have a happier year with much less hard times than I've had over the last couple years.
So here's to hoping! And here's me thanking God for the blessings of friends.
And here I am, at 28.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
A little Amazonian Anecdote
The last weekend in Brazil, I was able to get online and decided to send a story back to Canada for folks to read. Here is that same story:
The last night on the boat, we were back staying in this indigenous community (Kambeba). The leader
wanted the people to perform their traditional animal dances for us, because his people were so happy to receive the soccer uniforms the Canadian team brought. After the dancing, the team went back on the boat for a late dinner. Dinaldo (my Brazilian friend) was asking if any man wanted to go fishing with some of the tribesmen. Two men on the Canadian team really love fishing, but they didn't want to go. We had already tried fishing in the evening and didn't catch anything. (I was the only one who caught a piranha at a tourist place a couple weeks ago!) No one wanted to go that night, so I went. It was myself, Dinaldo, one other YWAM guy named Robson and two young tribe guys. We were going out in a small boat, so I took a life jacket with me. It ended up being useful three hours later for my sore bum!!
The boat set off across the dark, wide river. No motor, just paddling. Full, starry sky. Trying to keep calm (thinking about possible snakes and the dark, deep water). Then we went toward the trees. Yikes. We ended up going INTO the bushes--into the jungle.
The men had a spear for fishing instead of rods like we had used earlier. We went to the shallow water in the jungle where one man had a flash light and a spear and he would find sleeping fish and spear them! Again, trying to keep my mind from worrying about crocodiles, for this was the place where they would be!! Having to constantly brush bush off my face and head and hoping that no snakes would fall down from above. It was probably the most thrilling thing I have ever done. After awhile, it just became normal. And then it became boring. It was so long and I could do nothing but sit there and move branches. I missed dinner and when we returned, the lights and generator were off and everyone was asleep! (It was after 11.) The other YWAM guy continued on with the two men for another 20 minutes and apparently, they saw a crocodile! The guy speared about 10 fish.
The last night on the boat, we were back staying in this indigenous community (Kambeba). The leader
wanted the people to perform their traditional animal dances for us, because his people were so happy to receive the soccer uniforms the Canadian team brought. After the dancing, the team went back on the boat for a late dinner. Dinaldo (my Brazilian friend) was asking if any man wanted to go fishing with some of the tribesmen. Two men on the Canadian team really love fishing, but they didn't want to go. We had already tried fishing in the evening and didn't catch anything. (I was the only one who caught a piranha at a tourist place a couple weeks ago!) No one wanted to go that night, so I went. It was myself, Dinaldo, one other YWAM guy named Robson and two young tribe guys. We were going out in a small boat, so I took a life jacket with me. It ended up being useful three hours later for my sore bum!!The boat set off across the dark, wide river. No motor, just paddling. Full, starry sky. Trying to keep calm (thinking about possible snakes and the dark, deep water). Then we went toward the trees. Yikes. We ended up going INTO the bushes--into the jungle.
The men had a spear for fishing instead of rods like we had used earlier. We went to the shallow water in the jungle where one man had a flash light and a spear and he would find sleeping fish and spear them! Again, trying to keep my mind from worrying about crocodiles, for this was the place where they would be!! Having to constantly brush bush off my face and head and hoping that no snakes would fall down from above. It was probably the most thrilling thing I have ever done. After awhile, it just became normal. And then it became boring. It was so long and I could do nothing but sit there and move branches. I missed dinner and when we returned, the lights and generator were off and everyone was asleep! (It was after 11.) The other YWAM guy continued on with the two men for another 20 minutes and apparently, they saw a crocodile! The guy speared about 10 fish.The photos are of the leader of the Kambeba tribe
The big fish is from the spearing adventure
and the little ones are ones caught off the back of our boat.
and Robson cleaning some of the fish the next day.
The big fish is from the spearing adventure
and the little ones are ones caught off the back of our boat.
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
Just when you think things can't get any worse...
The last week in Brazil, I was attacked in the night by a stealth army of mosquitoes. They left evidence of their attack on the lower half of my back. I didn't even view the evidence for a couple days and when I saw it, I was disgusted. As was every other person who saw it, or even just saw a photograph of it. (A photograph I will not post here, since the image is just too graphic!) I looked diseased. Measles or chicken pox or something. And of course, there was the itch. It was hard for me to be sympathetic to any other person's bites at that point. I was feeling quite excited about getting back to Canada so my back could heal.
After reflecting and blogging last week, I was looking forward with some more peace and good expectation than I had had in awhile. I finally was getting back into the
swing of life and one element of my life before I went away, was bicycling a lot. (I bought a new used bike this summer. It was a sweet deal. It's a kind of retro Miele. Here's a pic.) So finally on Wednesday, I got back on my bike, riding it to the office. I really only just got out of my driveway, when I found myself face-first on the road! I had a bag with my lunch in it that I had wrapped around the handlebars and it got stuck in the front wheel spokes! I saw it happening, but it was too late to do anything and I'm pretty sure I flew right over the handlebars. I recall that I adjusted my helmet, so it must have been hit. My teeth hurt and I touched under my nose when a lady in her car stopped and asked if I was ok. "I think I'm bleeding," I said. My house was right there, so I just picked up my bike and carried it and myself home. Yogurt was everywhere! And my peach and tomato where squashed. (I had to later cut the cloth bag out from the spokes, it was so wedged in.) When I saw myself in the mirror, I freaked out! It wasn't my nose that was bleeding as I had thought. My chin was all scraped away and my lip was puffy and split. Throughout the morning, I would continue to find scrapes here and there on my body. And yogurt randomly crusted on me too!
I was REALLY upset about this for the whole day. Even after I found out from the nurses at the doctor's office that I didn't need any stitches. It was so upsetting to me to have to have big pieces of gauze on my face and to be worried about forever carrying scars on my already acne-scarred face. And would my teeth ever stop hurting? "What if they're messed up and fall out later?"
Later that night, I called my dad to let him know that I would indeed be coming for the meeting with the nursing home the next day. Before I could pour out my sad details of my day, he had "bad news" for me. My mom's psychiatrist is starting to think that my mom is showing signs of dementia, which, unlike mental illness, is something that just happens with old age and is irreversible.
A few days later, I learned that my friend had a hellish weekend on top of an already difficult situation and I wonder at how she is even keeping herself above water.
Talking with another friend about all of our struggles and the struggles of those close to us, it really is too heavy. Is this what being an adult is?
On Sunday, a friend threw a big birthday party for her husband. It was his 44th birthday, so not particularly special. But emotion was in the room as she began the toasts by explaining that she wanted us to join in her celebration that he is still with us for this birthday! In February, our friend Fred was hit on the head by a tree when he was working to collect sap to make Maple Syrup. It was a scary and upsetting time as we waiting for the outcome of this horrible accident. And many people prayed.
On Sunday, this same group of friends were reflecting that another friend of theirs died ten years ago when he attempted to rescue some children from a river. So here we are, back at those questions. Why does it seem that prayer works sometimes and sometimes not? Or why do bad things happen to some people?
This week, I received an email from one of the Brazil team who had compiled a few stories of the children in the shelter we helped at. Stories of children being abandoned by their families; young girls being raped and baring the physical affects of this; and, boys being prostituted on the street and resorting to glue-sniffing and other drugs. I had heard some of these before, but reading them again seemed timely.
As I look at this last week, I have to admit that bad things happen to most people. When I was all upset about my messed-up face, my friend Sharon said to me, "Beth! Think of Fred!" (From his accident, Fred had to have his whole face basically rebuilt and for awhile, he looked quite different. Nowadays, he has a big scar on his forehead and difficulties with smell, taste, weather and temperatures.) I finally got to the place where I realized it REALLY could have been A LOT worse.
Fred's brother-in-law ended the toasts on Sunday with a prayer. He said that it wouldn't be long before we would feel pain again about something in our lives, but today would be our day to celebrate. We would celebrate for the miracle that we do have.
And I guess we just keep praying. And we give thanks that when we don't feel like we can pray, there are others out there praying for us.
By the way, I am completely in awe of the ability of our body to heal. There's the fading mosquito bites. My teeth don't hurt anymore. The inside of my mouth is nearly all healed and my lip is looking normal. You can barely notice anything on my face either! Even where it split!
After reflecting and blogging last week, I was looking forward with some more peace and good expectation than I had had in awhile. I finally was getting back into the
swing of life and one element of my life before I went away, was bicycling a lot. (I bought a new used bike this summer. It was a sweet deal. It's a kind of retro Miele. Here's a pic.) So finally on Wednesday, I got back on my bike, riding it to the office. I really only just got out of my driveway, when I found myself face-first on the road! I had a bag with my lunch in it that I had wrapped around the handlebars and it got stuck in the front wheel spokes! I saw it happening, but it was too late to do anything and I'm pretty sure I flew right over the handlebars. I recall that I adjusted my helmet, so it must have been hit. My teeth hurt and I touched under my nose when a lady in her car stopped and asked if I was ok. "I think I'm bleeding," I said. My house was right there, so I just picked up my bike and carried it and myself home. Yogurt was everywhere! And my peach and tomato where squashed. (I had to later cut the cloth bag out from the spokes, it was so wedged in.) When I saw myself in the mirror, I freaked out! It wasn't my nose that was bleeding as I had thought. My chin was all scraped away and my lip was puffy and split. Throughout the morning, I would continue to find scrapes here and there on my body. And yogurt randomly crusted on me too!I was REALLY upset about this for the whole day. Even after I found out from the nurses at the doctor's office that I didn't need any stitches. It was so upsetting to me to have to have big pieces of gauze on my face and to be worried about forever carrying scars on my already acne-scarred face. And would my teeth ever stop hurting? "What if they're messed up and fall out later?"
Later that night, I called my dad to let him know that I would indeed be coming for the meeting with the nursing home the next day. Before I could pour out my sad details of my day, he had "bad news" for me. My mom's psychiatrist is starting to think that my mom is showing signs of dementia, which, unlike mental illness, is something that just happens with old age and is irreversible.
A few days later, I learned that my friend had a hellish weekend on top of an already difficult situation and I wonder at how she is even keeping herself above water.
Talking with another friend about all of our struggles and the struggles of those close to us, it really is too heavy. Is this what being an adult is?
On Sunday, a friend threw a big birthday party for her husband. It was his 44th birthday, so not particularly special. But emotion was in the room as she began the toasts by explaining that she wanted us to join in her celebration that he is still with us for this birthday! In February, our friend Fred was hit on the head by a tree when he was working to collect sap to make Maple Syrup. It was a scary and upsetting time as we waiting for the outcome of this horrible accident. And many people prayed.
On Sunday, this same group of friends were reflecting that another friend of theirs died ten years ago when he attempted to rescue some children from a river. So here we are, back at those questions. Why does it seem that prayer works sometimes and sometimes not? Or why do bad things happen to some people?
This week, I received an email from one of the Brazil team who had compiled a few stories of the children in the shelter we helped at. Stories of children being abandoned by their families; young girls being raped and baring the physical affects of this; and, boys being prostituted on the street and resorting to glue-sniffing and other drugs. I had heard some of these before, but reading them again seemed timely.
As I look at this last week, I have to admit that bad things happen to most people. When I was all upset about my messed-up face, my friend Sharon said to me, "Beth! Think of Fred!" (From his accident, Fred had to have his whole face basically rebuilt and for awhile, he looked quite different. Nowadays, he has a big scar on his forehead and difficulties with smell, taste, weather and temperatures.) I finally got to the place where I realized it REALLY could have been A LOT worse.
Fred's brother-in-law ended the toasts on Sunday with a prayer. He said that it wouldn't be long before we would feel pain again about something in our lives, but today would be our day to celebrate. We would celebrate for the miracle that we do have.
And I guess we just keep praying. And we give thanks that when we don't feel like we can pray, there are others out there praying for us.
By the way, I am completely in awe of the ability of our body to heal. There's the fading mosquito bites. My teeth don't hurt anymore. The inside of my mouth is nearly all healed and my lip is looking normal. You can barely notice anything on my face either! Even where it split!
Monday, 4 August 2008
Love...
Since returning, I have had a couple conversations that have helped me see deeper into what God is speaking to me. If I've been this affected by what I perceive as God's disinterest in my desires, I must really have an inaccurate view of God. Like, you know how people tend to pray more when we're in trouble or when we have needs? Well, I think I've been viewing that as a serious fault, that I have to be at a level where I just converse with God all the time. It has been brought to my attention that God loves to help and doesn't look down on me when I ask for help. (James 1:5)
Then, I have realized that a discussion we had at our church small group awhile back affected me and how I perceived God's bothering about my life--or lack thereof. Well, someone in Brazil pointed out Psalm 37:23 in her version that says, "The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives."
Being on a YWAM base, around DTS students and around a church team really served to point out to me just how cynical I have become. I don't just "follow hard" after God anymore, uninhibited. I am guarded. I look at others and their expressions of worship and service with criticism. When I reflect on my own DTS nearly ten years ago, I tend to think of myself as so much more advanced and mature now. Less naive. But now I am thinking, what's wrong with a little innocence? What's wrong with a little recklessness? Sure I am still a quiet Canadian who really has no desire to run around shouting, "Gloria a Deus!" all the time and I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out for praying in my room for hours a day, but does that mean I should look at others who do this as folks somehow missing something that I have?! What?! What do I have? Well, I have the gift to be able to lead others in worship while not actually being able to worship God myself. How special is that?! Sounds kinda fake. Seriously, if people are acting out of love, then their actions must be good. I need to take a lesson about following hard after God. Again.
There was a song that I honestly and deeply sang nine years ago that wholly expressed how I felt about God. "You are my passion. Love of my life. Friend and companion, my lover. All of my being longs for your touch. With all my heart, I love you. Now will you draw me close to you? Gather me in your arms. Let me feel the beating of your heart. Oh my Jesus. Oh my Jesus." At some point, I decided the song was too sappy and I don't feel that it has been my song in a long time.
There was a man on the team who sincerely has had a real revelation of the Love of God. Every time he talks about God's love, he is overcome with emotion. And with this revelation he has, God has blessed him to be able to give love out in plenty. I was always hearing him tell the Brazilians, adults and children, that he loved them. With deep-felt sincerity. And his presence affected people too. They were blessed. This man began telling me repeatedly how much I was an inspiration and blessing to him and he would passionately pray for me. I received this, but it wasn't until I was home and talked with my friend about all this, that I realized how humbling that is. I have decided to let him inspire me. I know that I need this kind of powerful revelation that he has had about the love of God.
If I really understood the love of God, I would be filled with it and I would have more love to give. I would have no trouble telling the children from the shelter who so desperately deserve to hear it back that, "I love them too." I couldn't do it. I think that I have done so many trips and met so many people, that I have guarded my heart from allowing myself to give love. It is too hard to leave otherwise. But, if I really understood God's love, I would be filled with it, and I would trust that he would fill me back up after I passed on love to others who need love.
If I really understood God's love, I would rest in it. I would look at my present situation differently and would trust that God actually does have the best in mind for me. So yeah, this is where I am trying to get to. Now that I have realized I am not there at all.
O melhor de Deus ainda está por vir. Eu sei que chegará minha vez. Minha sorte Ele mudará. Eu creio.
Then, I have realized that a discussion we had at our church small group awhile back affected me and how I perceived God's bothering about my life--or lack thereof. Well, someone in Brazil pointed out Psalm 37:23 in her version that says, "The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives."
Being on a YWAM base, around DTS students and around a church team really served to point out to me just how cynical I have become. I don't just "follow hard" after God anymore, uninhibited. I am guarded. I look at others and their expressions of worship and service with criticism. When I reflect on my own DTS nearly ten years ago, I tend to think of myself as so much more advanced and mature now. Less naive. But now I am thinking, what's wrong with a little innocence? What's wrong with a little recklessness? Sure I am still a quiet Canadian who really has no desire to run around shouting, "Gloria a Deus!" all the time and I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out for praying in my room for hours a day, but does that mean I should look at others who do this as folks somehow missing something that I have?! What?! What do I have? Well, I have the gift to be able to lead others in worship while not actually being able to worship God myself. How special is that?! Sounds kinda fake. Seriously, if people are acting out of love, then their actions must be good. I need to take a lesson about following hard after God. Again.
There was a song that I honestly and deeply sang nine years ago that wholly expressed how I felt about God. "You are my passion. Love of my life. Friend and companion, my lover. All of my being longs for your touch. With all my heart, I love you. Now will you draw me close to you? Gather me in your arms. Let me feel the beating of your heart. Oh my Jesus. Oh my Jesus." At some point, I decided the song was too sappy and I don't feel that it has been my song in a long time.
There was a man on the team who sincerely has had a real revelation of the Love of God. Every time he talks about God's love, he is overcome with emotion. And with this revelation he has, God has blessed him to be able to give love out in plenty. I was always hearing him tell the Brazilians, adults and children, that he loved them. With deep-felt sincerity. And his presence affected people too. They were blessed. This man began telling me repeatedly how much I was an inspiration and blessing to him and he would passionately pray for me. I received this, but it wasn't until I was home and talked with my friend about all this, that I realized how humbling that is. I have decided to let him inspire me. I know that I need this kind of powerful revelation that he has had about the love of God.
If I really understood the love of God, I would be filled with it and I would have more love to give. I would have no trouble telling the children from the shelter who so desperately deserve to hear it back that, "I love them too." I couldn't do it. I think that I have done so many trips and met so many people, that I have guarded my heart from allowing myself to give love. It is too hard to leave otherwise. But, if I really understood God's love, I would be filled with it, and I would trust that he would fill me back up after I passed on love to others who need love.
If I really understood God's love, I would rest in it. I would look at my present situation differently and would trust that God actually does have the best in mind for me. So yeah, this is where I am trying to get to. Now that I have realized I am not there at all.
O melhor de Deus ainda está por vir. Eu sei que chegará minha vez. Minha sorte Ele mudará. Eu creio.
Faith...
So I've realized that my faith is a lot smaller than I thought. As I anticipated, my 17 days in Brazil this July were perfect in that they put me back in a place where I could hear lots from God. And speak and nudge he did.
I remember that at the new year, I didn't feel like looking back on 2007 with much happiness and sadly, I've felt the same way about 2008. It has been hard. And sad. And depressing. And I am so tired. So when my mom ended up in the hospital just before I was scheduled to go to Manaus (for my fourth time), I must admit that I felt a blow at the possibility of not being able to leave--I was so looking forward to a time of refreshing away and in a beautiful, familiar place. Thankfully, I was still able to go and have indeed returned somewhat refreshed. Not necessarily any happier and still tired, but with some things to mull over and with the knowledge that God is out there and is speaking to me.
So yeah, I have realized that I have no trouble believing in God for provision--I have seen it so many remarkable times. But I have discovered that my faith is small in believing that God wants to heal and wants to see people happy with their heart's desires fulfilled. I am NOT seeing these. In my own life and in the lives of those closest to me. And I'm not particularly happy with God about it.
After a week at the YWAM base outside of Manaus, our group took off on the YWAM boat for a 6-hour trip up river to visit 3 river communities. Sleeping on the boat in a hammock is something I really enjoy and getting away from the mosquitoes at the base was a nice change. In the days, as the boat was docked, the group would walk into the communities and visit families. The dentist on the team ended up pulling out many teeth and every day, I ended up going off in a motor boat with just a few others, doing my best as the translator. We would visit families who lived on their own tucked away up various tributaries. I must admit, taking a group who wanted to pray and read the Bible to people is something I have become unaccustomed to, since working mostly with young Canadians who are not necessarily Christians. But this team had an average age of 50 and they were all from an evangelical church. The suggestion to pray and share God's word with the families came from our Brazilian YWAM friends anyway, and the village people all knew them personally. We were not unwelcome whatsoever. I needed to swallow my young Canadian tendencies and get into it.
So there was one family of 6 or 7 who all lived in this one room and in the house, there lay an old man on his hammock. They told us, he hadn't been up or eaten for 14 days. He looked horrible. Skin and bones. Our YWAM friends offered our prayers and asked the man if he believed God could heal him. (Actually, I don't know if she said, "could" or "would".) And Francisco spoke out, clear as day, "Eu creio." (I believe.) In that moment, I was overcome with emotion. I felt compelled to lay my hand on him. I felt compelled to pray for his healing, although I had no words to say. I just stood there, crying and touching him while listening to Portuguese prayer. Then we left.
Later that evening, Newton, our boat captain came to me to tell me that Francisco was up out of his hammock, feeling better and eating. This was the third person that our group prayed healing for and then later heard (or even saw) an improvement. The next day, we went to take him some soup, but he and his family were already en route to Manaus to seek treatment now that he was well enough to make the long journey. I found out that Francisco's sickness was cirrhosis of the liver from drinking too much. This struck me even more: that this man could believe so strongly in God's ability and desire to heal him, even though it was his own shortcomings that caused his sickness. Oh yes, how small my faith is.
Through conversations with DTS students, through morning team times and Bible reading, through Brazilian church songs, through a sermon given by a team member and through stories like this, God has been nudging me (or maybe hitting me over the head) to press in and actually pray. To not give up. To consider the hard things joyous and a chance to grow my faith.
I spoke with my dad last night for over two hours. It was really nice. I told him some stories and some of this as well as talked to him about light-hearted things like native issues in Canada. :P I was impressed as he talked about his own struggles with everything, yet I could hear his strong faith in it all. And even a strong belief in a physical miracle. It is so good for me to be at this end. Far too many times do I feel like I am supposed to be the strong one, but here now is my dad demonstrating to me a strong, strong faith. And a strong endurance (he told me a difficult story from his life that I'd never heard before).
(I gave up being strong a couple months ago, by the way.)
I remember that at the new year, I didn't feel like looking back on 2007 with much happiness and sadly, I've felt the same way about 2008. It has been hard. And sad. And depressing. And I am so tired. So when my mom ended up in the hospital just before I was scheduled to go to Manaus (for my fourth time), I must admit that I felt a blow at the possibility of not being able to leave--I was so looking forward to a time of refreshing away and in a beautiful, familiar place. Thankfully, I was still able to go and have indeed returned somewhat refreshed. Not necessarily any happier and still tired, but with some things to mull over and with the knowledge that God is out there and is speaking to me.
So yeah, I have realized that I have no trouble believing in God for provision--I have seen it so many remarkable times. But I have discovered that my faith is small in believing that God wants to heal and wants to see people happy with their heart's desires fulfilled. I am NOT seeing these. In my own life and in the lives of those closest to me. And I'm not particularly happy with God about it.
After a week at the YWAM base outside of Manaus, our group took off on the YWAM boat for a 6-hour trip up river to visit 3 river communities. Sleeping on the boat in a hammock is something I really enjoy and getting away from the mosquitoes at the base was a nice change. In the days, as the boat was docked, the group would walk into the communities and visit families. The dentist on the team ended up pulling out many teeth and every day, I ended up going off in a motor boat with just a few others, doing my best as the translator. We would visit families who lived on their own tucked away up various tributaries. I must admit, taking a group who wanted to pray and read the Bible to people is something I have become unaccustomed to, since working mostly with young Canadians who are not necessarily Christians. But this team had an average age of 50 and they were all from an evangelical church. The suggestion to pray and share God's word with the families came from our Brazilian YWAM friends anyway, and the village people all knew them personally. We were not unwelcome whatsoever. I needed to swallow my young Canadian tendencies and get into it.
So there was one family of 6 or 7 who all lived in this one room and in the house, there lay an old man on his hammock. They told us, he hadn't been up or eaten for 14 days. He looked horrible. Skin and bones. Our YWAM friends offered our prayers and asked the man if he believed God could heal him. (Actually, I don't know if she said, "could" or "would".) And Francisco spoke out, clear as day, "Eu creio." (I believe.) In that moment, I was overcome with emotion. I felt compelled to lay my hand on him. I felt compelled to pray for his healing, although I had no words to say. I just stood there, crying and touching him while listening to Portuguese prayer. Then we left.
Later that evening, Newton, our boat captain came to me to tell me that Francisco was up out of his hammock, feeling better and eating. This was the third person that our group prayed healing for and then later heard (or even saw) an improvement. The next day, we went to take him some soup, but he and his family were already en route to Manaus to seek treatment now that he was well enough to make the long journey. I found out that Francisco's sickness was cirrhosis of the liver from drinking too much. This struck me even more: that this man could believe so strongly in God's ability and desire to heal him, even though it was his own shortcomings that caused his sickness. Oh yes, how small my faith is.
Through conversations with DTS students, through morning team times and Bible reading, through Brazilian church songs, through a sermon given by a team member and through stories like this, God has been nudging me (or maybe hitting me over the head) to press in and actually pray. To not give up. To consider the hard things joyous and a chance to grow my faith.
I spoke with my dad last night for over two hours. It was really nice. I told him some stories and some of this as well as talked to him about light-hearted things like native issues in Canada. :P I was impressed as he talked about his own struggles with everything, yet I could hear his strong faith in it all. And even a strong belief in a physical miracle. It is so good for me to be at this end. Far too many times do I feel like I am supposed to be the strong one, but here now is my dad demonstrating to me a strong, strong faith. And a strong endurance (he told me a difficult story from his life that I'd never heard before).
(I gave up being strong a couple months ago, by the way.)
Saturday, 12 July 2008
From one hot and sticky country to another
So, I'm off to Brazil for my fifth time tomorrow. Almost finished packing. Never before have I taken three times as much stuff for other people than what I am taking for myself! I hope it isn't over the weight limit.
Obviously I haven't blogged in ages. There has been a lot going on for me this year--pretty much all rather depressing. I am largely looking forward to this trip; even though it is technically work, getting away is just what I need. I look forward to times of refreshing, whilst sitting in my hammock on a boat in the middle of the Amazon.
Maybe I'll manage to take some pictures this time.
Obviously I haven't blogged in ages. There has been a lot going on for me this year--pretty much all rather depressing. I am largely looking forward to this trip; even though it is technically work, getting away is just what I need. I look forward to times of refreshing, whilst sitting in my hammock on a boat in the middle of the Amazon.
Maybe I'll manage to take some pictures this time.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Giving curling a whirl---ing.
This evening I tried out one of Canada's national sports (I'm assuming), curling. Maybe you've watched it on tv specifically for the Olympics. Or, if you're in Canada, maybe you've noticed Curling Clubs around towns. Interestingly, I can distinctly recall two occasions where a Curling Club was used as a venue for an event I attended. One was MxPx's first Eastern Canadian concert in Collingwood in 1996 (that we hosted!) and the other was a YWAM conference in Ottawa where we were fed at a Curling Club. But maybe like me, you still really had no idea what it's all about. I've tried to figure it out by watching it and I remember my friend's mom trying to explain it to me when I was about 14, but I have always found myself confused by it. Hearing certain curling lingo like "skip", "rock", "go hard, hard!" and seeing these people sweeping like maniacs on ice!
A couple weeks ago, I got an email in my Laurier account from the school inviting students to come out and learn how to curl for $10. What caught my eye, was this tag: "Think curling is boring? Consider this: curling is now considered "winter's golf" and many companies host curling bonspiels for their employees. Come out and learn how to play this sport that is quickly gaining popularity in the professional world."
I decided to go for it and it was a lot of fun! Now I know even more lingo: "double take out", "hog line", "sheet", "burning the rock", "hack", "blank end", the list goes on! It's like another language!
I think I'd like to do it again! Now if it's really like golf, one should be able to rent equipment and go to the Club. Hmm...We'll see. At least I know how to watch the sport and stuff. I certainly need more practice.
Isn't it interesting how both curling and golf have origins in Scotland? I have origins in Scotland.
Anyway, if anyone wants more info on this interesting game, here's some links:
Canadian Curling Association
Curling Basics
A couple weeks ago, I got an email in my Laurier account from the school inviting students to come out and learn how to curl for $10. What caught my eye, was this tag: "Think curling is boring? Consider this: curling is now considered "winter's golf" and many companies host curling bonspiels for their employees. Come out and learn how to play this sport that is quickly gaining popularity in the professional world."
I decided to go for it and it was a lot of fun! Now I know even more lingo: "double take out", "hog line", "sheet", "burning the rock", "hack", "blank end", the list goes on! It's like another language!
I think I'd like to do it again! Now if it's really like golf, one should be able to rent equipment and go to the Club. Hmm...We'll see. At least I know how to watch the sport and stuff. I certainly need more practice.
Isn't it interesting how both curling and golf have origins in Scotland? I have origins in Scotland.
Anyway, if anyone wants more info on this interesting game, here's some links:
Canadian Curling Association
Curling Basics
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #12: In Conclusion.
What a whirlwind! I am certainly proud to say that we traveled over 3000 km (actually I don't even remember what the number was now and that number seems low seeing as how I drive 4000 km every year going to New Orleans) and got to drive through five countries! What North American gets to do that?! And it was very affordable. Getting to see friends who I hadn't seen in a long time, was wonderful. Perhaps too short. The girls I have lived with and met over the years through YWAM are people who will always be close to my heart and even though it had been so long, we were able to pick right back up and it was sad to leave so soon.
The way that our accommodations worked out and the fact that we got to leave those types of things until the last minute and they still worked out without stress, was so fun! Exactly how I liked it to be. Being able to make decisions about where to go and where to drive through next was our perfect way to explore Europe. For this time.
It certainly was a trip with its share of exhaustion and that was why spending those final days relaxing in rainy Liverpool was the perfect finish.
I probably wish that I had more time to take in more of certain places, such as the Louvre and other artsy things. Maybe a little less time shopping; but we had fun and it was a great bonding time for the four of us.
Italy was my favourite country out of the list although Italian bread was the worst! Overall food (if you couldn't tell) was a highlight. The cost of Europe definitely is alarming for a Canadian although the way we did transportation worked out well and none of us were particularly wanting to do the backpack thing this time around. As always happens in my travels, I am inspired to return to places and explore further. We'll see.
(Yay! This post-trip reflection is officially finished.)
The way that our accommodations worked out and the fact that we got to leave those types of things until the last minute and they still worked out without stress, was so fun! Exactly how I liked it to be. Being able to make decisions about where to go and where to drive through next was our perfect way to explore Europe. For this time.
It certainly was a trip with its share of exhaustion and that was why spending those final days relaxing in rainy Liverpool was the perfect finish.
I probably wish that I had more time to take in more of certain places, such as the Louvre and other artsy things. Maybe a little less time shopping; but we had fun and it was a great bonding time for the four of us.
Italy was my favourite country out of the list although Italian bread was the worst! Overall food (if you couldn't tell) was a highlight. The cost of Europe definitely is alarming for a Canadian although the way we did transportation worked out well and none of us were particularly wanting to do the backpack thing this time around. As always happens in my travels, I am inspired to return to places and explore further. We'll see.
(Yay! This post-trip reflection is officially finished.)
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #11: Flying and Fish & Chips.
18 July
One final drive in our VW van from Versailles to Charles de Gaulle airport. Catching a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower one final time through the morning mist was nice and video taping the motorcyclists who would drive on either side of us BETWEEN the lanes was a wonderful way to end our time in France.
Got ourselves to the airport and then decided to drive back to a gas station since the rental company would penalize us if the tank wasn't full.
Many hours later, the four us were reunited in Brighton, England. Coming from different terminals in Paris, different airports in London and different trains and buses, we still somehow managed to arrive to Sharon's granny's in two different cabs driving behind one another! Bizarre!
Spent an evening together, enjoying fish and chips at the Brighton Pier. Here are the others in their Italian leather jackets at the pier. We were very thankful at this point for warm and weather resistant clothing.
Being in England again was really nice. I hadn't been there since the week I spent in Derby and Liverpool en route to Canada from India in December 2000. After living in England for nine months in 1998 and 1999, I am certainly critical of many things in England (ahem. the weather), but having any chance to visit people who mean a lot to me is largely embraced! And the opportunity to feel at home in another country and to look fondly on things that are uniquely English is a great privilege.
19 July
After one night in Brighton, we said goodbye to the ladies who were heading off to do the tourist thing in London (been there, done that) and headed for the airport again! Flying again. This time to Manchester. Being met by Sharon's parents was nice and for the four days, we were finally able to rest from our holiday! :) Being taken care of by mum was awesome and enjoying family meals and seeing old friends...that was a holiday!
One final drive in our VW van from Versailles to Charles de Gaulle airport. Catching a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower one final time through the morning mist was nice and video taping the motorcyclists who would drive on either side of us BETWEEN the lanes was a wonderful way to end our time in France.
Got ourselves to the airport and then decided to drive back to a gas station since the rental company would penalize us if the tank wasn't full.
Many hours later, the four us were reunited in Brighton, England. Coming from different terminals in Paris, different airports in London and different trains and buses, we still somehow managed to arrive to Sharon's granny's in two different cabs driving behind one another! Bizarre!
Spent an evening together, enjoying fish and chips at the Brighton Pier. Here are the others in their Italian leather jackets at the pier. We were very thankful at this point for warm and weather resistant clothing.
Being in England again was really nice. I hadn't been there since the week I spent in Derby and Liverpool en route to Canada from India in December 2000. After living in England for nine months in 1998 and 1999, I am certainly critical of many things in England (ahem. the weather), but having any chance to visit people who mean a lot to me is largely embraced! And the opportunity to feel at home in another country and to look fondly on things that are uniquely English is a great privilege.
19 July
After one night in Brighton, we said goodbye to the ladies who were heading off to do the tourist thing in London (been there, done that) and headed for the airport again! Flying again. This time to Manchester. Being met by Sharon's parents was nice and for the four days, we were finally able to rest from our holiday! :) Being taken care of by mum was awesome and enjoying family meals and seeing old friends...that was a holiday!
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #10: Last Night in Continental Europe.
17 July
After our wine tasting and spitting, we were back in the van headed for Versailles. In my books, no one can visit France without a stop at Louis XIV lavish estate. As was becoming our tried and true method, we had no place arranged to stay yet, but figured we'd figure it out when we got there!
What a place! The town was completely overrun with tourists and parking was nearly impossible. We had read that to go later would give us a cheaper entry fee to the main buildings and we knew that July was quite a peak time for tourists, BUT we didn't know that many buildings were under renovations. And even at 5 p.m. the entry line was hours long. Disappointing surely, but not worth it as far as we could see. So we just wandered the grounds.
Entertained ourselves. 
Peered in windows. Speculated about those who once lived in the extravagance.
Someone had put a flyer under our wipers for a hotel that seemed like an amazing deal and we went as far as to drive out to it. It was outside of Versailles and well, not exactly what we had hoped for. So we pulled out Rick Steves' book again and made some calls from a payphone. Fortunately there was another quad room available for us in what was apparently the livery and stables of the king once upon a time. Now it is Le Cheval Rouge Hotel. Driving back into Versailles took some doing with one-way streets and traffic, but we made it and settled into our new little room.
Consulting our new favourite and dependable book, we selected a couple of dinner options. In the end, we chose a wonderful crepe place, Brittany-themed which meant it served ciders in very cool mugs. The tables were actually right on the walkway/street. A most excellent final meal in France.
After our wine tasting and spitting, we were back in the van headed for Versailles. In my books, no one can visit France without a stop at Louis XIV lavish estate. As was becoming our tried and true method, we had no place arranged to stay yet, but figured we'd figure it out when we got there!
What a place! The town was completely overrun with tourists and parking was nearly impossible. We had read that to go later would give us a cheaper entry fee to the main buildings and we knew that July was quite a peak time for tourists, BUT we didn't know that many buildings were under renovations. And even at 5 p.m. the entry line was hours long. Disappointing surely, but not worth it as far as we could see. So we just wandered the grounds.
Entertained ourselves. 
Peered in windows. Speculated about those who once lived in the extravagance.Someone had put a flyer under our wipers for a hotel that seemed like an amazing deal and we went as far as to drive out to it. It was outside of Versailles and well, not exactly what we had hoped for. So we pulled out Rick Steves' book again and made some calls from a payphone. Fortunately there was another quad room available for us in what was apparently the livery and stables of the king once upon a time. Now it is Le Cheval Rouge Hotel. Driving back into Versailles took some doing with one-way streets and traffic, but we made it and settled into our new little room.
Consulting our new favourite and dependable book, we selected a couple of dinner options. In the end, we chose a wonderful crepe place, Brittany-themed which meant it served ciders in very cool mugs. The tables were actually right on the walkway/street. A most excellent final meal in France.
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #9: Beaune, Bourgogne--Pronounce That!
16 July
There really wasn't a lot of time to take in the sights of Villefranche-sur-Mer, so I had to get up early to at least try and dip my toes in the Mediterranean. It was nice to be back in France and to take pleasure in visiting the Boulangeries to buy le petit déjeuner. Last week I visited Richtree in Square One Mall (formerly known as Marché's Mövenpick) with the same three ladies and we all admitted that we were too timid to try their chocolate croissants for fear of disappointment after our French experiences.
I walked back to the hotel room with my purchases of bread, camembert and fruit to share with the others and then took back off to figure out just how to get down to the shore.
This proved to be more difficult then I first realized, but I enjoyed my walk and attempt at artistic photography.
And I did dip my toes into the cold sea, which also proved somewhat difficult because it ended up being a harbour with no real shore. 
I did my best to take it all in but really had to rush back to the hotel to make sure I got my money's worth of time in the swimming pool! Brrr. Too cold for my liking.
And that was the end of our French Riviera holiday. We were off!
Next stop was the small town of Beaune in the Burgundy region of France. Encircled by an interesting ring road, the old buildings, wine cellars and one way cobblestone streets made Beaune a lovely and quaint stay for us. We were once again fortunate to find a little hotel with a quad room at the last minute. This one had two levels!
We didn't get the impression that our host liked us much when one of us accidentally knocked over a flower vase, when we declined the breakfast and when we couldn't get our MAC laptop to connect to her WiFi.
Strolling around Beaune of our own accord found us a pharmacy where we were able to replenish our Avene skin care products supply for considerably cheaper than in Canada and found us our favourite French dinner of the trip. With menus only in French, we did well to come away with wonderfully satisfying diverse meals. Here is the beauty that was my dessert.
17 July
As odd as it was, we had to make the decision to taste wine in the morning, since we had arrived too late the day previous. We visited the famed Marché aux Vins, many wine cellars connected to and under a church where Franciscan monks made much wine. We chose this wine cellar because it was the largest and we got to taste 15 wines! Being the driver, I definitely made use of the spittoons! Actually, we found that none of us really liked many of the wines and we all were using the spittoons. It wasn't until the end when we spoke with a sommelier, that we learned that Burgundy wines are known to be dry; and none of us are particular fans of dry wines! Ahh well, it was fun and I bought a bottle anyway. It's still in my cupboard.
There really wasn't a lot of time to take in the sights of Villefranche-sur-Mer, so I had to get up early to at least try and dip my toes in the Mediterranean. It was nice to be back in France and to take pleasure in visiting the Boulangeries to buy le petit déjeuner. Last week I visited Richtree in Square One Mall (formerly known as Marché's Mövenpick) with the same three ladies and we all admitted that we were too timid to try their chocolate croissants for fear of disappointment after our French experiences.
I walked back to the hotel room with my purchases of bread, camembert and fruit to share with the others and then took back off to figure out just how to get down to the shore.
This proved to be more difficult then I first realized, but I enjoyed my walk and attempt at artistic photography.
And I did dip my toes into the cold sea, which also proved somewhat difficult because it ended up being a harbour with no real shore. 
I did my best to take it all in but really had to rush back to the hotel to make sure I got my money's worth of time in the swimming pool! Brrr. Too cold for my liking.
And that was the end of our French Riviera holiday. We were off!
Next stop was the small town of Beaune in the Burgundy region of France. Encircled by an interesting ring road, the old buildings, wine cellars and one way cobblestone streets made Beaune a lovely and quaint stay for us. We were once again fortunate to find a little hotel with a quad room at the last minute. This one had two levels!
We didn't get the impression that our host liked us much when one of us accidentally knocked over a flower vase, when we declined the breakfast and when we couldn't get our MAC laptop to connect to her WiFi.Strolling around Beaune of our own accord found us a pharmacy where we were able to replenish our Avene skin care products supply for considerably cheaper than in Canada and found us our favourite French dinner of the trip. With menus only in French, we did well to come away with wonderfully satisfying diverse meals. Here is the beauty that was my dessert.
17 July
As odd as it was, we had to make the decision to taste wine in the morning, since we had arrived too late the day previous. We visited the famed Marché aux Vins, many wine cellars connected to and under a church where Franciscan monks made much wine. We chose this wine cellar because it was the largest and we got to taste 15 wines! Being the driver, I definitely made use of the spittoons! Actually, we found that none of us really liked many of the wines and we all were using the spittoons. It wasn't until the end when we spoke with a sommelier, that we learned that Burgundy wines are known to be dry; and none of us are particular fans of dry wines! Ahh well, it was fun and I bought a bottle anyway. It's still in my cupboard.
"Striving for Excellence"...?
...an idea often preached to those involved with church. As a worship leader at mine, it is something that I hear from time to time after other worship leaders come back from visiting some other big church or from one of those many annual worship conferences. I was recently pleased to receive a link to this article on the topic from our pastor.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #8: Three Countries, One Day.
15 July
On the road again. Deduced our way out of Florence--loving those roundabouts of countless lanes that are not treated as lanes. We headed for Pisa, really only to see the tower of course.
Driving around Pisa, we couldn't seem to find the tower nor signs for it, so we pulled over and asked two obvious backpackers whose reply caused us to blush: "Um...it's right there." We followed their pointing and yes, there it was.
Found a place to park, walked to the tower. Took pictures.
Bought some souvenirs. Tried to get some food without cash and therefore, without success. Drove away from Pisa. Stopped at a restaurant. Decided not to eat there, but bought some more grappa.
Driving along from Pisa back towards France was gorgeous. Very high and somewhat scary highways with amazing views. But I hit a point where I couldn't drive anymore and finally took a turn to nap in the backseat.
Stopped for some service station food and then I was back at the wheel headed for the border. As we neared the end of Italy we sensed our need to arrange some place to stay that night. Turning back to Judy's Rick Steves' so far reliable accommodation recommendations, we selected a couple places along the Côte d'Azur to call. All gathered around a payphone, we were able to make arrangements at a hotel in this Riviera region of France.
But before we would get to France, we had the privilege of going through Monaco too!
There was time, so we decided to go on down into Monte Carlo for dinner. Here we are trying to look cool overlooking the boats. High society.
Had some ok crepes, laughed with our waiter as multi-lingualism seemed a necessity in this place.
Then back onward and upward to Villefranche-sur-Mer and to our quad room at Hôtel La Flore that proved to be perfect, although lugging our bags up stairs was really getting old by now. Here's the view from our ceiling window:
Finally we reached our beach holiday. Although we'd have to wait until morning to enjoy the pool and the seaside. We had to take advantage of our very French looking hotel desk guy's computer and printer while we figured out where we wanted to drive over the next couple days. We consulted Rick Steves' again and chose a small town in Burgundy with wine cellars for our next stop and were able to book a room there. After our first France driving experience, we learned that national mapquest-style directions were the best method and so we printed off a French online direction giver with the hotel guy's help. While we were at it, we figured we should get directions printed off for the final leg of the trip too. As prepared as we could be and having driven through as many countries as we possibly could have that day, we went to bed.
On the road again. Deduced our way out of Florence--loving those roundabouts of countless lanes that are not treated as lanes. We headed for Pisa, really only to see the tower of course.
Driving around Pisa, we couldn't seem to find the tower nor signs for it, so we pulled over and asked two obvious backpackers whose reply caused us to blush: "Um...it's right there." We followed their pointing and yes, there it was.
Found a place to park, walked to the tower. Took pictures.
Bought some souvenirs. Tried to get some food without cash and therefore, without success. Drove away from Pisa. Stopped at a restaurant. Decided not to eat there, but bought some more grappa.
Driving along from Pisa back towards France was gorgeous. Very high and somewhat scary highways with amazing views. But I hit a point where I couldn't drive anymore and finally took a turn to nap in the backseat.
Stopped for some service station food and then I was back at the wheel headed for the border. As we neared the end of Italy we sensed our need to arrange some place to stay that night. Turning back to Judy's Rick Steves' so far reliable accommodation recommendations, we selected a couple places along the Côte d'Azur to call. All gathered around a payphone, we were able to make arrangements at a hotel in this Riviera region of France.
But before we would get to France, we had the privilege of going through Monaco too!
There was time, so we decided to go on down into Monte Carlo for dinner. Here we are trying to look cool overlooking the boats. High society.
Had some ok crepes, laughed with our waiter as multi-lingualism seemed a necessity in this place.
Then back onward and upward to Villefranche-sur-Mer and to our quad room at Hôtel La Flore that proved to be perfect, although lugging our bags up stairs was really getting old by now. Here's the view from our ceiling window:
Finally we reached our beach holiday. Although we'd have to wait until morning to enjoy the pool and the seaside. We had to take advantage of our very French looking hotel desk guy's computer and printer while we figured out where we wanted to drive over the next couple days. We consulted Rick Steves' again and chose a small town in Burgundy with wine cellars for our next stop and were able to book a room there. After our first France driving experience, we learned that national mapquest-style directions were the best method and so we printed off a French online direction giver with the hotel guy's help. While we were at it, we figured we should get directions printed off for the final leg of the trip too. As prepared as we could be and having driven through as many countries as we possibly could have that day, we went to bed.
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #7: La Renaissance.
13 July
A good night's sleep was had after our exhausting Venice tour and we were back in our favourite VW Touran. Driving in Italy seemed so much simpler than in France with clear signs and excellent expressways. In-city was another story, although I hadn't really driven in any French cities at this point.
Once again, we had another B & B booked (a couple days prior only) and directions printed out from their website. And once again, as we entered the city, the printed directions seemed to make less sense. By this point, we had learned to just go with a bit of gut instinct. One tricky thing about driving into Florence, is that certain historical areas require a permit to drive in otherwise one faces a steep fine! Well, we got off track with our directions and found ourselves heading past the train station where the roads turned to cobblestone. Were we in one of these sacred areas?! If not, we were certainly close, as best as we could figure. Almost turned around on a one way street (oops), but finally did get back on track and found Via Bolognese--after learning that driving around round abouts in Florence was a kind of free-for-all. Still we could not find Villa La Sosta and it was somewhat of a busy and narrow road.
Maybe you can sense something terrible about to happen since I am giving such detail to the driving. I think I was beginning to feel frazzled and when we finally found the right place, I had to turn around what was feeling like a large vehicle in the middle of this road and then maneuver my way through the iron gate entrance. I was just getting it all in order (while still feeling frazzled about cars coming behind at high speeds) when I realized the driveway had a big dip and I was just about to severely scrape the bottom of the van if I didn't take it slower! Phew. Close call. Or so I thought. In my attention to the speed and the dip and then incline of the driveway, I undershot my right turn and here's what happened when a Touran met an iron gate:
Sigh. There had to be something, right? That evening and for months later (up until about November) I found myself on the phone with the rental car company, my credit card insurance company and the travel agency with which we booked the vehicle. Fortunately, it wasn't anything more serious. It was really just a pain. Not to mention the embarrassment I felt as our new charismatic Italian host looked on, shaking his head. Apparently it had happened before and he predicted it happening again. I was spent!
This guy actually turned out to be very cool. He had an amazing place to stay and had lots of connections in the city. We ended up taking his advice twice on dinner. The first night was a quaint little place within walking distance with a young, caring chef at its helm. There I enjoyed my first ratatouille and more fish. That evening we also partook in grocery shopping, paying special attention to buying Chianti wines and Italian grappas after our host shared one vintage sip of his own.
14 July
This was the day to explore Florence, the city famous for its part in Renaissance thought and art. Very cool for me, who would start a Western History course in September. We had lined up for ourselves a day of shopping and exploration, with a viewing of the Statue of David in the midst. We had already shared a number of laughs about a phenomenon noticed of tourists who swoon and faint over such pieces of art and wondered how we would handle it. Ha ha. Our taxi driver ended up taking us to the most expensive shopping area of the city for some reason (did we really look that part?), so we walked from there. It all turned into another day of two pairs wandering around, going in different shops and checking out a cathedral! Here we are at Duomo, which was very beautifully painted.
We all reconvened to take our reservation for seeing David, but in the meantime, Sharon and I had met a convincing man in a leather shop who said that it wasn't worth the Euros and with the amount we'd be spending so far, we took his advice and just waited outside for the others.
This same leather shop man became a convincing one for all of us, but more specifically in his line of business. Sharon was displaying to the others the jacket she had just purchased when they noticed a snag in the leather, so after David, we all four went with her back to the shop. Bad move. Or not? While Sharon's jacket was being repaired, Judy and Patti started looking around, intrigued by his wares. The whole forty-five minutes that Sharon had previously deliberated over buying her jacket, I kept myself away from trying any on myself. But for some reason on this return, I picked one up and put it on and....sigh. I was hot!
We must have spent another forty-five minutes in there deciding if the three of us should join Sharon in her fantastic purchase. After all, they were cutting us such fantastic deals! Patti made a pretty quick decision on a funky coloured suede jacket, so now it was over to Judy and I to decide. Hum haw. Hum haw. Yes, we did all four walk away with leather jackets that day. And to this day, no regrets. Never before had I ever thought of owning a leather jacket, but it has become such a great staple. It certainly came in handy back in England at the end of this trip.
After this, we were headed for a far off restaurant that our host had arranged for us. All we knew about it was that it is amazing and that we could pay 30 Euros and have a traditional Italian-style meal with many courses made especially for us. Our walk to the restaurant became an obstacle to overcome, although with its own share of comedy; particularly Judy carrying Patti's bag of purchases like Santa's sack over her shoulder. We could have taken a cab, but had resolved to hang in there, even though by the end we were parched! (I'm certain the waiter found us odd to chug down the water so quickly, yet to hesitate at him bringing us more because we were scared of the cost!)
This trek turned out to be highly worth it as this trattoria tucked away on a hidden side street ended up serving our favourite meal of the whole trip! We were completely unprepared for the amount of food and in our hunger, scarfed down lots of the antipasta and bread. Then there was the pasta and finally, the meats for which we had little room! The best wine we had (which was their house wine) as well and a taste of panna cotta to finish off sweetly. All this included (as was the water)!
Definitely took a taxi back to the Villa.
A good night's sleep was had after our exhausting Venice tour and we were back in our favourite VW Touran. Driving in Italy seemed so much simpler than in France with clear signs and excellent expressways. In-city was another story, although I hadn't really driven in any French cities at this point.
Once again, we had another B & B booked (a couple days prior only) and directions printed out from their website. And once again, as we entered the city, the printed directions seemed to make less sense. By this point, we had learned to just go with a bit of gut instinct. One tricky thing about driving into Florence, is that certain historical areas require a permit to drive in otherwise one faces a steep fine! Well, we got off track with our directions and found ourselves heading past the train station where the roads turned to cobblestone. Were we in one of these sacred areas?! If not, we were certainly close, as best as we could figure. Almost turned around on a one way street (oops), but finally did get back on track and found Via Bolognese--after learning that driving around round abouts in Florence was a kind of free-for-all. Still we could not find Villa La Sosta and it was somewhat of a busy and narrow road.
Maybe you can sense something terrible about to happen since I am giving such detail to the driving. I think I was beginning to feel frazzled and when we finally found the right place, I had to turn around what was feeling like a large vehicle in the middle of this road and then maneuver my way through the iron gate entrance. I was just getting it all in order (while still feeling frazzled about cars coming behind at high speeds) when I realized the driveway had a big dip and I was just about to severely scrape the bottom of the van if I didn't take it slower! Phew. Close call. Or so I thought. In my attention to the speed and the dip and then incline of the driveway, I undershot my right turn and here's what happened when a Touran met an iron gate:
Sigh. There had to be something, right? That evening and for months later (up until about November) I found myself on the phone with the rental car company, my credit card insurance company and the travel agency with which we booked the vehicle. Fortunately, it wasn't anything more serious. It was really just a pain. Not to mention the embarrassment I felt as our new charismatic Italian host looked on, shaking his head. Apparently it had happened before and he predicted it happening again. I was spent!
This guy actually turned out to be very cool. He had an amazing place to stay and had lots of connections in the city. We ended up taking his advice twice on dinner. The first night was a quaint little place within walking distance with a young, caring chef at its helm. There I enjoyed my first ratatouille and more fish. That evening we also partook in grocery shopping, paying special attention to buying Chianti wines and Italian grappas after our host shared one vintage sip of his own.
14 July
This was the day to explore Florence, the city famous for its part in Renaissance thought and art. Very cool for me, who would start a Western History course in September. We had lined up for ourselves a day of shopping and exploration, with a viewing of the Statue of David in the midst. We had already shared a number of laughs about a phenomenon noticed of tourists who swoon and faint over such pieces of art and wondered how we would handle it. Ha ha. Our taxi driver ended up taking us to the most expensive shopping area of the city for some reason (did we really look that part?), so we walked from there. It all turned into another day of two pairs wandering around, going in different shops and checking out a cathedral! Here we are at Duomo, which was very beautifully painted.
We all reconvened to take our reservation for seeing David, but in the meantime, Sharon and I had met a convincing man in a leather shop who said that it wasn't worth the Euros and with the amount we'd be spending so far, we took his advice and just waited outside for the others.
This same leather shop man became a convincing one for all of us, but more specifically in his line of business. Sharon was displaying to the others the jacket she had just purchased when they noticed a snag in the leather, so after David, we all four went with her back to the shop. Bad move. Or not? While Sharon's jacket was being repaired, Judy and Patti started looking around, intrigued by his wares. The whole forty-five minutes that Sharon had previously deliberated over buying her jacket, I kept myself away from trying any on myself. But for some reason on this return, I picked one up and put it on and....sigh. I was hot!
We must have spent another forty-five minutes in there deciding if the three of us should join Sharon in her fantastic purchase. After all, they were cutting us such fantastic deals! Patti made a pretty quick decision on a funky coloured suede jacket, so now it was over to Judy and I to decide. Hum haw. Hum haw. Yes, we did all four walk away with leather jackets that day. And to this day, no regrets. Never before had I ever thought of owning a leather jacket, but it has become such a great staple. It certainly came in handy back in England at the end of this trip.
After this, we were headed for a far off restaurant that our host had arranged for us. All we knew about it was that it is amazing and that we could pay 30 Euros and have a traditional Italian-style meal with many courses made especially for us. Our walk to the restaurant became an obstacle to overcome, although with its own share of comedy; particularly Judy carrying Patti's bag of purchases like Santa's sack over her shoulder. We could have taken a cab, but had resolved to hang in there, even though by the end we were parched! (I'm certain the waiter found us odd to chug down the water so quickly, yet to hesitate at him bringing us more because we were scared of the cost!)
This trek turned out to be highly worth it as this trattoria tucked away on a hidden side street ended up serving our favourite meal of the whole trip! We were completely unprepared for the amount of food and in our hunger, scarfed down lots of the antipasta and bread. Then there was the pasta and finally, the meats for which we had little room! The best wine we had (which was their house wine) as well and a taste of panna cotta to finish off sweetly. All this included (as was the water)!
Definitely took a taxi back to the Villa.
Post-Europe Trip Reflection #6: Venice--What a Let-Down!
12 July
So, bearing in mind that I am now reflecting on this trip six months later, here I am back at the blog!
Our host at the agriturismo place outside of Verona was great in letting us use her computer, her laundry machines, her phone (all for a cost of course) to help us figure out where to go next! That's right: after Verona, we had no place lined up to sleep! So after one more lovely breakfast outside overlooking the olive groves, we were packed up, back on the road and headed for Venice.
We found a Bed and Breakfast in the nearby town of Mira which was nice enough. Here I am out our balcony/roof thing.
The owner was a lovely gentleman, whose French was better than his English, so it was time to start practicing again. While we were settling in, a Canadian couple (from Montreal) pulled up and we starting swapping Europe driving stories with them. They were shocked that we had survived without any GPS! They had paid the extra to get a GPS with their rental car and we shared a laugh over their naming her Linda and the option they were given to choose "Canadian French" as a language! Then we were off to catch the bus to Venice!
Even though Judy's guidebook highly recommended tourists to intentionally lose themselves down the side streets of Venice, we felt time-pressured and stuck to following the signs we would see periodically on the sides of buildings for "Piazza San Marco", which we knew was the place to get to. What we didn't realize until later was that these signs were not necessarily directing tourists to the famous square the quickest way. Instead, it seemed that the signs were leading us past all of the tacky tourist shops. Well, they weren't actually tacky, since they were selling lovely wares of glass and jewelry, but we did have a couple of bad experiences in shoe shops (some shoe man was uncalled-for-edly rude to us, presuming that we weren't serious buyers, while Sharon and I had it on our agenda to buy shoes in Italy (who wouldn't, right?). Then there were odd candy shops like this:
As we were finding to be necessary with our different shopping expectations, the four of us split up yet again. This proved to be a little tricky and we lost each other in the twisting streets a couple of times!
Not a great feeling, since we didn't have any cell phones or concrete back up plans! Fortunately we found each other in a massively crowded area that we first thought to be the sought-after Piazza! But as we walked on, freshly reunited, we realized that we still weren't at Saint Mark's! Grrrr. Everyone was starting to feel pretty delirious by now. Definitely exhausted and claustrophobic. Too much wandering around aimlessly and shopping, always shopping. Sigh.
And then finally we felt it. The rush of air. The open skies. We heard it. The flapping pigeon wings. The buzz of thousands of people. And then, we saw it for ourselves and I felt FREE! (Here I am feeling free:)
The ladies were getting a kick out of buying knock-off designer items from street vendors (who all seemed to be from West Africa!?) and I was just taking in the interesting sights.
We investigated taking a gondola, or at least a public transit boat, but saw that even those were too pricey and we weren't actually as far from where we started as we thought. So we decided to find somewhere to eat nearby and then walk back again! It wasn't the most exciting or memorable meal, but true to Beth-form, I tried to take the most exotic item on the "menu turistico/prezzo fisso/prix fixed" and I think it was some kind of fish, which seemed the way to go while in Venice. It took awhile to get a seat and then our waiter didn't seemed too thrilled to be working.
Our walk back to the bus was probably the most interesting time since it was the road somewhat less travelled in Venice and we saw people chilling at relaxing restaurants and cafes. We were wishing that we had of held out for a such a place to revel in what is supposed to be a romantic city, fully aware of the serene lights reflecting on the waterways and couples sipping wines on patios. I imagine that my companions were missing their husbands in that moment. Yet we all were feeling pretty disappointed and exhausted with Venice at this point, and anxiety to catch the bus before it got any later and any darker took us over.
So, bearing in mind that I am now reflecting on this trip six months later, here I am back at the blog!
Our host at the agriturismo place outside of Verona was great in letting us use her computer, her laundry machines, her phone (all for a cost of course) to help us figure out where to go next! That's right: after Verona, we had no place lined up to sleep! So after one more lovely breakfast outside overlooking the olive groves, we were packed up, back on the road and headed for Venice.
We found a Bed and Breakfast in the nearby town of Mira which was nice enough. Here I am out our balcony/roof thing.
The owner was a lovely gentleman, whose French was better than his English, so it was time to start practicing again. While we were settling in, a Canadian couple (from Montreal) pulled up and we starting swapping Europe driving stories with them. They were shocked that we had survived without any GPS! They had paid the extra to get a GPS with their rental car and we shared a laugh over their naming her Linda and the option they were given to choose "Canadian French" as a language! Then we were off to catch the bus to Venice!
Even though Judy's guidebook highly recommended tourists to intentionally lose themselves down the side streets of Venice, we felt time-pressured and stuck to following the signs we would see periodically on the sides of buildings for "Piazza San Marco", which we knew was the place to get to. What we didn't realize until later was that these signs were not necessarily directing tourists to the famous square the quickest way. Instead, it seemed that the signs were leading us past all of the tacky tourist shops. Well, they weren't actually tacky, since they were selling lovely wares of glass and jewelry, but we did have a couple of bad experiences in shoe shops (some shoe man was uncalled-for-edly rude to us, presuming that we weren't serious buyers, while Sharon and I had it on our agenda to buy shoes in Italy (who wouldn't, right?). Then there were odd candy shops like this:
As we were finding to be necessary with our different shopping expectations, the four of us split up yet again. This proved to be a little tricky and we lost each other in the twisting streets a couple of times!
Not a great feeling, since we didn't have any cell phones or concrete back up plans! Fortunately we found each other in a massively crowded area that we first thought to be the sought-after Piazza! But as we walked on, freshly reunited, we realized that we still weren't at Saint Mark's! Grrrr. Everyone was starting to feel pretty delirious by now. Definitely exhausted and claustrophobic. Too much wandering around aimlessly and shopping, always shopping. Sigh.And then finally we felt it. The rush of air. The open skies. We heard it. The flapping pigeon wings. The buzz of thousands of people. And then, we saw it for ourselves and I felt FREE! (Here I am feeling free:)
The ladies were getting a kick out of buying knock-off designer items from street vendors (who all seemed to be from West Africa!?) and I was just taking in the interesting sights.
We investigated taking a gondola, or at least a public transit boat, but saw that even those were too pricey and we weren't actually as far from where we started as we thought. So we decided to find somewhere to eat nearby and then walk back again! It wasn't the most exciting or memorable meal, but true to Beth-form, I tried to take the most exotic item on the "menu turistico/prezzo fisso/prix fixed" and I think it was some kind of fish, which seemed the way to go while in Venice. It took awhile to get a seat and then our waiter didn't seemed too thrilled to be working.
Our walk back to the bus was probably the most interesting time since it was the road somewhat less travelled in Venice and we saw people chilling at relaxing restaurants and cafes. We were wishing that we had of held out for a such a place to revel in what is supposed to be a romantic city, fully aware of the serene lights reflecting on the waterways and couples sipping wines on patios. I imagine that my companions were missing their husbands in that moment. Yet we all were feeling pretty disappointed and exhausted with Venice at this point, and anxiety to catch the bus before it got any later and any darker took us over.
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