"Three minutes and four seconds," I reported to my rehabilitation trainer.
"Good job. That's two seconds faster than your last cross-trainer time. Take a rest," she instructed. I did. And I am implementing her advice in a bigger way. I'll be taking a week or two off to rest and rejuvenate the creative juices. See you in June! With love and gratitude, Shelaine
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I am older now.
Of course I recognize that aging doesn’t just happen annually but birthdays have a way of pointing it out. It fascinates me how our culture’s emphasis on 5’s and 10’s make arriving at certain years a milestone event. You’re turning 40? That’s a big deal. 50? Definitely worth celebrating being alive that long. Or, perhaps for some, a desire to deny it’s possible to have become that old. There are a host of emotional responses to this process. I recall hitting 25 as being significant. (Yes, I can remember that far back!) Our first son had arrived six weeks prior to me reaching the quarter-century mark. I woke up thinking, “I am no longer a young adult. I am going to have to be responsible now for the rest of my life.” It was a heavy ‘good morning’. Little did I realize at the time how much joy there is in being a grown up. There have certainly been challenges and times where the whimsy of childhood has had strong appeal. But, I rarely recall wishing I could go back and be a teenager again. Not all of my memorable birthdays have corresponded to “big years”. I turned 39 in the midst of the nine-week, tag-team Chicken Pox affair of our three boys. That one may have echoed back to the 25 crisis. There was also the year – I don’t recall which– that my sweet husband and pre-school sons brought me breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, no one mentioned to them that you can’t cook eggs-in-shells in the microwave. Evidence of that celebration remained on the ceiling for ages. So how does it feel to be 52? A lot like it did to be 51. But marking the day of my birth this week has brought me back to a place of deep gratitude to the Lord for the life I have. I do not take for granted how God has consistently cared for our family, provided healing, given joy – even in difficult seasons – and sustained us. The Bible is full of references to remembering, recalling, looking back on. I particularly appreciate the visual description of stones of remembrance - individual rocks piled together to mark God’s faithfulness and provisions. I have a towering stack, and this week added one more. With love and gratitude, Shelaine © 2017 I’ve spent much of this week soaking in. (And that's not referring to our BC weather!)
I had the privilege of attending a conference for pastors and leaders at Regent College on the UBC campus. Each speaker took a slightly different tact on the topic of how we can get to know our neighborhoods and build healthy communities. There’s much food for thought but here are a couple of highlights I’m still chewing on. One speaker – I honestly don’t even recall which one – began with the statement and question. “Jesus tells us to love our neighbor. What if he means our actual neighbor?” That question coupled with the following story has left me pondering my own role on our street. A church set out to hire a pastor who would oversee the work of getting to know people in the area around the church – the congregation’s neighborhood. They received many applications, shortlisted the stack, and began interviewing their top picks. At the end of each interview they made one request. “Please provide us with the phone number of two of your immediate neighbors as references.” Apparently the applicant pool dwindled quickly. So, today I leave you with the question I continue to ponder. What would my neighbors say if they were asked to give a reference about my neighborliness? With love and gratitude, Shelaine ©2017 I love painting!
The challenge of guiding a brush along the ceiling line with a steady hand invigorates me. Seeing foot-wide swatches of fresh color appear with each pass of the roller spurs me on. And that’s painting, right? Hardly. Move furniture to gain access to walls. Wash walls. Identify and patch holes, dings and divots. Wait several hours. Sand polyfilled areas. Re-fill some repaired spots. Sand again and then wash walls, floors, and hair! Let it all dry while gathering at least four screw drivers to remove light switch and outlet plates held in place with endless combinations of different screws. I think it’s time to “begin.” And while I’ve been slathering our walls with Stonehearth, I’ve had plenty of time to ponder this experience and how it reminds me of the job search process. Preparation comes to mind. Many people I work with think a tour of internet job postings, and uploading a general resume will yield their dream job. Sometimes, perhaps. But in my experience, I find that ones who put effort into customizing a cover letter and resume to each position get more interviews. The front end work pays off in the end. I’ve also had people assure me that they are great in interviews. I recall one unemployed man who raved about his winsome personality, his great ability to “wing it” and the 16 interviews he had completed. Did I mention he was still without work? Being skillful in an interview requires thoughtful consideration of the questions you might be asked, taking time to craft answers that demonstrate skills and abilities, and practice in speaking the words out loud. It’s a lot of work, but can reap important dividends. The stable hand for cutting in a paint line along a ceiling or door frame reminds me of the internal steadying required to change jobs or careers. Many emotions tapped, insecurities raised, obstacles encountered and decisions required can leave a person rattled and unsure. Breathe. Breathe deeply and then breathe some more. And then go back and review the truth about who you are and all you have to offer. Doing an honest appraisal of ourselves is humbling and gratifying if we allow God to show us the gifts we have to offer and the skills we’ve gathered along the way. So back to painting I go. Don’t even get me started on clean up. With love and gratitude, Shelaine © 2017 |
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