Redeemer

   Praise the Lord, who did not let their teeth tear us apart! We escaped like a bird from a hunter's trap. The trap is broken, and we are free! Our help is from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." Psalm 124:6-8

  I have a wedding shower to go to in a couple of weeks. The engaged couple are planning on homesteading. This means they will have animals. Right now, their plan is to invest in chickens and goats. They have minimal experience with any sort of farming.

  As part of their gift, I decided to write down things I learned on the farm; the type of things you don't find in books. I came up with nearly a hundred and seventy five thoughts, suggestions and words of advice. I could have written more but simply remembering has come with an emotional toll.

  This meant remembering those unhappy days. They weren't all unhappy but hindsight has me realizing depression was my constant companion in this season of my life. It makes it difficult to find the joy.

  The thing about time is it folds. It felt like yesterday even though it's been nearly twenty years. The remembered smell of the barn is filling my nostrils.

  The thing about raising animals is there is no middle ground. There is life. There is death.

  The deaths haunt me. Every loss took a piece of my heart because in those days, I didn't know Jesus. We've had many a long talk about what happened in those long years when I was responsible for the animals. I know He has forgiven me. 

  The couple have an advantage. They have Google. If there's a question, chances are the answer can be found there. They also have each other and Jesus.

  I never wanted to farm. It sort of fell into my lap because there happened to be a barn on the property. At its biggest, I was looking after nearly 50 sheep and goats, a dozen or so cows and calves, seven horses, numerous fowl of all descriptions, a pair of llamas and a couple of pet pigs. I have no idea how or why it got so big.

  My no was broken. Except when it came to the buffalo my ex wanted. I told him I would leave if he bought them. They are not domestic animals. They are dangerous. They need heavy duty fencing. We had none of that. Heck, our pathetic fences couldn't even keep the cows in!

  The buffalo owner was killed by one of his animals the next summer.

  To this day, seeing Orion's belt in the night sky gives me a twinge of panic. When it showed up, it meant babies were coming soon. It meant the work load doubled with barn checks, bottle babies, and loss. I wasn't always there to make sure things were okay despite checking the barn every four hours. Sometimes, I would sleep on the sofa without undressing because getting out of a warm bed on a frigid March night was nearly impossible.

  The responsibility weighed heavy.

  Fear was my constant companion.

  And maybe that's what has gotten stirred up the most...the remembered fears. 

  But maybe there's some room for grace this morning...I did the best I could with the tools and resources I had at the time. I did the best that I could despite the challenges of living with an alcoholic spouse who was really stupid around the animals and farm equipment. It's a wonder he wasn't killed. It's a wonder he didn't get me killed. 

  His handling of the animals was all about dominance and control. Not surprising, really, it was the same with our marriage.

  My handling of the animals was all about moving slowly and quietly.

  So maybe the fear was a good thing. It made me careful. It made me spend time handling and taming all our breeding stock so if there was an issue, I could step in. New moms can be dangerous if they feel their offspring is being threatened so building trust was very important. They trusted me, their shepherd.

  My youngest son was a big help in the latter years. I am thankful for that. Not only helping with innumerable chores, he'd bring me something warm to drink or check that I was okay during the long, cold hours of waiting for babies.

  I mastered the art of being still which has served me well in my walk with the Lord.

  

  I think I've found some peace today. Writing down my farm advice is a redemption story, isn't it? The Lord has given me an opportunity to share the knowledge accumulated over the course of several years because this gal was raised in the city and didn't have a clue when it came to farming. 

  I can celebrate how much my shepherding experiences have been transferred to a walk with Jesus. I can celebrate the insights they have given me about the greatest Shepherd of all.

  He is the Redeemer!

  In remembering the pain I experienced with each loss, it is only a fraction of what Jesus must feel when one of His lambs is lost.

  

Sorrow

   "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I (Jesus) have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10

  There seems to be an issue with the blog. Some of the writing has been black instead of white. Against a black background, it makes it hard to read. It's only happened since purchasing this new laptop. It might be prudent to experiment with some of the settings to see if that will fix the problem. Barring that, there's always customer service. I will see what I can do.

  My heart is heavy today. It has been since yesterday. Word on the street is the young man we saved from an overdose at the beginning of the year has died. Police have yet to confirm if it was him or not but I'll trust the grapevine on this. Any official announcement may have to wait until next of kin have been found and notified. 

  He must have died all alone.

  I didn't know much about him. He was someone's son and possibly a brother, a cousin, a nephew or even an uncle. His family was the people on the streets and they feel his loss keenly.

  I voiced a thought about why on earth drug dealers are making their products so lethal. A new animal tranquilizer has made an appearance in illegal drugs. It's far more potent than fentanyl. None of this makes any sort of sense from a business perspective. Someone replied that for one death, nine people become  hooked. Opiods can create an instant addiction, an instant need for more. One and done. So it's not about creating a lethal product, it's about numbers and dollars. I guess one death is an acceptable loss to them. 

  It's hard not to judge the dealers and manufacturers of these products. It's hard not to condemn the power of greed. It's hard not to hate them for their utter disregard for their fellow human beings because I doubt they see them as people at all. Maybe they lost their own humanity somewhere along the line. Maybe their own fathoms deep Black River is drowning them and holding them captive in the life they lead just like mine did for so many years. 

  And I may need to keep telling myself this...there is only one being who delights in darkness, death and destruction. He is the real enemy here: the master at whittling away at all that is good and pure and beautiful. 

  No child ever says they want to be a drug dealer when they grow up, do they?

  

  I never saw the young man after we saved his life. Illness took me out of the scene completely. I never got to tell him about what God had orchestrated to save his life. I never got to tell him how much he was loved. 

  Regret causes its own sorrow. 

  God forgive me.

  

  

  

  

Cares

   "We also pray that you will be strengthened with all His glorious power so you will have all the endurance and patience you need." Colossians 1:11

  My eyes are healing. The ear, not so much. It still feels like a bucket of water is sloshing around in my head. I am still off work because head stuff always comes with a cough. It's drained my energy, too, this having to strain to hear coupled with how hard the body is working to get better. Although energy does come in fits and bursts.

  I did a jigsaw puzzle over the last few days. A knitted vest is getting closer to being finished. After doing so much for others, I wanted to do something for myself. It was finished once but was too small so I ripped the whole thing out and started again because I like the yarn. There's something mesmerizing about watching the process. It often leaves me wondering who invented knitting? 

  Birdwatching is a favorite past time. I love the variety that come to the feeder. The Juncos in their tuxedos. The Chickadees with their pert little voices. The Mourning Doves fly in on whistling wings. A Downy woodpecker is a frequent visitor. Yesterday there was even a flash of crimson when a male cardinal stopped by to check things out. There's probably a half dozen more bird types that visit and a couple of mammals bundled up in squirrel fur. One of them has quite a few white patches in his black coat so it's easy to identify him.

  The TV has been on. Yesterday was spent watching a bad disaster movie marathon.

  As the knitting needles click, my mind wanders. It keeps returning to a postcard memory from long ago. We must have been camping somewhere. I was a little girl. To be up after dark was a rare treat. The night summer air was still and cool. I remember standing in the middle of the road under a streetlight. The tarmac radiated warmth from the day. Turning and spinning, I watched bats fly over head. They swooped and dove, hunting for the insects attracted by the light. I wasn't afraid of them because the sounds they made were fascinating. No one else could hear them. Just me.

  I haven't been able to hear them for a long time. 

  Now I have to ask, why does this make me so sad?

  Why am I so afraid my ear will be permanently damaged?

  Cause I am, you know, afraid.

  

Assurance

   "Do not be afraid or discouraged, for Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; He will neither fail you nor abandon you." Deuteronomy 31:18

  It's earlier than I cared to be up this morning but my brain started racing before the alarm sounded. Not that going to work is on the agenda today. Pink eye has been added to the illness mix. It's in both eyes. I look like I have the world's worst hangover. It kind of feels that way, too.

  In the midst of all the health challenges, I've been thinking a lot about my job and the emotional toll it has caused over the last couple of weeks. It's not what I signed up for. It's not what it was pre-covid.

  On the way to the police station to deliver the dolls the other day, I drove through the downtown core. It's identical to a thousand million other small towns in North America. One of the visitors was standing on the sidewalk. It wasn't the nicest day to be outside but they don't have somewhere to go to be inside. It has been at the forefront of my thoughts since then: a postcard memory seared into the synapses of the mind.

  

  Early in my Christian walk, I asked the Lord what lay in my future and until I drove past this person, it had completely slipped my mind. Jesus gave me a vision of a concrete world with noisy traffic and city smells. There was no green anywhere. It was an oppressive and hope swallowing place. It was both bitterly cold and tongue caking hot.

  It left me feeling utterly devastated that God would ask me to go there when He knew how much I hate cities.

  Fast forward eighteen years and here I am, in town, working in a concrete jungle that has gradually grown busier and busier over the years. It smells like a city with the perpetual aroma of car exhaust tainting the air. There is very little green except for a few straggling trees. Nevertheless, here I am doing exactly what the Lord had in store for me. Serving those who need it the most. And it comes with a paycheck. 

  As for the emotional cost? The day the people I serve no longer touch my heart is the day I need to quit.

Distraction

   "May all my thoughts be pleasing to Him, for I rejoice in the Lord." Psalm 104:34

  I ended up at the doctor's again today. My eardrum blew. It's very painful so I thought I'd write a bit to try and distract myself.

  She was totally blown away by the difference since yesterday. 

  It came on fast last night. One minute my ear was fine, the next it was clogged. I thought it might be because of the weather; the storm that's dropping wet snow by the bucketful. Barometric pressure headaches are not unusual. 

  Earlier today, the eardrum let go. It sounded like a balloon when you squeeze the end and let the air out. 

  It happened again just before I called the doc. 

  It's no wonder babies cry when they have sore ears.

  I joked with the doctor, saying I am not a wuss about pain. After she confirmed my diagnosis, she smiled and said, "Yes, a torn eardrum is very painful! No. You are not a wuss."

  I like her, a lot.

  She was more taken aback by the fact I was her 4th such person this week. Makes you wonder what's going on.

  Fever and conspiracy theories are not a good combination so I'll let this go.

  The doc also advised me to get a hearing test done once things have healed. It could take as long as a month. Please pray there is no permanent damage. 

  Today, I am grateful. For the health care system we have here. For the means to pay for the medicine. Having access to the medicine is a blessing.

  I am grateful for the snowstorm appointment cancellations even though it was a bit dicey getting up the hill...speedometer read 80, the car was only doing 30 as the wheels spun in the slush. I don't know if I could have waited until tomorrow to see her.

  I am most grateful for my friend who got out a selection of essential oils to use as a decongestant. She's going to pick up my scripts on her way home from work. I am grateful most of all that I am not having to do everything on my own. 

  Oh...and thank you Lord, for the inventors of Advil. 

Heard

   "Furthermore, because we are united with Christ, we have received an inheritance from God, for He chose us in advance, and He makes everything work out according to His plan." Ephesians 1:1

  I am just back from seeing my family doctor to talk with her about what happened at the hospital. She was very surprised to hear about the pain I experienced having a polyp removed. It's unusual. In five years, she's only heard of a couple of women who have felt any sort of major pain.

  We discussed possible scenarios should this procedure need to happen again in the future. There's a chance the polyp could grow back. She told me I have the right to ask for an anesthetic of some sort. There's options from full out sedation, partial sedation or a spinal. It may mean a longer wait time but I'll gladly wait rather than go through what happened again. The cost to my mental health is too high.

  She was more concerned about my inability to stop the doctor from proceeding and affirmed that I had every right to have done so. I needed to hear that. I needed to be told it was okay. I guess crying out in pain wasn't enough. I didn't say the magic word...stop.

  Man, I am a mess...I left the doctor's office feeling validated and heard. More importantly, I felt cared for. She even checked out my blood pressure (it's a bit high,) then throat and ears and listened to me hack up a lung thanks to this virus. 

  Prior to Christmas, I'd knit up a slew of small stuffed dolls and toys. It seemed like a good day to take them to the police station for the officers to use. They often carry stuffed toys in their cruisers to have on hand whenever a call involves children. The donation was greatly appreciated.

  Maybe I knit them to try and capture some innocence. Maybe I knit them to try and stave off the dissonance that was birthed in the hospital. Triggered memories of traumatic events create this shadowland that has the potential to swallow you whole. Even though I celebrate and am fully aware that Jesus is with me, the joy in this knowledge feels like it's at war with the gamut of dark thoughts and irrepressible emotions. Maybe it is. Maybe the joy is trying to vanquish the shadows. 

  I feel like I have my feet in two worlds.

  Stop. Please, stop. 

  And maybe, tomorrow, I'll feel a whole lot better. Heck...maybe all I need is a nap.

  

 

  

  

Drawing Near

 "Teach me your ways, O Lord, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honour you." Psalm 86:11

  Whatever bug has decided to take up residence in this ole body is preventing me from attending church this morning. It's the kind of morning I desperately needed to go, to worship, to pray, to draw near my Lord. Thankfully, I wasn't playing the flute this morning because the decision was made in December to take January off. God knew, didn't He? 

  The time off is doing double duty because it's an opportunity to get my flute serviced which takes about three weeks. It was starting to randomly squeak. Turns out, the keys need an alignment. They are also going to take a look at the tuning because it plays very sharp and I need to have the headpiece out almost an inch to get it in tune to the other musicians. There is a special cork in the headpiece that can be adjusted but that's better left to those who know what they are doing!

  I keep circling back to the events of the past week, trying to wrap my head around everything: the actual events, the triggered memories, the emotional upwelling that comes with all of this. It's hard to not let it weigh me down too much because, as much as there is a boatload of ugly, I need to focus on Jesus' presence and acknowledge He was there. He always is.

  He waits for us to turn our eyes on Him no matter where we are in life. 

  I wish I could share this with the person who was resurrected this week. I wish I could share of all the things God put in place to make this happen. I wish I could tell them how much they are loved, regardless of their life circumstances and situations.

  Their shame is keeping them away. 

  Sadly, the seduction song of drugs means they will do it all over again and I have no idea if there will be someone there to save them. I ask this of You, Lord, save them as many times as it takes.

  I would love for their testimony to be an amazing story of lost and found because you know something? All of us are lost in some form or another without Jesus. It's exactly where the devil wants us: floundering about in the shadowlands, blinded and in pain. 

 There are those in this world who make a profit from it. They make money because pain causes the need, the need causes pain which amplifies the need. It's a perpetually set fowler's snare.

  One of my favorite books, a tale of rabbits called Watership Down, has a part where one of the rabbits gets caught by a snare. The others team up to help him escape. One of the group knew enough about the shining wire to dig out the peg that was buried deep in the ground. It's what held the wire tight. It took the biggest rabbits to dig and the smallest rabbits to go into the hole and chew the stake apart. Bigwig was freed once the taught wire was released.

  I am left thinking that the peg is a metaphor for the untold stories, the secrets, the experiences leading to a need for mind numbing substances including alcohol. 

  There is always, always a peg.

  Some of us are simply better at hiding it.