10 000 Reasons

The sun comes up

It's a new day dawning

It's time to sing your song again.

No matter what may pass 

and whatever lies before me

Let me be singing when the evening comes.

                                                                         - Matt Redman, '10 000 Reasons'

Over the last month, many Facebook statuses marked "The Thankfulness Project" have been popping up on my news feed. Friends of mine have writing about something they are thankful for each day. I think this has mostly been for their benefit, but reading their posts has been a source of encouragement to me. As I too quickly approach the one year mark of saying goodbye to John, I have been finding the hard days are coming closer together once again. I have been thinking lately about what my sister Rachel shared during John's funeral. She cautioned that on that day in our sadness, it is so easy to focus on the way John was taken from us instead of the life he lived and the memories we share as siblings, family and friends of his. These are the memories we need to hang on to. As I've begun to struggle again, I think I had better add my voice to "The Thankfulness Project" to help me on November 15th to be singing when the evening comes.

So today, just one month shy of the year anniversary of the fire that took my brother's life, in my heart I echo my sister Jessica's mantra from that terrible week, we were so lucky to have loved him.

Today I am thankful for John's birth mother, a woman I'll never meet. She carried and bore my brother, passing him, and then Colin into strangers' arms when she was unable to care for them herself. I cannot imagine having give up my own daughter, I cannot imagine the depth of her heartbreak. For her incredible sacrifice, I am so very grateful. 

I am so thankful to have shared my childhood with John; for the ticklish giggly four year old that came into our lives full of stories about super-puppies, super heroes and policemen to the rescue. I am thankful for all the games of hide-and-seek, Monster (a game my siblings and I made up for lazy days at the cottage. It involves a Monster (my dad), a jail, a home base, and a whole lot of tearing through the woods, jumping in the lake and hiding in outhouses.) and make-believe we all shared as siblings that enriched all of our childhoods.

I am thankful that his entire-body-consuming laughter is still in my head. I think of the day 10 year old John was laughing so hard that tears were almost running down his face in the back seat of our Suburban as he tried to explain to us how the Paul Simon song we were listening to sounded like someone squeaking his bare bum on a window.  

When I go home to Blyth next week, I will be reminded of the time when in the beginning stages of building the house, shortly after we realized we didn't know of John and Colin's whereabouts, we heard mooing, and running, and looked out to the back orchard to see a frantic herd of cattle stampeding towards the fence followed closely by the boys. They were stumbling out of the trees, bent almost in half,  with their fingers sticking off the sides of their heads like horns, mooing and yelling, and chasing the cows across the field. I am thankful for memories of his goofiness.

I am thankful that there were a few years in-between the hard years and the time we said goodbye. There were far too few visits, hugs, the opportunities I had to affirm John's new plans and ideas, but I'm so thankful for the ones I had.

For the family adventures, the childhood shenanigans, and for the shared memories with my other siblings, I am thankful.

I am thankful for my beautiful brother with the huge smile and contagious laugh. I miss him. I love him. I am so thankful to have shared such an important part of my life with him.

So on November 15th, I will try to remind myself of how lucky I was to have loved John. I will cry for the brother I lost, I will pray for me and my family for hope, for peace, for strength and courage to face the hard days ahead. I will pull out my guitar, listen to John Denver to honor my country-loving brother and eat hot fudge pudding (an incredibly messy favourite childhood dessert of ours). I will share my hurt, my questions, my anger and my grief with the One who is big enough to handle all the messiness of my heart. I will roll with the waves and I will make it through the day. And because I have a Savior who is rich in love, slow to anger, who's name is great and who's heart is kind, despite all the reasons to be overcome with sadness, my heart can find many reasons to still be singing when the evening comes.

Bless the Lord oh my soul, oh my soul

Worship His holy name!

Sing like never before, oh my soul, 

Worship his Holy Name

Shedding Old Baggage

Glory I give Glory to the One who saved my soul

You found me and You freed me from a shame that was my own

I cannot begin to say how merciful You've been

Although my ears have heard of you, now my eyes have seen

                                                                                                        - Matt Redman

I love the crisp morning air of autumn. I love the crackling of the leaves, the paint-splattered look of the maple trees and the mountains of fresh vegetables at the farmers' market. I love pulling out scarves and sweaters and bundling Sophie into her northern Newfoundland fur-hooded jacket and felted booties to visit the swing in the park. The fall always fills me with a feeling of newness, like I've been given a fresh start, a blank page full of possibilities for this season. 

The past couple weeks I have been reminded of the fall of 2004, where for the first time, I was having trouble experiencing the usual joyful anticipation that usually comes with the beginning of September. Up until this year, 2004 had been the biggest personal growth year of my life. January through June had been spent just outside of Johannesburg, South Africa, in an orphanage being a part of an international volunteer team caring for abandoned babies. Soon after arriving home, still reeling from culture shock, I was thrown into the unique culture of summer camp Christian ministry in Chatham Ontario while making failing efforts to rescue my first serious dating relationship. On Labour Day weekend, the night before I was headed off for Orientation Week, marking the beginning of my studies at the University of Guelph, I sat on the limestone rock overlooking the shores of Lake Huron by my parents' cottage near Tobermory, watching the sunset and sobbing, feeling overwhelmed by the huge changes in my life that year, and nursing fresh wounds from the abrupt end to a slowly souring relationship. I had been loaded down with serious amounts of emotional baggage that year and was feeling tired, bruised and lost, and honestly, a bit of a wreck.

That was just a little more than eight years ago, and I'm kind of ashamed to admit that I recently realized that instead of long ago leaving all that baggage at the Altar, somehow the well-worn handles had slipped back into my hands. So I acted on my first instinct: I tried to deal with it on my own and sweep the rest under the carpet. And as usual, somehow the presence of my junk freshly hidden, was much more noticeable than before. Soon it was clear I needed some help, I needed to confess my issues to someone who would hear me out and who loved me enough to rebuke me if necessary.

This summer I have been thinking about the great importance of healing alongside forgiveness. James 5:16 says, "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed." It makes sense that talking our stuff out with a friend will ultimately help us to shed our burdens, but really, it is much easier to talk about the benefits of it than to actually do it. Clearly I needed to share my baggage with Kyle, but, and I'm ashamed of this as well, although I didn't act on this, I considered talking to a girlfriend of mine instead to avoid the vulnerability of revealing my messy heart to the man who loves me.

When I finally gathered enough courage to tell Kyle what I had been struggling with, instead of being met with anger and rebuke, I was met with what I needed, undeserved grace, gentleness and love. We were able to slowly talk things out and even in the moment I could feel the burden lifting. In the minutes that followed, my heart felt lighter, my thoughts healthier, and I was washed over with gratitude for the heart of our Father so clearly displayed in the response of my husband. I was reminded again of the incredible forgiveness and grace He has waiting for each one of us when we turn to Him in our brokenness. I was reminded of "how great is the love the Father has lavished upon us" (1 John 3:1). I do not deserve this kind of grace, love or forgiveness; but oh, how I need it.   

Sometimes, my junk is going to end up in my lap again, I'm going to find myself carrying around baggage I thought I had dropped off ages ago. I think that's ok. Finding the courage to admit this to a friend who loves me and enlisting help to pry it out of my hands once more is the real struggle. Battling my pride is the issue.

But for today, I feel lighter. Today I feel loved. Today I feel thankful. This lyric is my anthem for the day, "I cannot begin to say how merciful You've been, although my ears have heard of you, now my eyes have seen..."

 Perhaps my first taste of true Joy?