I first encountered the phrase, “hurry up and wait” twelve years ago when our family visited friends in Indonesia. Getting ten of us – four adults and six kids – out the door to the airport required many, “let’s go, let’s go” urgings. We’d pile bodies and luggage in the van and race off to our next flight.
Invariably, the plane wasn’t there. Apparently departure times were a whimsical hope, not a scheduled expectation. So, we waited. This past couple of weeks have reminded me of Indonesia travels. A call for proposals demands immediate attention. Write the material. Proof read. Submit. Wait for the outcome. Purchase gifts, wrap, and anticipate the giving. Buy a ticket to Manitoba at the 11th hour of WestJet’s sale and count sleeps before seeing my parents for a quick weekend visit. Push hard to finish all the changes on my new book. Order the proof. Edit again. Asks fresh eyes to read the hard copy. Submit changes and wait, hopeful the book will arrive before Christmas. It won’t. At least not according the shipping promises. If all goes as planned, But Pain Crept In should be available for purchase December 26th. Yes, the day after Christmas. I have mixed feelings. The self-imposed deadline certainly provided the final prodding I needed to complete this project. It seemed a reasonable, even attainable goal, and done feels great. The hurry up is over. And now, more waiting. I’ve had some practice cultivating patience so that part isn’t too uncomfortable. And living with open hands, leaving the outcome up to God, is a familiar theme I’m often reminded to practice. So what’s the niggling inner mix? It seems there’s a little competitive spirit lurking within that can’t let go of the, “just maybe it will arrive ahead of schedule!” Of course my rational side counters quickly with, “Seriously? You think a parcel will show up early in December?” The optimist and realist continue to battle it out. And I’m reminded that it’s really a small deal in the scope of life. And that it’s really not my book anyway. It’s God’s story and it will be told in His timing. So, I’ll expend my energies on other matters in mean time. But… if it does land on my doorstep prior to the 26th, you’ll be the first to know. :) With love and gratitude, Shelaine
0 Comments
This week I chatted with someone preparing to climb Mt. Everest.
Seriously. This wasn't a metaphor for challenges she is facing or obstacles to be overcome; she intends to summit the mountain. As we discussed her recent training trip in Nepal, she talked about preparation for combating high altitude sickness. I asked what she could do to prevent it and she named a medication, but quickly added, "the most important piece is addressing my fear." I needed her to connect the dots. What does fear have to do with avoiding cerebral edema? Everything, apparently. When we feel afraid our brains kick into survival and self-preservation mode. Adrenaline courses through the body causing the heart to race as it pumps blood faster and harder to large muscles, preparing them for the "getaway." And while the heart is beating wildly, our lungs kick into a rapid, shallow pattern taking in oxygen quickly in case we need to defend ourselves or make a speedy escape. In and out goes the air, with less and less oxygen saturation. The penny dropped. Fear leads to the brain not being properly oxygenated. I knew that, but somehow it struck me differently in this context. And what amazed me more was how this woman has prepared herself to combat fear from genuine risk. "One wrong step and I'd be falling thousands of feet into Tibet." Yikes. Over the course of this last year, this adventurer has spent two hours a day quietly reflecting on her inner world, identifying issues that scare her and breathing through them. Over time she has come to associate one word with the relaxed, deep breathing that oxygenates her brain and saves her life. So, on a Nepalese mountain, when crossing a raging waterfall, she thought of her word and immediately felt her body respond: muscles relaxed, lungs filled, thinking cleared. I came away from our chat struck by the significance of these insights. Don't get me wrong, I don't intend to take up mountaineering. However, I feel like the principles she employs are brilliant for everyday living as well. Today I am pondering my fears and how I might come back to truth, or a promise. What could be a redeeming trigger to bring me to peace when stressed? With love and gratitude, Shelaine I'm in the final stages of labor.
It's an overused analogy but the similarities are striking. Writing a book is a lot like giving birth. This week I am down to final edits on my second tome. I am working with the designer doing the layout and cover, and we're close to sending it to the publisher. But not yet. These days are some of the most challenging for me in the writing process. Going back over the same material again and again requires detailed patience and perseverance. It's tempting to say, "Looks great. Let's be done and move on." (Not ideal if I desire a quality product!) I am thankful for people around me who are gifted in editing, repeatedly. The hours spent capturing the story of my journey in pain from my broken-down jaw felt like the gestation period. Ideas came, stories unfolded and the project matured into what I believe God intends it to be. I loved writing of and remembering God's precious care and provision throughout. Growing the story was the easy part. And then came labor. Checking for grammar and spelling mistakes. Catching the 87 times I put the period outside the quotation marks instead of inside. (Thank goodness for "find and replace!") This is the hard work, where my commitment to the task is challenged. This is when I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather do than edit my words one. more. time. And this is where doubt seeps in. Will anyone read it? Will people be encouraged? Is it worth buying? But a still small voice reminds me that those questions are not mine to answer, and I return to a well-worn lesson. My job is to be faithful to the call to write and publish this story. The result and growth of the "baby" is up to God. So, let me be the first to introduce you to the next member of our Strom literary family: But Pain Crept In: In the midst of suffering, when loss burns to the soul, I give thanks It is my hope that the book will be available for purchase before Christmas. Please message me if you would like to pre-order a copy and watch for further information in the coming weeks. With love and gratitude, Shelaine This week our Abbotsford community lost a much-loved police officer in a senseless act of violence.
We are grieving the death of Constable John Davidson, who “lived his life to the fullest...John was a selfless individual who was always looking to better the lives of those around the community.”* He continues to do so even now. Yesterday I got on the #1 highway and headed west for a client meeting 30 minutes away in Langley. There seemed to be extra vehicle volume so I turned on traffic radio to determine my route. I soon learned that a police motorcade had formed at Vancouver General Hospital and was beginning to escort Constable Davidson's body back to Abbotsford. Deep emotion rose as I considered his family in the line of cars slowly making their way out of the city. I wasn't prepared for what I witnessed. Along my route, on every overpass, stood hundreds of first-responders and civilians surrounded by police cars and fire trucks, lights flashing. And I saw accounts of thick crowds lining the streets of Vancouver and Abbotsford. Such respect. Such honor. I am deeply moved by the outpouring of support, love, and respect for this officer. And, I am deeply challenged. I want to be part of a community where we hold an everyday attitude of respect, honor, and regard for people who serve and protect us, not just in face of tragedy. May we all choose to love well. With love and gratitude, Shelaine *from Abbotsford Police Union statement It was mutual transformation at its best.
I have been to Cambodia twice in 18 months - the second time just last week. My first adventure came three short months after I joined the staff of Food for the Hungry (FH). Most recently I led a team of three other women on a vision trip to see first-hand the work God is doing through FH. Trips with FH are unique. We don’t “do” anything for the people we visit. It’s a difficult concept for us North Americans to wrap our minds around but the impact of the time is profound. One of my team members said, “Something was revealed on this trip that I find difficult to fully comprehend and yet I must continue to wrestle with the truth of it. I heard repeatedly, and from various sources, the deep significance of me, a woman and a foreigner, coming to visit the people of Cambodia. The impact of my visit there does not come from any tangible thing I bring to them. It comes simply from my presence among them.” I, too, was moved by the importance Cambodian villagers and FH staff placed on us four women making the trek from Canada. Showing up spoke into their value – they are worth being visited. They felt encouraged to press on with their endeavors to provide for their families. We heard appreciation for how we took delight in their successes as they move from poverty to thriving. They felt supported. Because of our presence. I am privileged to be able to travel with my work and see hope-filled eyes of the most vulnerable. They are being changed by the power of God’s redeeming love and the sacrificial work of the Cambodian FH staff who daily walk alongside, teaching and mentoring. And I am changed as well, because of their presence. As I said to a friend in an email from Cambodia: “I love being here...feel like I'm picking up the piece of my heart I left here a year ago.” Guess I’ll have to go back soon and get the piece I left there this time. With love and gratitude, Shelaine Can you describe the soil around your home? Could you identify five resident and migratory birds in your area? Which way is north from where you are sitting?
These are just three of twenty questions our Food for the Hungry staff were challenged with last week on our professional development day at A Rocha, an environmental stewardship organization. The point of the exercise was to reflect more deeply on where we are situated on the planet and to be more attentive to creation. I can point north with confidence. Many of the other categories left me pondering. I don’t think I can trace our water supply from rainfall to my tap nor can I say exactly where my garbage goes. To be honest, my world isn’t shaken by lack of this knowledge. I’m not sure that’s good news. I found the overall experience eye-opening as I recognize now how disconnected we suburbanites generally are to the created world. We heard that as high as 80 percent of children today do not regularly spend time in nature, or even outside in a city park. So what does it take to become a better citizen of planet earth? What can I do in my own little yard that will make any difference, let alone have global impact? These were some of the topics we discussed with the A Rocha staff. The answers surprised me. Yes, we talked about reducing our consumption of material goods and resources like fuel. Yes, we covered reusing items rather than being part of the “throw-away” crowd. Yes, we even touched on recycling. But those weren’t the central points. When asked, “What can I do to make a difference for the health of our planet?” Rick Faw, Acting President of A Rocha replied, “Cultivate wonder.” Seriously? Cultivating wonder will rid us of pollution, see fish return to local streams, and reduce landfills? I needed to hear more. He expanded, beginning with this quote by Steven Bouma-Prediger. “We care for only what we love. We love only what we know. We truly know only what we experience.” Pointing out the number of bugs hiding under a rock can create a desire in children to explore. Tracing veins in a leaf gives opportunity to talk with youngsters about a tree’s life-giving properties. Silently breathing in the majesty of mountain views together instills awe in little people. Experiencing nature, in all of its glory, lays the foundation for creation care and stewardship in future generations. And these practices aren’t just for kids. I find myself being challenged, too. Will I take time today to look at trees popping with gold, orange, and burnt sienna and give thanks for the wonder of seasons? Could I consider ways to consume less and share more, possibly opening doors to new relationships with neighbors? Am I willing to evaluate my choices through the lens of stewardship? I am going to find the names of those birds living in my backyard. And apologize for not getting to know them sooner. With love and gratitude, Shelaine This week I spoke to youth about poverty.
Even though I have spoken to thousands of people in varying group sizes, I felt nervous going in. I tried to sort out the contributors to my angst. I know that I'm not a youth speaker so I questioned if I'd be dynamic enough. Am I in touch with what matters to a 15 year-old? Or, was it no more complicated than crowd control? Could I keep the attention of this generation and engage them in meaningful discussion. To be honest, they kind of scare me. And then I went and entered in. We did an exercise on perspective and I had them wear some funky glasses with red, green or blue lenses to illustrate how our worldviews color our understanding. They were willing participants and we had enough discussion. In the end, the youth pastor said she thought it had gone well. I don't have a lot of similar experiences to compare with so I accepted her assessment. I will leave the outcomes of the kids' learning up to God. My takeaway from the evening is a reminder that so often discomfort and fear about a group of people stems from lack of relationship. Seeing familiar faces in the crowd personalized my audience. Genuine questions asked and answered gave opportunity to exchange ideas, opinions and thoughts. Face-to-face interaction can break down stereotypes and build bridges of commonality. It's unlikely that I will quit my day job and take up youth work. However, I am thankful for the challenge this event provided me to have conversations, step out of my comfort zone, and make an effort to know the story of one who seems so different from me. Maybe they are. Maybe they aren't. With love and gratitude, Shelaine “You came to mind recently,” stated my jaw surgeon.
Not surprising, I thought, given my follow-up appointment had been booked for months and perhaps he had looked ahead on his calendar. He continued. “I was working with a patient who had a great deal of support and you came to mind. I remember how your husband was here and all three of your sons came to visit you. And you had so many people supporting you.” He teared up. “That really touched me.” As I left his office the words of an old chorus ran through my head, “They will know we are Christians by our love.” I certainly am loved well and you, my community, have demonstrated Christ’s love through prayer and countless tangible expressions of care. Be encouraged that your acts of outrageous generosity, kindness and love continue to make a difference in my life and beyond. And, I am delighted to report that I have graduated. My surgeon no longer requires me to see him annually. In fact, I will only need to go back if a problem arises and he doesn’t anticipate that happening. I am thankful beyond words. With love and gratitude, Shelaine Life looks different sitting on the floor with an eleven month old.
I spent a day with our grandson last week. We camped out together on the playroom floor, surrounded by colorful toys that beep and honk. We pushed little cars and made “Brrrm, brrm” noises together as the vehicles rolled across the mat. I am unashamedly biased and in love with this little man. Grandma’s prerogative, I believe. First, we read books, which, in and of itself is a great way to learn and grow. But this wasn’t an ordinary reading experience. I turned the pages and spoke the words while he listened intently, pointing and touching. Then he took a turn flipping pages and “telling” the story – “ooaa oooh yaa eeahwa aaath aaowa.” Pat the Bunny never sounded better. Grayson turned the book upside down, started at the end, flipped to the middle and held it sideways, checking it out from every angle. Note to self: Sometimes a change in perspective changes everything. So much interests this little boy, from the tiniest thread to tags on blankets; from new tastes and textures to sounds and sights. The world is fresh and ripe for exploration and chewing on. Note to self: Engage all senses. We also played, “stick the soother in Grandma’s mouth, watch her pop it out, pick it up and repeat,” endlessly. And each ejection of the pacifier resulted in full-body, belly laughing. He displayed such joy and unchecked laughter. Note to self: Be free to laugh spontaneously and often and even at silly things. And later, call to mind the laughter and let it bring a smile. No one needs to know why I’m grinning. Grayson and I also spent time on the weekend by my garden box of arugula. He tentatively pulled a leaf off the salad plant and, of course, put it in his mouth. His scrunched up face and speedy removal of the greens tells me it wasn’t a hit. Note to self: It’s okay to try new things and not like them. In a world fraught with natural disasters and unspeakable atrocities our little grandson brings light and hope and perhaps the most important note to self of all. When I walk into the room and we make eye contact, he bursts into a smile and throws his arms toward me. We hug and snuggle as be burrows his face under my chin and I whisper, “Hello, sweet boy. I love you.” And I am reminded that while I can do little to help the masses, I can make a difference in one life at a time. With love and gratitude, Shelaine "I have no idea what you’re describing!”
That became a familiar conclusion to an activity I used to run with my career transition classes. I would set an object in the center of the class after asking one member to stand at the front with back turned. Then three people, each sitting on a different side of the item, would talk about what they saw without using the actual name of the object. “It’s about a foot tall – a flat rectangle – it’s solid black and has a cord coming out of it. A black cord,” offered person number one. “No, it’s a big silver box and it’s not flat. There’s a smaller silver box jutting out from the top of it and underneath that is something that looks like a UFO,” weighed in participant number two from the opposite side of the room. A gentleman sitting between the first two speakers added, “Well, it is flat and black on one side and it is silver and black on the other. But my side has numbers on black plastic. And the silver side has a black rectangle jutting out with a plunger underneath it and a silver container under that.” “I have no idea what you’re describing!” declared the one listening but not seeing. Different perspectives yield different interpretations of everything. Recently I watched a short video by Brene Brown where she talked about perspective taking and how each of us sees the world through a lens constructed from our unique combination of ethnicity, age, education, gender, experience, insights, family, and other factors. Every day we see life as it filters through our lens and many times believe that how we see something is reality. “Our view is the world.” She then talks about how we mistakenly define empathy as putting down our lens and picking up the lens of another, in order to understand their view. But, “We can’t put down the lens. The lens is soldered to our face. That’s how we see the world.” So how do we take the perspective of another – having empathy - if the lens we see the world through is soldered to our face? Brene continues to provide a definition of empathy that resonates deeply with me. “The answer is, you believe people’s stories; you believe people’s experiences as they tell them to you. You believe when people tell their story and say this is my experience of what it was like to…” How I see the world will never be the same as how you do. But, I’d like to hear what it looks and feels like for you. And for those of you who like closure…the object described above was a coffee maker. With love and gratitude, Shelaine |
In The MidstAuthor:
|