The Smallest of Things

 

  “Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” Psalm 91:1

  I’ve whittled away a good chunk of the day making miniatures: a boxed set of paints, brushes and a tiny artist’s palette. It literally took some whittling to pare down toothpicks into brush handles. My thumb frequently bears witness to the sharpness of the Exacto knife point but not today. It escaped unscathed.

  

It’s time to get down to business. So, here I am, Lord, at the kitchen table, surrendering to the process.

  Cricket and I haven’t finished talking about our core beliefs; the toxic ones that are deeply ingrained.

  How to not believe is the challenge. I wish it was simply a matter of saying I don’t believe the lies. But, here’s the thing about core beliefs, they become core beliefs because they are reinforced time and again through different circumstances and different relationships.

  Core beliefs can also be good but they are extremely vulnerable especially when a hurt that is contrary to this belief starts the record spinning. For those of us old enough to remember record albums, they would get a microscopic scratch which caused the needle to skip, repeating the same few words over and over until you moved the needle.

  I need help moving the needle because I am done listening to this broken record, the one that plays the song of pain and doubt and ugly.

 

  God is not a liar.

  This I know for the Bible tells me so.

  Jesus loves me, this I know because the Good Book teaches this, too.

 

  Cricket remembers being at the doctors. He was examining my hands, feeling the thickness of the finger bones closest to my palm but wouldn’t operate to make them thin and ladylike. I was stuck with thick, ugly fingers.

  Thank God.

  What these good, strong and healthy hands have accomplished! Music, rising up from my soul, is played without thought. Letters are typed without thought. Without letters, there would be no words. A paintbrush, a pencil, a pen moves across a blank surface to create the image in my head without thought.

 These not so “ladylike” hands are the subconscious creators of so much beauty!

  I am thankful to not be concerned about wrecking an expensive manicure because these “ugly hands” never deserved one. Instead, they are adorned with calluses and scars that tell a story uniquely mine. Like when I slid into home plate at a childhood softball game…unfortunately, this clumsy teenager slid face first. The right hand trapped beneath my stomach raked across the ground. The now faint scars are still on my knuckles where the gravel tore them open.

  Good things don’t leave scars, do they?

  So maybe, instead of fighting the scars, both visible and invisible, I need to let them tell their story. I need to let Cricket tell her story. More importantly, I need to let her tell Jesus.

  Amen!

Time

   "For everything there is a season, A time for every activity under heaven." Ecc 3:1

  It was rather shocking to realize I hadn't written since June. Numerous reasons...busy with summer gardens and ensuing harvest, finishing the group, my laptop broke down...it took a good nine weeks to get the part. Mostly, there's been a great deal of reluctance on my part to sit down and write.  

  Let's catch up. 

  The group ended mid August. It's left me with some unfinished business that only God can resolve because I have no idea how to proceed. 

  We went to my friend's brother's cottage on Lake Saint Lawrence for a few days. It's where the mighty Saint Lawrence River widens so it's called a lake. Had a great time watching the ships sail past and got some kayaking in on a couple of the less windy evenings. I learned about Quebec jade...the bright green, smaller-than-a-pebble granules hide themselves in the sand. It was fun to look for and I managed to find a few pieces as a souvenir. 

  The shed got finished with board and batten siding. It meant moving a ton of dirt and building a couple of stone retaining walls first. Now it's landscaped, adorned with flowering baskets that, now, are pretty much dead. I am pleased with the final result. I have headed into the basement to make wooden stars to replace dead flowers.

  There's been plenty of woodworking this summer. I've built some faux windows that will fit between wall studs. It meant learning how to make window mullions even though they won't have glass in them. It's for a friend's front hall that is rather dark. The three "windows" will allow some natural light into the space without having to do major, structural carpentry. Only the drywall will have to be cut away. I can't wait to see them installed!

  I have poured myself into making another doll house. It's 1:12 scale. I'd been toying with the idea for a while and was going to purchase an inexpensive, three shelf book shelf as the foundation. It needed to be smaller than the last one I made. Low and behold, there one was, sitting at the side of the road. I couldn't resist!

  Am I hiding? Yes. Am I having fun? Yes to that as well. It's a great way to practice making furniture without the expense of messing up life size pieces of wood. If anything, mini-measurements need to be even more accurate! Decorating the doll house uses many of my other skills as well although painting a miniature landscape has been an exercise in frustration. Again, it's miniature so if it ends up in the trash, so be it.

 It's a brain challenge, too. To look at big things and think how they can be used to make small things. 

 Is it hiding, though? No, that's not the way to look at this. I have experienced a great deal of emotion as I decorate the little girl's room in the attic room added to the top of the shelf. I find myself giving her the things that brought me joy as a child: colouring books, a rocking horse (always wanted one anyways), a bucket of pencil crayons, a sketch pad. Next on the list is making her a horse and wagon just like the one I once played with, part of the Jane West collection. Although, I don't know how I am ever going to make wagon wheels!

  Then there is church. Much has happened since I last wrote. Our pastor put forward a motion that we should leave the Meeting House and wanted us to vote within a couple of weeks. He had grand plans for the church and the direction he wanted to go in. I was surprised to find myself against this idea despite all that has happened. TMH has done an admirable job of coping with the fall out of Bruxy's abuse coming to the light. 

  The teaching coming from them has a humility, gentleness and compassion it never had before. 

  I wasn't alone in my reluctance. The vote was postponed for a while before it became apparent that the majority of the church did not want to leave TMH. Our pastor left before a vote was ever taken. Some people followed him. The rest, stayed.

  So we are leaderless, again. Our last pastor died suddenly several years ago. It's why we ended up part of the Meeting House family. This time we have the BIC to help. We already have an interim pastor and a steering committee has been appointed to move us into the future. The BIC call us a church in distress.

  I think back to my first reaction to the news about Bruxy, about wanting to leave. But as I thought about it, I realized we shouldn't walk away, but stand alongside the church we chose to be a part of. Staying as the Meeting House has brought new people in despite the scandal. It's wonderful to see new families with small children join us each Sunday. A church will fade in to nonexistence without them.

  That's where I will end for today. I won't make any promises about writing soon or more because, it appears, I can't keep them.