More about books

I got a book in the mail!

And now I get to read it and blog about it! Never done a book review before, so it's a neat idea for me. The author is Andrew Peterson who I know first as a musician. In fact, I have a sticker in my room (stuck to a container of files) that says "Andrew Peterson is my friend" that he gave to me after a private concert I had the privilege of experiencing. I don't even remember what year it was, but it was before his album Love and Thunder came out because I remember him introducing the song "Tools" and talking about his grandpa. I had really only just been introduced to his music and these friends had heard wind that Andrew was playing in Grand Island, NY. A little vanload of us headed down for the show, only to encounter a two-hour delay at the Queenston/Lewiston border crossing! :( When we finally arrived to the venue, the place was empty and we discovered that the concert had started a couple hours before it was advertised as the start time! There had been some kind of promotional miscommunication. A whole second sitting of people came for the time that we were aiming to be there and Andrew and his crew were kind enough to put on a second show for them! And then our van pulled up.

I don't think there was anyone else left but Andrew, his crew (including Ben Shive and maybe one person closing up the venue. They were packing up and saw us pull in. Again, Andrew was willing to play us another concert and we all sat down on the grass and listened. A great song-writer, musician and story-teller, it was a memorable time!

I keep an eye out for other shows of his (or others of the Square Peg Alliance like Jill Phillips or Derek Webb) to come somewhere close, but it doesn't seem to happen! Not too much representing in the Great White North. I would love to see and hear the "Behold the Lamb of God" Christmas tour, but the closest one this year is still about 5 hours (somewhere in Michigan or one somewhere in Ohio)!

Anyway, considering the knack for story-telling that I observed in that memorable private concert of Andrew's and considering my renewed interest in fiction and even in kid's/teen's books (Harry Potter, Twilight, Lemony Snicket), I got a copy of the first book in the The Wingfeather Saga as soon as it came out and now I am looking forward to continuing the story!

I'm right in the midst of moving, settling into a new job (trying to learn the ropes around a Health store--supplements and all that jazz), wrapping up the summer (road trips to visit family) and preparing to go back to school BUT, I WILL get to reading this book. Expect my official review between Sept. 14 and 18 (which also happens to be my first week of school) to be part of the "North! Or Be Eaten" blog tour.

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.

Being Mom's Little Girl

It hit me today that I miss my mom. It hit me and it broke me. Then after a five-hour car ride that should have only been a two-hour ride (here's that story), I saw her, shared my tears and thoughts with her and have come out a little better.

I know that I come across to practically everyone that I am this strong, independent woman. Today on Mother's Day, it hit me that I needed mothering. An overwhelming ache as I drove and drove and drove. As I drove and saw so many families, couples--happy people making the most of inching along the road on a Sunday afternoon. As I drove and felt lonely. Alone, shifting those gears up, then down. Changing the tunes. Turning off the tunes. Kind of aching and wanting my mom.

(And then being afraid that when I did finally make it to Barrie, she may not be there for me. And she may need me. And the roles may still be reversed.)

It's taken many years, I guess. As teenagers, girls often want to be as far away as possible from their moms. I was like that off and on. Clashes with my mom were not uncommon, especially as I demanded more independence and she swung into more of her manic stages. At sixteen, having had my license for only one month, my parents trusted me enough to let me drive their car with two friends twelve hours to Pennsylvania for our first big "Independence Trek"--camping for a week at a music festival! At eighteen, I moved across the Atlantic and didn't come back for nine months! At nineteen, I moved to Kitchener (in the dodgiest area of the city, mind you) and figured out the city life completely on my own.

It's almost like I've always seen independence as this amazing trait, something to go after. Yet, I remember the first time my closest friend challenged me with the fact that we are not born independent and the actual created design is that humankind be interdependent. I need to let myself need others. I have sought after this more and more in my relationships. (I know I have improved and I hope that those around me would agree. I hope that those that really know, see me as someone not always strong...) Except not so much in my relationship with my parents.

It hit me today that my mom hasn't called me for a long time. She used to call often and try to chat with me. And by try, I mean that I would just sit there and listen. Never offering much of my own self, my own life. Even when asked. Classic case of kid coming home from school to a mom sincerely asking, "How was your day?" and the kid says, "Fine," and goes up to their room.

And today it hit me and it broke me. I wish I could have the chance again to pour out my life to my mom on the phone. Why have I assumed for so long that my parents only need me? Why have I not let myself need them?

Anyway, like I said, this day has a happy ending. I saw my mom and I told her I missed her. I told her I realized I never talked very consistently to her on the phone and I wished she would call again so I could talk to her. I told her that I was sad. I told her that I was feeling lonely. I asked her for advice. I told her what she could pray for for me. I asked her to pray with me and she did. I showed her pictures from my life recently. I showed her my new dress and my new haircut. I lay beside her on her bed for two hours and she held me, stroked my hair (something I used to cringe away from) and loved me. She told me, "Don't cry, Bethy. It's ok."

"God, thank you for nudging me to let myself need my mom. Thank you that my mom is actually my mom right now. Thank you for bringing her along as you are. As I have prayed/sang in the past when that wasn't the case, thank you that you are my Heavenly Mother.

Oh gently lay your head
Upon my chest
And I will comfort you like a mother while you rest
The tide can change so fast
But I will stay
The same through past the same in future the same today

I am constant
I am near
I am peace that shatters all your secret fears
I am holy
I am wise
I’m the only one who knows your heart’s desires
Your heart’s desires

Oh weary tired and worn
Let out your sighs
Drop that heavy load you hold cause mine is light
And I know you through and through
There’s no need to hide
I want to show you love that is deep and high and wide

Oh gently lay your head
Upon my chest
And I will comfort you
Like a mother
While you rest."
***