bewildered by grace

So I haven't been on here in well over two years. That's depressing. After the last post, for a long time, nothing seemed good enough to write. I couldn't, for instance, talk about my love-hate relationship with Grey's Anatomy after talking about Grandpa. Everything I wanted to write seemed trite, stupid, and wrong.

A year later, I started writing about wanting to get pregnant and start a family, and because I didn't want anyone to know that we were trying, I didn't think it appropriate to post here. So that's at another blog. Now that she's born, I need to make her one of her own and put up pictures and updates and things there, but I haven't gotten to it quite yet. Soon. Promise.

However, Becky filled me in that this month is NaBloPoMo (which I have to admit, as acronyms go, is a lame one). So I figured, hey, now is as good a time as any to get back on the blogging train. I miss it. I miss more, everyone else who used to post. My mom, my aunts and cousins. It was a way better way of keeping in touch than Facebook. Hopefully everyone else will do the same.

Either way, I'm still struggling to figure out where to begin. Let's try point form? Here's what I'm thinking tonight, in no particular order.

~My cousin Emily has H1N1. I am more scared than I want to admit of Bella coming in contact with this. I can't deal with it at all. I feel sorry for my Auntie Colleen because her baby girl is sick, and although I don't know much about motherhood just yet, that I know better than a lot of people.

-My Uncle John died and I think it sucks. I hate every last thing about it, and I have a hard time praying about it because I don't understand why God would have allowed it. It seems cruel and hard and I love his family so much and they are devastated. To say something like "it's so unfair" falls far too short.

~I'm sick to death of people telling me that I need to take a break from Bella when she's crying, which happens a lot lately (the crying and the telling - most recently, my doctor). She is not fussy. She is not being dramatic. She is in real pain that she doesn't understand and if all that makes her feel even slightly better is being swaddled, held upright with her stomach on me with her face in my neck and her hand touching my bare skin somewhere and me sitting in a rocker and rocking her for hours until my back and butt are so sore I can barely move, then that is what she gets. I will not lay her down and walk away when she's crying to do anything but pee, and I've done that holding her too. If this makes me a bad parent, then that's fan-freaking-tastic with me. I don't care. If one more person says "Well, honey, when you've done everything you can, then there's nothing wrong with leaving her in a very safe place to cry a little. You need to take care of you." No, I'm sorry. I need to take care of her. And I can't take away her pain. In fact, I shove a syringe in her mouth twelve times a day that is full of the medicine that causes that pain. She may not understand what is going on, but she will damn well know that when she cries, I am there. I will be there every single time. It's what I would want if I were her. And I will not deprive her of that for some "me time". I can't think of that as anything but extremely selfish. It's like saying to her, "Your pain is stressing me out. I need a minute" She doesn't get a minute. If she can deal with it at two months old, so can I at 27. I'm not frantic. I'm not going to shake her, or freak out. I'm going to hold her, and rock her and cry with her and we're going to figure it out, and if we can't, we're going to ride it out together.

Okay. Three points, and now I'm upset, and Peter is trying to calm Bella down and she's screaming in the next room. I gotta run. More tomorrow sometime I guess. We'll see how this blogging once a day goes.

My Grandpa has gone home. I've been thinking about him a lot. Trying to process a world that exists here without him, and how strange and sad that all seems. More than that, I've been thinking about what makes saying goodbye so hard.
C.S Lewis once talked about death as the one thing that we were never meant to deal with. God didn't create us with the ability to handle it on our own, because it wasn't something we were ever meant to face. He's giving us grace to handle the unthinkable, but it will always seem...wrong somehow. Because it is. It's not what he wanted for us. That makes me feel better. Knowing that I don't really have to cope, because it's never going to feel okay. It's not supposed to, not on this side of eternity. We are eternal, after all. Trapped in a finite world, in finite bodies, but infinite in spirit. This thought also gives me comfort, because when I realize this, when I live like it, then maybe I'm closer to my Grandpa than I've ever been before.
And therein lies the struggle. I said on Becky's blog, and thus in my tribute to Grandpa, that to not follow in his and Grandma's footsteps would be to live life less. I believe that with my whole heart. Every single one of us is currently living the legacy we are leaving behind to those who knew us best. What if I died tomorrow? What would be said in front of my casket, what would be said to comfort those who would be left behind to grieve? We called Grandpa many things: strong, loving, faithful, honest, hard-working, and in love with his Savior and his wife. Every one of these things was true. More than true, there were just not English words that described it properly. Everything fell short somehow. What a life he lived...
But to live life in Grandpa (and Grandma's) footsteps, is even harder than saying goodbye to him. It's living in a way that honors his memory...but no, he wouldn't want that would he? It's living in a way that honors God. Really, that is what his life was all about. It was his love for God that made his love for his wife something truly incredible. It was his love for God that made every one of his grandchildren feel like his favorite. Because we all were. It wasn't Grandpa loving us that made us feel that special, though we know he did love us all desperately. It was his stunning obedience to his Lord that allowed God to love us through him. That's why his love felt so special, so different. Because it was different. It was Jesus, and that's amazing to me. And he did it by simply being this one thing: obedient. He worried about nothing other than what his Lord thought of him, and what God wanted of him.
Again I wonder what would be said at my funeral? Not in a morbid way, but in a way that challenges me to think, "What legacy am I leaving behind?" We're all leaving one, after all. This is making me ask myself some very hard questions. I know what Peter would say at my funeral, or how he would feel. I know what a pastor or my mother would say. They'd talk about the good things I did. Most of these would likely center around YWAM, sadly enough. Two years in twenty-five. But what would my co-workers say? What would the people I talk to at the bank say? Or my non-Christian friends? Would there be only Christians in that church, because I hadn't befriended anyone who wasn't like me? What would people at work say if they knew exactly what I believed and why? Would they be surprised? I dearly hope not, but I suspect so, at least a little bit. Maybe they'd say, "I knew she believed in God, but she was a missionary? I heard her swearing after work once when she'd had a bad day...I didn't think Christians did that." Ouch. They'd be right. Do I really model the love of God not just to those I'm comfortable being a Christian around, but to everyone who meets me? Do I share my faith, or look for opportunities to be Christ to someone else? Do I love my family, or my spouse in a way that makes others notice my relationships and, gasp, inquire as to why my life is different? Has anyone ever asked me "the reason for the hope that I have"? You didn't meet Grandpa without meeting Jesus, you can meet me and not see Jesus at all, it just depends when you catch me. How hard I've been working, how financially or emotionally stressed I am, whether or not I've had a bad day at work, can all affect who you meet when you meet me. Sometimes it's not Jesus. Sometimes it's just Melanie.
I don't think Grandpa would want us to idolize him in his death, though he was loving and strong and wonderful. It would be easy to do. But if I did that, made him into something perfect, his life wouldn't be anything but an amazing story to me. It wouldn't be a challenge to the way I'm living now, and I think that it needs to be. I think God has always used Grandpa in a way that made everyone he met want to be like him. In order to do that we need to realize that he was still just a man. A great man, but just a man. He wasn't perfect. He was human. I'm human. Finally we have a starting point. I can be like Grandpa. If I just try to be like Jesus. Then my life, and my legacy, will resemble that of my Grandfather. I think that's what he'd want more. Not just to remember how wonderful he was, but to question what it was that made him like this. Because then we'd find Jesus, and that was all he ever wanted for all of us. To know that we would follow Christ with all our hearts.
Grandpa did. Everyday, Grandpa did this. On the last morning he woke up on this earth he asked God what He wanted of him. I want to be like Grandpa and Grandma. The hard thing is this: it will cost me. It will mean forgiving when someone doesn't deserve it. It will mean devotion to prayer and to God in a way that I haven't yet experienced. It means loving my spouse more than I value my individuality. More than I value myself. It will mean loving my enemies. It will mean not compromising in not only what I feel is right or wrong, but what I know God says is right or wrong. It means not living for money, or power, or for honor in the eyes of anyone but Jesus. It means a value system that the world will notice instantly, is very different. It will mean a change in the way I'm living now. I will mean sacrifice. It will mean dying knowing that I lived my life in a way that would honor the one I will spend eternity with. It will mean laying down that last time ready to see my Saviour with nothing but tears in my eyes for the gratitude that "Jesus died for me. He died for me."

I am usually a pretty self aware person, and I tend to be fairly honest about my shortcomings (though there may be a slightly masochistic reason for that). I know myself very well, and though I don't often like what I see inside my head and heart, I'm not usually surprised by myself, if that makes any sense. I don't know that I've ever dealt with grief before, however, and this is entirely new territory for me. I don't like it here, not at all.
My Grandpa doesn't want to live anymore. He's so sick and he's longing to go home to Jesus. I can't deal with that. My brain just will not do it. I get that he's nearing the end, and that it may be time. I don't want him to be sick anymore. I want him to be happy. I cannot say goodbye. I just can't.
When Peter's Grandma died, we were all so happy for her. That sounds strange, but she'd been away from her husband for 20 years and she was ready. The day she went, all I thought about was her and the love of her earthly life, meeting in a place where there are no tears, where goodbye doesn't exist any longer. I was happy for her.
This is different. They are together here. My Grandma and Grandpa have a love story that should be in a book. When Grandma met him, she was seven years old. It was love at first sight. She prayed every day, the one phrase that has taught me more about love than any other earthly example, "Jesus, make me into the kind of woman he will love." She prayed that for years and her and Grandpa have a love that is so strong that it amazes me sometimes to watch them together. These people know what love is. They live it together and they live it with their family.
When I'm with Grandpa, I never age. I stopped somewhere around four years old and even though he's met my husband, I still have always felt like a little girl around him. Peter once asked me about my parents divorce, and about not having a dad for all those years and he was so upset about the pain we went through then. I told him it was okay, it really was. God sent me other dads. I've never been without a strong male figure in my life. That's what my grandfather is to me. He's like my dad. He apologized to me a while back for something that happened when I was just a little, little girl. My mom had bought me a new dress that day and my grandparents were over for coffee. He was having coffee in the living room with my father and I rushed into my room, put on my new dress and ran into the room to show them how pretty I looked. I must have been less than five years old. I twirled around and then my father shouted at me to go away, and take off my dress, the adults were visiting, and I was to make myself scarce. My grandfather says that he never forgot the look on my face. And twenty years later her told me how sorry he was for not telling my father to shut up or "punching him in the face". I do not remember this day. I'm not sad about it, it's not an issue. It was to my Grandpa. But when he told me that story, sitting at my mom's table, shaking with Parkinson's disease, nearly blind and looking very old, he was ten feet tall to me. That hasn't changed. My heart sees him that way, even when my eyes see his health decline. Even when my ears hear stories about him that say strange things like "he's in the hospital, do you want to go say goodbye?" That's not true, it just can't be. This is the man that rides to the rescue of little girls in pink dresses, the man that loves his wife and his Saviour with a strength that seems super human. He's not actually sick. Not really.
People deal with grief differently they say. When his time comes, whether it's tomorrow or in five years Robyn will be at the funeral. She says she has to go. I can't do it. I can't see him like that. I can't go see him in the hospital. He's ten feet tall, for crying out loud - what hospital bed would hold such a big strong man? My heart has to believe that none of it is true, until it actually is. Until he's in Heaven and he looks to Jesus and the angels the way I've always seen him in my heart. I think that maybe then the peace will come.

...for saving my marriage.
You see, before my life was vastly different. Or, perhaps I should say, Peter's life was vastly different. Our evenings usually went as follows:
Peter: (looking longingly at his Playstation) Honey, how's that new book going? I saw you reading it earlier, would you maybe want to do that tonight? I could light a fire for you and make you a cup of tea...
Melanie: I finished it. I need to get to the library more often, I have nothing to read. Do you want to watch a movie?
Peter: I don't know, we've seen everything we have. How about a nice long bath for you? I could run you a bath, pour you a glass of wine... (now he's openly staring at the Playstation with unabashed longing.)
Melanie: I showered this morning, and it's so late, I don't want to go to bed with wet hair...
Peter: Okay. Why don't we go to bed? (this is agreed to...fast forward five minutes)
Melanie: Where are you going? Aren't you tired?
Peter: Not really. Umm... maybe I could play some Madden while you sleep?
Melanie: Yep, I guess you'd better.

I really wasn't that mean about it, and I'd like to think I'm better than a lot of women on the issue of video games (all women but Carlie.) It wasn't that I didn't like him to play, it's just more difficult to amuse me for that much time all by myself. I usually cleaned, or went to bed by myself, which I like much less than cleaning.
NOT SO ANYMORE!

Melanie: Babe, when was the last time you got some good Madden time in? Isn't it time to begin a new season? (NOTE: if you've never played Madden, this is the LONGEST part of the game. You have to draft players just like real football, organize your team, run practices, and then, just to be sure you did it all right, play a pre-season game, oh, and look for an hour at your stats. It takes literally hours and you can't turn it off in the middle.)
Peter: Yeah, I guess it is. Eric did give me the newest Madden, and I haven't played very much yet. You wouldn't mind? Do you want some tea first, or your book, or....wait a second! Wait one second! This is about Dr. McDreamy isn't it?! You have a crush on him!
Melanie: No! Well, yes a little. But he's not real, so it doesn't matter right?
Peter: I don't know. How much Madden can I play?
Melanie: Oh, I'll be occupied for a good couple of hours, maybe three...
Peter: (while getting settled with his beloved controller) You're sure you don't have a crush on that guy?
Melanie: Honey, he's not a man. He's a fictional character created from the mind of a woman. I get it. There's no reality lapse here for me. I love you.
Peter: (now running screen plays and fully distracted). Yep, uh huh.... you too babe.

We're happy. We're snuggled on the couch, he's playing his game and I'm loving every episode. My imaginary crush on Dr. McDreamy may have just saved my marriage.

Funnily enough, this the the feeling I get when I hear my new favorite worship song. You know when you hear a song that makes something in your chest kind of constrict and you just love it the moment you hear it? I love stuff like that. It feels like you're a part of something bigger, and something in you swells and almost makes you cry just because you can't find another way to put it. That's how this song makes me feel. I've heard it for the first time today, and I've downloaded it on iTunes, and listened to it over and over again. I love it. I don't recall the last time that I've felt proud to be a Christian when I'm worshiping. That sounds bad...I feel love for Jesus, I feel conviction, I feel adoration, I feel blessed and special. But this one made me feel...taller. I felt good that I believed in God. Not in a prideful, ha, I'm a Christian and that makes me great, but almost that way. It makes God sound manly and strong. Not just compassionate and loving and kind. He sounds tough in this song to me. Like Aslan in Narnia instead of "a rose trampled on the ground" He is tough. He's strong. I felt proud to know him when I worshiped to this, if that makes sense.

Here's the link.
Here's the lyrics:

Everyone needs compassion
A love that's never failing
Let mercy fall on me
Everyone needs forgiveness
A kindness of a Savior
The hope of nations

Savior
He can move the mountains
My God is mighty to save
He is mighty to save
Forever
Author of salvation
He rose and conquered the grave
Jesus conquered the grave

So take me as You find me
All my fears and failures
Fill my life again
I give my life to follow
Everything I believe in
Now I surrender

Shine your light and let the whole world see
Singing for the glory of the risen King

It's been a little while since I wrote anything meaningful here at all. I've had a lot on my mind, and a lot has been going on, but putting things in words, has been surprisingly difficult lately. I think God has been trying to teach me something, and there's a good deal of hope in that, though it seems that he's using a hopeless situation to get his point across. How very...God...of him.
I was going to write a whole long rant on my new pet peeve, the movie "The Secret". Actually, now that I've started, I can tell you right now, it's not gonna be a short post boys.

Only in Western culture could something like this pass off as the newest, latest, greatest thing. What utter rot. I haven't watched the whole thing just the first 20 minutes or so, and maybe like a lame movie that gets good in the last couple of minutes, it redeems itself. I find it insulting. It states in the synopsis, "This is The Secret to everything - the secret to unlimited joy, health, money, relationships, love, youth: everything you have ever wanted." Catchy huh? I want in...tell me, please? How can I have everything I ever wanted? The answer? Simple. Hinduism. The law of attraction. Everything that happens to you that is bad, you brought on yourself. Let us quickly note that this exact thought process started the caste system that is still crippling nations like India. They look like they're rolling in wealth....no wait...I've been to India. They're all POOR!! The movie actually stated "I know what you're thinking. 'So my dad dying, that was because of my own negative thought?' the answer, 'yes.' ". Wow huh? Sounds hopeful? This was when I turned it off. The Law of Attraction states that thought equals creation. Get that? Thought = CREATION. So here's the part you're gonna love: Yes, your negative thought process killed your father (woah dude, way harsh for Pops) however, your positive thought process can make you rich!! And there my friends, is where they are making money hand over fist. I'll buy that. It explains pain and suffering because the world would actually rather take blame for it than have it unexplained. And it produces anything that I want for myself. Wow. I thought that humanity was lame when we started bottling water and selling it to each other. I thought humanity was lame when I had to pay a dollar for air, to fill up my car tires. But this, this tops it all.

Note: I know that thinking about being sick, will actually make me sick. My issue is that thinking about sickness will NOT make Peter sick and die.

Here's my issue with people in Canada and the USA buying into this thought process. We've already won the lottery. Let's say you're going to school with approx. 6.5 billion people. At the end of the year, they take a test to decide who the smartest of those 6.5 billion are. You score in the top five percent. How do you feel? Pretty amazing huh? Way to go you? Let's say you score so low that your score, when added with others, doesn't begin to add up to the person in the top five percent. And then you hear the person with the killer grade whine about how unfortunate it was that they missed that one question. How do you feel towards that person? Furious? Nah, something stronger. Murderous? Yeah, that'll do since there's not one word for maim-the-cocky-bastard-and-gouge-his-eyes-out. Here's the thing. If you were born in Canada, or the USA, you are wealthier than 95% of the world's population. Here's the kicker for that other 95%. Their wealth, if pooled, would not be as much money as the 5% that we have. Bummer for them. And here we are, buying movies like The Secret in order to attract everything we want. My entire issue with this is, what we want, will NEVER be enough for us. We've won the lottery. This is what it looks like. Throw a party and hope that the other 95% never notices. The problem with global wealth distribution is that even if we all decided to share it evenly, the world economy would be crippled as the 5% pretty much controls that. If fair trade were ever an idea that was bought into globally, it would pretty much mean financial disaster for you personally. Yikes.

I hate that the "law of attraction" (as though it's a law or something) annihilates compassion. Why should we help out India? That must be one sad nation of negative thinking suckers. Again, we're back to the caste system. You're where you are because of your own dumb fault. Get it together, meanwhile, I'm meditating my way in to...what did they say....oh yeah "unlimited joy, health, money, relationships, love, youth". Sweet.
Here's my question, and what I've found to be God's question to me lately:

-What for? What do you want to win the lottery for? Really?
-I want to be mortgage free?
-Why?
-Because debt is very stressful, financial stress is the number one cause of ruined marriages you know.
-But you live in a country where if "hard times" hit, you can go into debt. We have a whole economic structure worked out for you. You have to pay it back, if and when you can...oh wait. Unless you file bankruptcy. We have a system for that too.
-But then I'd have no money. Where would I live?
-Well, incidentally, we have something called Social Assistance. We'll pay you to live at home with your baby if you make a mistake and get pregnant too early, or if your husband walks out on you and you have no marketable skills. We understand that you can't work. It's okay.
-Really? How much will you pay me?
-Well, how about $800 a month? That's three times what they make in Nepal IN ONE YEAR, will that work for you? We get that things are more expensive here than in Nepal.

We have such a screwed up idea of wealth. This is what God's been bugging me on. Our hard times right now are purely financial. Becky's hard times are not. Money isn't going to fix what keeps Becky up at night. What a jerk I am. Becky, e mail me, I'll give you my address, and you may come and gouge out my eyes. I'd deserve it. Unfortunately, positive thinking will not fix what keeps us up at night either, just like being afraid of Peter dying will not kill him. Thank goodness. Our God is more merciful than that. He's much too merciful to give us everything we ask for. A guy I know once said this:
"God is much more concerned with our wholeness than our happiness"
Well said Matt. Here's the greatest thing about God: His ideas of wholeness for us, will make us happier than we've ever dreamed of being. Not only have I won the geographical lottery, where I was lucky enough to be born here, instead of in India; I have won a spiritual lottery. Everything that happens here, means literally nothing unless I am meeting the God who put me here. It means nothing if I am not serving others, not because I am better than them because of my wealth, but because I am in debt to them because of their poverty in the light of God's love to me in mine. I believe that when God said to feed the hungry, that that wasn't a metaphor for something greater. I believe he meant, "hey Melanie, there's hungry people on the planet. They need food. Could you do something about that?" I believe church without active missions is selfishness of the worst kind. I believe God will call us on the carpet for this. Soaking services and not soup kitchens. "The Secret" and not Service. God didn't yell at prostitutes when he was on this planet. He yelled at church people. Shame on us. Shame on me. I have been sitting in that 5% of global wealth and whining about the 4% that are still richer than me. My currency is all messed up. I'm trying to use Rupees in Canada. I'm trying to use Dollars in Heaven. "God, if you could just give us some more money, we'd go into full time ministry. Promise."

"Come, all you who are thirsty come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy, and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. WHY SPEND MONEY ON WHAT IS NOT BREAD AND YOUR LABOR ON WHAT DOES NOT SATISFY? Listen, listen to me and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare." (Isaiah 55)

You who have no money. Come. Buy. Eat. Not only milk which nourishes, but wine which is enjoyable. Not just life. Life abundant. Want me to tell you a secret? It's not about money. It's about this. Delight your soul which will live forever. I have a framed poster on my wall which says "Want what you already hold." Get your currency straight. What if you switched your mindset so that everything you wanted was in your home, and not in "that guy's house"? What secrets to life can this world offer me, if the secret to real life isn't in this world?

So I've officially gotten a temporary second job. I'm not getting as many hours at the bank as I would like, and so I have taken to delivering pizza. It's hockey season, so that means a good amount of money, and when that's over then the tourists start pouring in. I worked my first shift on Friday night and in three hours made more money than four hours at the bank. Crazy. Reagan says it's because I have breasts and so that's why, but honestly most of the people I delivered to were women, and I don't think they care. But I compliment their homes and their babies and so that works just as well.
I thought I would feel lame delivering pizza at nearly 25 but I just couldn't bring myself to waitress. It just seemed like such hard work to learn table numbers, and where the cream was kept and on and on. By two hours into my first shift, I was answering phones, punching in orders, and making good money doing it. There's not a lot to learn that a handy new map book won't help me with, so I'm good. It's only three nights a week, in Parksville and Qualicum, and I still get all my weekends to myself. I work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday if you're sitting around in the area and want a friendly face delivering pizza... I was very surprised to enjoy my first shift, and tomorrow I'm back at it. Peter's happy because on my work nights, I get 50% off pizza. His next order is a goat cheese and oyster pizza. Um, eww.
Other than that, there's not a lot that's new for me. Peter and I are leading a home group for young married couples and are loving the people we've met through that. We hung out with them all weekend, and just had a really great time. Now I'm off to have a long hot bath, after watching some Iron Chef...

For some reason, I find myself wanting to celebrate this Easter more than I normally do. I want to celebrate what has been resurrected in my life, what God is currently raising from the dead. It amazes me that we don't think that miracles happen anymore. I have seen miracles in my life. Our friend Janie was given just a few months to live years ago, her situation really was hopeless. Quite honestly, I thought she was going to die. I really did. I'm sorry for that now. Luckily we serve a God that doesn't care if we're hopeful or not. He wanted Janie healed. He wanted her to live, and I think he wanted to prove that he alone has power over life and death. Cancer does not. Janie can tell you.
At some point in the last few years, I really struggled with whether or not my brother or my sister would ever be at the place where they were actively serving God again. I mourned for the loss of both of them at one point, and they are restored. It makes me think of the verse in Luke (I had to look it up):
" ' My son,' the father said, ' you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' " (15:31-32) I look at Robyn with her little boy now, and I SEE the faithfulness of my God.
God has raised me from the dead. Not only when he died for sins that not only did I care nothing about, but that I actually valued; but when he daily saves me from a car accident five miles down the road by having me hit a red light, or when he loves me enough to discipline me in an area that would eventually kill me, or ruin the plans he has for my life, even if I don't know it at the time. He is sovereign, and he will constantly do things that I don't understand, but he is God, and I'm not. That's all that I really, really know.
I believe that God wants to heal my uncle John, who was very recently diagnosed with multiple myeloma. Everything in me recoils at saying that, because "oh my goodness, what if I'm wrong, what if..." but I do believe it.
I remember this one time in YWAM, we were praying really hard for finances for these three or four really great people to go do missions abroad. We'd hit a deadline, and we needed the money and we didn't know how we were going to get it. Now, I have seen financial miracles like you would not believe. I've seen celebrities ( I promised them not to name names, but you'd know them if I did) walk onto the YWAM base and write $10,000 cheques at the last possible second, so that poor people can go to other countries. I've collected money from people who were told by God to come to an obscure location that they didn't know we were at to give us whatever was in their wallet. This time was different. We were praying and we were getting nothing. Literally nothing. And then a man that I know and respect got up, with tears in his eyes and said that he really felt like he'd heard from God. We waited for the money to fall from the sky. Literally. It did not. He got up and said that all he'd heard God say was this: "AM I STILL FAITHFUL?" We knew in that moment, that they were all going home. They did. They didn't get to be missionaries and others did. It was terribly sad. To this day, I do not understand it. In YWAM, miracles are more common. This time it didn't work that way. But he is still faithful.
All this to say, I have heard God give a disappointing message, and I've seen him do miracles that blew my mind. In my head, I don't know what will happen with my uncle John. In my heart, I know what God has said to us thus far:
"Keep my commands in your heart for they will prolong your life many years." (prov 3:2)
"Then he will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones." (prov 3:8)
"Your healing will spring up speedily." (isaiah 58:8)
In my own life, I remember very clearly a time when I did not serve God. I don't know how to describe this time in my life, even to my own family, to my own husband. I know that God was allowing hardship in my life that I didn't feel that I could overcome. I felt like the deck was stacked against me and I wasn't going to win, no matter how hard I tried or prayed. I felt like Job. The devil took everything he had away, but God allowed it to happen. I knew God was allowing something terrible to happen to me not because he is cruel, but because he is merciful. And I know that at the very last possible moment, it stopped. I can tell you that I overcame nothing. I ran. I fled with everything in me, and I made choices that didn't even allow me the option to become who I was then because that girl, that lie that is me on this sinful earth, terrifies me. Part of me is haunted to this day, that maybe I'm not different now than that girl back then. Maybe I'm the same girl but with no opportunity to screw it all up. I know how close I came to wrecking everything. I know, without really intellectually knowing, what would have happened had I not literally run for my life. But he saved me. Not only from a destiny that I would have hated myself for, but for the pride that would have eventually killed me had I not gone through what I did.
I believe God is still raising people from the dead.
Just like Jesus, just like Lazarus. The funny thing, the thing that always gets me is that Jesus himself raised Lazarus from the dead, but when he arrived at his grave, he still mourned. Why? It says in the Bible that Jesus was going there for the specific purpose to raise him from the dead. (John 11:11-12). It's not like he arrived there heartbroken that his friend was dead and then God told him to raise Lazarus from the dead. But when he meets Mary and sees her weeping he was "deeply moved in spirit and troubled." And he went to the tomb and wept. Why was he troubled? Why did he cry? If it was me I'd have arrived with this smug little smile and a knowing look in my eye..."Guess what?!" It would have been like giving someone the best present ever. I'd have been ecstatic. Jesus mourned. I think this is because he truly does share in our sorrows. I'm allowed to cry and mourn for my uncle John's diagnosis and believe for his healing. Jesus did it for his friend Lazarus.
I believe in hoping against all hope. The diagnosis says that my uncle will be taken before his time by cancer. My God says that he died for our healing. I want to believe God for more than I do now. I want to ask him for things that I know he wants to give me without being afraid the way that I am so often. I want to be like Abraham. He wasn't stupid. He didn't sit around thinking, "oh good, even though I'm nearly dead, I know that God promised me a child and that's that! Yippee!". The bible says that Abraham faced the facts that he could see, that his body simply couldn't produce the sperm necessary to make a child. He dealt with what he knew of this world, and he believed in what he knew of the next, not because he was such a spiritual guy, but because God actually had to make an incredible promise to him, and then persuade him that it was true.
"Yet he did not waver in unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God has the power to do what he had promised. "
God is working on persuading me that he wants to heal my uncle. He's made some promises, but my head knows that not everything works out the way I want it to. Good godly people die all the time. I'm facing the fact that cancer is lethal. And I'm trying to believe the truth that God is bigger than my reality.
I'm going to try with all my heart to give glory to God this Easter, for not only raising his Son from the dead, but for showing me that same miracle again and again in my own life, in people that I care dearly about. For doing it in me. Happy Easter guys. I love you.

I can't believe it. It's here (at least for those of us lucky enough to live on Vancouver Island). Camping season. Next weekend, because it's Easter, I get a four day weekend and we're grabbing our tent and getting out of here. The weather is supposed to be beautiful and hot (20 degrees!) and I'm thinking Saltspring. There's a great campsite where you can camp next to the ocean, and if it does get rainy, you can always head to a coffee shop, or spend Saturday browsing a farmers market. We can go hiking in one of a million places, and just hang out for a few days. I adore Saltspring, it's one of the coolest places in BC.
Depending on when the family has easter dinner (I heard Monday night) then we'll hang out from Thursday evening until Monday afternoon. I'm thrilled. It's about time. The rain has been starting to get to us, especially Peter, and it's time we took a few days away from it all to just enjoy all the reasons why we love BC. We're praying for good weather, but I'm pretty set on going no matter what. It snowed on us last year in WY and we didn't pack up, and had a great time. Plus it's early enough in the year that no fire bans have set in yet! I cant wait. This is by far, my favorite thing to do with my darling husband and I'm so glad that spring is finally here!

So it seems that I've been remodeling everything a bit lately. Last week I sold some DVD sets that I wasn't watching and Peter hated anyway, and had $80 to spend on anything I wanted. I wanted a new bedroom. When we bought our bedroom set, we picked a fairly neutral colored bedspread so that if I wanted a change I could have one without having to spend hundreds of dollars, and wasting all the nice stuff I already had.
REFERENCE:
This is what my bedroom used to look like:

I felt like I was on trading spaces. "Melanie, you have one afternoon, $80 and a bedroom that matches everything else in your house. It's great, but it needs some "wow" some "spark". Something that sets it apart as a romantic haven, rather than an attachment from your living room". Anyone who has been to my house knows that everything in it is either brown, ivory, red, black, or possibly orange. In every room. So the bedroom was starting to feel a little bland. I've been missing colors like blue or green lately.
I needed new sheets to give the bedroom a new look. And all the sheets we have are presents from others, and are really nice. From doing some price comparison shopping, I realized that the people who bought our sheets spent lots on them. More than I have ever spent of sheets, more money than I have now. We love those people by the way. The cheapest sheet set I found was $40 at WalMart, and they just felt like really thin cardboard. Scratchy. Peter would have none of this. Why in the WORLD would we change a perfectly nice bedroom, put our expensive sheets in a drawer and sleep on scratchy sheets just because they were a different color, and Melanie needed a change?! Besides, she'd be sleeping anyway, who cares what color they are?
After much searching, at a specialty bedding store in the mall (Quilts Etc, for those Nanaimo folk - GO BUY SHEETS) I found a clearance sale. Beautiful silky 300 thread count sheet sets in a variety of colors. They were about the same price as the pillowcases I wanted at Home Outfitters (that store is a racket). They were the right color, I was sold. Now all I needed was accessories to match. I had some lamps in other rooms I could take, I had a picture that had been looking out of place for a while above my dining room table, but my side tables, and my decorative pillow would need to be bought. I bought fabric from a clearance bin at WalMart for the tables, and a new pillow from Home Sense. Voila! It worked, I was exactly on budget, my sheets feel divine, and I actually introduced a new color and a slightly more feminine touch to our bedroom. Take a look! Peter is still getting used to the silky material on the side tables, and the fact that I added a swath of the same material over the closet.He will love it very soon. It just takes him a while to process new information.


I love blue and brown together. For some reason it makes me think of Hawaii, and that makes me think of summer. I love the little rug that I threw in the room, and the way our office lamps look. I love the new look and the fact that it looks different than all the red you see everywhere else in the house. When you walk into the bedroom now, it looks completely different to me. And if you open the drapes to see the ocean outside, it ties together beautifully. I'm very excited, as much about the new look as the great deals I found. So now I've added for your enjoyment, some fun facts about sheets that I never knew before:
-Thread count on sheets means virtually nothing. I bought once, for the low price of $80 US dollars :P 1200 thread count sheets. I was expecting heaven. Literally. The highest thread count I'd ever seen in a store was 800 and that was only once. I was so excited when I crawled into bed that first night. Not so great. I thought maybe they'd been starched in the packaging, so I washed them and loaded them with fabric softener. Twice. Nada. They are our least comfortable sheets. They pill in the dryer, and I have no patience for them. None.
-If you take normal everyday WalMart sheets not the really cheap ones that you buy for college or ywam, but the middle of the road ones, and IRON THEM, you will be amazed at how much softer they are. Ironing sheets is an instant way to make them softer, and was proven in blind tests to be much more comfortable than unironed sheets with higher thread counts. You don't even have to iron them every time you wash them, maybe every other, or every third time. They'll stay nice and soft. Who knew? If you are my mother, spend the money on great sheets to begin with and save yourself the complete insanity of ironing sheets. If you are me, and you need the smell of fabric softener, slip a bounce sheet between your comforter and your top sheet. Or three. (I put bounce sheets everywhere, even in pillowcases)
There you have it. A new blog and a new bedroom. Lucky little me.

that is all.

First, it's amazing that I've got thing thing on my page. Carrie is the coolest. It looks dumb where it is, but maybe she can move it when she makes my new background...
Have a listen, there's a bunch of stuff on here that I love right now, and that I've loved forever and always will...
I'm a little selfish in my musical tastes. I can appreciate something for simply the talent it takes to produce it, but I won't listen to it in the car. Music is all about atmosphere to me, all about what it makes ME feel. I like what I like, and I don't usually apologize for what I don't. This drives Peter a little crazy. Take country for instance. I grew up with it, it's familiar to me, and I like it. I don't care that that isn't cool anymore, if it ever was. I enjoy it, and it makes me smile.
Lots of stuff reminds me of certain times in my life, most of this does actually. Dashboard Confessional for example, though they are the quintessential breakup-with-your-boyfriend/girlfriend-and-sit-in-a-disillusioned-stupor-for-days music, they make me so happy. I was introduced to them in Hawaii, right when I first got there, and everything in my life was beginning again, and we were driving to the beach. The girl driving had just broken up with her boyfriend-poor thing. I don't buy into the "emo" culture (or the word for that matter) but I love Dashboard. Not usually all the copycat bands that followed however. Just Dashboard.
I love fifties music, I love how romantic everything was then. It makes me wish I was born in a different era. I'd love to have seen Nat King Cole in concert, and couldn't care less if I ever saw U2 (though I have my favorite song of theirs on here too).
I love Willie Nelson and I don't care that he's a pothead. He's just got the greatest voice. I love Patsy Cline, because she makes me wish that country were that cool again. I LOATHE this new brand of redneck country that "artists" like Gretchen Wilson and Toby Keith are selling. It's all garbage. You don't have to live in a trailer park to enjoy country music, though it was a good marketing plot on their part I guess. All that untapped fan base with nobody making money from them but Kid Rock and a bunch of bands that don't exist anymore...
I love romantic music: Never Saw Blue Like That by Shawn Colvin, The Luckiest (WONDERFUL SONG) by Ben Folds Five, and Forever by Ben Harper (another pothead I love), which I would have walked up the aisle to had I known the song then.
I have a long standing love affair with songs that make me feel sad and alone. It's like people who enjoy scaring themselves with horror movies I suppose. I love Goo Goo Dolls - which was my first adult rebellion when I moved out of my mom's house. She trashed the "depressing devil music" and I missed it so much, even if I did lie to her and tell her it was Shawn's crap cd. I bought it again, as well as a couple of their other albums and love them all. Matchbox 20 is the same way. "Bright Lights" reminds me of the worst time in my life, and I actually had to stop listening to it for a long time simply because it made me dislike myself so much. Me and Matchbox have since made up, and I'm glad for it.
Then there's all the uplifting music, the worship songs, and things like Jack Johnson and John Mayer. I put "You Raise Me Up" on here simply because the song is great, but the first time I heard it, I was actually watching the music video, and I fell in love with that. Haven't seen it? Take a look! It's with the Cirque de Soliel dancers, and it makes me cry a little. It's amazing.
So there you have it. Some of my favorites. If you hate it, don't worry about it. Hit skip, there's 55 songs on there, you're bound to find something you'll like.

When people ask me where I'm from, I get a confused look on my face. I don't know. I've moved well over 40 times, and I've lived in Canada, the USA and Mexico. "I'm Canadian" I usually say; and though I wouldn't call myself patriotic, I know that I derive a small amount of identity from what my passport says on the front.
What amazes me most about Americans is their incredible misconceptions about Canada. Anyone who hasn't been here, doesn't know much about how we live. I heard it from an American comedian put this way (hugely paraphrased): "It's not like we don't like Canada. Canada is like the huge attic in this great house we live in. One day you wander up there and it's like, 'WOW! There's a lot of great crap up here!"
What amazes me most about Canadians that haven't lived in America is the ridiculous ideas we have about them. We think that everyone in America is just like a stockbroker from New York, and they think we're all fishermen from Newfoundland.
What bugs me about both places is that everyone thinks everything is the same across the border. "It's not that different, no big deal." They'd be wrong. Living in the US didn't afford me a lot of culture shock, but let me tell you: It's tiring trying to figure out all the time how fast 30 miles an hour is, or how warm 80 degrees Fahrenheit is. It's frustrating to use the currency and to constantly try to figure out how much things cost. Usually I just gave up. I never understood why people walked around with shoes on in my house. Peter deals with this all the time now, just like I did in the States.
Here's what I hate the most though: Today in my own country, I was not at all proud to be a Canadian, or a member of the Commonwealth for that matter. I was ashamed, and I had to apologize to my "arrogant American" husband today for the words of one Canadian, and one British gentleman. They thought it may be okay -in full earshot of him- to badmouth America. A lot. Not everything they said was even true, but that's not the point. If America was a hellhole that should be bombed and all it's inhabitants made to be just like "good smart Canadians (or Brits)" it wouldn't make a difference. They became exactly what they accused "all Americans" of being. Ignorant and prideful. I don't think they did it on purpose, and I don't care if they think it, but they said it, and they offended him. And infuriated me. I know how hard he works to fit in here, not only with a new family that he doesn't know very well, but in a country where he doesn't exactly fit.
When I was in an American church, a well meaning pastor started "poking fun" at Canada for our leniency on gay rights. I was furious, I nearly walked out of church. What if all Canadians don't believe in gay marriage, what if one of them is within earshot, away from her family and many things familiar, trying to fit in and put aside what she understands? Then don't you look like an ass...
I love America. I love Canada. There are things that both countries need to learn from each other. There are things that both countries need to abandon. Unfortunately, both countries are made up of people, and people are, flawed. So next time you're about to bash George Bush or our "downstairs neighbors" in a public place, maybe have a second thought. America is made up of a lot of nice people, and a few ignorant ones that ruin the name for all. So is Canada. They're the leading world power and so they face a lot more scrutiny than we do. That'd be hard. I like knowing I can travel to Europe without having to slap another countries' flag on my backpack. Peter nearly stormed in and asked the British gentleman today why, if Americans are so ignorant and self absorbed, did they save Britian's ass in WWII? Good question. Why, if Canada is so freaking great do we as Canadians allow some of the policies passed to become the country that our children will live in? Another good question.
I don't care which country is better, if George Bush is the anti-christ, or if Canadian are all uneducated lumberjacks. I care about how we treat people.
I'll admit to you, I'm angry. It's happened to me, it's happened to Peter, and it'll happen again. I'm sad that we can't practice tolerance half the time because we're too hung up on what our opinions are. I know I do this all the time, and it's something I truly loathe about myself. Something I'll work a million years on so that maybe one day I can go a year without sticking my foot in my mouth and offending someone.
This post is absolutely NOT for posting your political ideas. Call me a jerk but I'll delete your comments. If you're a fisherman from Newfoundland, I think you're awesome, I couldn't enjoy seafood without you. If you're a stockbroker from New York, I hope you do really well. If you hate George, love him, are British, gay, straight, Christian, atheist, Buddhist, or just someone who thinks it's totally normal to walk into a house without removing your shoes, I hope that I work hard to make you feel like a person, a human being, even if you do things differently, see things differently. Even if I think you're wrong. You are a person created by God, so am I. We inhabit the same planet, and that's good enough for me.

So Vancouver Island is participating in Dining Out For Life, and AIDS/HIV and Hepatitis C fundraiser. If you go out to dinner on March 29 at a participating restaurant, 25% of your bill is donated to AIDS research, treatment and prevention. I checked out the company getting the money, and they sound pretty cool. Plus the Blue Ginger restaurant in Nanaimo is one of the accepted restaurants, and they serve...SUSHI!
I love when communities do stuff like this. There's also a woman giving a dollar for every person who participates, or every restaurant, or something... So if you're looking for a good excuse to eat out, and feel good about it, there you have it. I checked for Saskatchewan, and they're not participating so you'll all have to come out to dinner here with us. What a shame.
Also, the Wesley Street Cafe in Nanaimo is participating and it's fancy and delicious, we went once for a celebration dinner. Check out the site and look at the restaurants, and links to the restaurants sites.
I like the idea of Christians supporting their communities and not just giving money to the church. I know the church is supporting the community, but this gives a bigger sense of ownership. I like finding creative ways to tithe (and creative reasons to eat sushi) so this works for me.
As for the long rant, I'm still too mad. People are selfish, people in general, not aimed specifically at one of you, hoping you pick up the hint, I hate that. Maybe I'll try to write about it later, but the more I think, the madder I get, and that means that post will be very very long. I'll try and condense my anger and get back to ya.

It's been a little while since I've posted, and not a lot is happening. I'm trying not to screw up too much at my new job...a few days ago the machine in the back said I took $91,000, so that wasn't a lot of fun. It took three days to fix and I had to convince my new boss I didn't shove the cash down my shirt. I really am enjoying the job, and am hoping for lots of hours. Our friends from WY are coming up in a couple of months, and I'm very excited about that. Other than that, it's just been life. Wake up, go to work, come home, eat, do laundry, watch the latest addicting tv show, go to bed. So here's a little look into my neurosis lately as I have nothing more interesting to write about...

I'm a big believer in trying nearly anything. And I am an emotional person who becomes very easily attached to the idea of something. Everyone is a little like this, I think. For example: nobody likes their first sip of coffee. (Except Robyn who downed cups of it ice cold with the cream making those little oily swirls on top at the ripe age of three.) Everyone is surprised at how bitter it is and usually doctors it up, or starts drinking Starbucks Frappaccino's first. They slowly ease their way into it. I find it difficult to believe that a 14 year old guy likes his first sip of beer. But we like the idea of coffee in the morning, and a beer on a hot day with the boys, while you're hammering up drywall or something equally masculine...so we figure out a way to like it. I'm big on this. Most people would say there's something a little fake about this. Not me. If at first you don't succeed, squelch the gag reflex until you love it, or at the very least, are good and addicted. There's plenty of things that I didn't like at first that I can't imagine living without now.
For example:
I love sushi. I don't like plain white rice, I really dislike seaweed, and I don't like fish, and certainly not raw. I don't like much of what they put in there, avacado and other such nonsense. But I ADORED the idea of sushi. It looks so fresh and healthy and it looks so pretty on a plate. You get to eat it with chopsticks, which is a pretty big bonus to me regardless. I once ate wedding cake in Japan with chopsticks, no kidding. I really think it tasted better. Since my first trip to Japan, over six years ago, I've been trying sushi. The first time I nearly threw up. I spat it out and tried to think of anything than the crunch of raw eel between my teeth. A year or so later I tried again. No luck. I've been doing this again and again, for the longest time, and over the past two years have upped it to trying every three months at least. I really wanted to like sushi. About four or five months ago, we went to this sushi place and I ordered noodles (mediocre) and tried a piece of Peter's sushi. It was fantastic. I loved it. All of a sudden, just like that. I swear to you, the other day I ordered sushi with raw tuna and avacado. It was delicious.


Who wouldn't want to drink that? It's beautiful. Because I watched everyone I know drink coffee, I never thought I would be one of those people who honestly wouldn't like it. I of course didn't the first time, but I kept trying and now I'll get a headache if I don't have one. Brilliant. There's an emotional tie to my morning coffee, to coffee related things in the house, mugs and coffee colors that I'm just not willing to part with. The first gift Peter ever got me was a pretty coffee mug. My friend Loren honestly doesn't like coffee. He's a tea man. I think that's silly and he should just try it until he loves it and can't live without it. But he also drinks carrot smoothies.
I used to say, "if it swam, I don't like it" but that was when I was stupid. Peter took me to Bubba Gump's in Kona for my birthday a few years ago, and we ordered this. I actually peeled the legs off those little suckers and ate them. LEGS! They were fantastic and I was shocked. Robyn was once paid sixty bucks to eat a shrimp, which she gagged down and she now loves. Good for her, I say.
Ahh, and my greatest achievement. The first time I drank red wine I was told to describe it (wine tasting training for Olive Garden). I said that it tasted like the remnants of my McDonald's breakfast and nail polish remover and had a lovely dirt finish. I choked a little. Then the guy gave us this vegetable soup and told us to take a bite. It tasted like ground beef and tomatoes, even though there was lots of other stuff in it. He took a shot of wine, dumped it in the soup and told us to try again. The first thing I could taste was veggies. Carrots and celery and onion. I was amazed. Food really does taste better with wine. I didn't care it if tasted like paint thinner. I wanted to love it. So I started with Boone's and then Wild Vines Raspberry Merlot, then blush, white, and then red.

I wonder if I'm really crazy. I actually wonder this a lot. The wine and coffee thing I think a lot of people do, but maybe I'm over the top with seafood, sushi, pumpkin pie (had my first real piece without gagging this thanksgiving, yippee!) avacado, rice, etc... Ahh well. I figure my life must be that much richer (or poorer, wine is pricey) because of my relentless pursuit of things I want to like but don't. I figure there's got to be a good life analogy in here somewhere but I couldn't be bothered right now.

Sometimes life is just funny. Things have been an uphill battle lately, especially since we moved back to BC, and though there have been some really great things going on, a lot of it has been really hard. I'm tentative in saying we're nearing the end, though that's how it's been feeling lately.
Things seem to slowly be falling into place, and though these last months have been pretty hard on us, I'm glad to begin seeing the end of the tunnel, and still be walking through it leaning on God and each other more than ever. It's felt to me like something epic is going on in the midst of the mundane disappointment that we've been dealing with lately. I don't know why, but over breakfast with Peter one day I told him that something in how we deal with this time in our lives feels integral to me. Urgent. This isn't just a hard time, it's a turning point, and I've been feeling the gravity of our every response to it. To badly quote John Eldredge, "There's more to this...something bigger is going on here and I'm a part of it even though I don't understand." I actually wrote a journal entry months back where I said that I felt like God was telling us that things were about to get pretty rough, that we'd get to the very edge of what we thought we could take, He'd take it a little further, and then relief. We've been praying for that dependency in our life together, and I'm startled that our asking for it didn't make it easier to take when it came. I know it's not all going to be okay from here on out. I know that my parameters of "okay" are being stretched, and still I feel this weight. This sobering heaviness in knowing that this is so important. That we have to do this right, learn it right. I'm reminded of something Peter and I just read to each other from The Silver Chair. Jill and Eustace have just landed in Narnia, and Eustace has fallen off the cliff and Jill is left alone and meets the Lion for the first time while searching for something to drink:

"Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion.
"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.
"Then drink," said the Lion.
"May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.
"I make no promise," said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
"Do you eat girls?" she said.
"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.
It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion - no one who had seen his stern face could do that - and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once. Before she tasted it she had been intending to make a dash away from the Lion the moment she had finished. Now, she realized that this would be on the whole the most dangerous thing of all...

I wish I saw myself in Lewis' Lucy, but if I were honest, I don't really. I see myself in Jill most of all. She's exactly like me, and she messes things up so badly and so often that you almost want to scream. The only saving grace to Jill is that she takes correction pretty well. Aslan reminds her of what's important, and she pulls through alright, though at the conclusion of the story, feeling sad, relieved, and sheepish at victory instead of triumphant, knowing herself how close she had come to doing it all wrong, and holding very little stock in herself and much in the Lion. My favorite characters in these stories are the ones that are so terribly flawed. It gives me hope for myself.

"I wish I was at home," said Jill.
Eustace nodded, saying nothing, and bit his lip.
"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrelings. And she wanted to say "I'm sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them toward him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:
"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."
"Please Aslan," said Jill, "may we go home now?"

For the first time in my life, I have a grown-up job. I have just been hired at the bank, and I start on Monday. I'm so happy I could cry...okay, so I cried a little, can we keep that between us please? I got to call Home Outfitters and decline their generous offer (part time, minimum wage). I would have liked the work, I'm sure, and would have had the added stress of not using my employee discount and spending my entire cheque. Now I don't have to worry about it. I may even have enough from this job that I can go shopping once in a while!!
I don't even know for sure what they're paying me, but I know it's more than minimum wage, and I know that I have a hundred ways to advance within the company and possibly make more money that way. They are not open an hour that I'm not available to work, so I'll never have to worry about having an availability fight with my boss. I can't count the number of times I've fought for Sundays off, or for a couple of hours with Peter a week. I was starting to worry that I'd end up waitressing again (which as a job I like) and never see Peter (which simply isn't an option). You just can't work daytime hours at a restaurant.
I can't believe how much I want to hug that human resources lady at the bank. What a lovely, sweet woman. I hope something great happens to her today. I guess unless you knew the scope of what Peter and I were dealing with financially, you wouldn't grasp how great this news is for us. I feel like God just threw us a lifeline, and that everything is going to be okay.
Wow, thanks God, for taking such good care of us, and forgive me for ever doubting that you'd do anything less than that. I know how blessed I am, whether I have money in the bank or not, but thanks for knowing how to take care of our financial needs as well. Yippee!!

So things have been a little crazy lately. I tried to find a funny picture that describes how I'm feeling lately, and this was it. Poor little guy. He looks so confused.
Yesterday I had my 5th job interview. This time it was for the Coastal Community Credit Union. It was a nice jump from the last one, a dishwasher at a local bakery (yep, that's what that guy reccommended me for - thanks pal). I went downtown, walked into this spiffy office, met their human resources lady (lovely woman) and had an hour and a half interview. Yipes. I'd start as a teller (ahem, Member Service Representative) and could move up from there. The pay is great and you get full and extended benefits after only 90 days. This would be brilliant, and I'm supposed to hear back from them today or tomorrow.
However, the twist is that I've just been offered a job at Home Outfitters. I'd like the work itself, and the people there were fantastic, but the pay is minimum wage, and the hours are not exactly what I'd love. I'd do it, and be happy with it, if it was necessary, but I'd way rather have the bank job. I guess we'll see. The lovely woman from yesterday told me that I had a pretty good shot if my references checked out. They will. I'll keep you posted on how this all goes. Thanks to everyone who's been praying, I really appreciate it. The best news of today is that I have a job. Maybe not the one I'd love, but I have the security of knowing that Peter and I will be able to pay rent next month. Awesome.