Tim and Olive's Blog

The weekend before Christmas, Tim and I went up to Whistler to spend a day with my brother-in-law and his girlfriend.  Our plan was to go snowtubing on the first day of the snowtube season.  For those of you unfamiliar with snowtubing, it’s essentially sliding down a 1000 foot long slide made out of snow in a giant rubber tire (the tube).  I had never done it before, but it seemed less physically harrowing than snowboarding, which had been our other option.

As I stood at the top of the hill and looked down the various lanes of snow in front of me, I knew this was going to be fast ride.  It had rained just the day before so we were going to be sliding on ice.  I clumsily climbed into the tube as the assistant held it in place.  On the count of three, she let go and I was on my way!

The initial five seconds were terrifying.  I had started off facing down the hill but all too quicly, I’d hit a bump and I was now spinning out of control.  I was actually hurtling down the slope backwards!

Strangely, it was then that I remembered some wise words I’d heard just the day before from the “Man vs. Wild” TV show (truth appears in many unexpected places, you know):  “The secret to survival is not to fight nature, but to work with it.”

Something in me clicked.  It was no use fighting the tube.  I couldn’t control it anyway so I was better off just letting go and allowing it to turn and spin and bounce however it wanted to.  I resolved to let the ride be what it was.

Two hours later, we left the park.  And I could only say it was SO.  MUCH.  FUN!

For me, this experience is not just about snowtubing.  As I learn and figure out more of who God has really made me to be and the life He has in store for me, I must resist the urge to control, fight or deny the twists and bumpy parts.  And I suspect that when I can finally embrace whatever comes my way, I will possess the ability to be thankful for every moment of the ride.

I am standing in a stable.  They tell me the Son of God was born here tonight.  I stare.  I am shocked.  The baby!  The baby is so small!  This is God?!?

Mary invites me closer.  “Would you like to hold him?” she asks.  I nod.

As I cradle him in my arms, I am mesmerized.  All the hope of the world, all the good, all the peace that exists, all these and more were contained in his tiny features.  And I, I am holding him.

His eyes are closed.  He turns his head, shifting in his sleep.  So delicate, so beautiful, so unassuming. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I begin to softly hum.
          A refuge for the poor, a shelter from the storm,
             This is our God.
          He will wipe away your tears, return your wasted years,
              This is our God.
         Oh call on his name, he is mighty to save
              This is our God.

He hears me.  The child stirs and opens his eyes.  And the world is suddenly awash with Love.

This is our God!

Work pressure has been slowly building up lately and I’ve been fighting to see myself as valuable apart from my work.  One such morning, I sat there desperate before the Lord.  I prayed that He would help me see myself as He saw me.

I was surprised when the text that came to mind was Matthew 13:44, “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”  What did that have to do with my question? I wondered.

Then it made sense.  I had always taken the verse to mean that we are to be like the man who sells it all for the joy of finding the gospel.  I suddenly realized that the man in the story is more like God and that we are the treasure that He finds and gives up everything to acquire!  The parable was about God and His heart towards us!  We are the field that He sees the value hidden in and He did give everything He had in order to buy us.

It makes me think about my response as one who claims to follow Him.  Do I look at each person I encounter and see their hidden treasure?  Would I pull out all the stops to let these people know how valuable they are?

I am God’s treasure. So are you.  How amazing is that?!

This past Wednesday, I went to an aesthetics school for a girls’ “spa day” in celebration of my friend’s birthday.  Since one of the gals was getting a haircut, I thought to myself why not?  I know how to do my own nails but I can’t cut my own hair…  plus, I’m way overdue for a trim.  The last time I had it cut was way back in February!

Big mistake.

Well, for me it was anyway.  My friend got a hairdresser who was just about to graduate from the program and so her cut turned out spectacular.  Mine, not so much.

I was the lucky recipient of a THREE HOUR LONG haircut from a very sweet and gentle middle-aged man who was aspiring to be a barber.  He had never cut women’s hair.  Ever.  It was only his second month into his training.

From the get-go, I knew I was in trouble.  The chair for my wash was too low so I was slowly feeling my head go numb from the pressure of my neck being pulled upwards while my body dangled, trying to reach the seat.  The water temperature went between hot and cold.  And then, as the instructor came over to get him started on the haircutting itself, he actually said “I’ve never done this before.”  The torture was only beginning.

Snip. Snip. Snip.  Half an hour.  One hour.  One and a half hours.  Two hours.

At the two and a half hour mark, a second instructor came over and checked his work.  “Is this the length you want?” the instructor asks.

In my head, I’m thinking “No, I’d actually like it to be a couple inches shorter.”  But then I thought, if I actually said that, I’d be stuck here F O R E V E R.  So I politely said it was fine.

By the end, my poor barber was quite exhausted.  He had concentrated very hard and, for a first woman’s cut, he had done fairly well.  At least it was even. The instructor had mercy on him and got another girl to do the blowdrying.  Only the girl he got had never worked on customer before.  She was one month into her program and had solely be practicing on the mannequins in the back room. 

Sigh.  I figured, if I’m a guinea pig for one student, I might as well be for another.

Finally, 3 hours later, I walked out of the salon.  I didn’t care how I looked.  I was just glad to be out of there.  The next day, after I’d washed and dried my hair, I realized the gravity of my decision.

I
had
a
mullet.

Looking back, I can laugh about the experience.  It still mortifies me when I see my hair au naturel, without clips of some sort, holding some of it up.  But I’m hoping that in time, as my hair grows, it’ll look better.  I consider it my three hours (plus $10!) of community service for the week. 

When I told my parents about what happened, my dad said I was courageous. I’m not so sure.

Sometimes, the line between courage and stupidity is very very thin.

Living on the West Coast, I am constantly surrounded by “Green” messaging.  Bring your own reusable cloth bag to the grocery store and get bonus points.  Bring your own tumbler to Starbucks and get 10 cents off.  Buy local.  Buy organic.  Use less paper.

Last Sunday, our sermon was about what our attitude should be toward creation.  Interestingly, the early church saw people in relation to themselves, each other, God and the rest of creation.  In our small group, we had a lively discussion about this.  On one hand, how does my recycling one tin can make a difference in the world?  And if I’m not the CEO of a large corporation, what say do I have in who can clearcut the Amazon forests?  It seems like one individual can do little to help with this global crisis.

I can appreciate this perspective, but my own stance is this:  If I respect God, I will respect His creation.  My recycling one tin can has more to do with my relationship with the Creator than it does with the effectiveness of the act.  In being careful about my choices and thinking through how I’m impacting the earth, I am honouring the fact that God has entrusted me with this place I live in.  I may not hold an influential position to stop the destruction of rainforests, but I do live in a country that provides facilities and opportunities to be kinder to this planet.  So I will do my best, though I’m far from perfect.  Because at the end of the day, when I stand before the Lord, I know I am accountable to Him and Him alone. 

The earth is not my god (as it seems to be to some people out here…), God is.  But it so happens that God made this earth and called it “good.”  So I think I would do well to treat it as such.

Mondays are my clean the house days.  On top of dusting, I do the floors, the bathroom and the laundry.  I find great satisfaction at the end of it all: to look around and see that all is clean.  I especially love it when the sun is out and light fills the house, confirming that dust and dirt are thoroughly gone. It tires me out, but I really am very satisfied.

I suspect that God has the same sense of satisfaction when He cleans us up.  I imagine that when He looks at us and sees that the dirt of sin or false understanding have been removed, that our original colours and beauty are able to shine without obstruction or contamination, it brings His heart much joy.  And satisfaction.

A most curious incident happened at dinner last night.  Tim’s parents are in town and they wanted Greek food, so we tried out a place nearby.  The ambience was quite nice and we decided to go for some lamb and some seafood.  We were pretty much enjoying our dinner and joking about who would take the last oyster when Tim decided he would just take a tiny piece of it to try.  No sooner had he popped it into his mouth when “pft!” he spit out a small white chunk of… pearl!  The waitress would not believe that we found a pearl in the oyster.  Apparently, it had never happened before.

Aside from being amusing, I found the appearance of this pearl as strangely timely.  You see, this past Saturday, as I was praying for a friend, I saw a picture of a pearl and the words, “The discomfort will result in beauty” along with it.  It was a message for my friend, but I also think it was a message for me and for Tim.  We are in a place where things are not comfortable and we’d rather squirm out of it.  But I believe that God wants us to persevere.  To allow Him to shape the pain into something beautiful, precious and lasting.

I have had the pleasure of being introduced to a very fine writer, in my opinion. I haven’t met him in person, but I have enjoyed the characters and insights in his novels. His name? Wendell Berry. I came across the quote below in his novel Andy Catlett. Andy is an old man, writing about his adventures as a 9-year-old boy. Ponder, and enjoy.

“Time is told by death, who doubts it? But time is always halved – for all we know, it is halved – be the eye blink, the synapse, the immeasurable moment of the present. Time is only the past and maybe the future; the present moment, dividing and connecting them, is eternal. The time of the past is there, somewhat, but only somewhat, to be remembered and examined. We believe that the future is there too, for it keeps arriving, though we know nothing about it. But try to stop the present for your patient scrutiny, or to measure its length with your most advanced chronometer. It exists, so far as I can tell, only as a leak in time, through which, if we were quiet enough, eternity falls upon us and makes its claim. And here I am, an old man, traveling as a child among the dead.

“We measure time by its deaths, yes, and by its births. For time is told also by life. As some depart, others come. The hand opened in farewell remains open in welcome. I, who once had grandparents and parents, now have children and grandchildren. Like the flowing river that is yet always present, time that is always going is always coming. And time that is told by death and birth is held and redeemed by love, which is always present. Time, then, is told by love’s losses, and by the coming of love, and by love continuing in gratitude for what is lost. It is folded and enfolded and unfolded forever and ever, the love by which the dead are alive and the unborn welcomed into the womb. The great question for the old and the dying, I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough, but if they have been grateful enough for the loved received and given, however much.”

– Andy Catlett, in Andy Catlett by Wendell Berry

“God, cajole and nudge them, draw,
delight, and dream them close,
drift them along love’s eddy, dare them,
inch them to yourself and with each inch,
yield them a yard of joy. Touch them;
with tears teach them.
Tangle their thoughts in yours”
– adapted from Luci Shaw, God in the Dark

I don’t know what it is this summer, but it’s been full of weddings and funerals. The wedding part was expected. The funerals, not so much.

Over the last couple months, nine (9!) loved ones of people I know have died. They have either been spouses, parents or children of my friends, coworkers or people at church. And quite a few of them battled cancer in their last days. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll hear the news and I’ll think “Oh no, not another one…” And although it’s no laughing matter, a small part inside of me wants to laugh for the sheer absurdity of so many deaths in frequent succession.

It makes me feel helpless. It feels like every other night, Tim and I are praying for someone else who’s losing or lost someone dear. It makes me wonder when death will come to our doorstep.

And yet, I am discovering that God is stronger than death. As I allow myself to fall deep into His embrace, I find I am no longer afraid of what life might throw at me. I look at nature and see that even among the forests, there are dead branches mixed in with the live ones. And somehow, life always wins. Suffering is part of being human on this side of eternity. But I have hope in a God who is able and who will redeem it all.