{ the pearl prophecy }

Do my words have some element of prophecy wrapped up in them? My last entry about the pearls was simply something creative that came into my head one week ago; it had nothing to do with my life. That is, it had nothing to do with my life until I wrote it; after I wrote it, nothing could have better applied to Derek and I this past week.

In a matter of two days, our life unravelled. I did indeed feel like I was standing back watching all those beautiful pearls snap off the string, then fall, then scatter. We've never had a worse week than this past one. We seriously considered having to sell our condo. I cried a lot and Derek maintained a pensive silence. Our family was supportive but agreed there was little that we could do about some of the things that had happened. The most we could do was wait--wait and see if the situations somehow improved themselves.

We are still waiting.

The tears have dried up and so has the silence. We are laughing again. We are holding hands more. This morning I've logged on to check my email for the first time in a week. In the afternoon we will put up our Christmas tree and make our house look Christmasy. Perhaps we're only in the eye of the storm, and the worst is yet to come. Or, perhaps the storm is passing and we will see brighter days soon.

Whatever the case, I know we've become stronger as a couple. I know we've learned the hidden strength we have when we're together. We've been learning how to give up the controls we have placed over our life and to just trust that God's hand is over it all, somehow. It's a testing of our faith, to be sure. Lately I remember that song I sang in Sunday school so many years ago; I can't remember all the words, but I can remember some of the tune and actions ... "the wise man built his house upon the rock" ... "the rains came down and the floods came up" ... then there was a verse about the foolish man building his house upon the sand. Of course, the house built on sand could not stand through the storm, but the house built upon the rock made it through.

These days I worry less because I know we've built our house upon the rock.

{ dangling }

an assortment of my grandmother's pearls
do you ever feel like life in front of you is a strand
of pearls,
beautiful and captivating,
shiny and round and perfect, until
it's snagged--

the seemingly tiniest nothing catching up the delicate thread,
tearing the miniscule lifeline that holds the ivory orbs together--

and then there is nothing but quick chaos, an unraveling
too quick for hands to fix or halt.

nothing can top that instant of dread and frustration when the precious spheres
hit the floor. hot cheeks and a bitter tongue are the first to react, and then follow
clumsy, too-big hands that are left with much or little work--it just depends.

the weighty question that follows: what to do with the spillage?
salvage and rebuild? or
discard each pearl, plunkingly, one by one, into the bin?

{ noodles II }

gourmet noodles from Milestone's

{ noodles I }

spicy take-out noodles

{ snowing down strength }

ominous clouds from two nights ago
I woke this morning to see the snow is back--it's not waiting on the ground like it usually does when it shows up; instead, it's falling lightly, fluffily, wafting here and there, sometimes going back up a little before it continues down. From my view here, perched on my high kitchen stool, I can see out the little cactus-clad window to see the flakes ever-growing in size and fluffiness. The ground is slowly transforming from dead yellow-brown to white. I think this snow is here to stay. I hope this snow is here to stay. The sight of death is overwhelming these days--bare branches, dead grass, withered flowers. In one fell swoop the snow should be able to right the scene and clean everything up in a blanket of white.

Somehow, seeing the snow gives me strength. The rain doesn't have the ability to do that for me; in fact, the rain exposes my vulnerable heart, and I find myself often teary-eyed when it is wet outside. For that reason I know I could never live on the West Coast--I would be a sniffling wreck forever! But right now, as I see the snow falling down and the wind howling, Alberta style, I think of others than myself. I always, without fail, find myself wondering about the pioneers that had to dwell through the first, previously undiscovered Albertan winter. I'm always thinking about how they managed to protect themselves from the elements, find food, stoke the fire, travel for pleasure or necessity, and stay cooped up in a tiny little cabin with so many little children for a good six months, at least (the average length of a brutal praries winter).

Even more than thinking about the pioneers, I find myself thinking about the Aboriginal peoples that were here before the white man came with his log cabins and fancy European coats. I am mesmerized by the fact that people could live, for thousands of generations, through the deeply frozen state of winter with help from nothing but nature itself. What an amazing skill, truly! I am sure it is fast becoming a lost art.

Even now, when I look at these latest snowflakes, I find myself thinking of those Canadian ancestors of ours--the pioneers and the First Nations peoples--and drawing such a strength from their spirit. Nowadays when we complain about the tiniest things--a lack of designer jeans, a craving for gourmet food, a desire for a bigger, better car or house--I wonder how many more things those ancestors of our had to complain about, and how justified they would have been to complain!

I don't want to be wishy washy or weak. I don't want to grumble and gripe about what I do not have when I really do have so much to be content with. I want to be as admirable, brave, strong, and industrious as those ancestors of ours, finding a depth of perseverance that most people my age currently can't even fathom.

I'm welcoming the snow with open arms, reveling in its cleansing power and beauty, and embracing the challenge it poses for us.

{ come see my thousand words }

sunset over the pines
these days i seem to have more pictures than words,
more tunes than lyrics.

i am inhabiting the
                             s        p        a        c        e        s
left in poetry,
the whispers after sunset,
the gentle click click click of words
typed instead of uttered.

this morning my most precious word was not a word at all, but a swift WINK which said more than any or all of the words i could have strung together, end to end, copiously, going on and on like too many people i know already do.

but shh. don't tell.

{ girls' day out }

caramello
So today Chrisy and I went for our girls' day out. We hit up the artsy district and I showed Chrisy all the best knick-knack stores. But before we did some window shopping and snooping around quaint clothing stores, we spent a good two hours just chatting, European-style, over good coffees. Chrisy had a white hot chocolate with cheesecake (!) flavor, and I had what they called a caramello. It was steamed chocolate milk with carmel and espresso in it. The taste came out similar to a caramel macchiato, but even better with all the divine, fresh whipped cream and cocoa on top.

We were two sophisticated young women, sitting and sipping, chatting while the homemade tarts were selling like hot cakes behind us. Even the gelato counter was a popular resting spot for people out enjoying the above-zero temperatures. The sun was out, and ice cream was back on the market for today!

As we walked around, we talked about everything from the tiny beaded boxes and delicate bubble baths we admired, to our family lives and our faith in God. We painted a picture of our vision for what the next generation of "church" will look like, and we shared our mutual excitement for what we feel is coming soon. We talked about friends and restaurants and what we'd name our babies. We couldn't have had a more natural, relaxing day if we'd tried.

For lunch we ate noodles. We felt straight out of a movie when we were handed our chinese takeout box lunches with chopsticks. Outside our window seat, a dog licked his chops as he smelled the garlic and ginger smells from his tree-tied post where he awaited his master's return. We chuckled a little at some of the wording on the menu ("Mandarin noodles with tasty tangy brown sauce") and compared who could handle the spicy chilies better (I think she could, but she's Korean, so no surprise there!).

After lunch we called Derek from a payphone and waited on a wooden bench for him to come pick us up. I felt like a girl in junior high again, waiting for Dad to come get me after a day out with my friend. "Look at me, so high tech!" I laughed. "No car, no cell phone. The bus and payphone are my best friends!" But buses and payphones, as I've found, make for much more exciting days than cars and cell phones do. How else would I get so much exercise and time to bask on the sunny sidewalks?

And now, my tummy full of noodles and my hair smelling like sunshine, I think a late afternoon cat nap is in order.

{ look to the horizon }

today's sunrise, as seen from my balcony

There is always something to wake up for.

{ Dutch Lullaby for a Korean angel }

The Kim's angelic baby boy, now three months old.
This past weekend I had the privilege of remeeting three precious souls. I visited Sohee on Friday and remet her brand new baby boy, now grown enough to wriggle around enough and open his eyes in fascination of my voice.

"I think he knows your voice," she said slowly but excitedly.

"Do you remember me, baby? I taught you English for nine months when you were in your mommy's tummy!"

[As an aside, no, I did not teach the in utero baby himself English, as is the current trend in Korea; however, Sohee and I met nearly every day for nine months to discuss English and to practice speaking and reading. Thus she thinks that apart from Mom and Dad's voice, baby Taeyang may know my voice as well. How exciting!]

With the sound of both our voices mingled together in excited chatter, Baby Boy was able to catch a few winks on the quilt-covered carpet. The moment was too magical to pass by with a camera close at hand.

The other two precious souls I re-encountered this weekend were Derek's Oma and Opa, his very Dutch grandparents. We enjoyed an after-church brunch at Denny's yesterday, Derek and I with our sourdough sandwhiches and them with their single pieces of french toast. Although they are nearing 80, their senses of humor are still ripe as ever, and Derek and I found ourselves pleasantly surprised by their quick wit. The heavy Dutch accents only served to make everything even funnier. At one point in the meal, Derek was showing them how a camera-phone works.

"Take some pictures of us, then," Opa commanded, amused.

Derek snapped a picture of Oma, his grandmother. She happened to have just raised a huge biteful of lunch to her mouth. She showed it to Opa, who viewed his wide-mouthed wife with childlike glee.

"See, she's eating," Derek pointed out.

"Well, that's how we know her best!" Opa joked. We all chuckled, even Oma.

Last night when I got home, I thought of how nice it had been to meet with them after not seeing them for months. Derek and I, as we often do, put on phony Dutch accents to talk to each other, also raising our voices two octaves till we sounded just like Oma. I couldn't help but think of one of my favorite poems, a lullaby by Eugene Field. As I downloaded the pictures of Taeyang onto my computer yesterday, I thought of how much I would love to whisper this lullaby to him. After all, he is already a multicultural baby, a full-blooded Korean born in Canada. Why not culture him in a little Dutch, too?

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod (Dutch Lullaby)
by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
    Sailed off in a wooden shoe---
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
    Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
    The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
    That live in this beautiful sea;
    Nets of silver and gold have we!"
            Said Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
    As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
    Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
    That lived in that beautiful sea---
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish---
    Never afeard are we";
    So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
    To the stars in the twinkling foam---
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
    Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
    As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed
    Of sailing that beautiful sea---
    But I shall name you the fishermen three:
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
    And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
    Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
    Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
    As you rock in the misty sea,
    Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

{ first snow }

looking up into the first snow
Tonight I was greeted with the moment I'd been anticipating for the past two weeks ... our first snow arrived, nearly two months to the day later than last year's first snow (last year's first snow was September 9th; this year's was today, November 6th).

I think it's appropriate that we have a clean slate of landscape to greet us when we wake up tomorrow morning. For Derek and I, this will be a whirlwind of a week. I will be busy working both of my jobs, finally (my first two substitute teaching jobs are Tuesday and Wednesday). Thursday will be caught up with a girls' day out reminiscent of something from my high school days, and Friday evening Derek's mom flies into town to stay at our place for the weekend (translation: this week I will have to clean my house from top to bottom, as well as do a grocery trip!).

The snow comes like a breath of fresh air when I most needed it. On the other hand, as I look out the window right now and see the blanched landscape outside, it's as the billowing clouds of the white stuff never left us. Ah yes, welcome to Alberta.

Tomorrow, if I'm feeling up to it, I will brave the elements for some more gloriousy snowy photos to share with all of you!

{ i've discovered how to determine your worth }

My blog is worth $6,774.48.
How much is your blog worth?

Remember in my last post how I said I feel worthless? Well, I don't anymore! Just kidding. How exactly do they calculate things like these? What, exactly on my blog is worth anything to anyone but me (and a few choice others)?

I think this is funny.

{ lies }

Here is the nature of a lie: a lie is not only something untrue that somebody speaks with their mouth. A lie can also be something unspoken that, still untrue, is still able to consume your heart with an overwhelming sense of death.

Yesterday, I was lied to. Not by any one person, but by the direction of our culture and society in general. Yesterday I had a bad day, and I couldn't put two and two together to figure out why my day felt so terrible until I spilled my emotions to Derek after he got home from work.

"How was your day?" he said, greeting me with a forehead kiss.

"Fine," I mumbled. "Actually, it was boring."

We sat in tired silence watching some inane TV show for a while. All of a sudden I started crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

"I don't know!" I really didn't know. But I felt tired and torn down. I felt ... worthless.

I told him my frustrations with having trouble getting work, with having my poetry turned down, with cleaning the house only to find it messy again a few days later, with being a nameless face in this condo where nobody visits or calls, even when I'm home for days on end. Somehow all these things had mounted in my mind to the point of overwhelming me.

Finally I found the words to describe it. "I feel like I don't matter," I cried. Then the realizations came spilling out. "Nobody in our culture matters. That's the message we're being sent by our corporate-driven lifestyles. We're all expendable. I'm a great teacher, I know that, but I'm just not great enough. I can be replaced. Somebody else is always better. I am not unique; I have nothing special to offer. Those are the messages our society sends us! We only matter as long as we contribute what somebody else wants contributed. After that, we have no worth! It's depressing."

They were lies I was being told. Nobody explicitly told them to me, but these soul-whispered lies were eating away at my insides, until I was finally believing that maybe, just maybe, they might be true.

Derek grabbed me in a hug. "You matter," he said. "My life would fall apart without you."

And in that moment, truth flooded back into my soul. I matter to God. I matter to my husband, to my parents, to my brother and sister, to the people at church and to my friends closest to me. I matter, and that's the truth of it.

Where do the lies hide in your life? Do they come in the form of sweetly coated words from someone you know? Are they whispered to your spirit from the thickest dark corners of your bedroom while everyone else you know sleeps soundly? Do you construct the lies and tell them to yourself? Where is this overwhelming sense of death coming from? Find the source and choke it out.

And don't forget to speak TRUTH into the lives of people you love. Overcome the darkness with light that you can spread so simply.

{ rejection }

Well, I finally took the plunge and solicited some of my work for publication today. I felt proud of the selections I chose to display, and I left for work this evening with a skip in my step because I felt so confidently hopeful.

Apparently the editors of the magazine I submitted to work crazy hours because I got home at midnight and already had a reply. The reply? "No thank you."

Sigh. Well, that was slightly crushing. And I only submitted several short pieces (which still may have a chance elsewhere). I can't imagine what it must feel like to write a novel for ten years only to have it rejected six or seven consecutive times. Ugh.

Better luck next time?

{ an hour in prayer }

When I was in my first year of University, a friend gave me the following information, photocopied from a book she owned onto a piece of lime green paper. In all those years, I have never been able to bring myself to get rid of that fluorescent green photocopy. It is wrinkled almost beyond recognition (some of the words are even creased out), but was once so vital a part of my prayer life that I just cannot part with it. I still use this information as a guideline to my prayer life, only much less formally now. However, for all you praying types, I thought I would share it with you and challenge you to try out one hour in prayer sometime this week.

---

An Hour in Prayer
composed by Dick Eastman

To structure an hour in prayer, divide each hour into twelve five-minute points of focus. Some aspects may require only a minute; others may require more than five.

1. Praise (Psalm 63:3; Hebrews 12:15). All prayer should begin with recognition of God's nature. Praise esteems God for his virtues and accomplishments.

2. Waiting (Isaiah 40:31; Lamentations 3:25). Not only should we begin this time with praise, but also we should be quiet in God's presence.

3. Confession (Psalm 51:10; John 1:9). The psalmist asked God to search his heart for unconfessed sin, a roadblock to answered prayer.

4. Scripture Praying (Psalm 19:7-8; 2 Timothy 3:16). "The commandment of the Lord [his Word] is pure, enlightening the eyes," wrote King David. At this point in the hour, read God's Word. Let the Scripture prompt you to pray a specific petition, based on the text.

5. Watching (Jeremiah 23:29; 2 Samuel 22:31). Guard against prayer that lacks purpose, is vague or shallow. Include close observation of evil at work in the world as a part of prayer.

6. Intercession (Psalm 2:8; Matthew 9:37-38). Our prayer now centers on intercession for a lost and dying world. This concerns praying for others with desperate needs.

7. Petition (Matthew 6:11; James 4:2). This concerns our personal needs, opening our need to God through prayer.

8. Thanksgiving (Psalm 100:4; Philippians 4:6). While praise recognizes God for who he is, thanksgiving recognizes God for specific things he has done.

9. Singing (Psalm 100:2; Ephesians 5:19). The apostle Paul spoke of singing "spiritual songs." To sing unto the Lord is to worship God in melody.

10. Meditation (Joshua 1:8; Psalm 1:1-12). Meditation differs from waiting in God's presence; to meditate is to ponder spiritual themes in reference to God.

11. Listening (Ecclesiastes 5:2; 1 Kings 19:11-12). Whether through the written Word or by the "still small voice" of the Holy Spirit, God speaks to praying Christians.

12. Praise (Psalm 150; Matthew 6:13). We end prayer as we began it: recognizing and celebrating God's nature.