Monthly Archives: February 2013

Thank you for breaking my heart

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Thank you for breaking my heart

For the depth of the pain ...
     which showed me how much I could feel
For sending me into the dark ...
     where I found my light
For the broken pieces ...
     which allowed more space for love

For the ocean of tears ...
     which washed away the unimportant
For the hot rage of anger ... 
     which helped me to set my boundaries
For the fear that took my breath away ... 
     and forced me to inhale my courage

For shattering my foundation ... 
     and giving me the chance to rebuild 
For bringing me to my knees ... 
     where I could see the helping hands of friends 
For the vulnerability of my weakness ... 
     which is intertwined with my strength 

For taking away the certainty of what I knew ... 
     which let me do what I never imagined I could 
For plunging me into the unknown ... 
     and for all I learned there
For the wrenching change in my path ... 
     and the unexpectedly places it's taken me

Thank you for breaking my heart ... 
     for I prayed for love 
     and I was given the opportunity to love

beach_heart

A day at the farm

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I don’t want to be a farmer but I sure love hanging out at a farm.

On Sunday I had the opportunity to hang out at an organic farm for the day. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I’m not sure why I’m surprised about that but when I arrived back home exhausted I realized that I was completely content and smiling on the inside.

farm_flower

My tour guides were two young girls who live at the farm. Ages five and three and three-quarters (remember when you measured your age by part-years?). The five year old informed me that she had lived at the farm for a very long time and so she was the best person to show me around. And so she was.

We visited the chickens where we learned there were nice ones and mean ones. And, one who was allowed out to wander the farm outside of the pen because the other chickens picked on it (well, pecked on it) and so it needed to be held and petted.farm_chickens

We distracted the chickens with kale so we could visit the goats. They all had names, although I missed most of them due to the rapid-fire delivery of the list of names by my younger guide. It must be so frustrating as a kid to constantly have to repeat things until the adults finally understand. One goat was named Gorgonzola, which I thought was a great goat name.

farm_goat

We visited the labyrinth where it was okay to either follow the winding path or take shortcuts to get right to the middle.

farm_labyrinth

We traipsed down the fields and watched the train go by.  And, we visited the meadow. And then it was time for lunch and Mom’s mac-and-cheese, a clear favourite.

farm_grassroad

farm_rowcrop

I had forgotten how kids that age are a steady stream of information, ideas, thoughts and possibilities. And, energy. And, noise! By the time the tour was done, I was longing for the relative silence of the 200 chickens.

And so I did what I suspect many a parent tries to do. I escaped to the bathroom for some peace and quiet.

farm_outhouse

I sometimes think that I should ditch the city and head out to live somewhere where the road isn’t the main source of sound. Maybe I will someday.

In the meantime, I think I might need to go back after the goats have babies.  Anyone know what a little gorgonzola is called?

farm_feet

Going big with the love

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Since it’s Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d start with a Christmas story.

In December, there was a video going around on social media about a girl in kindergarten in the US who’s only Christmas present wish was for her Dad to come home from Iraq.  Santa shows up at her school classroom with gifts for all the kids and then, in the big reveal, takes off the beard and hat and it turns out to be her Dad. Cue crying.

Seriously, cue crying. Which I totally did since her reaction and her Dad’s was really heart-melting to witness. Absolute love and joy.

But, then I got to thinking. How confusing for this kid. Does she now think her Dad is Santa? What about the other kids in the class – do they think this guy is Santa? Or, how many of those kids were now asking, “hey, is Santa even real? WTF?”

Which may have been fine if I’d kept my thoughts to myself (a place I seem to end up at a lot).  But I was out with a group of girlfriends who all, except for me and one other woman, have kids. And we were talking about this video and I shared my thoughts and said that I have never been able to sort out what I would do if I was a parent with regards to the whole Santa and Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny gig.

I mean, you basically lie to your kids. At the same time you are trying to build a sense of trust with them and teach them not to lie.  I remember how I felt when I figured out that Santa wasn’t real. Like the butt of a practical joke; too stupid to figure out what everyone else already knew.

On the other hand, Santa is fun for kids. The excitement, leaving him treats (and some for the reindeer), using the NORAD site to track his progress on Christmas Eve. Who wants to miss out on that?

As you can imagine, there was a deafening awkward silence at my statement punctuated only by the sympathetic glance from my also-childless friend, who clearly knew better than me to not voice such things.  I’m not sure if I sounded critical, I certainly didn’t mean to be. I was genuinely interested in how these women squared that circle.

Alas, no one picked up my awkward words as they lay there on the table staring helplessly back at me. There was just awkward silence as everyone just took another drink from their cocktails and the evening continued on. So, anyway ….

Later, also via Facebook, I found an article about how people explain Santa to their kids as they get older. It proposed  that we all are the spirit of Santa together. When you’re a kid, your parents play the spirit of Santa. When you get older, you learn that everyone is the spirit of Santa and we all contribute to making the magic of Christmas. It is bigger than just a guy who delivers presents. It’s the sharing and gifts and gratitude we all create our loved ones.

Which brings me to Valentine’s Day. And making the spirit of Valentine’s Day bigger than just chocolate, consumerism and couples. It brings me to Generosity Day. To bringing more love into the world, in all its various forms. Couples and families, friends and strangers. To random acts of kindness. To sharing ourselves instead of our stuff. To the pause in a busy day to really connect with another person. To buying the stranger behind you in the drive-though a coffee. To taking the time to listen. To hugs and smiles. To going big with the love. In a hundred small ways.

Maybe it’ll last longer than just one day.

generosityday1

I-run-knee of a miracle

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I think I need to be more specific about what I pray for.

My word for this year is joy. I wrote about what that means in the broader sense but one of the specific joys that want to feel again is the amazing feeling that I have when I run.  There is a point in the run where I move from hating it to loving it. It’s probably that moment where my mind gives up fighting me and decides to work with me. It’d be nice if my mind would give up earlier in the run but I guess it’s a slow learner.

My mind seems to have an endless supply of  reasons excuses to keep me from wrestling into the workout bra and lacing my shoes. It’s too dark and not safe, it’s raining, getting more sleep is healthy, people will see me, I should check my e-mail/facebook/twitter first, it means I have to shower/wash/style my hair after, mercury is in retrograde. Whatever.

So, I’ve been praying for the willingness to get out there and just do it.  To give me a boost, I signed up for a training clinic for a 10K run which runs at 9am on Sunday morning. I knew I would miss the first two weeks but I’ve done the clinic before so I had the training schedule for the first two weeks so I figured I do them on my own. Plus, the training run is through a forested area of my city which is just beautiful.

Last Sunday was the first day of the clinic for me. I did not do the first two weeks on my own (surprise, surprise). Somehow the hacking cough I’ve developed and a trip to Hawaii seemed like good reasons excuses.

But, here’s the miracle. I got out of bed (after being up very late celebrating the night before) and made it to the clinic. I did the third-week run and loved it. The clinic leader was incredible and supportive in just the right way for me. None of that faster, higher, stronger crap. Just a gentle encouragement and a reminder to be in the now of the run and not worry about anything or anyone else.

There was a great moment when I was worrying about people passing us on the forest trail and she said, “just keep to the right and don’t worry about anyone else. You don’t have to manage the forest.” Heh heh, it’s like she knew me.

So, all is good, right? Yeah, this is where my prayers went sideways. Because my knee decided that, despite all evidence to the contrary, it wasn’t ready to be fully healed from my fall last October. It swelled up and I could hardly walk for three days.

So now, for the first time in my life I really WANT to go running. I was excited about feeling healthier, happier and stronger. I have the willingness but now not the capability.  Oh, the irony. I’m like a stranger in a strange land, here.

So, it’s off to the physiotherapist for me. And, an alternate plan of hopefully walking or swimming or something!

And, maybe some prayers for patience as well.

winding_path