Intense Lapis Lazuli

A Link to Grandpa Salte

2010-05-24T15:13:00.005-06:00

Here are some general facts I know about my Grandpa, Norman Salte:

1. He was a wonderful husband.

2. He was a wonderful father.

3. He was a wonderful pastor.

4. He was a wonderful son, brother, and friend.

And now I can add another general fact:

5. He loved his '54 Buick and liked to go fast.

My grandpa was killed in a car accident (unrelated to his need for speed) some decades ago, back when my mom and uncles were children, and when my aunt was miraculously protected inside Grandma's womb. A farming truck, which ignorantly sped off a side road to cross the main highway, T-boned their vehicle, sending the whole family (and two other passengers) into a chaotic roll. There were no seatbelts in the car, so Grandpa was tossed from the vehicle and ended up underneath it when the rolling stopped. My mom says she can still remember hearing him moan under the upside-down car, and she can still hear her little-girl voice crying, "God, don't let my daddy die!" Yet although everyone else walked away with only a few scratches, Grandpa Norman passed away that day.

I consider the Saltes an incredible family. Grandma, thrust into the role of a single parent, raised her four children as best she could, and her faith in God was refined to the purest gold. Anyone who knows her today knows that she absolutely radiates joy and peace because of her intense relationship with God. Her kids have all grown up to be successful, loving people, and her grandchildren (myself included) have a strong sense of home, comfort, loyalty, and happiness toward our extended family. We all get together once a year on average, even though we live in different places, and as the in-laws and fourth generation are brought in, they become a very valuable part of the Salte tapestry as well. It's a beautiful thing...but there has always been a part of me that wonders how it would have been if Grandpa were an everyday part of this as well.

On that note, Bryan and I had the privilege of attending church at Carrot River Valley Lutheran this past Sunday when we were "camping" in the Melfort area. (Camping turned into Travelodging due to extremely windy, rainy weather.) Anyway, on Sunday morning we drove to the church that's based out of Fairy Glen, where Grandpa had served as pastor for a number of years. Part of the pull was, for me, to see the wooden cross at the front of the church, which Grandma had talked about many times. It had been made by a local carpenter at Grandma's request, for the purpose of serving to honour Grandpa's memory. I also wanted to see bits and pieces of one of my mom's childhood homes, and to meet some other people who'd known Grandpa, as I'm always curious to learn more about him.

During communion, shortly after the sharing of the peace, I name-dropped grandma and grandpa to an elderly couple sitting nearby who'd whispered a greeting and asked where we were from. Right away their faces both lit up, and by the time communion was done, a few people around us had found out who we were, and immediately we could see that they were as excited to make a connection as we were! When the service was over, we visited with several people, and that's when I learned, from a few different men at different times throughout the visiting, that Grandpa was partly remembered for his heavy pedal foot and his beloved '54 Buick. I also learned that Grandpa used to claim that he could milk twelve cows in an hour. Of course, I know nothing about how possible that is, but none of the people who'd heard that tale seemed to think it was anything but a slight stretch of the truth. I also had someone tell me that I had the long legs of Grandpa Salte, and another person said, "You know, I recognized your face, and when I found out that you are Helen's granddaughter, I can see why!"

Something inside me was swelling with pride when I heard people talk about Grandpa, and when I saw the looks of fondness and remembrance that swept across their faces. He was obviously loved and loving, and had left a lasting impression on those who knew him.

Another profound moment for me was standing next to the cross that had been made to honour his memory. The current pastor was kind enough (and, in fact, extremely excited) to let me take some pictures there. For some reason, standing next to the cross and touching it made me feel a connection with this mysterious relative with whom I've always been fascinated. I've always wished I could've known Grandpa.

Bryan and I stayed for the potluck, and were treated like honoured guests. Many people wanted to talk with us to learn about how Grandma and her kids were doing these days, to share stories of the past, and to let us know how blessed they were that we'd come to visit. The current pastor explained that he and the congregation were very encouraged to see that future generations still held an interest in churches from their family's histories. I suppose it showed a lot of the people there that they had, indirectly, blessed future generations by their influence in the lives of my grandparents and their children. Bryan and I had gone there expecting to gain some insights and be encouraged ourselves...we hadn't anticipated how much joy it would bring to the people we'd meet!

It was a very rich time -- from seeing the cross, to learning more about Grandpa, to meeting some wonderful people and knowing that we had encouraged them just by the curiosity that had led us to Carrot River Valley Lutheran Church -- and as we drove away, I was so thankful. It felt like something had come full circle, in a small but profound way. I also had a bit of a clearer picture of who my grandpa had been...a man after God's heart, a loving husband and father, but also just a guy who liked his toy and liked to push the limits, both on the highway and, perhaps, in the telling of his abilities. It makes me even more excited to meet him in heaven someday!

Seriously...enough!

2010-03-24T18:39:00.007-06:00

When I look back on my wedding day, two reactions hit me at the same time: overwhelming joy and overwhelming...overwhelmth. That apparently isn't a real word, but I like how it sounds, so I'm keeping it in there.

I was determined not to be a bridezilla. I prided myself on how patient and joyous I was being as the months (all five of them) ticked by, keeping me busy with preparation but heavily blessed with help from Bryan and many friends and family members. Everything was going off without a hitch (as the hitch wouldn't be happening until the actual wedding day).

On January 3, I stood in my gown, surrounded by my beautiful bridesmaids and soon-to-be sisters-in-law. A clear blue sky and crisp white snow lay outside the window of the Sunday School room where we'd been getting ready. Soon, the music started up and, one-by-one, everyone but me filed out of the room and into the hushed sanctuary. When my turn arrived, I could hardly wait to poke my head around the corner of the sanctuary's double doors and see my groom smiling at me! When our eyes met for the first time, I was taken aback by the pure joy I saw on his face. I smiled back at him, fighting a lump in the back of my throat. This is it! I thought to myself.

Rewind about twenty-four hours. I was not wearing my beautiful white dress. I was wearing faded old blue jeans, my blood pressure was through the roof, and I was throwing a garbage bag full of pew decorations with angry tears streaming down my face. I ran into a hidden corner of the church and cried...it was the day before my wedding, and the weather forecast had been correct. Outside was raging the biggest blizzard Frontier had seen in over a decade, and Bryan's family and our rehearsal guests were on the road. It was uncertain when, or if, they would arrive. Certainly not on time to have our rehearsal supper at the planned time!

Rewind about twenty-four hours from there. Bryan and I were driving down to Frontier from Saskatoon, and even then the weather was so bad we barely made it down. I thought I was going to get an ulcer.

Rewind about forty-eight hours from there. The groom and groomsmen vests arrive at Moore's just in time for the wedding, and Bryan discovers that his vest is way too small. And we have two more days to order one in from Toronto. And they mixed up all the groomsmen vest sizes, so we didn't know if they would even fit the guys. We would just have to hope for the best when we got to Frontier for those ones...thankfully, however, Moore's got in the right-sized vest for Bryan the day we drove down to Frontier. That was one time the steam coming out of my ears was halted momentarily.

Rewind about forty-eight hours from that point. On one of my last days of work, when I had just finished doing orientation with a new employee who was going to make my weeks off SO much easier on my team in my absence, this new employee calls me at home in the evening to quit due to health issues. I was very understanding and calm on the phone, but when I hung up, I cried great, heaving sobs. I thought I'd have to re-do about two weeks of work and preparation in only one day now, when I was already so stressed because of the weather forecast on my wedding date, and emotional over some people who'd called to say they wouldn't be able to come to our wedding anymore. However, when I called my coordinator, she made it very clear that she would take care of it and I should just focus on my wedding. Still, I somehow felt guilty that she'd have so much quick juggling to do, and I wouldn't be able to do much to help.

Rewind about a week before that. Our car was going in for its second major repair within a month...and this stupid thing was supposed to take us down to San Francisco for our honeymoon! (Thankfully Jannaya had offered to let us take her car if ours wasn't fixed. That was VERY generous.) We got our fixed-up car and attended Nick and Aubree's wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony...then Bryan and I went to a walk-in clinic to see about these funny red spots that had been slowly spreading all over my neck, arms, legs, and torso.

The doctor told me I had ringworm.

I mean, seriously...who gets ringworm all over her body a week before her wedding? Seriously? Who does that? I started to panic that I'd be too contagious for Bryan to even touch me...what kind of honeymoon would that be?

The doctor was very businesslike as he told me it would probably go away in a couple of weeks. Then my face crumpled and tears sprang from my eyes and I nearly wailed, "But I'm getting married next weekend!" Immediately, he donned an encouraging smile and his eyes became very kind as he said, "Or -- or maybe only a few days." He then proceeded to ask me questions about my wedding, no doubt to try and get my mind off of this crappy news. Bless his heart for trying.

So yeah...up until the week or two before my wedding, I avoided being bridezilla. Then I tried to keep all my anger inside as these stresses suddenly mounted within such a short period of time. I thought bridezilla was fairly contained...even the throwing of the pew decorations was fairly tame, I figured, when factoring in the growing swarm of killer bees inside my whole body. I seriously felt like I was going to explode.

Back to the day before my wedding...we had just finished decorating the church. It looked SO beautiful...the sanctuary for the ceremony, and the basement for the reception. But as Bryan and I stood in the middle of it all, quietly taking in all the hard work that we and others had put in to make it so special, I had an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sure, we would get married tomorrow, and I knew that was the most important part of the day. But it was hard to swallow the idea that I might have to lose the dream of sharing that day with a room full of family and friends. Outside, the wind was still howling and the visibility was still poor. And it was growing dark.

We headed back to my house. None of our rehearsal guests had arrived in Frontier yet. We'd been taking phone calls all day from people so we could know they were safe. Then the phone rang again, and it was all of our musicians, plus most of Bryan's groomsmen, calling to tell us they'd been storm-stayed in Shaunavon. It was a good move to stay there and be safe, of course. But I felt something snap inside of me when I hung up the phone. Bryan stood there with a question in his eyes, so I relayed the message to him; half of our rehearsal guests wouldn't be coming today. Tomorrow we'd have to wing it. Tonight, he wouldn't have any of his groomsmen to celebrate his last night of bachelorhood with.

"Well, it's going to be okay, because--" Bryan started.

"IT'S NOT GOING TO BE OKAY!" I shouted at him, surprising even myself. I had never yelled at Bryan, or any other person, in my whole adult life.

The look on his face...the shock, the anger, the hurt, the embarrassment (my whole family was around)...was all the punishment I needed. Right away I tried to backpedal, but it would be an hour or so before we could talk to each other normally. I apologized profusely. We drove to the church for our happy little wedding rehearsal, and the car was thick with tension. I mean, seriously...who yells at her fiance right before their wedding rehearsal? It was supposed to be a happy, carefree, lovey-dovey time! Thankfully, Bryan found it in himself to forgive me quite quickly. He said, "I didn't want to stand up on our wedding day and say our vows to each other while I still felt angry, so it's forgiven." And he was sincere. He even said it with a happy smile and a sparkle in his eye, like he truly didn't have a care in the world.

And on January 3, after I'd made my walk up the aisle and Bryan and I were standing in front of the full church together, we sang songs to God about how great He is and how faithful He is...and I had so much apologizing to do to Him for how I'd railed against His judgment for allowing all of these stresses to happen before our wedding. And yet, each stress had been taken care of. Even the weather had cooperated on our big day. None of our guests had hit the ditch on their way here, which was a miracle in and of itself! As I stood there praising God, I felt sheepish for my recent past...yet God impressed upon my heart how much joy He was taking in this moment, and how I should be soaking it in, too, without guilt. He knew my heart was repentant and worshipful, and that it was time to rejoice! What a loving Father!

Oh yeah, and it ended up not being ringworm. A few weeks after our honeymoon, I found out that it was this weird, rare rash that comes and goes on its own, and doesn't spread to other people. I guess I'd already figured out that it doesn't spread, cause Bryan never got it...

Necklace

2010-03-02T19:58:00.004-06:00

I'm really excited about this post! I've been taking a Bible study course, along with many women from Rock of Ages church, and it's been getting me to read Scripture a lot more than I do on a regular basis. Already, I've been very blessed by the ways God has spoken to me through verses that almost felt dry, I had them so memorized. It's amazing how He can make anything new, even tired old words that our minds automatically file away as "old news."

Anyway, tonight He made me a necklace. I was thinking back on how afraid I used to be...how my Christian walk, and as a result my whole life, was based on fear until I went to CLBI, because I was under a constant cloud of condemnation. Satan knew that my belief in God wouldn't be shaken, so He lied to me about God's love instead, making me believe with ALL of my heart that God would just as soon strike me with a lightning bolt as let me live. I felt shaky, uncertain, and even so afraid of hell that I couldn't sleep at nights. And then God, through a series of events, broke through my wall of fear until it crumbled away completely one night at a CLBI worship event. I haven't been the same since...my life is no longer defined by fear, and I sense God's love for me every day, everywhere I go. It's a blessing I never even dreamed of experiencing!

So after going through the Bible study questions tonight, I journaled a couple of verses that had stood out to me, and suddenly my head exploded with verse after verse in chronological order of my walk with Christ up until now, and I couldn't write fast enough! I'm not a super Christian who had them memorized word-for-word, but I had enough of a gist of them that I strung them together and it made me think of a special necklace from God for me. (What can I say...I'm a girl, I love jewelry!)

Here are the verses in my necklace!

1 John 4:16-19: "And so we know and rely" (interruption here...isn't "rely" a neat word in this phrase?) "on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment," (another interruption here...wow! Confidence on the day of judgment! That's huge!) "because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love casts out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because God first loved us."

This one applies because I SO lived in fear before...and God's perfect love cast it out, once and for all!

Romans 8: 15-16: "For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children."

Again, fear is not designed to be part of a real relationship with God...and now, although emotional moments can sometimes throw off my compass, underneath it all I have full confidence of the Spirit testifying with mine that I am God's beloved child!

Ezekiel 36:26: "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

When I think "heart of stone", I generally think of one that is hardened from bitterness and anger. But my heart was definitely a stone before God, as well. It was scared stiff. God alone (I can't take any credit for it) removed that old way of existing from me, and gave me a new way that continues to amaze me, even years after the real change happened! And now I am growing, like flesh, as opposed to the immobility and stagnancy of having a heart of stone.

Isaiah 41: 18: "I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs."

Once God had given me a heart of flesh, free from fear, the outpouring of His love and presence and joy into my life was unbelievable! This verse is the best metaphor I've ever found for how God took my empty, fearful soul and turned it into something crazily blessed by the love it had longed for all its life!

And finally, Philippians 1:6: "...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

That one's fairly self-explanatory and, thankfully, it applies to every single person who lives in relationship with Christ... no matter where you're at, how confident you are of His love for you, or how fearfully you may still be living, He is NOT finished with you...not by a long shot! And He never will be. Even after we leave this earth, we have all of eternity to live in worship and grow closer and closer to Jesus! No matter what happens in life, that is a beautiful and certain hope that we can fall back onto, like the biggest and best bean bag chair ever. God is good!

2010-01-24T14:54:00.003-06:00

Allow me to get sappy for a few minutes. Actually, this is MY blog! I can write whatever I want, and there's something about being stranded in a blizzard that makes me not care if people want to gag at my words.

So this weekend, Bryan and I headed down to Moose Jaw. We had booked a night at the spa for our first anniversary celebration (belated by a few weeks). Even though the weather forecast called for bad roads and a potential winter storm, we were stubborn and determined. We are the kind of people who can't handle the thought that our plans will have to change, especially in regards to something we are looking forward to. So we set out on Saturday morning and battled an inconvenient, but not impossible, path down to Moose Jaw. We had a wonderful time, and it was just nice to have a change of scenery for a little bit.

Then we woke up on Sunday morning and could barely see outside for all the snow blowing angrily around outside. We soon learned that all roads outside of Moose Jaw are closed, and that the snow is expected to keep coming all day long. We checked out of our hotel, plowed our way to a gas station to gas up and pump up our leaky tire (managing to get stuck twice), then ended up at McDonald's. If it weren't for this laptop, some newspapers, and word/number puzzle papers, we'd be going stir-crazy right now. We're pretty much just waiting to see if we can drive to Saskatoon later today, or if we should check into a motel tonight.

Anyway, the reason I prefaced this blog with a "sappy" warning is because this is one of those times where I look at Bryan and realize how blessed I am to have him in my life. He's pretty good at rolling with the punches...something I struggle with from time to time. I'm sitting across from him at our booth, typing this blog secretly, and he's looking down at one of the newspapers. I just want to squeeze him. It sounds cliche, but I can honestly say that no matter where I am, if Bryan's there with me, I feel happy. Sure, there's an underlying stress about when we'll be able to get home, but I'm content overall and I know that things will work out.

Something we've learned from these past two Januaries is this: whenever we have to drive anywhere to do something romantic (like, say, get married or go on a special trip), there will be a blizzard. Sorry, people of Saskatchewan! This weather is probably our fault!

The Coffee House

2010-01-10T20:03:00.004-06:00

I recently received an email from Wendy, notifying me that the Coffee House in Frontier has been sold.

My instant reaction was a flooding of fond memories, followed by a sinking feeling that it was the end of an era. The Coffee House's sale, and imminent conversion into a rental property, got me to thinking of all the uniqueness that will have to be undone. First of all, the makeshift skateboard park on the cracked concrete driveway will have to go. Second of all, the restaurant-style booths in the living room, and the concession counter in the kitchen, will most likely have to be removed. And I'm sure there are countless dents in the walls, broken cupboard doors, and food stains everywhere that will have to be dealt with. After all, almost every teenager within a sixty-mile radius probably graced the place with their presence at least once, and most of them left a mark in one way or another.

The very first "Coffee House" was actually a one-time event in the church basement. Emily had a vision for a place where the youth of Frontier and area could hang out, without the formal Christian programming of a youth group, so that people who weren't comfortable with Bible studies wouldn't feel awkward about coming. It would be come-and-go, just a place with games and food and non-alcoholic drinks and music...an alternative to Friday night parties, and perhaps a place where a few seeds could be scattered by forming new friendships or talking with one of the adult supervisors. This one-time event went over very well, with a great turn-out. I remember it, but unfortunately a little vaguely -- my stomach was upset from drinking too much pop and having too much candy, so I ended up sitting at a table for awhile, trying to wait out the nausea! I guess that shows I'd had a great time up until then, anyway.

The exact timeline of the following events is unclear to me, but I know that the church's prayers were behind this vision...which is no surprise, as I was blessed to grow up in a church that celebrates all age groups, including the teenagers who sometimes giggled too loudly in the back of the church, and who played rock-style worship sets on the occasional Sunday morning, and who put on skits for the church that involved loud belching into a microphone. Anyway, at some point, Don and Donna Hernberg purchased some land beside their home, and this land contained a small old red-and-white house that had previously been occupied by a very sweet elderly woman who had to move into a long-term care facility. The home was donated (am I right, Wendy?) to the Bethel Church youth group, and that's where a lot of fun began!

I learned a lot about stripping paint from the outside of a house, and painting both the inside and outside of a house. The youth, and many adults, rolled up their sleeves and turned the little old house into a vibrant, brightly-coloured, multi-purpose recreation facility complete with video game systems, a pool table, fuseball, a candy and pop concession (which also included some fancy coffee drinks, Italian sodas, and homemade treats from time to time), and a VCR and TV area upstairs (only PG movies approved). There were tons of board games, card games, a lovely mishmash of sofas and chairs, and a bunch of cd's (who can forget the W's? "You are the devil, and the devil is bad...") for the stereo system. I think almost everything was donated by people in the church and community, although we also received pop cans from Honey Bee, which we would sort and recycle, using the money to keep things running smoothly. Oh yeah, and when I said brightly-coloured, I meant it. The ceilings were yellow-and-red-checkered. The walls were purple, with a large VW bug painted on one wall by Megan and Johanna (that was a fun time...they both got a little hyper off the fumes, and I don't just mean paint fumes. Someone must've given Johanna oranges). And the upstairs was painted all white, with a sky-blue ceiling full of white, fluffy clouds, and the painted message "See you there!" in reference to heaven. As well, there was a Twister board painted on the floor. It's interesting how many splinters you can manage to get all over your hands and feet when you play it that way. Oh yeah...and there was that one window upstairs that some teenagers liked to sneak out of so they could sit on the roof and be rebellious. (Not me, of course...I was a perfect child.)

The Coffee House, in my day, was usually open on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. There were many wonderful adults in the church who took turns supervising on these nights, and I am one of many grateful people who grew up and recognized what a thoughtful gift of time they all gave us. I hope they all know that they were, in some way, influential in keeping Frontier's teenage night-life alternative alive and healthy. It kept boredom (a common reason that many youth get into the party life) at bay, and brought a lot of non-churched people into the midst of people who could show them that life in Christ doesn't have to make you stuffy. Who knows how many seeds were planted there? I certainly remember hearing accounts of some deep conversations that went on as a result of friendships being forged there, and some supervising adults who took the time to answer the serious questions that some kids brought forth. It was a wonderful mission field.

The face of the Coffee House changed little-by-little as time went on. Sometimes we would paint messages and pictures on the windows according to the season. We also repainted the whole inside at one point, as crazy bright colours were falling out of style, and classy colours were coming in. The exterior went from red-and-white to green-and-white, but I can't remember at what point that happened. Also, sometime after my age group had graduated and left town, half of the living room was converted into a restaurant-style room, with tables and booths made out of wood. Once when I was visiting, I remember thinking that it was different, but that it looked really good. (And on a personal note, my husband and his groomsmen had some pictures taken there before our wedding, and it was a nice setting!)

My first impression when I think back on Coffee House memories can be summed up in one word: LOUD. There was almost always blaring music, sugar and caffeine-hyped teenagers shouting/flirting/roughhousing, and video games screaming from the games room. Sometimes they even had local bands put on concerts in there, like 95 Pounds of Stupid (later called Straight Edge) and the Andrew/Brooks/Brodie band (they had a name, but it's slipped my mind I guess). The second word that comes to mind is HAPPY. The supervisors were there to keep things from getting out-of-hand or inappropriate, but all of them seemed to have their patience bar set on "teenager". People were free to be rambunctious and somewhat crazy. After all, this was their place to party, and they were going to party! Again, I'm so thankful for the supervisors who must've often gone home with headaches because they recognized the need for teenagers to have a safe outlet. At one point in time, the Coffee House was actually called "My Place." That name never really stuck, but it was true all the same...anyone who went there was free to be themselves and have a good, loud time.

I understand that the popularity of the Coffee House has waned since those earlier years. However, I also understand that there is enough interest to look into purchasing another building in Frontier to carry on the vision. I hope and pray that this happens! Even if there is less of a crowd, it's still a crowd of individuals who will benefit from having a place to let loose without alcohol, and maybe to keep planting seeds in people's minds and hearts about the faith in Christ that backs up the Coffee House.

Some other random memories that just came to me: the night Zac set a record by drinking thirteen Barq's Root Beers...the times that Perry and Carrie were supervising, and we caught them making eyes at each other...the times that people rode down the stairs on sofa cushions and crashed into the cupboards at the bottom...the times that people turned off the bathroom light so that whoever was on the toilet was stranded in the dark...the time we had a karaoke night...so many good times! Long live the Coffee House!

My Biggest Dream

2010-01-02T13:27:00.005-06:00

One of my biggest dreams has always been to be a full-time, stay-at-home mom.

I'm not even sure who reads my blog anymore...if you're someone who knows me, you understand what I mean. If you don't understand me, PLEASE don't assume that I think stay-at-home moms are superior to moms who have an outside career. I think there are too many people who are eager to draw battle lines between the two, as if there hasn't been proof that both approaches to life can produce very healthy, happy children (and mothers and fathers). Also, PLEASE don't assume that I'm selling myself short, or that I'm unambitious, or that I am somehow inferior to career-driven women.

With that out of the way, I'll continue on...

Everyone is born with a dream, and although most of us might claim to be open-minded and non-judgmental, I've received a few responses to my goal that display how some people really do think it's an inferior desire. It puts me on the defensive, but I'll try not to let my emotions get in the way of stating my case here (even though I hope those people understand what it's like to get laughed at for sharing THEIR heart with others...well, they probably have to some degree. People can be so ignorantly cruel to each other).

Anyway, NOW I'll continue on...

If being a stay-at-home mom is so unambitious, why don't more people want to do it? Surely there are enough lazy people in the world who wouldn't mind having a job where you sit in your house all day, watching soaps in baggy sweatpants, occasionally looking in on a peacefully napping baby...
WRONG!!
I'm not a mom yet, but I can't tell you how impressed I am with those people -- stay-at-home parents and day-care workers -- who manage these precious little people in their relatively helpless states, while still balancing household projects and any little room they may have for outside interests (if they're not too tired).

That reminds me...if being a stay-at-home mom is so easy to look down on, why don't more people look down on daycare workers? Is it because they make money at it? So...making money at something automatically gives it more worth in society's eyes, is that it? I guess so. I don't really need to get into how shallow and ignorant that is. Unfortunately, I think a lot of people think that way, whether or not they are willing to admit it in so many words.

Like any career goal, planning to be a stay-at-home mom involves preparation and sacrifice. It's not like you just step out of the work force and fall into a nice little cushion. For example, think of the finances. You will be relying on one income (most likely), so EVERYTHING you're making up until then must be planned out. Bryan and I are putting off the purchase of a house for a few reasons, and one of them is to save up at LEAST a 10% down payment (the higher the better), because we are planning on his income being the sole measure by which we mortgage a house. If we depended on both of our incomes, there is no way I could stay at home with the kids. And although it doesn't personally matter much to me and Bryan, we will be giving up the opportunity to buy a nicer house, brand-new vehicles, and go on regular overseas holidays so that we can afford for me to stay home once we have kids. And although this particular, unpaid career choice doesn't require any formal education, I plan on reading and learning as much as possible from other stay-at-home moms because I KNOW that what I'll be doing will be incredibly hard and stressful sometimes (although infinitely rewarding), and I don't want to be unprepared.

And please don't assume that I am afraid of outside work. I have a job that challenges me very much, but I also take great pride in it. When I am a stay-at-home mom, I will be battling a feeling of being cut off from the working world, the loss of relationships from where I'm working now, and probably a lot of insanity from multitasking for the majority of the day, as opposed to being surrounded by co-workers with whom I can have intelligent conversations, and from whom I can walk away if I need some quiet time. And I DO plan on finding part-time work once the kids are all in school, since I won't be needed in the home for most of those days. So no, I'm not planning to be a stay-at-home mom to run away from the working world. I know I'll miss that world in many ways. It's another small sacrifice to make.

Now that I've stated my defense against some stereotypes I've met and heard about, let me share a few positive aspects that drive my dream:

-It's always been in my heart, just like a lot of people always know they want to be a doctor, a singer, a teacher, or a world traveller someday. You might not know exactly how the dream got planted there, but it's been a part of you for as long as you can remember.

-I can't imagine anything more rewarding than spending the majority of your days with these little people whom God has entrusted to your care, and experiencing all of their firsts with them.

-Being a catalyst to the learning experiences of your own children (creating opportunities for creativity, problem-solving, relationship-building, and physical challenges) would be the focus of your days...imagine how amazing that would be!

-Writing is a hobby of mine. I would have endless material from people and experiences that I would feel passionate about preserving in words that might mean something to someone else one day.

-Most stay-at-home moms that I've talked to are very satisfied with their decision, and have eagerly encouraged me to follow through with my plan to do the same.

Something else I want to mention is how thankful I am to have a husband who encourages and supports this plan. When I first told him that this was what I wanted, he didn't immediately stress about the financial burden it would place on him...he was excited about it and we are partnering together to make sure it happens.

So there you have it, in a nutshell: my defense against those who look down on my dream, and my reasons for having it.

Trust

2009-09-21T21:37:00.003-06:00

I just finished reading a fiction novel called "Why the Sky is Blue" by Susan Meissner. It's about a family whose mother conceived a child through rape, and how they gave the baby up for adoption -- an event told through the eyes of both the mother and her oldest daughter. This daughter, as an adult many years later, eventually comes to the realization that she only trusts God to a point when it comes to the people she loves -- a result of loving her unborn half-sister and then going through the pain of giving her up all those years ago. Anyway, the idea of trusting God "only to a point" really spoke to me.

I've never lost someone close to me in a way that scarred me emotionally, so it's not even a result of being hurt. But I know how easily it can happen...my grandpa died when he and my grandma were still young parents, leaving her with four kids to raise alone. (And the way my grandma still talks about my grandpa, you know that they were as in-love as anyone has ever been.) In the news you always hear about young couples who are tragically separated when one dies. Just today Bryan told me about a Saskatoon couple who were volunteering in Honduras, and the husband was shot and killed trying to defend his wife from muggers. There are car accidents, sudden health problems, random attacks, and any other number of ways in which a person can be killed. And I suppose my trust problems come from my focus on how much it would nearly destroy me if anything happened to Bryan.

To be bluntly honest, I keep rediscovering a wall between myself and God, and more often than not, lately it's related to my husband. I know God loves him, and me, and that He knows what's best. But I also know that sometimes He doesn't stop bad things from happening to His children, so I don't know if I will always have Bryan. No matter how much God loves him and me, I can't say with any certainty whether or not He will allow us to have a family and grow old together. This causes me to hold my heart at bay, clenching my fists around the gift of my husband and not allowing God to remain too close, just in case He will require me to give Bryan up in order to fulfill some greater purpose. I love God and don't doubt that He is good, but I so often feel like I can relate to the man who cried to Jesus, "I do believe...help my unbelief!"

But near the end of the novel, I read this paragraph and it spoke to me in a refreshing way. I thought I'd share it in case anyone else can benefit from it.

"I must be willing to meet with God alone...and see where the level of my trust starts and where it stops. If I am going to love people completely and at the heart of who they are, I am going to need to trust that God will watch over them in the way He sees as best. Because loving people will cost me, and I need to be able to meet that price with trust so that I can enjoy love's best moments and endure the worst."

I recently read another quote from a book. I can't remember exactly how it went, but the gist of it is this: the issue isn't that we mistrust that God knows what's best. The issue is that we can't foresee if God's best might be painful.

There are certainly no easy answers to the deep questions of life, but I think that we who trust God always have a beautiful hope: that this life on earth is temporary, and no matter what we endure, heaven will erase all of that pain and turmoil. So even when life is really good, and we're uncertain about whether or not it might someday become hard to even breathe, there is no reason to worry. In heaven, there will be no end to our joy, our peace, and our relationships with God and the other people who've arrived, and there will be no more worries about good-byes.

Theatrics

2009-08-18T18:42:00.003-06:00

I recently went to a movie with my family. The movie was great, but the lady directly behind me snorked almost every five minutes throughout the whole thing! You know what I mean by snorking, right? Not just sniffing...forcefully snorking mucous down into her throat so she could swallow it. Loudly. Loud swallowing of loudly snorked mucous. I'm not even lying, it got so bad that I felt nauseaus, and I generally have an iron stomach. I began to feel like I was the one with a thick mucous problem because you could so plainly hear the volume of mucous she was snorking. She and her husband had cute laughs at the funny parts of the show, but I couldn't even bring myself to see that as a redeeming quality. I was so grossed out and SO wishing either she or I had chosen a different way to spend our evenings.

On another note, Saturday night was spent watching "The Time Traveller's Wife" with a few girlfriends, and the audience was entirely splendid. Such a great movie! I was amongst a sea of cryers, which kind of unified all of us in the theatre, but it was a wonderful comic relief for me whenever I heard a funny sob. The lady directly behind me let out an anguished, strangled, "Oh!" when the saddest part finally happened. Maybe it was mean for me to laugh inwardly at her noise, but maybe that's just me...I'm either hating other theatre-goers, or laughing at their pain.

L-O-V-E

2009-07-11T11:23:00.003-06:00

I don't think there was ever a moment of sudden realization that I loved Bryan. It was more like an underlying truth that snuck up on me from deep inside, without an obvious beginning. I had several moments where I thought I loved Bryan (before I told him), but I second-guessed myself each time. Love is not to be taken lightly, and I wasn't about to base it on just my emotions -- even though the commitment had been fairly solid for awhile.

The day I finally told him the words (which didn't leave my mouth automatically; it was more of an awkward push), I no longer second-guessed myself. I suppose saying the words cemented not only my feelings and commitment, but my decision, too. Our relationship now felt more right than ever before.

In hindsight, I wonder if Bryan's first "I love you" to me was the start of my own realization. At the time, I knew I couldn't say the words back with any kind of confidence. I was caught quite off-guard, in fact. I remember my body stiffening up as if to shield my heart, but the words sunk in anyway and took root.

Side note: guys, don't EVER tell a girl that you love her if you don't mean it!

Anyway, I wonder if that's where I really began to open up to the possibility that I loved him, too (and wasn't just in love with him). With those words, he laid the foundation for a stronger trust in him. I felt safer with him than ever before, and could now let myself explore deeper and scarier possibilities about our future.

Side note: I repeat, guys, DO NOT tell a girl you love her unless you mean it!

I'm so glad Bryan meant it. I'm so glad I did, too, even though the words felt awkward the first time I spoke them. Now we say that phrase to each other all the time, but it hasn't lost its power to invite trust and make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

2009-06-19T15:37:00.003-06:00

When I was a kid, I got a little stuffed bunny with ears that spiralled forward a bit. They reminded me of hooks. I told my mom what I wanted to name my new toy. Knowing her as a mom who encouraged my creativity, I was a little surprised when she told me I couldn't call it that. Obedient child that I was, I stopped calling it Hooker Bunny.

Dreams

2009-05-23T10:57:00.000-06:00

Most of my life, I've had the occasional memorable dream that's been worthy of sharing with people. But for some crazy reason, in the past year, I've been more likely than not to have one of these types of dreams each night. Poor Bryan...almost every morning I start off the day with, "so, last night this happened..." and I will proceed with a rundown of what my subconscious produced. Probably about 50% of the time, it involves Bryan being an absolute jerk. I refer to his unfortunate alter-ego as "Nightmare Bryan". For example, he's asked me to wait for him, only to turn around and walk up the aisle with a completely different bride...he's cheated on me and said it wasn't a big deal...he's shot an indifferent glance in my direction when I've wandered into the woods in tears...on the other hand, in some dreams he's wonderful. Like the time I was being approached by a dark figure in the basement of Frontier School, and Bryan literally jumped down a flight of stairs to tackle him. Or when he entertained me with a very talented dance to the Happy Days theme song. Of course, sometimes he's neutral. Last night, for instance, he poured a bunch of shot glasses full of whiskey, and before anyone could stop me, I dove in front of him and guzzled them all. Come to think of it, though, he didn't even try to stop me. He just looked sad, like a little boy who got his Christmas present stolen from him. Maybe he wanted to guzzle them all, and I was only saving him...hmm...who knows?

Once or twice, I've been a jerk, too. I can think of two dreams where I've dumped him for someone else, then regretted my choice, then taken him back, and he was cool with that.

Occasionally, he's not involved at all. Sometime last week I had a dream that Jannaya went on a shooting spree at VBS in Frontier. I managed to save a lot of people by spraying her with a strong water hose, then trying to talk some sense into her. I was shaking her by the shoulders, but she avoided my eyes and had a very evil grin on her face. I'm excited to pick her up from the airport today and tell her all about that one.

PHRASE

2009-05-01T20:07:00.005-06:00

Today's blog (or, more likely, this half-year's blog) will explore a popular phrase that is dying out for the most part, but is still too common. For those who know my line of work, you won't be surprised to learn that the phrase I dislike is, "that's retarded!"
Before you roll your eyes and call me too picky, let me tell you that I've used that phrase my fair share of times. I even used it one evening last week, in a flash of anger, to describe a driver who had dangerously cut me off at an intersection. Immediately I felt a stab of guilt, realizing that I had used a derogatory term that has become a way of looking down on the people I love so much at my job. Not everyone has my job or loves the people I have the privilege of knowing, so I wouldn't expect everyone to have the same emotional reaction to hearing or uttering those words; however, I think everyone can understand and respect the fact that certain words are just offensive and harmful and should be eradicated.
Decades ago, the r-word was used as a genuine way of describing certain people. So was the word negro. Just because a word used to be okay, doesn't mean it is anymore. When you hear the r-word, what do you think of immediately? A mentally-challenged person, or any human being or situation that you think is stupid? Obviously it's not used in an everyday, connotation-free light anymore. Yet it still has that connection to mentally-challenged adults, which then serves to drag them down in their own eyes and in the eyes of others.
What really brought this to light, for me, was a true story a co-worker told a group of us recently. She was at a restaurant with one of the individuals supported by SAI (someone with an intellectual disability) and a few of his family members and other friends. This particular individual was quiet and almost awkward for the first part of the meal, but as the night wore on, he came out of his shell and became relaxed and chatty and fun. Things were going great. Suddenly, from several tables over, a young lady's laughing voice rang out, "Oh my gosh, that is SO retarded!" (Sound familiar and harmless enough, anyone?) Suddenly, the individual's face dropped. He looked down into his lap and stopped talking and drew back into his shy, awkward shell. He'd been humiliated by a stranger's careless, noisy, "innocent" comment in front of his family and friends. It took awhile for them to coax him back into the conversation and to try and forget what had just happened. The girl and her friends carried on, oblivious to the hurt they'd just caused an innocent, beautiful, vulnerable person.

I don't care where you are, who you're with, how much you don't think anyone else can hear, whether you're you or me or anyone else...STOP USING THAT WORD! DO NOT USE THAT PHRASE ANYMORE! IT'S INSULTING, INSENSITIVE, SELFISH, AND UNNECESSARY! If you must use an easy phrase to ease out of saying "that's retarded", say "that's ridiculous." It's easy to slide one phrase into the next if you catch yourself saying the first one and are trying to stop. It worked for me. I know I'll probably still slip up every now and then because it was an unfortunate old habit from my high school days, but I think that protecting vulnerable people from having their scars reopened is worth it.

January 3, 2009

2009-01-24T11:29:00.004-06:00

Mom hooked her right arm through my left. I hooked my right arm through Dad's left and regripped my bouquet of silk red roses. From the sanctuary I could sense the charged silence of over a hundred people as the Forrest Gump Suite played softly on the piano, accompanying the flower girls and ring bearer up the aisle. My bridesmaids would already be up front with Bryan and his groomsmen, leaving an open spot for me onstage next to my future husband.

I remember my heart pounding and my breaths becoming shallow, but it was all happening so fast I didn't have time to think I was nervous, or to wonder if everything was going smoothly. Despite yesterday's blizzard, a half-attended rehearsal, and a dozen other recent stresses that had almost done me in, I was about to make my much-dreamed-about walk up the aisle. As we slowly moved toward the sanctuary's double doors, I quickly readjusted my veil before stepping into view in the doorway. We stopped there.

Everyone in the pews turned to face me as the last line of piano music slowed to end the song. I briefly scanned the crowd, recognizing most of the smiling faces; then, like a shy schoolgirl, I turned to face my groom and I'll never forget the sight.

His smile was as wide as I'd ever seen it, but it couldn't convey the joy in his eyes. They were shining -- partly with held-back tears, but mostly from a place deep inside that couldn't find adequate release for its elation. While we were holding each other's gazes and sharing in the moment, I also found myself a spectator to his response, overwhelmed to realize that I was the reason for it. I was Kjersti, his bride, and that was enough to fill his heart to overflowing. My mind raced over all the reasons I love and admire him, the reasons I sometimes feel I don't deserve him; his strength, his kindness, his patience, his sense of humor, his vision, his faith, his selflessness; and I wondered how I could be so blessed to receive this gift of a man who, for some reason, appeared to feel just as strongly about me.

"So Are You to Me" began playing gently from beside the stage. Mom, Dad, and I stepped forward and slowly made our way to the front. My eyes connected with a few close friends along the way, but each time I faced Bryan, it seemed we were the only people in the room. This was our moment, and we were the only ones who knew what was going on between us. The lump in my throat threatened to take over -- this was finally happening, and this was for real! In just a few minutes, Bryan and I would be committed to each other for life. It made me feel like I was part of something far bigger than myself, something universal and powerful and good. Had I needed proof of a God who loves and guides and created us for fellowship, this moment would have been enough.

The whole service was beautiful. Even though I spilled wax on the marriage certificate while lighting the unity candle, Gary assured me that it didn't matter and our marriage would still be legal. The worship music and Linnea's solo rang powerfully in the church and I felt God smile upon us. While saying our vows, I concentrated hard to say each word correctly; as soon as each phrase was out of my mouth, I made sure to let it sink in so I would realize the depth of the commitment I was making. It felt like I was only saying aloud what I'd purposed in my mind a long time ago, back when I first began to realize I loved Bryan. At the end of it all, we were walking arm-in-arm down the aisle while Megan played Michael Buble's "Everything" on the piano. People were standing and clapping and snapping pictures and I was thinking about how happy I was, but also about how much I needed to go to the bathroom. First we were whisked off in my decorated car, Ruby, and driven around town with Jaime honking the horn. We took a few outside pictures, but the minus-twenty weather eventually forced us back inside to finish the photo session.

The reception went by in a blur as well. It turned out to be a true saying, that a bride and groom never get to eat their own cake! Still, I wouldn't have changed a thing. The roast beef dinner was excellent, my young cousins turned out to be expert hula-hoopers (which forced many a long kiss from Bryan and I), and both Zac and Jaime gave toasts that brought tears to my eyes. The emcees did a terrific job keeping things smooth and entertaining, and when the program was done, Bryan and I had a chance to visit with a large number of our guests before they left. Finally it was our turn to leave. We made the U.S. border about fifteen minutes before it closed, and our honeymoon began.

And that's where I'll end this blog!

Not-So-Distant Wedding Bells!

2008-12-28T19:21:00.004-06:00

Wow...it's less than a week till my wedding, and it's hard to pin down any one thought that's racing through my head. I'll never be in this phase of life again; it goes from the large picture of never being single again, to the smaller picture of never being engaged again, to the even smaller picture of never being a week away from my wedding ever again. Being someone who thinks about everything, and who feels intensely about almost everything she thinks about, I've been a little overwhelmed and trying to keep my head above water. Thankfully, the wedding details themselves are falling into place so well (thanks to SO MANY friends and family members who are helping us out), so it isn't the planning that's laying heavily on my mind. It's learning not to worry about things beyond my control; weather, potential vehicle problems, potential health problems, potential mistakes and awkward moments and smeared makeup and spilled food. As I've been reminding myself, the only thing that really matters is walking away with my new husband and sharing that moment with whoever is able to make it. Sometimes, focusing on that thought is the only thing that puts my mind at ease and brings my excitement back. And then it hits me...Bryan's going to become my husband this weekend! We've been together for a little over two years, which seems short to some and long to some and average to some...for us, it was more than long enough to know that we wanted to be together for life. In that sense, this day has been a long time coming. Yes, I'm aware that marriage sometimes means fighting to keep the romance alive and going through tough times as a couple that will test what we're made of. We're aware of that and are as prepared as we can be, and will continue to be proactive. We're not entering this lightly. In fact, sometimes I'm a little scared for Bryan...knowing how crazy I can get, I wonder if he knows what he's getting into! But he's seen that side of me and still gives me that smile, so I guess he still likes me...anyway, off-track.

With the full knowledge that this is a big step and a brave commitment, there is also the full knowledge that he makes me happier than I could've hoped for, and now I'll always have him! We'll both have some separate parts of our lives, of course, but from now on we'll come home to the same house at the end of the day. We won't have to part ways when it's late. We'll get to experience each other in everyday life, in rushed mornings and laundry days and lazy movie afternoons and hosting parties and sharing the sink to brush our teeth before bed. I'll tell him a funny pun every day, and he'll try to hide his amusement like he does now. We'll be each other's support when we're stressed about work. We'll establish our own family unit and make new holiday traditions and weekly routines, work on projects together and focus on exercising occasionally. He'll keep beating me at checkers and I'll keep beating him with his boxing gloves.

I can't believe how little time is left before we become Bryan and Kjersti Aicken! There's something beautiful about this time of anticipation. It's on a much larger scale than when I, as a kid, had to wait until Saturday to eat Lucky Charms instead of Cheerios for breakfast, but it evokes the same types of feelings; impatience, excitement, irritation, giddiness. The anticipation slowly carves out a big empty spot which begs for the object of its desire. And when Saturday finally comes, the prize will be all the more wonderful because the unattainable will be fully mine, finally pouring into that empty space with abandon! Just six more days till our wedding, till we commit to our friendship for life...bring it on!

Faking Sleep

2008-12-09T20:36:00.002-06:00

Once when I was about eight or nine I remember being half-awake in the middle of the night, unable to fully sleep because of an intense growing pain in my leg. In my memory, growing pains were like period cramps for your limbs. Anyway, I was only half-aware that I was crying a little bit, and before long I was aware of something else: Grandma Salte, who was in town for one of her many visits, was vigorously massaging my leg. I didn't remember ever waking up to tell her why I was crying, or which leg was hurting, but somehow she'd known. Somehow she'd even heard me crying and come in to do whatever she could to make the pain lessen. I never said a word to her, even when I was awake enough to know what was going on, because something in me was so touched by her care that I just wanted to soak it in. I drifted back to sleep before too long.

I also remember being fifteen, full of typical teenage angst where I'd push Mom away and then come crying to her every time I was upset, expecting her to be there for me. She always was, which was a big show of unconditional love. My self-esteem was typically low, and this carried over into believing my parents probably thought I was as irritating as I saw myself (even though they never gave me reason to believe this). Anyway, I was reading in bed late one night, and I heard Mom coming up the stairs. Since it was after lights-out, I quickly shut off my lamp and faked being asleep. She came into my room to check on me. Before she left, she gently rubbed her fingers along my face and pressed her cheek against mine and gave me a kiss. The whole time I pretended to be asleep, so touched by her affection that I just wanted to soak it in. It spoke volumes to me about her view of my worth. Even now that memory is very powerful, and it reminds me of my mom's unconditional love. She was so nurturing and soft toward me even when I wasn't the most gracious daughter.

I'm so thankful for these two women in my life. I look up to them so much and want to be just like them someday.

2008-11-18T07:56:00.002-06:00

Sometimes, I really don't care how much the world wants to gag at lovey-doveyness. Now that that's been stated, here's my next thing: sometimes I get so full of happiness and excitement and pride and love for Bryan that they want to bubble over but there's no way to express these feelings, so this little blog is today's attempt at relieving some of that bubbling.

Here's an example of why he rocks: lately I've been super stressed about a lot of things that are piling up in my life, and he's been so solid for me. He listens and comforts and helps me laugh off the stresses that really shouldn't be stresses. Last night he led us in prayer together and it was a very refreshing time, which helped me re-focus on things to be grateful for. God gave me a very, very good man and I am so incredibly thankful.

The One

2008-11-11T20:50:00.004-06:00

I used to believe in the theory of "the one", and I believed that anyone who thought otherwise was jaded. In the past few years I've crossed the fence...I'm still a huge romantic at heart, don't get me wrong. But the thought of "the one" puts so much pressure on people to not screw up their love lives, which makes it much harder to be relaxed and be yourself whenever you're in a situation with someone new...especially someone you're developing feelings for. Of course, it is said that God has a specific plan for each of our lives, which would include the person we marry. This opens up a whole other complicated, mysterious subject that I couldn't begin to explain ...let's just say that mine is a very relaxed opinion that has learned to be okay with not fully understanding how God works. I also know that we, as humans, have free will. God loves us too much to take our life decisions out of our hands, because no relationship is loving when one party is forced by the other. Therefore, our lives have the potential to go in many directions. (Hopefully we pay attention to God's leading if there is a specific direction we feel deeply compelled to go, because He knows far more than we do! Otherwise, who knows what we'll miss?) Anyway, I think that we can be compatible with any number of spouses, just like we can be compatible with any number of friends. It just might depend on where we are, or how ready we are. But just like we need to be careful which friends we keep, we need to be REALLY careful about the spouse we choose. The weeding-out process can eliminate so many possibilities, which makes the theory of "the one" seem a little more plausible. Yet I come back to the argument that it's not "the one" you're missing...it's just the right one you haven't found yet. There is a difference.

Enter a person you realize you want to spend your life with. You can't believe how perfectly suited he is to you, and how your quirkiness doesn't scare him off. In fact, he can be downright weird, too, and you love it. Your lives are headed the same direction, your goals complement each other's, and you're both better people for having found each other. Best of all, your relationships with God are even richer than before because of this new friend's influence. You can't imagine marrying anyone else, and you can't believe that God created someone who fits so perfectly as your other half. You think, maybe there is "the one" after all! Obviously God brought us together, so it must've been in His plan all along.

I don't know how to coalesce God's will and our free will when it comes to our life's journey, but like I said before, I've learned to be okay with not understanding. My point is, when it comes down to it, if you have that special person in your life that you commit to (for healthy reasons, of course), that person has become "the one" (whether or not "the one" really existed in the first place). For all intents and purposes, this is the one for you. It feels like that, and you must decide that too, so that when things get rough you can avoid the temptation of wondering how to escape and find someone else. If you have a healthy foundation, you can always work your way back to it and continually find new joy in being together, even after decades of marriage. And the intimacy and fulfillment which come from sticking it out through thick and thin are unbelievable...or so I've heard!

To sum it up (cause I think I've been all over the board here), this is my view: I don't believe in the theory of "the one" except in relation to commitment to your spouse. Once you have him, he is your only one, and no one else could ever take his place. What a special, amazing gift!

2008-10-01T19:55:00.002-06:00

I want to tell you a story about the pinnacle of my athletic career.

It was my Grade Twelve year. It was volleyball season. We'd made it to provincials. This was a huge deal, since the Frontier Raiders rarely made it that far. However, this season we'd had a group of very competitive, talented players who'd fought hard to gain the glory of travelling to Saskatoon to play against Saskatchewan's best.

I was on this team of very competitive, talented players. And I was the best darn benchwarmer they had! Now, I'm not complaining about any of the coaches I'd had over the past six years. They taught me some very good skills, and I was actually not that bad of a player-- but I wasn't that good, either. I'm more of a rec team kind of person. So when push came to shove, and we wanted to make it farther than ever before, we just couldn't risk putting a rec teamer out there...especially one who still hadn't mastered the art of the overhand serve. Therefore, most of my last season was spent on the sidelines, chatting with my friends whenever they came off the court, cheering in my meek little voice, and checking out hot boys in the crowd.

When my team qualified for provincials, one of the coaches pulled me aside and asked if I'd like to come along as a stats keeper. I couldn't go on the roster as an official player since, as everyone knew, I wouldn't be setting foot on the floor anyway...but this way I could still be there to experience everything with my friends. I could also be a help to the coaches; they could focus on the game and not worry about jotting things down. I said yes. Free trip to Saskatoon? Two days away from school? Why not?

To my chagrin, the coaches announced the all-star lineup at practice the next day...and ended with a very special announcement that Kjersti would be coming along as stats keeper! My teammates broke out into applause like I'd just won a ribbon for twying weally hard in a kindergarten colouring contest.

But THEN...we inevitably had a pep rally. Classes were interrupted all over the school to come out and support our team. The lights were dimmed, the music was pumping, and hundreds of students were cheering as, one by one, my teammates were called to the stage. An aisle had formed down the middle of the gym. Hands waved out from each side, waiting to be slapped by each athlete who ran toward the stage with her name and position being proudly announced over the microphone.

I thought I was safe. I wasn't.

"...and, finally," our principal boomed, "Kjersti Friggstad...stats keeper!"

It was one of the most special moments of my life, running through a pepped-up, high-fiving student body with such a title being slapped on my forehead. When I picture it, I can almost see coke-bottle glasses on my face and a clipboard bouncing on the floor behind me, attached by a long string to my pocket protector.

But I kept a positive attitude about the whole thing. After all, I had an important job to do. So we got to Saskatoon, started in the tourny, and I kept as many stats as I could. The job actually appealed to my organized nature, so I was even enjoying it. And if I ever wasn't sure about a play or a call, I'd ask someone nearby for clarification. After every game, I handed my important paper to the coaches. It didn't take long to notice that they rarely even glanced at it.
"Oh well," I told myself. "They must look it over while they're conferring amongst themselves between games."

During a later game, I wasn't sure about a play that had just been made. I leaned into a coach to ask if I should jot it down. Her response? A disinterested, slightly irritated glance at my paper and the declaration: "It doesn't really matter anyway."

From that point on, I took about a quarter of the amount of stats as before. No one seemed to care. So much for all the pep...I guess I wasn't a super star stats keeper after all!

I did get something out of that whole experience, though...ummm...well, I probably did. I'll get back to you on that one.

2008-08-18T22:52:00.002-06:00

While camping with my family in Cypress last week, I had a dream. I only remember the part right before I began to wake up...it was a sudden realization that I was wearing explosive contacts that were about to go off. I was only slightly awake (enough to know that I was in a tent, but not enough to separate fact from fiction) when I started frantically clawing at my eyes, trying desperately to scrape these weapons off of my eyeballs, and when that wasn't working I knew I had to save everyone else who was in the tent with me (although I was actually alone at the time). I whipped off my sleeping bag, yanked the tent door open and dove onto the ground outside in the dark, and that was when I fully woke up.
I quickly debriefed myself on what had just happened, then reached back in the tent for my sandals and walked to the bathroom with very sore eyes. With all the adrenaline that had been rushing through me, I'm lucky I didn't gouge them right out.

2008-07-22T16:18:00.001-06:00

EEEEEEE!! I'm getting MARRIED!!!!!!

Last Piece of the Puzzle

2008-07-15T17:26:00.003-06:00

I was so excited for a sleep-in day. Even though my parents were in town to celebrate my and Jannaya's birthdays, they said they'd be shopping on Saturday morning, which gave us girls nothing to do but catch up on some much-needed sleep. My sisters were dozing in Jannaya's room and I was in mine, having crashed after some late-night girl talk.

As is my bladder's custom, it awoke me far too early in the morning (around 7:30) with a request for a walk across the living room. Just as I returned, settled back into bed and put my earplugs back in, there was a light knock on the suite door. Shrugging it off as a knock on the neighbour's door upstairs, I closed my eyes just in time to hear that knock again. Now I knew where it was coming from, and a small surge of hope shot me to my feet. I yanked out my earplugs, grabbed my housecoat off my door, and stepped outside of my room. Jannaya saw me and rapidly retreated from the door she'd just about opened.
"Maybe you'd better get it," she said, running back into her bedroom.

Two things hit me when Bryan came into view with a huge smile on his face: the first was shock. My brain had to quickly catch up with the reality that the man who usually holds my heart from hundreds of miles away was now standing across the room from me. The second was "oh crap!" My hair was a tangled mess, I was wearing my baggiest pajamas ever, and I had fart breath from wearing my retainer all night. These two reactions duked it out for center attention, but finally the shock won and I walked slowly up to Bryan and we hugged as my pinched voice declared my pleased surprise. I had daydreamed for so long that Bryan would somehow be able to come share my birthday with me, and now he was here! I could hardly wrap my mind around it. He'd ridden a bus all night from Slave Lake and walked to my place from the bus depot. As Bryan and I hugged, Jannaya came over and handed me a listerine strip and told me my breath was probably horrible.

Screw sleep-in day!

Bryan and I went out for breakfast at Tim Horton's, then sat and visited for awhile before returning home. I was still a greaseball so I hit the shower, singing happy little songs to myself, and then changed into some clothes that made me feel pretty. Bryan came into my room and asked if I wanted my birthday present now. Of course I said yes, so we sat down on the edge of my bed and he handed me a shoebox-sized gift with a card on top. Inside the card was a red construction paper heart with twelve small squares cut out of it. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, even though the card designated it "the last piece of the puzzle". I set it aside and was about to open the gift, but Bryan stopped me and pointed to a puzzle that hung on my wall. It was my Christmas gift...Bryan had put together a puzzle depicting a scene from Central Park, leaving out a large heart-shaped chunk, and glued it to a whiteboard. Inside the hole was the message "A gift to my girl, with all my love. Maybe a trip to Central Park, ny, someday?"

Now as I took the puzzle off my wall and sat back down beside Bryan, he handed me the construction paper heart and I set it into the heart-shaped hole. The twelve small squares let only a few letters from the original message show through. They spelled out "will you marry me?"

Somehow my first thought was, "of course, someday." It was as if I automatically chopped off any attempt to realize that this was happening here and now, unable to let that hope rear its head. But then Bryan was shifting; he rose from beside me and said, "let's do this right" and got down on his knee in front of me, pulling a small black box from behind his back. Reality crashed in like a tidal wave and I began to gasp little sobs of joy. Everything around me seemed fuzzy and surreal and I couldn't even feel myself shaking, but I saw it when Bryan lifted my hand and looked up at me and said, "Kjersti, will you marry me?"

I saw the yellow-gold round solitaire come out of its box and slide onto my quaking finger and still I couldn't formulate any kind of response. I kept gasping past the lump in my throat as if I'd forgotten the proper way to breathe. Bryan was still on his knee in front of me. I pulled him towards me and squeezed him, feeling more in-the-moment than I've ever felt before. Here and now was perfect, and nothing else existed. There wasn't a concrete thought; there was nothing to guide my reaction but pure joy. Finally the word "yes" eked out with a sob and I continued to squeeze Bryan, who had a lot of relief mixed in with his happiness. He'd pulled it off without a hitch!

When I found my voice in full strength a few minutes later, I uttered, "holy crap" a number of times. Bryan sat beside me again and handed me the shoebox-sized gift, which turned out to be a wedding planner and organizer. We briefly glanced through it and I was excited by the reason for having it, and the to-do list part of me was SO happy to have such an extensive resource item in my hands.

What followed was a day of happy announcements; a surprise visit from Bryan's parents, who he'd arranged to have in town for this special weekend; and, to top it all off, a surprise birthday party in the evening that Bryan had arranged for Jannaya and Graham to organize while we were out for supper with the Friggstad and Aicken parents. It was definitely the best day of my life! Bryan and I ended the evening with a walk to the river where we could sit and be alone for awhile.

It is SO right to be with him. I am so thankful to God for bringing us together! Not only am I engaged to a good man, but I'm engaged to someone who has been an incredible boyfriend and will be an incredible husband too. I'm so proud of him and can't wait to take his name! But for now I'm going to soak in the joy of just being engaged, and continue to stare at my ring as often as I can.

Grammar

2008-06-07T22:29:00.006-06:00

I definately make my share of mistakes but I still consider myself a bit of a grammar snob. Alot of businesses don't bother to check for good grammar when they put up there slogan's, store name's, and ex cetera. To me, this seems unprofessional and it "really" irritates me. Certain words are "always" mispronounced and mispelled, too, which, is expecially fustrating! (Atleast use spell check people)! Its everywhere, and you just can't excape it. No matter were you turn, your faced with poor grammar and it's effects; slopy-looking signs, and twitching eyes for perfectionist's like me.

2008-06-02T23:49:00.002-06:00

I'm very mad at tree planting.

That is all.

The Air I Breathe

2008-05-16T22:30:00.003-06:00

I was driving home tonight when the worship song "This is the Air I Breathe" came on the radio. It resonated with something that's been slowly surfacing inside of me -- this, combined with the beautiful evening temperature, lured me to the train bridge to get a few moments of retreat and reflection. I parked there and went up the stairs and started across the bridge. I love how the wooden planks sound under my feet. It's such a familiar sense, but it's been awhile since I've come here alone for the sole purpose of hearing from God.

Tonight as I was leaning on the banister, listening to the rushing water and watching the city lights glimmer on the darkness below, I put into words the issue I've been wrestling with for awhile now: I don't feel my need for God. I know that's normal, and it's not freaking me out or anything, but for a lot of my relationship with Him I relied on Him for all my fulfilment. In hindsight it's mainly because I was discontent with some major life circumstances and I found myself crying out to Him almost every day just to show me hope that He was leading me somewhere good. I was less happy back then, but I felt extremely close to God and knew that my relationship with Him was genuine and growing. I heard from Him a lot in those days too, felt His presence in very real and strong ways.

Now I'm busier than I used to be (a common side effect of advancing in years), so it's harder to find time to spend in undistracted solitude. I'm much happier as well, which I am incredibly thankful for. I know the circumstances behind this growing happiness are gifts from God and not merely distractions from Him. However, I've been less desperate to lean on Him because of this. And tonight I told God that I may have lost my sense of need for Him, but I know it's still there and that nothing else can take His place. I also asked that He'd help me stay mindful of our relationship so that I won't let it get shoved onto the back burner all the time...especially as I get older, since I know I'll only get busier.

Anyway, it was cool. I turned around to see the other view, and it struck me how incredibly huge the sky is. That's one of the advantages of the train bridge, or any other high place...it's like taking a deep breath after hours of taking shallow ones. The sky was all around me, on every side, overhead, from the farthest points of my peripheral vision and infinitely beyond that. No matter where I look, no matter what angle my head is at, I'll never be able to see the whole sky.
Likewise, no matter where I find myself in life, however I see God in each of those times, I will never see all of Who He is. He can't be boxed by my expectations or by my limited perception. He's bigger than my needs, bigger than I could ever imagine. He's all around me, on every side, overhead, underneath, and infinitely beyond even my biggest viewpoint. And all of that unfathomable existence, He said to me tonight, is full of love for me. He can never run out of love for me, even when I question my love for Him. His presence is always there, even when I can't feel it. His providence is there, even when I forget how much I need Him. His faithfulness is there in perfect dependability.

I left the train bridge feeling like I'd just been scooped up and wrapped in a soft, warm blanket by the God of the universe.

Thornbush!

2008-05-08T19:21:00.003-06:00

The previous post is dedicated to Jannaya. A few hours ago I asked her what she thought about when holding Graham's hand. That was her response.

Anyway, this present post is dedicated to a flashback I recently had. It caused me to burst out smiling. (It wasn't hilarious enough to make me burst out laughing, but it was still pretty funny.)

I was fourteen years old and at a youth group event. Often the Frontier and Shaunavon youth groups would get together on Friday nights and have large games like capture the flag or kick the can. On this particular night we were playing capture the flag at Valley View Bible Camp, with my team stationed in a small, cleared-out area in the midst of some ridges and bushes on an upward slope. Not being much of an aggressor, I preferred to be near home base so I could catch the enemies without having to be too sneaky myself.

The game went on for quite awhile and it was growing dark. Still, it wasn't hard for me to recognize the form of my crush rising from a nearby ridge and trying to be stealthy on his way to my team's flag. I don't think he noticed me until I got up from where I was sitting and ran toward him, hoping I could be a hero by taking him prisoner. He turned on his heels and took off in the opposite direction, a tall scrawny blonde in hot pursuit whose feet were still a little bit bigger than she'd grown accustomed to. It was a shock to realize that I was suddenly airborne and turning so that my back was now facing the ground, but it was even worse to see that the ground was now beside me, yet I was still falling.

Then it happened: loud crackles and snaps and a surprisingly soft landing. After a quick review of this event and a glance up to see that the top of the ridge was just barely out of reach, my back, behind, and legs began to sting. The stinging grew worse by the second until it reached a plateau which was, thankfully, quite bearable.

Of course I'd fall into a thornbush. While chasing my crush, the dream of heroism in my head, I would fall into a thornbush. I tried pushing myself up, but it hurt too much and only made me sink in deeper. A minute passed. Then two. Then three. Then about half an hour. It was quite dark by now, and it occured to me that I could yell for help. Certainly someone would hear me, right? Especially those who were running right past me on the ridge. But I was either too shy or too embarrassed or too polite to holler. Probably a good mix of all three. The fear of being left behind was a little bothersome, but not enough so to make me shout out and admit my awkwardly helpless predicament to anyone, especially to all the hot youth group boys.

Finally another form came running along the ridge, and somehow this person noticed me lying a few feet lower than the path. I hated and loved him all at once for getting on his knees and saying, "Hey, do you need a hand?" Now I felt stupid for not yelling for help. I said yes, and he gave me his hand and pulled me out. "Why didn't you call for help?" he asked. "I don't know," I said quietly, pulling pricklies out of my legs. I knew it would take forever to be poke-free. I thanked him for helping me, then he asked if I'd let him off free since he was from the other team. I said yes, and he went his way and I went mine.

Moral of the story: Pride goes before a fall, and it doesn't always leave afterward!

2008-05-08T19:12:00.002-06:00

pink elephants

Grandpa Olaf

2008-04-11T08:32:00.004-06:00

My grandpa was a great man. No one is perfect, of course. In his book "Faith When Dreams Die" he said his greatest struggle was against pride. I know what pride feels like inside of me, and I also know what it feels like to be hurt by someone else's pride. It's probably one of the most common struggles in all of humanity...especially for a typical, strong, full-blooded Norwegian farmer! He also struggled with bitterness. When his company went bankrupt the year I was born (I like to think of myself as a good-luck charm), there were a lot of people and organizations that assisted the poor economy in causing this demise. I can't imagine the kind of strength it would take to forgive those who are responsible for the death of your life's work, but I do know it takes a strength greater than any man's. That's why Grandpa was great. His relationship with God was as much a part of his life as breathing. It's what inspired him to be an evangelist and touch the lives of so many people. Almost every time I visit a new church, someone there remembers my grandpa from the days of his travelling evangelism. His joy in the Lord was vibrant and contagious, and he was always bursting at the seams to share a verse, a prayer, or a song.
Another reason my grandpa was so great is that he loved me. I remember my sisters and I going out to visit him, and we all piled into his pickup and drove around the gravel roads to see where the old one-room schoolhouse used to be, the old church where the Revival happened back in the 30's, and the cemetery where a few of our ancestors were already buried. He never failed to remind us grandchildren how precious we were and how much he loved us and was proud of us.
A few weeks ago I took the opportunity to visit him in the Shaunavon nursing home. He'd just had a stroke which left him unable to use his right side or speak clearly. Grandma had gone to heaven two Septembers ago, and Grandpa's friend Vernon had gone just this past December. For a long time now he'd been more than ready to be home with the Lord as well, and now it looked like that might be happening soon.
I'll never forget being able to thank him for the book he wrote, which I'd just finished reading again. It had touched me very deeply, now that I was old enough to appreciate his descriptions of some of the struggles he'd gone through. I'll never forget the faint smile in his eyes when Dad showed him a picture of my brother's newborn son Gabriel. I'll never forget that last hug, holding Grandpa's swollen and rough right hand, and hearing him speak softly into my ear. The words didn't make sense, but I knew by the tone of his voice what he was saying. I told him I loved him.

He passed away around 3:00 this morning. It still hasn't really sunk in yet, but regardless of what I feel, he's up in heaven having the best reunion with his wife and family and friends, and finally being able to fall at the feet of the God he's loved so passionately and hear Him say "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

Crazy Moment

2008-04-02T19:35:00.002-06:00

I had a crazy moment awhile back. So there I was, watching some old home videos to satisfy my nostalgia, when I started to really pay attention to little Zachawy. There were so many great moments caught on tape, like when Dad was interviewing him and asked "What's your name?" to which Zac replied, "Two years old!" (An early indicator of his preference for numbers?) And another time Dad was trying to get a nice shot of Zac and I sitting on the couch in our Sunday best. I didn't really feel like hanging out there too long, but when I tried to crawl away, Zac kept his arm around me and kept my eight-month-old body pinned down. He stared straight ahead with a victorious smile, ignoring my attempts to push him away as I whimpered and cried. (An early indicator of how he shows his affection for his sisters?) In another clip he expresses some mild disappointment over not having a baby brother, but we all know it's because he really wanted Mom and Dad to use the name Texit Borntank for the new arrival. (We named her Jannaya instead...who, in time, would come to call her older brother "Gucky.") We also have footage of ten-year-old Zac climbing trees, showing off his forward rolls, jumping off of the church sign, and reading books to us sisters and our young friends.
This next stuff isn't on video...but as a teenager Zac would sometimes get a little silly. He gave me the nickname Niffer; Jannaya was called Bean Bag and Courtney was called Bugs. He taught us (or at least me) to participate in an authentic-looking strangling. He would put a hand around my neck, not squeezing tightly enough to cut off my air, and I would hold onto his hand with both of mine to add some support, and he'd lift me off the ground like that. It totally looked like I was trying to pry his hands off my neck, but it was actually pretty okay to hang like that for a few seconds (just long enough for Mom to get irritated with us).
When we were kids, one of my favorite things to do was watch Zac play Nintendo or Super Nintendo games. I was never any good myself, but watching him play was just as good as watching a movie, far as I was concerned. In high school he designed a computer game called Prisoner Breakout, and I was pretty happy when he asked me to compose a simple tune for one of the levels. He even named that level after me: Niffer.
One of the best moments of Zac caught on tape, though, was when he sang "Early One Morning" at just over three years of age. Aside from the fact that most of the words didn't make sense, he kept the tune pretty well and looked very proud of himself when it was all done.

Back to my crazy moment: the realization that Zac was about to be a father. It was strange then, and it's strange now that there's actually a real human being in the picture. Gabriel Zachary was born last Monday, and even though I haven't seen him in real life, his pictures look so much like baby Zac it's unreal. It's amazing enough to slowly realize that I'm Auntie Kjersti, but it's almost more amazing that Zac is Dad to someone now. My crazy big brother! He'll be a great dad, too...as long as he keeps Texit Borntank out of the list of future baby names.

Life Right Now

2008-03-01T17:18:00.002-06:00

I don't really know how to make a grand entrance into the theme of this blog, so I'll just start it off the way I sometimes start my emails or conversations with Bryan: Warning-- emotions ahead! I don't freak out on him, but if I ever need to vent or explain how a really bad day affected me, I let him know I'm about to open up a can of mystery and chaos. And it's not even that I need help figuring myself out, I just need someone to listen. We all understand what it's like to vent; through listening to ourselves speak we can come up with our own ways to cope. Somehow we get strength from the listening ear that doesn't judge or try to bandage the chaos. That's why I need to write today. Writing is a huge release for me, and I don't want this to go into my diary where no one will ever read it. I want to share it with the friends and family who read this, because just knowing my words will be seen is already helping me feel better about things.
I'm trying to figure out the best way to describe this year. Every year of my life since high school seems to have a theme: there was CLBI (getting real and staying raw to let God work through the ugliest, deepest parts of my heart), Medicine Hat (depressed and lonely), and Saskatoon '04 - '06 (building up, tons of fun, most friends I've ever made, landing my dream job, first relationship- short and sweet). October '06 is when I started dating Bryan, and that led into what I can confidently call the best year of my life. I had never been happier, and that happiness kept growing and growing despite my doubts that anyone could ever make me feel that way. There were some challenging times too of course, but they all turned into positive things. I was, and still am, amazed that I should be blessed enough to date someone as incredible as Bryan.
The day he left for treeplanting, which was also the first day of a 15-month-long separation, I cried so hard. The reality that he had to leave took a long time to fully sink in, and it almost hurt worse to think about him than to try and keep him off my mind. In the time leading up to phone calls and emails I'd feel more and more lost until we finally connected again, which always gave me renewed hope and energy for the following days.
Now, long distance is slowly drawing to a close...only five months left! We've been very blessed to be able to see each other once, even twice a month since it started. But the reality is, everyday life is lived with the paradox that I'm so happy to have him, yet so sad he's not here. I'm happy to be in a relationship that's so good it makes me ache to be apart from him. In short, I'm happy to be discontent -- cause that means I have something better than I ever expected, and I'm just waiting for the gap to close so things can be complete again. (And by "things" I mean my heart, but I thought you'd all be cheesed out, even though I mean it. Yes, I'm a cheesy person. Deal with it.)
If I'm happy to be discontent now, I can't wait to be happy and content again!

(Ha ha Bryan, this is what you get for dating a girl who likes to write!)

Mailboxes

2008-02-04T19:32:00.000-06:00

Let's take a moment to discuss something we see every day but rarely think about.

A large part of my job involves delivering flyers. Once or twice a week I am out there with one or two of the individuals I support, and we're going door-to-door dropping off real estate advertisements and sometimes free magazines. Altogether on flyer days, we're doing this for anywhere between four and six hours. As for myself, I've been supporting in this fashion for over a year and a half. Therefore I can boldly claim that I am a mailbox expert, and for the rest of this post I will tell you which mailboxes suck (and why), which ones rock, and something else which may be controversial.

First, the sucky ones. Picture this: it's -34 with the windchill and you're bundled up nicely. Everything is actually pretty toasty on you except for your dripping nose and your fingertips which you can barely feel regardless of the thick mitts you put on a couple hours earlier. Everything's going along fine, until...crap! There's another one. Another one of those flat mail slots that's half an inch high, three inches long, and covered by a ten-pound metal flap. If you're coordinated enough to lift the flap (or push it in) with thick mitts on, good for you! Now, let's see you slip a piece of paper through the nonexistent space left in the slot. Oh, there isn't any space left? That sucks. Well, just take your mitt off so there's room to slip the flyer in. BRRRR!! That's cold, isn't it? Deep freeze temperature metal doesn't feel so good on those poor little red fingertips, does it? But don't rush! If you let the flap down too fast, the paper will get stuck halfway throught the slot. And this just doesn't cut it for the guys I support. They believe in a job well done (most of the time), so if the flyer isn't all the way through, they're not satisfied. And sometimes those slots are thick. Half of your hand disappears into the slot before the flyer drifts down to the floor on the other side. By this time your flesh is screaming for warmth, but once you put it back into your mitt it's going to take five minutes to feel even a little bit better. And chances are, you're going to be finding another mailbox like this one within those five minutes.
I might also mention that this style of mailbox was responsible for the loss of a work friend's fingertip a couple of years before I started with SAI. Kind of funny in a sadistic way, but I'm sure it wasn't funny to my friend at the time when blood was gushing down his hand! He still sometimes yells at that style of mailbox when he has to put a flyer in one.

Okay, blood pressure down.
The best kind of mailbox is a normal one. Just a good old run-of-the-mill mailbox, stuck on the wall beside the door or on a post. And it's always fun to see creative ones, like different shapes and ones that are painted or somehow personalized. I love normal mailboxes. Ones that don't bite.

And now for my last point: people, I'm all for the environment and I want to save the trees too. I personally believe that most flyers are a waste of advertising energy. But I'm out there with guys who get paid to deliver these things, and they most often enjoy doing so. They're doing their job, and they're good at it and they know they're accomplishing something. So my main focus is on them, not on the environment. Yes, if I see a "no flyers" sign, I do my best to get my friend(s) to skip that house. But sometimes these signs are super tiny or faded, or I simply see them too late and by then my friend is halfway up the doorsteps. I apologize for the irritation of having to recycle these unwanted papers, but a couple of my friends are hearing impaired, so unless they turn around to see my waving arms, they won't get the message and they'll disobey your request. And most days I just don't care to have them turn back and take the flyer out. (Requiring this of one of my friends can be downright upsetting for him.) Yes, I respect what your mailbox says. I just don't always care enough.

Let's start a revolution: mail slots, be gone! Normal mailboxes, be on every house in plain sight! "No flyer" signs, be big and bold and unmistakeably present so that every person will see it and skip your house without confusion! Then we'll all be much happier and there'll be world peace.

2008-01-07T21:13:00.000-06:00

I'm not gonna lie; I'm horrible. Actually, so is Jannaya. We're both horrible people. But how can anyone resist when the reactions are always so spectacular (either in their outrageousness or their affinity to a simmering pot)?
Over the Christmas holidays we had two flying monkeys in our house. Dad brought them back from Honey Bee. You could take one and hook its front paws onto your index and middle fingers, then pull back the body and let it fly off your fingers like a slingshot. On its way through the air it lets out a calming, soothing screech. The first time I shot one it almost gave Bryan a heart attack (which was quite satisfying since he is NEVER jumpy and I'm always the one to freak out if something moves in my peripheral vision). Anyway, I'm getting distracted by thoughts of Bryan, as always. Onto my story.
SO...it was New Year's Day and the whole household was sitting down to a late brunch. All except our dear youngest sister. Do you see where this tale is going? Yes. Jannaya and I each took a flying monkey upstairs and carefully pushed her door open. Her fan was whirring loudly beside her head, which kept her from hearing the slow and ominous creak. Then Jannaya and I tiptoed slightly past the doorframe and took aim...we could just see the top of Courtney's head behind a thick layer of blankets.
Jannaya whispered "One...two...three!"
SCREECH!! SCREECH!!
We watched in slow motion as my monkey made a beeline for a blond head that was slowly starting to rise (Jannaya's monkey was way off-course, so it doesn't matter anymore). It hit the headboard with a loud smack just a nanosecond before her head got up to that level, possibly jarring her into a completely conscious state. I say "possibly" because Jannaya and I left before we could even see her reaction. Like elementary girls we giggled and ran back downstairs as if we'd just revealed our true feelings to a cute older boy.
Our reward was that affinity-to-a-simmering-pot thing I talked about earlier. I think she's forgiven us by now...right Courtney?

P.S. I think you should blog your own version of this story, but maybe leave out the words that were going through your head. They probably wouldn't be suitable for children.

Kids

2007-12-09T19:32:00.000-06:00

Today at Rock of Ages the Sunday School was doing its Christmas pageant during the regular church service. Partway through the program, Mary and Joseph took centerstage. The face of the doll in Mary's arms was caressed so lovingly and looked upon with such affection as the parents marvelled over the humble form our Creator chose to meet us in our world and save us. With perfectly-practiced awe they recited their lines until the piano began a soft interlude to signal a scene change. Mary stood up and began to walk off with Joseph, the doll still in her arms. Suddenly she stopped, shot a glance back at the manger where she'd forgotten to leave the baby, and for a split second you could see the dilemma in her eyes...after which she proceeded to lovingly toss baby Jesus with a loud "thud" before running offstage.

2007-12-04T08:16:00.000-06:00

I'm so excited...kind of...fourteen months of long distance altogether (we were together for August, so that month doesn't count), and after December we've reached the halfway point. Maybe it'll drag on from January to July, but regardless of how it may feel at times, the fact remains that time is continually drawing the long distance to a close. And for the next few months we'll be able to see each other for a few week-long periods...what a blessing! That makes it much easier to be positive now.

Old Poem

2007-11-25T14:45:00.000-06:00

I was going through an old journal the other day and came across something I wrote when I lived in Medicine Hat. It sounds like it's talking about a new romance, but in the moment of its writing I was actually consumed with thoughts about God and how He was teaching me to find my wholeness in Him, rather than trying to find it in other people. Maybe it's cheesy...I don't know, I tend to express myself that way...but I wanted to share it for some reason.

A look that says "I love you."
A touch that says "I care."
Strong arms that wrap around me.
Soft hands that stroke my hair.

A word so softly spoken
that no one else can hear.
I fall into this unknown,
forgetting all my fear.

My heart is pounding harder,
resistance fading fast.
One hand grabs for this new thing...
the other grips the past.

It's pain and it's excitement;
it's torture and it's grand.
I sit but I am flying;
I'm falling but I stand.

Peace has long since faded.
It beckons distantly.
My joy has gone and hidden
in the place where I'll be free.

I cannot find the truth now
unless in faith I leap,
risking all my comfort
for goodness I might keep.

Raw

2007-11-20T22:05:00.000-06:00

He's there and I'm here. Sometimes that just squeezes the life out of me. I don't always have the energy to stay positive.

Fanks

2007-10-25T16:20:00.000-06:00

It's amazing how a few small words can put you in touch with the universe and make you realize that you're where you belong; that your existence has made a difference. It really doesn't seem like a big deal, even as I write it, but it was huge to me for some reason.
Today was the birthday of the guy I was supporting. His home isn't celebrating birthdays this year cause of something that happened last year...I think this is so sad, cause everyone deserves to have one day a year that's focused on them, and that celebrates the fact that they're alive. So anyway, I was with this guy and we did our regular Thursday routine. Along the way we ran into lots of different friends and we all really built up the fact that it's his birthday and we're so excited to be with him. I'm not normally a peppy person, but I kept up the pep as much as possible today, and my throat's even sore from how much excited nattering I did.
Near the end of the day as we were driving home, this guy gave me a shoulder hug and said "You're a nice girl, Tristi. Fanks, you...you really made my day."
I felt like I'd just won a million bucks.

One Year Old!!

2007-10-02T19:49:00.000-06:00

I wrote a post half a year ago about Bryan and I reaching the six-month mark and how happy I was. Now I just want to say that tomorrow is our one-year and I'm ten times happier.

Lapsus Linguae

2007-09-10T17:33:00.000-06:00

I love those moments when someone is having a discussion in their own head and decides to let you join partway through. Or when a person adds a good point to a conversation ten minutes after it happened. Or when someone decides that the regular order or content of a phrase isn't good enough, so they change things up just to see what happens. Unfortunately for those closest to me, this results in merciless laughter and induction of their innocent mix-ups into my healthy and often-publicly-reviewed memory storage.
It can be something as simple as "You're inkin your twinkin--" (courtesy of Blake, referring to the twinkie I had in my mouth), or "Hey, don't downgrade me." Bryan meant to ask that I stop making fun of him, but his misspeak was the proverbial gas on the proverbial fire. Another friend, Marian, once stated, "It would've been more fun if the whore crew was here." And Sarah told a Sunday School room full of children that the theme of that year's VBS was Wedgie Tales.
Then there was the time my grandma walked into the room and suddenly bent over, slapped her knee, and giggled, "cow farts!" And at a recent family gathering, as we sat around discussing the cute little rabbits that overran our campground, my sister-in-law Jenne announced, "I want to set them up in a choir and slap them."
My sister Jannaya was overheard saying that she wants to marry a stupid husband. My other sister, Courtney, informed our family at the supper table that her friend was having a growing sperm. But I think the most unfortunate target of my laughter is Mom. Over the years she's said some crazy things, made some crazy noises, and come up with the craziest insults. My personal favourite was directed at me in a card game: "Dreamhole." My feelings will never recover, especially from the hatred in her voice when she said it.
There is, however, one story that takes the cake. I think only half a dozen people knew about this one until I got ahold of it, and now everyone who knows Mom knows not to play Dutch Blitz with her; if she runs out of cards and can't think of the proper word, she'll yell out the f-bomb to stop the game.
I'm so glad I'm not on the same level as these misspeakers.

GenerationNext

2007-08-18T13:52:00.000-06:00

It was the family camping trip of '07. Mom, Dad, my sisters, Jenne, Bryan and I were hanging out around the fire pit while Zac went into the car to grab some newly-developed pictures of Jenne's sister's baby girl. He handed them to Mom, who started leafing through them, and he encouraged me to come look with her.
I was looking over her shoulder, discussing the baby's adorable features and which parent she took after, when we came across an ultrasound picture and tried to decipher which little blip was the baby. Then my eyes were drawn to the name at the top of the screen: Jennifer Friggstad.
"Is this--" I looked over at Jenne with saucer eyes. A wide smile grew on her face.
"Like, are you--" I looked at Zac and saw a proud look I'd never seen before.
"Oh, for pete's sake!" Mom cried. I screeched and lunged for Jenne, and suddenly our campsite was a cacophony of laughter and squeals and hugs all around and proclamations of "I'm going to be an auntie! I'm going to be an auntie!"
Mom had run quickly to the trailer, then rejoined our group. I think her first impulse had been to try and hide the tears in her eyes, but she must've realized it was futile. Dad wore a large grin, but still several days later says "I'm too immature to be a grandpa!" Jenne stood up and pulled her bunnyhug tightly around her middle so we could see the small bump she was proudly sporting. It was hard. My little nephew or niece is in there!
I'm so excited for Zac and Jenne. They'll make awesome parents. And I'll be an awesome auntie! Auntie Kjersti. Hee.

Planting of Trees

2007-07-04T20:08:00.000-06:00

Wow, wow, wow, did my weekend rock. Aubree and I drove six and a half hours (which should've actually taken us more like eight hours) northwest of Saskatoon on Friday evening, speeding along to the songs of Beauty and the Beast, Michael Buble, and Natalie Cole. About half an hour from our destination, an unsuspecting Bryan called my cell to chat, but I cut the call short because I was "out with Megan Patzer" (and when I said that, a horde of semis inconveniently zoomed by). Bryan said he was just hanging out in Whitecourt with the other planters, and tomorrow he would call me at about two. I cheerfully agreed and hung up.
Aubree and I arrived in Whitecourt at about 11:30. An inside man had already called to tell us where we could find our boyfriends, so we pulled up to the hotel where all the planters were hanging out in two rooms. Aubs and I went our separate ways. I opened the door I'd been directed to and greeted the exhausted (smelly) crowd with a casual "hey." Bryan was the last person to turn in my direction, and when he did, the blankest stare I've ever seen came across his face. I just smiled and waited for it to register, and when it did, his eyes lit up and he stood up slowly, his happiness as evident as his shock. "I can't believe you're here!" he said over and over.
That moment was one of the many highlights of the weekend. The other highlight actually kinda sucked...I got to plant trees for half a day. It started with a 5:30 wakeup call, a quick breakfast, loading up a truck with baby trees, and driving out to a field. There, we stood around for quite awhile and waited for a helicopter to come so we could load up the slings with baby trees, and they could be delivered to the appropriate pieces (of land). I even got to help hook up one of the slings to the helicopter rope! (I'll put pictures on Facebook soon.) Finally we all hiked out. Aubree and I planted a box of trees together, and it was so much harder than I would've expected. The slash (wow, I feel so sweet using these terms) made walking hard, and the planting itself was difficult...physically, and mentally because it was hard to see the trees we'd already planted. We finally finished and had a lunch break, then were given free reign to stalk our boyfriends for the afternoon. So I walked alongside Bryan as he planted, but I had trouble keeping up even though he was planting and I was just walking. I tried to be useful but it was really hard since I have so little experience, so I basically bounced along beside him and talked and checked his trees for quality and made sure he wasn't planting too many or too few in each plot.
By the time the day ended, all of my muscles and joints were sore and my feet were killing me and I was drenched in sweat. I can't imagine going through that every day for a whole summer! But I'm really glad to know what it's like, and I wouldn't have have changed one thing about this weekend. Leaving was hard, and August can't come soon enough.
In conclusion, I hate tree planting and I'm dating the best man in the world.

2007-06-27T07:59:00.000-06:00

And in other news...I just found out that they're raising the rent in my apartment by $545 on October 1. I like this little place, but WHO wants to pay $1185 to live here? That's absolutely insane. So I don't know...time to move on again? Or maybe this can be fought. Maybe I can find that Irish guy who lives in my building. I ran into him doing laundry a few weeks ago and he said he has a good inside track for fighting the eventual turning of our apartments into condos, so he seems to know what he's doing.
If anyone knows how to fight this sort of thing, or of any good two-bedroom places in the city, please let me know! I'm SOOOOOO frustrated!

Sailor Dan

2007-06-24T09:03:00.000-06:00

What a man!
That Sailor Dan.
I saw him outside Petro Can.

He had a drawing in his hand.
His face was wrinkled and quite tanned.

He held the door for friends and I.
We said "thank you" and walked on by.

"That's Sailor Dan!" I whispered loud.
Seeing him made me feel proud.

My friends from out of town just shrugged.
But something in my mind was tugged.

I went back out and smiled, said "hi".
He smiled and looked me in the eye.

"Isn't she beautiful?" said Sailor Dan.
He raised the drawing...two-foot span.

We spoke about the price and I
went in to get some cash to buy
this piece of art from this sweet guy.

I came back out and paid the price,
and he was very very nice.

He told me that I need to go
to Van and see the arts they show.
"I'm going there later," I let him know.

But then we had to go our way.
"God bless" he said. Then he did say,

"Tell your friends I'm here each night!"
I said I would. I think I might.

So now that drawing's on our wall.
It's hanging in our once-bare hall.
I'm so glad that, once and for all

I saw that man
named Sailor Dan,
just smoking outside Petro Can.

Heart Warmer

2007-05-26T19:13:00.001-06:00

Hey all! Kay, this is the cutest thing I've seen for a long time...it made me want to laugh and cry. Check it out! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epUk3T2Kfno

Girl Vent

2007-05-12T17:58:00.000-06:00

Why do we girls compare ourselves to other girls? We'll always come up short in our own minds, so why do we even start? It just leads to depression and anger toward oneself for not being the most hot,pretty, beautiful, sexy, funny, attractive, stylish, smart, fun, exciting, mysterious, desireable girl around. And then we assume our boyfriends think as little of us as we've come to think of ourselves, which makes it a million times worse, and then our boyfriends are way off treeplanting and we know we won't be able to hear from them for several days and we miss them so much.
Bryan wrote me a song awhile ago, and it's up on my computer desk. I just glanced at it and it made me feel a little better.
I smell popcorn. Gotta go.

Courtney Swears

2007-04-23T17:00:00.000-06:00

Anyone who knows my adorable youngest sister knows that she is sweet, innocent, and of high moral character. But anyone who knows her really well knows the truth. Even as a young child, her rebellious streak began with a few words she reorganized in order to subtly hide the improprieties she so desperately wanted to blurt out in the middle of casual conversation. Following is a list of the top three favored words/phrases and their more appropriate translations:
3. Damniel (Daniel)
2. Dickle Picks (Dill Pickle Chips)
1. Frucken and a Chicken (Kentucky Fried Chicken)
I know, I know...you'll never look at Courtney the same way again.

2007-04-13T16:14:00.000-06:00

There's a guy we support in SAI who rarely speaks, and when he does it's always in a whisper. Three days ago, my coworker told me that he said my name to her twice. I was so happy I almost literally jumped out of my seat.

Very Very Happy

2007-04-03T08:39:00.000-06:00

Six months ago today I was shivering in a coat that had proven itself too thin for the autumn night air, but I hardly noticed at the time. My heart was racing, my thoughts a blur, my mouth releasing a sentence in drawn-out staccato form: "I...think...I'm.........ready."
Unbeknownst to me, my response was to a question that hadn't been expecting such a decisive answer. The look on the asker's face was a mix of shock and happiness. "What--really?" he asked. "Are you sure?"
We were lying parallel on our stomachs on a picnic blanket in Diefenbaker Park with empty sushi, veggie, and drinkable yogurt containers scattered around. It was the first sushi I'd ever eaten, the first time I'd ever used chopsticks. I'd even tried some of the wasabi.
"I think so," I said quickly. "I mean...yeah...I think...yes, I'm ready. I am." I stuttered my way through a few more sentences before relinquishing my need to explain, in great detail, how I'd come to this conclusion.
The exact wording of his reply is unclear to me now, but the gist of it was this: "Okay. Sweet. So...we're officially dating then."
"I guess so."
One week prior, I had said I wasn't ready. I still wasn't completely sure at this point, but I plunged ahead and said I was...which led to happiest, most amazing six months of my life so far.
Happy half-year Bryan!

Thoughts on Ministry

2007-03-29T17:43:00.000-06:00

Something that struck me the other day is how many of us don't feel specifically called to any particular kind of ministry. I'm sure there are others like me who've wrestled with undue guilt over this...it's not like we don't want to reach the world for Christ; it's just that other countries and very blatantly-Christian outreach organizations don't weigh heavily on our minds. I'm not saying we shouldn't explore these options just because we don't think much about them...a lot of the time we need to actually find our purpose and not just wait for it to be handed to us...but I think we should remember the simple truth that God can use us anywhere at any time. Where you are right now--where you're comfortable, in your niche--it's like when missionaries go to other cultures. Before they can begin to effectively reach them with the truth they have to become at least somewhat familiar with the way things are run in this new environment. They have to understand the general and individual mindsets so they can see what practices and beliefs will be helpful or deterrent to the message. They have to know the language, the history, the way they relate to others...they have to know a lot. Here, in your niche, you already know all that stuff. Us North American Christians often forget the mission field in our own backyard. But instead of letting that cliche assuage my false guilt over not feeling called to overseas missions, thereby allowing me to be comfortable in Canada, I'm challenging myself to realize that those within my comfort zone need Jesus as much as any other zone in the world. Every day, everywhere I look, there are people searching. Am I being mindful of how my words and actions present the fact that I know the Way to the Answer?

2007-03-28T23:35:00.001-06:00

Your True Love's Name Is

Brian Y.

What's Your True Love's Name?

2007-03-14T17:14:00.000-06:00

Now this is no reflection on how I feel about piano music...I love listening to it. But every time I see the words "piano recital" I want to say "piano rectal".

Sensing Him

2007-03-03T09:07:00.000-06:00

Just when I start to think that I'm a fairly mature Christian, I'm hit with a revelation that humbles me and reminds me that the beginning isn't too far back. (I kind of hate being humbled, but I love how it shows that God is so intimately involved in my life and growth.) Anyway, what brought this on was a regular evening not too long ago. I was getting ready for bed, stressed out about a bunch of minor life details that had all piled up within a short space of time, which stressed me out that I wouldn't be able to turn off my brain and get a desperately-needed good night's sleep. In the midst of my chaotic thoughts and high blood pressure, a sense of peace suddenly flooded me and blanketed all my worries under a thick, warm knowledge that everything was going to be alright. My worries tried to kick it away, but it was too strong, and I gratefully succumbed to the reminder that God loves me and will take care of me. It was the strongest I'd felt God's presence in a long time, and I'd wanted to feel Him for so long, and even though I was as content as could be, I couldn't help but ask why He hadn't come for me sooner. I'd been crying out to Him for awhile.
Right away I remembered a Christmas several years back when my cousin Jazlyn was just a baby. As is true for all infants, she was getting past the stage where every cry is a physical need being expressed, so when she would wake up from a nap in her crib and start wailing, her parents (knowing she'd recently eaten and been changed) wouldn't come for her. At least, not right away. Her cries were for attention, for a reassurance that Mom and Dad were still there for her and taking care of her. She needed to learn that, just because she couldn't see, feel, or hear them, that didn't mean they weren't there anymore. Their love for her was strong enough to not spoil her by keeping her dependent on a physical sense of their presence.
Unlike earthly parents, God could let us sense Him all the time if He so chose. He will never live far away or pass away or have personal problems that strain His relationship with us...but if we could always sense Him close by, how would we learn to be strong in our minds? We need to be forced to exercise our knowledge of the truth, cause if we always felt the truth in our hearts, our minds would be weak spiritually. There would be no need to resist the lies of the evil one, cause we'd never feel exposed. How then would be learn to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength? His Word and His people are there to remind us of His love when we can't feel it...then when we do feel it, it's that much more beautiful because it has a solid root in every aspect of our awareness.

2007-02-15T22:02:00.000-06:00

I like my boyfriend.

Tagged

2007-02-10T17:45:00.000-06:00

I love this blogging community! Hmmm...so I've been tagged by Marian, so here's my list of five random and irrelevant facts about myself (I wonder how this all got started, anyway):
1. Sometimes I get weird urges to throw things at people, especially glasses of water or pop.
2. Sometimes when I'm thinking of a phrase, I have to repeat it to myself several times and count all the syllables with my fingers (and sometimes I have to gently tap my teeth together on each syllable). This can go on for a long time. I often have to force myself to stop.
3. Speaking of counting on my fingers...I can't add or subtract anything in my head, not even the numbers between one and ten. I still have to use my fingers.
4. My favorite word is pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.
5. My first celebrity crush was Bob Saget.

Okay, now it's your turn...Challis and Briana! Five random and irrelevent facts about you guys. I want to see your lists up TOMORROW!

Eyes

2007-02-08T15:59:00.000-06:00

She looked in his eyes and saw no definable expression. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Was he receiving too much information from her gaze? Could he read her discomfort, her uncertainty about what message to send to him? She wanted him to know how happy she felt that he'd finally lifted his face to behold hers -- a huge show of trust and comfort in their relationship -- but would that portray too much information, put all his senses on high alert and scare him away? Those beautiful blue-green eyes. What lay behind them was a pure mystery. No emotion could be read, just a calculating stare. A cool stare; not uncaring, but seemingly disconnected from any emotional base. Disconnected from the reality that a silent mutual gaze is supposed to turn awkward after only a few seconds. She tried to fight that growing sense of awkwardness, knowing that this case was different; this relationship was unlike any other in her life. Was that awkwardness showing through?

A tentative grin crept across his face, and almost immediately he cast his eyes downward. Now she could see them sparkle. He was happy.

She was overjoyed, and it took all her energy to refrain from pulling him into a bear hug. Today he had given her a gift that she would never be able to describe in words. Today he had let her see into a world that only a select few ever get to see.

Sad Story

2007-02-03T13:18:00.000-06:00

Every week I clean Haakon's home, and part of the process is letting him sit in an old yogurt container full of the old water while the conditioner mixes with the fresh water in his aquarium. Many times I forget about him and leave him sitting there on my bedroom floor while I go off to do much cooler things, like dishes or garbages or watching TV. Many times he's crawled out of the container and I've had to gingerly lift every item off my floor to look for him. Today, however, his escape route led to the dust bunny infected world underneath my bed, and by the time I found him he had traveled to the very middle, just out of arm's reach. I moved my bed so I could pick him up, and he was almost completely dried out...usually he squirms when he's touched, and I could feel him trying, but the tiny body just wasn't cooperating. He was so coated with dust and hair that when I put him back in the container, the water turned gray. I swear he's in some kind of shock, cause he's not swimming as happily and carefreely (yeah, I know that's not a real word) as he used to, but with time I'm sure he'll return to normal.
P.S. Nate just popped his head in to say he hates Haakon. He wanted me to mention that, although I don't know why, cause it just makes him look like a monster.

2007-01-28T23:53:00.000-06:00

Hey all...I would really appreciate prayers for my cousin Lindsay -- she just broke her kneecap. I don't know any details, but it would obviously be a hellish ordeal, especially for someone living with autism. So please pray for her and her family if you ever think about it.

Blizzard of '55

2007-01-16T14:57:00.000-06:00

Jump back to 1955. You're a pastor's wife in a small town. Your husband left in the morning to visit one of his many distant parishes, despite the pellets of ice and snow that had already begun to gust down and around. Throughout the day you're barely able to drown out that gnawing sense of fear in your stomach as the snow blows harder and thicker and the winds pick up. Your three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter demand much attention; the distraction is a welcome reprieve from your thoughts. But every time you look out a window at the thickening white wall, your mouth goes dry. Although you've been sending a continual string of prayers to God all day, every possible bad scenario shoves its way easily to the surface, and with each scenario a touch of sickening nausea. You prepare supper for four, but only two eat...you can barely stomach anything by now. You tuck your children into bed and say that Daddy is staying at a friend's house so he can come home tomorrow when the snow stops, but you secretly wonder how you'll ever explain yourself if the truth turns out to be the unbearable alternative.

The storm continues. White fades to gray, then black. The house is eerily quiet now but for the harsh snow pelting wood and windowpanes, and the wind whistling all around. The clock is ticking. You're on your knees, still praying, still stealing glances at the phone...knowing that if it rings at any second you're likely to have a heart attack. It's the sound you've been dying for and dreading all day long.
Somehow the night passes. Several times you heard the door open and your husband slip into bed beside you, and several times you saw a police cruiser pull into your driveway. Every time you woke up from one of these scenarios, you weren't even sure if you'd actually been sleeping. Never has worry caused you to question your own sanity like it has now.
Then you realize that the blizzard has stopped. The sun is shining brightly through your windows, and when you look outside you see nothing but blue sky and white earth. The drifts are high and, somewhere in your consciousness, you're able to assess that they're quite beautiful. After rousing your children and having breakfast, you set yourself to the task of shoveling off the driveway. The arrival of the sun has given you a touch of hope...you must prepare the way for your husband's return.
The morning comes and goes...your driveway is clear and you're busy at other tasks around the house, forcing yourself to sing lightheartedly for your children's sakes. The phone has rung several times as well-meaning friends have called to check in on the family. Your heart can't take it anymore...but you just can't take the phone off the hook.
And then you hear it: a faint, familiar motor. One that you've heard every day for the past five years as you've cleaned up breakfast and prepared supper. One that now grows louder and louder until finally, heart racing, your nose pressed up against the window, you see it come into view. That hideous, cheap automobile that you can barely afford pulls into the cleared-out driveway with a wonderful, weary-looking face behind the wheel. Without knowing it you've already begun to run through the house, out the door, and toward the man stepping out of the car. It has never felt so good to have his arms around you and your arms around him, squeezing yesterday's fears away and filling up with what little warmth he has left in his body. You quickly usher him inside to warm up, eat, and relax. The children are overjoyed, you are so relieved you can barely walk on shaky legs, and all you can say to God is "Thank You, thank You, thank You..."

So yeah, we just had a horrible blizzard and it got cold and icy and driving was a bit treacherous, and I'll be the first to admit that cabin fever sets in pretty quick when you can barely even see outside your windows. But one thing that I took for granted was the fact that we never lost our power, and the phone lines weren't affected. People were calling to and from our house throughout the day to make sure friends and family were safe and warm. Back in 1955 Grandpa Salte had to pull over and stay with a farm family that didn't own a phone, so there was no way for him to get in touch with Grandma and tell her he was alright. I can't imagine surviving a day of worry like that, and I'm so thankful that wasn't an issue for those of us who saw the Great Blizzard of '07.

2007-01-12T10:02:00.000-06:00

Okay, now let me just say this: I hate when you wake up to discover that you used a crappy cord to plug in your car the night before. I hate when you can't go to work because your car sounds like a dying washing machine whenever you try to start it. I hate when your boss has to go and start doing your work for you, because you're stuck at home. And I hate when every single tow truck number you call is busy, every time you call.
I know it's not really my fault, but I feel so guilty...if it weren't for this, my boss could be catching up on tons of paperwork right now. GRRRRRRR!!!!
Okay, all better now. I just had to vent. But I want to end this on a positive note...yesterday I crawled through a self-made snow tunnel for the first time in ten years, and it was wonderful.

2007-01-11T13:03:00.000-06:00

Let me just say this...I will never again think poorly of those people who go out to shovel their sidewalks in the middle of a blizzard.

2006-12-27T17:48:00.000-06:00

Hey! I know, I know, it's been awhile. Stop pressuring me, people! It seems like a lot's been going on lately, mostly in the form of nitpicky Christmas prep and driving and stuff...but today I was inspired by an event from work...and since I love lists, here it is:
Top Ten Favourite SAI Memories:
10: Dealing with a cop who responded to a call that a mentally-challenged man had (allegedly) touched a woman's breast in the park.
9: Having my autistic friend become quite upset at the aroma of his own repetitious farting in my car.
8: Trying to protect my roommate from the flirtatious and, occasionally, half-naked men that sometimes grace our house.
7: Seeing my cousin's face light up when I talk to her about our family.
6: Trying hard to make a Smurf puppet out of red corduroy and three black buttons, failing miserably, then being told that I can't sew.
5: Singing "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" to a sweet little lady the day after a heartbreak in my personal life.
4: Running away from an apartment building with my friend, after learning that one of the renters was calling the cops on us for trying to "break in". (Okay, yeah, so my friend was kind of trying to force his way inside...does that make us criminals?)
3: Dancing with my normally-withdrawn friend for over an hour at the Spring Fling. (Rocking back and forth with a little bit of head-bobbing, and LOTS of smiley eye contact!)
2: Watching my friend ask Bryan, two seconds after they'd met at the Christmas banquet, if he could take him to the bathroom later.
1: Finding out that a home had been found, at the last minute, for a friend who would otherwise have been forced to live in an institution in another city. I cried that day.

Another inspiration for this list is that I celebrated a full year at this incredible job on December 12th...wow! No other job has simultaneously stretched, challenged, and encouraged me so much. Many days I find myself frustrated beyond my own ability to cope, but there is more than enough blessing in each individual to lift me up by the end of each week. It's cliche, but true: these people teach me things about themselves, me, life, love, and God that I could never learn anywhere else, and I'm eternally grateful to each of them.
Okay, I have to stop...I get a lump in my throat every time I think too much about it!

2006-12-09T15:35:00.000-06:00

Today I just learned about another deep dark family secret...Dad and Mom used to spray Pledge on the floor and watch us kids come running down the hallway in our sock feet, then secretly laugh as we wiped out all over the place.

The Lava is Fun

2006-12-07T21:11:00.000-06:00

Hi. A few days ago my sister reminded me of a childhood game in which we piled blankets and pillows together on the floor, then jumped off of a bed into that pile. We called it The Lava is Fun. Another favorite game of ours was convincing Courtney that if she hit her head hard enough, she'd become a princess. Even Mom and Dad would get into this one at the supper table, laughing along as Courtney wound up her little hand and smacked her little skull, repeatedly, with an expectant smile on her innocent face. Then there were the times we babysat Courtney while Mom and Dad were out...we'd bang on the bottom keys of the piano in Jaws theme song style, then run after her, roaring, as she screamed bloody murder and tried to escape us.
But before you go thinking we're monsters, let me show you the inescapable heredity which compelled us to behave this way: when Mom was a little girl, her brothers would put her dolls in car accidents and draw cuts and bruises all over them with markers that didn't wash off. These same brothers convinced my aunt that every time she peed, a little bit of her brains came out. Even Grandma went along with this one for awhile! And on the Friggstad side of things, there was a Christmas Day several decades ago that involved my grandparents gift-wrapping a literal pile of baloney for my youngest uncle (then about five years old). After eagerly opening his present, he started bawling in disappointment. So funny!

2006-12-02T10:34:00.000-06:00

Soundtrack of my Life

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
How it works:
1. Open your music library
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press Play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press Next
6. Don't lie and try to pretend all your music is cool.
_______________________________________________________

I liked Challis's and Amy's idea, so here's me copying them.

Opening Credits: "Celtic Rain" by Enya
Waking Up: "Peter" from Finding Neverland soundtrack
First Day At School: "Finding Who We Are" by Kutless...sounds pretty appropriate
Falling In Love: "Sanctuary" by Jaci Velasquez...kind of cool
Fight Song: "Mary" by Sarah Sleane. Not exactly an adrenaline-evoking song, but maybe I'll be fighting for love
Grad: "Good Behavior" by Plumb
Life: "Bandolera", a ballroom dance song by the Arthur Murray Orchestra. Sweet!
Mental Breakdown: "Kommst du Nun, Jesu, Vom Himmel Herunter, BWV 650" by Yo-Yo Ma
Driving: "Down" by Minnie Driver (at least her name works for this)
Flashback: "So This is Love" from Cinderella. Awwww!!!
Getting Back Together: "Sing Hallelujah" by Bob Fitts
Birth of a Child: "Stumptown" by Nickel Creek. Weird.
Final Battle: "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts. This makes me sad.
Funeral Song: "Endless Night" from the Lion King. This makes me sadder.
End Credits: "Runnin' With the Wind" by the Rawling Brothers.

Random Rouleou and Regina Road Trip

2006-11-21T18:01:00.000-06:00

Okay, Corner Gas fans, be prepared to drool with jealousy! I have actually stood on the deck of the Ruby, and the steps of the red brick cop shop...I have seen the Foo Mar with my own eyes and walked around inside the Dog River Bar and Hotel...and although we didn't see Brent Butt or Fred or anyone else from the show, I'm sure they would've given us their autographs. That's right, we went to Rouleou, SK last weekend! But let me back up a bit...the reason we went was because I won a bet. You see, Bryan thought that prairie dogs and gophers were the same thing. I KNEW they were different. So we made a bet before doing some research in the wonderful world of Wikipedia, and since I was (obviously) right, Bryan had to hold up his end of the deal. So on our first available weekend we packed our bags and went on a sweet road trip through south central Saskatchewan. Our first stop was Moose Jaw, where we took pictures with Mac the Moose, then we spent some time in Rouleau being pathetically obvious tourists (as we were pulling into the town and I saw the gas station and Ruby, I had a bit of a happy freak out...I was bouncing and saying something about my dream coming true), and we finished off in Regina. And hey, for those out there who always burn Regina for being a dirty city, let me tell you something...I was once among you, but everywhere we went, things looked very nice and we were both considerably impressed.
So after watching the ducks and geese at Wascana Park, we spent some time with an ex-Frontierian friend and her boyfriend, who were kind of like a sitcom couple. They were the most entertaining part of our weekend for sure...thanks for the good times Malory!
Anyway, I just wanted to share my excitement with everyone. And yes, it's sadly true...I'm actually super pumped about having been to Dog River. That's one thing to check off of my "to do before I die" list.
And thanks Bryan for being such a good sport about driving to the middle of nowhere because of a silly bet! You're alright I guess.

2006-11-12T11:25:00.000-06:00

My closest-in-age sister (who will remain anonymous), who lives with my brother and sister-in-law (Zac and Jenne), was trying to call our cousin yesterday to make plans for today. Five or six times she dialed, and five or six times she was met with an irritating busy signal. Finally she gave up, bemoaning the possibility that our relatives had left their phone off the hook by accident.
This morning she realized her mistake. Unfortunately, she confessed it to me and my brother, and we are more than happy to remind her of this for the rest of her life...all day yesterday she was dialing my brother's number. Poor girl.

I Had No Choice...

2006-11-11T02:26:00.000-06:00

I was driving to Alberta today. The trip was long, the sky was dark, and my car was way too hot (cause if I turned the heat down at all, the windows got covered in a thin sheet of ice which I would then have to scrape off while semis zoomed past me). Needless to say I was growing tired, and the iced cap and obnoxious singing and plethora of junk food weren't helping anymore. So I succumbed...I bought a Red Bull. It sat in my drink tray for a long time before I opened it. Halfway through the can I was wired. For a few hours Red Bull was my hero, getting me so hyped up I was rocking out to old school DC Talk music and making up dramatic soliloquies that would put any soap actress to shame. It was a grand time!
But now I'm at my brother's house, and everyone else is going to bed. I'm still quite wide awake, and I don't know what to do with myself, so I'm killing some time by writing this useless blog. I want to wake up my sister to tell her I like her lipstick, but I think that'd probably be mean.
Here's hoping for a decent night's sleep...

Trading Pages

2006-11-06T17:53:00.000-06:00

A week ago I was reminded of something that happened to me when I was fourteen, and it was super cool so I wanted to share. At that point I was materialistic to the point of believing inanimate objects had feelings, and I hoarded everything because I didn't want anything to feel rejected. Pitiful, I know! So one day Mom did the unthinkable and threw out some things of mine that I no longer needed or used. That night as I lay in bed, seriously aching for the loss of my treasures, I grabbed the Gideons Bible my Grandpa handed out to everyone in my class in Grade 5. It had a suggested reading for each day of the year, and the one for that day was Matthew 14:13-21. So I turned to that page and this is what my eyes fell upon:
"My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son...no discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it."
I couldn't read any more for the tears in my eyes. In that moment God's presence filled my room so powerfully I couldn't deny Him if I'd wanted to, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that He'd given me these words for this circumstance. It was the first big step in the long, unsteady journey of me learning to accept God's unconditional love for me, and accepting that He cared about the tiny (and, in hindsight, laughable) details of my life.
The next day I was flying high, and after school I grabbed my Bible to re-read the passage from the night before. I double-checked the "suggested reading" page and turned to Matthew 14, but was met with the story of Jesus feeding the 5000. Confused, I double-checked and read the surrounding chapters to be sure I was on the right track, because I specifically remembered seeing "Matthew 14:13-21" as the heading, and those verses on discipline as the subsequent words.
After more searching I found those verses right where they belong, in Hebrews 12. It took awhile for reality to sink in...God had given me a sweet miracle to reach me where I was at.

2006-10-27T23:03:00.000-06:00

Tonight was one of the most cultural experiences I've ever had. Even though Nate and Megan ditched us at the very beginning, Bryan and I still had sweet fun at the ecumenical square dance, learning how to do-si-do, left alamonde, swing, chain, right-hand star, and walk in a circle going left...and then right. Sometimes we all had to hold hands, but sometimes they switched it up and had us go single file, using songs like "Macho Man" and "Leroy Brown". We had the greatest-ever callers. They squabbled almost the whole time when she was trying to teach us stuff and he was trying to usurp her authority by teaching us in a different way. But the best part of all came at the very end...after the blisters had formed on my heels and everyone was giddy and sweaty and tired, we all stood in a big circle and held hands and swayed back and forth to a song about this circle of friends, singing about how we were always going to be friends and have good times together. I don't think any of you will understand exactly how meaningful this was unless you were there...Bryan was almost too sweet 4 me to handle.

Top Ten Fun Things of Late

2006-10-16T21:02:00.000-06:00

10. Royal Simon ForgetFully Flushed Someone. 3, 2, 1, Highballs!
9. Accompanying someone to the library who sighs loudly every time she turns a page.
8. Watching as other library patrons try their best not to show their impatience.
7. Putting an outfit together to go with a new sweater vest from Value Village.
6. Seeing a roommate win $125 at Bingo.
5. Pushing a wheelchair across an icy parking lot with non-grippy shoes.
4. Making and eating waffle chips in a bowl with syrup.
3. Watching a movie, containing gay sexual tension, with a roomful of awkward guys.
2. Seeing Wallace scrape ice off his car on CTV News.
1. Ole's nipple ring.

Creepy Lamp

2006-10-09T09:58:00.000-06:00

Okay, this is sort of a continuation of Creepy Man. He hasn't appeared since that time he made me scream bloody murder, but in the past month I've had two instances that evoked the same type of fear he used to.
I have a touch lamp beside my bed. Anytime I hear a strange noise, feel scared, or wake up from a bad dream, all I have to do is reach over and touch it once, and the light comes on, dissolving my fear. Well, earlier this month I had a dream that was scaring me (I can't remember exactly what it was about...I think Pom Pom from Homestar Runner was going to kill me or something. Scarier than it sounds!) Anyway, my head realized that I was dreaming, so I should just wake up and turn on my lamp and things would be fine. So my dream dissolved into the darkness of my room, but when I reached over to touch my lamp, it wouldn't turn on. I touched it several times, panic rising, and finally picked it up...only to realize that the cord had been cut just beyond the base. Now fully awake (or so I thought), I stood up and started walking toward the door, lamp in hand, ready to strike any evil Pom Poms who might jump out at me (I had a strong sense of someone dangerous hiding in the darkness of my room). But the closer I got to the door, the farther away it seemed...the more I tried to make a noise, the more my throat closed off. I knew Megan and Aubree were both still awake, and if I could only yell once, they'd know I needed help. A couple strangled cries did manage to escape me. But the distance between myself and the door increased until I was back in my bed, and that's when I woke up for real. I threw my arm toward my lamp, and it turned on. Shaken but relieved, I was able to sleep again within a few minutes.
Last night the dream was much more intense. I was in a white house with some people who were friends (not people I know, but in my dream I sensed they were friends). For some reason I was engaging in very intense spiritual warfare, yelling out rebukes to Satan and calling on Jesus' name to destroy the enemy, and I fell into a trance-like mode where everything became fuzzy and I felt like I was losing consciousness. That's when I realized that this was a dream, so again, I knew I could just wake up and turn on my lamp and I'd be fine. I reached over and touched my lamp...again, it wouldn't turn on. I picked it up and saw that the cord was cut. Before panic struck, I remembered this happening once before, so I reminded myself that this, too, was a dream...again I reached for the lamp, but again it wouldn't turn on. The cord was cut. But I had felt a distinct change in my level of wakefulness between this attempt and the last, so fear took hold and I started to yell. My own yelling woke me up for real, and I remembered that I was in Frontier and the lamp was behind my head. In the few seconds it took for me to reach back and turn it on, a lingering sense of evil oppression continued to make my heart pound, and after the light was on, a sense of wicked laughter echoed in my mind, like teenage boys laughing as they run away from a scene of destruction before they get caught. It was eerie.

All Better

2006-10-06T00:01:00.000-06:00

Don't worry, everything's under control. For the longest time (about three days) I had millions of people asking me what happened to my blog page. It wasn't even showing up...my sister emailed me in tears, Nate got on his knees and begged me to fix the problem, and I myself was minorly stressed that I'd have to start a whole new one over again. But it's fine now, you can all relax! Unfortunately I'm tired and crabby right now and don't really want to say anything, so I just posted an angry question and it seemed to do the trick. Now that that's taken care of...bed time. Good night.
Home for Thanksgiving tomorrow!!

2006-10-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

What the freak happened here?

2006-09-30T12:58:00.000-06:00

Hi Ben.

2006-09-16T23:38:00.000-06:00

You know when something's so beautiful it hurts? It might be a single moment when the sunset is absolutely perfect, or a bunch of circumstances coming together in just the right way, or a revelation that frees you in a way you'd never known before. Whatever it is, you know it's good, you feel it's good, but there's a deep ache you can't put your finger on. I think that's because the goodness has surpassed our ability to feel. It's too big for us, so we can't contain it in all the vastness of our heart and mind, and we can't respond to it in any way worthy of its magnificence. When something is too wonderful for words, sometimes it's even too wonderful for any expression of our soul, be it noise or silence, emotion or thought. I love those moments, but they also frustrate me because I know I can never give enough back to God for the joy He's given me, and no expression of thanks will ever be enough. But I also believe those moments are little tastes of heaven -- and when we get there, it will be an eternal moment of beauty that we can finally fully respond to, because we'll finally be perfect. And then it won't hurt anymore at all.

All Nighter

2006-08-29T06:12:00.000-06:00

I can't believe my life. And I can barely type. Today's a work day, and I just spent all last night (minus about a one-hour nap) lying awake on the front lawn under a pile of blankets with two friends, a TV by the front steps playing DVD after DVD. We took a quick break to walk barefoot around the neighborhood at about 2:00. Now, I'm awake. My friends, bless their little hearts, are able to sleep as much as they want today, so they're sacked out under the rising sun, and I'm inside trying to psyche myself up for work. Not that I'm bitter, it was a lot of fun. But man alive, I can't wait to get back home later and crash! This is going to be a day of genius thought from me.

Nonjudgmental

2006-08-17T18:42:00.000-06:00

Today I was supporting a couple of guys who volunteer a few hours a week cleaning at a church on the west side. One of these guys is a social butterfly...seriously, everywhere we take him he's waving and saying "Hello!" and occasionally shaking hands with all the random strangers. (And sometimes we get the snobs who shoo him off like a mosquito...seriously, I've seen people do that several times and it makes me want to explode. Anyway, different point.) Today as we were leaving the car to enter the church, a rough-looking guy was walking by; long, greasy ponytail and baggy clothes and tattoos all up and down his arms, and eyes that said "Don't mess with me." Without skipping a beat, my friend waved and called out a friendly hello. In an instant, I saw the guy's demeanour morph into that of a shy, startled little boy. He replied with a tentative "hello" and carried on his way with a quick, nervous step. And it struck me how my friend had treated this guy with a casual acceptance that he probably rarely, if ever, receives. I wonder if that unconditional greeting affected him at all.

2006-08-15T18:28:00.000-06:00

I went for a long walk yesterday, and halfway through it I realized I'd been talking to myself and laughing out loud at my own stupid jokes for a long time. In a busy neighborhood. It was an awesome realization.

I'm an Idiot

2006-08-07T19:20:00.000-06:00

Hey, I almost died and took another person with me today! It was just one of those stupid momentary lapses in judgment when you're behind the wheel, and it led to a now-or-never moment that had me shaking and thanking God for his angels.
Just after Rosetown the highway becomes two-lane for about three miles (maybe a little more), and I was behind a caravan of cars who jumped at the chance to pass a slow-moving (aka, legal speed) truck and trailer that had held us back for quite some time. As I was in the passing lane behind all the other vehicles, unable to floor it for their apparent lack of hurry, I noticed that my lane was growing slimmer and slimmer, and the trailer was drawing closer and closer to my right side. Behind the trailer was another vehicle, so I was left with three options: 1. Slam on the brakes-- but I was near enough the end of my lane that I would end up flying straight into the ditch at 120 clicks. 2. Slam on the brakes and swerve right-- but I'd hit that other vehicle behind the trailer. 3. Rub right up against the bumper ahead of me and pray that I'd be able to squeeze between the truck and the end of the guardrail in about half a second. I chose option 3...complete with an uttered, "Jesus!"...and swerved into the right lane even as the truck was still in my peripheral vision. I don't know exactly how much room I'd had on all four sides of my car in that moment (definitely no more than a few feet), but as soon as I realized it'd worked out, I realized how stupid I'd been and was super happy for the mechanism in us that takes over when there's no time to deal with fear.
The moral of the story is this: don't obey the speed limit, some moron out there will risk anything to pass you!

Creepy Man

2006-07-29T11:07:00.000-06:00

Creepy Man first entered my life in mid-April. He showed up at about midnight in my bedroom, standing by the bookshelf on the wall opposite my bed. I was in that waking-up phase where subconcious and reality overlap, so his presence -- complete with eyes that gleamed with maliciousness and a grin that would make anyone's blood run cold -- was fairly concrete. The yell that automatically escaped my mouth was the kind you do in dreams, where you're terrified by something but can make no other sound than a deep, gutteral, manly shout. It was attractive, let me tell you...but Creepy Man disappeared immediately, and I was able to sleep again just a few minutes later.
A month went by without incident. Then, in mid-May, my eyes were barely opening one dark night, and there he was again! This time, I could only see his face hovering above the foot of my bed with blankets slowly waving all around it. A sense of authority filled me almost as quickly as the fear, and I yelled "Go away!" or something to that effect. He did. Now fully awake, a tired, victorious smile stretched across my face and I said "Thank you Jesus" before falling immediately back to sleep.
Neither time had my manly shouts aroused anyone else in the house. Neither time had I been too scared to fall back asleep.
Then we were in mid-June.
I had gone to bed early. Aubree was in the next room, talking to her mom on the phone.
About an hour into my sleep, Creepy Man showed up right overtop of my face. This time, the maliciousness in his eyes was accompanied by an evil excitement over what was about to happen to me...that's the only way I can describe it...and somehow I felt my blankets being pulled away. I began to scream, and I continued to scream, and the scream rose in pitch and volume and intensity, but Creepy Man didn't leave until I pulled my blankets over my face. Then I was fully awake. I sat up, turned on the lamp, and realized I was shaking like I'd just come in from minus-forty weather. My chest hurt from how much my heart was racing, and my throat was sore from the bloodcurdling scream that had ripped through it.
Right away I went across to Aubree so she could know that everything was fine. She had been more than a little startled. Actually, the quality of my scream had led her to wonder if someone was actually in my room, and she was terrified. But we were both able to laugh about it, even though my shaking continued for hours.
She went to bed. I stayed up for awhile longer and did some research on night terrors so I could figure out if that's what I was having. Apparently, yes...a form of them anyway. (And they call figures like Creepy Man "bedroom visitors". What a lovely title.) I was a little disheartened to learn that they are fairly uncommon in adulthood, and often indicative of a mental disorder, like split personality. But they also had the idea that it can just be repressed emotions, so I decided to go with that.
I have since had a few friends give their opinions on what Creepy Man means. One idea is that he is actually something positive that I see as negative, and that's why he appears in such evil form to me. The next time he shows, I should calmly ask him what he wants, or give him a hug or something. Or else this could be the rageful side of me taking form in a subconcious way, but I doubt that. My rage gets plenty of healthy release when I'm driving.
HOWEVER, I am happy to report that July is almost over and Creepy Man has not shown up. He was on a fairly regular schedule, so I'm hoping a missed appointment means that he's really finished.

2006-07-03T13:43:00.000-06:00

I think one reason we're so afraid to look in the mirror is that we know we'll see something we're not prepared to give up. Deep down, we all know the patterns (internal or external) that make up the wall between ourselves and our God. Most of these patterns started as a type of security blanket, a way to deal with stuff in our lives that keeps painful realities or overwhelming emotions at bay. But often, they also hold us back from accepting the presence of God, the love that He is more than ready to pour into us.

Even knowing this, we don't want to see our spiritual condition for what it has become. Even knowing that freedom waits on the other side, we don't want to give up the patterns we have come to "need", even enjoy. We're not ready for the inevitable battle. In a sense, we don't believe it can be won until we're good enough. No warrior enters the battle broken, meek, and humbled. That's why God's Kingdom is so backwards...until we get to that point, we're not fit to fight. Otherwise we're fighting in our own strength, and that only goes so far. When we're broken enough to admit our need for God's armour; when we're meek enough to admit our need for His power; when we're humbled enough to admit our need for His wisdom -- then we're ready for battle.

It takes courage to come before God in the knowledge that our condition will be reflected off of His purity in such a way that we can no longer ignore or rationalize it. But His Word tells us to "... approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need" (Heb. 4:16). Could He invite us any more lovingly?

2006-06-28T21:34:00.000-06:00

I was looking up fun things to do in Saskatoon, when I came across an ad for a new leisure facility that reads "Everyone is welcome...!Boarders, bladders, and bmxer's can enjoy the park's ramps, rails, and bowls."
Funny on so many levels...

Hot Dang

2006-06-19T17:27:00.000-06:00

That was fast...my dad found a GOOD used car for me in Swift Current, and the next day he went up to check it out, then phoned me and we quickly decided to go for it. It's a 4-door 1992 Honda Accord (which I have since learned is one of the most commonly-stolen cars in Canada or the world or something) with -- get this -- AIR CONDITIONING! And power locks, and a radio that works, and electric windows. Only 150,000 kms on it so far, and it's dark metallic red with gray interior. Isn't it pathetic how excited I am about this? But I don't care. There it is. Now it needs a name.

2006-06-15T08:13:00.000-06:00

Okay, so my car makes a sound like thunder whenever I brake, and like an accelerating train when I speed up again. I wanted to pop the hood in the off-chance I'd see anything unusual under there (wishful thinking...the fact I can check my oil is amazing in itself), only to discover that my hood is stuck shut! Like, I can barely fit my fingers under the front to push up the latch thing, and then I can't get it open. I mean, frick, people! This car is my life. If I don't have it, I can't work. Literally. Can I please get through thirty days without something major screwing it up???!! I just spent $200 on it last month!

I am mildly frustrated.

In other news, I will shortly be looking for a GOOD used car...if anyone happens to know anything, give me a shout.

Day of Blessings

2006-05-30T17:23:00.000-06:00

On Tuesdays I work with two ladies - one in the morning, one in the afternoon. The afternoon lady often tries my patience like nobody else, so today I was praying really hard for extra patience, almost dreading how hard those three and a half hours might be.
By the end of my time with her, I'd been blessed in ways I didn't expect. First of all, when she saw me, her face lit up like I was the greatest thing she'd seen all day. And she started giggling...imagine a short, round lady with no neck (her head just sort of sprouts off her shoulders). She jiggles when she laughs, and her eyes scrunch up really tight. The smiling and giggling and jiggling kept up all afternoon.
Secondly, one of our routines is to hold hands while I sing "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands", and we swing our hands back and forth and she looks at me with adoring eyes. Today the simple profundity (or profound simplicity...I'm not sure which way makes more sense) really struck me in a new way. That song and "Jesus Loves Me" are the only ones we ever really need to know, I think.
Lastly, as we were heading back to her home, I heard myself saying something without even thinking about it. I said, "Debbie, you know what I love about you? You know that you're loved." Right then and there I had a taste of the joy God feels when we live in the knowledge of His love for us. Debbie has a severe disability, and she has ample opportunity to feel the cold shoulder of a world that values usefulness over innate worth. But that doesn't stop her from being happy and feeling safe with those of us who love her, even taking that love for granted by not giving anything in return but a smile and a giggle. And what a beautiful smile and giggle they are!

Lansdowne Ladies' Stalker

2006-05-19T23:58:00.000-06:00

Umm...so...I went for a nice long walk (and it wasn't even dark yet), and just as I was on the home stretch, this man shouts from a block behind me, "Hey, you! I'm talking to you!" Being shy (and slightly wary) has its advantages...I ignored him and kept walking, checking behind me every now and then to be sure he wasn't following. I didn't see him anymore.
I got home and forgot all about it...then Aubree stepped out to go meet someone for coffee, and came back in five minutes later. Apparently a man matching the description of my shouter had been out in front of our house just as she was leaving, and struck up a conversation that led to him saying he'd love to go out with her sometime, and when she didn't give him our number he said he'd just have to come by our house every now and then...after all, according to him, he lives in the area. How handy! So we're thinking of making up a secret knock for all our friends, just so we don't have to wonder when someone's at the door and we can't see who it is.
An overactive imagination is great. Aubree did end up going out for coffee, so I stayed home and played piano...during one song I swore I heard scratching at the door, like someone was picking the lock. Kind of a rush, like a horror film, but a tad scarier. Realistically, I don't think we'll ever see that guy again. But he sure left an impression!

2006-05-18T20:03:00.000-06:00

Why does death have to be involved in every series finale? This sucks.

Accidental Flirt

2006-05-08T16:24:00.000-06:00

Awhile ago a young man came to our door selling cable and, to make a long story short, I ended up asking him if he was free to do something later. And yes, it was an accident! Those who recognize my ability to screw up a sentance will understand, as will those who know that the connection between my brain and mouth is touch-and-go at best. Not long after that I was out somewhere with a bunch of friends, having a nice little chat with a guy I barely know. Apparently I was flirting big-time with him, cause everyone was asking me about it later. One friend clarified that I had been leaning forward as we talked, and that was a major tip-off. Well, of course I was leaning -- I was tired of standing, so I was leaning on the back of the pew for support! (Girls, avoid this move.)

Anyway, my subconscious has decided for me that this incessant flirting must stop. I realized this when a young man came in to measure our backsplash -- I was, without question, the creepiest and most awkward young woman he'd ever met. The whole fifteen minutes he was in our kitchen, I watched the tape measure with rapt attention, standing behind him on the edge of his peripheral vision. I didn't move. I gave one-word answers to his questions. And I'm pretty sure I smiled politely only once, but it was the grin of a tired old lady who just wants this hooligan out of her house so she can get back to her soaps. I think he was okay with leaving right away after his work was done. Maybe I was kind of rude (which I didn't mean to be, I was just super tired). But at least I didn't ask him out or lean forward or commit any other such obvious flirtatious act. Maybe I'm cured.

Marzipan

2006-04-29T12:12:00.000-06:00

Nice, new cars have nothing on my 1990 Dodge Spirit. I got it for free because Alberta wouldn't let my brother keep it...something about the floorboards being hazardously rusted...but good ol' Saskatchewan doesn't judge anything by its cover! Marzipan has an engine that won't quit and a spirit that won't die, even in the face of life-threatening problems. For instance, almost a month ago I parked her in front of the house, and right away there was a lovely green river rushing along the curb and down the street. Upon lifting her hood, we discovered a large hole in the radiator through which my coolant was quickly and noisily escaping. Thankfully my uncle was able to fix it, and after borrowing Nate's car (which had a peculiar penchant for honking whenever I signaled right) for a week, I was able to get back behind the wheel of my war-wounded auto.
Shortly after this, I was rear-ended by an elderly gentleman who drove slowly away as if he hadn't noticed a thing. The yellow scars on my car's bumper will probably never heal on their own.
In the meantime, I had begun to notice a grinding noise every time I braked, but as I am just a stupid girl, I figured my brake pads were dirty. WRONG. They were gone. Dad was quite pleased to discover I'd let this problem continue for so long, and stayed up till 1:30 am before Easter Sunrise Service to fix it right up...as well as a few other issues he discovered while spending all day with my car.
Now she's running well, and I am thankful for everyone who makes my life with Marzipan go as smoothly as it does, considering how old and feeble she's become. It really is a group effort.

Yesterday, just to remind me not to get too comfortable with her, she decided to shed her rearview mirror.

Abbrev

2006-04-18T08:05:00.000-06:00

Hey Johanna in Van, this one's for you: I just found out Jannaya hates abbrev's as much as you do. I said digi cam one day over the Easter weekend, and she freaked out on me. I thought you'd enjoy that.
Man, I look like death warmed over this morning.

Proud

2006-04-13T08:09:00.000-06:00

Okay, it's bragging time. My brother and his 4-man team from U of A just placed 11th out of 400 universities at a worldwide math competition in Texas yesterday, making them the only Canadian team to get in the coveted top 40. Go Zac!

Prom Night

2006-04-09T10:39:00.000-06:00

Here's a fun moment in life: Dena, Megan, Aubree and I are standing in our living room, waiting impatiently for the boys to pick us up. We've been primping all day and we're feeling fairly hot, holding our oriental salad and broccoli casseroles and wondering why those guys are past the 8:00 pick-up time. Tonight is prom night for the Saskatoon crew, and we're supposed to be at the church fairly soon to do some eating and dancing. We've been looking forward to this for a couple of weeks now.
I head off to my room to check my lipstick, when an eruption of excited shrieks pulls me back to the living room, where the girls are pressing their faces against the window and jumping up and down.
"They got a limo, they got a limo!"
Sure enough, there's a long white vehicle pulling up in front of our house. Call me pathetically dramatic, but I'm so excited I start shaking. Then the girls are like, "Get away from the window so they don't know we've seen them yet!" Heaven forbid our boys should see us acting like such school girls. (We later discover they had seen us quite clearly in the window...not to mention a certain basement boy had been underneath us, hearing the whole thing.)
That kick-started an awesome night. We had a limo ride, then got to the church where a bunch of our friends had already arrived. There were decorations and candle-lit tables, where we ate roast beef, duck, quail, eel, salmon, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce (my first time ever), fruit pizza, and salads. Then we watched a couple of videos we'd made throughout the year, and there was a birthday cake and a scrapbook given for Megan's birthday. Finally, there was the dance. Aubree and Nick taught everyone some of the stuff they'd learned at ballroom dancing throughout the year, and it wasn't that bad! Actually, I was really enjoying myself. Dancing's not too scary when you have someone else who isn't afraid to learn either.
And that was that. It was awesome. Saskatoon's the best...especially Saskatoon boys.

The Vein

2006-04-04T18:03:00.000-06:00

Hi. I was just looking through some old school things one day, and I came across a poem I wrote in Grade 12 that I want to share...it's a pretty accurate picture of who I am.

My sister has two eyelids,
as many people do.
But as a child, one had a mild
and tiny vein of blue.

We fought a lot together
when we were six and three.
When she felt snide and justified,
she'd make THAT FACE at me!

Her eyebrows arched up highly,
her eyes half-shut just so.
And then that vein drove me insane
as it appeared to glow.

I usually grabbed her head right then
and tucked it in my arm.
With all my might, I'd squeeze real tight
and she'd cry in alarm.

But one day Grandma caught me
and yanked us two apart.
I had a pout, then figured out
I'd need to be more smart.

My sneakiness kicked in soon
while cleaning toys one day.
I bugged her bad till she got mad
and threw a toy my way.

The tractor hit my forehead.
I nearly danced in glee!
My smile forced down, I made a frown
and shouted, "Mommy, Mommee!"

I screeched about Jannaya
and her awful tractor throw.
But I left out the part about
provoking her to do so.

So then that poor young girlie
cried too hard to speak her mind.
The wooden spoon would meet her soon
by tapping her behind.

So finally I was happy
cause I'd never go insane.
I'd got her good and never would
again see that blue vein.

I love you Jannaya!!!

Just being

2006-03-29T17:07:00.000-06:00

We get so caught up in doing. As a naturally performance-oriented person (like the other 98% of the human population), I always have to remind myself of what it's all about. So much emphasis is placed on being successful, being noticed, being useful, and we have a hard time just being. I think especially when we're in a relationship with Christ it's so easy to see ourselves as people he saved so he can use us for his work (a point recently made by my friend Sarah). And then it's easy to resent him because we never feel like we're doing enough, and we feel like he's never satisfied with us, and we become slaves again. "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery" (Gal. 5:1). Did God create Adam and Eve and then set them to work so they'd be good enough for him? Obviously not...they basically hung around the Garden of Eden naked, and they loved life until the serpant stepped in. In Genesis 2:15 it says "The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it", but that wasn't a stipulation for enjoying fellowship with God. That relationship was the foundation for why Adam and Eve existed and worked, not the other way around. It's the same with us. Why would God create people, and save people, just to use us like chess pieces? Each one of us is meant to be in a relationship with God that's based on his unconditional love for us, not do a relationship with God. After all, he already did the work to make us right with him.

I'm not saying we shouldn't try to make the world a better place, or that we shouldn't try to be obedient to Christ's guidance. But we have to stop basing our worth -- and others' -- on what gets done.

Happy

2006-03-25T16:46:00.000-06:00

I'm not as diligent at keeping up with the news as I should be...usually all I learn about the world comes from the headlines on Yahoo when I'm going to check my email. So I know it's old news, but I just wanted to say it's pretty awesome the Canadian hostages are coming home. For some reason this situation was on my mind a lot the past few months.

I Look Like a Mom

2006-03-20T20:41:00.000-06:00

Today I was waiting outside a church bathroom for a long time. One of the individuals with autism that I was supporting had been in there for quite awhile, as usual, and I was basically leaning against a wall and enjoying the slow pace of the moment. Then this stranger walked by, looked at me, looked at the bathroom door, and said knowingly, "Oh, are you waiting for your little one?"
I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that. Yeah, I know quite a number of girls are married (or not) and having kids at my age...but still, my first thought was crap, the wrinkles on my forehead are SO obvious! I'm 21 and completely unattached! The thought of having a "little one" is just a little too creepy at this time.

Kissing and Spoons

2006-03-07T17:41:00.000-06:00

Hi. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm a good kisser. Not that anyone's ever told me that, but apparently it's been proven by the fact that I can tie a cherry stem into a knot inside my mouth. (I did this before I knew what talent it supposedly proves. So no, I wasn't practicing for hours just so I could feel super sweet.)
On another note, last night was Greystones Disrobed. (This is turning into a really sketchy post.) Actually no, Greystones Disrobed was basically a talent night for the members of the university choir, and I must say I am very proud of my roommates for being awesome singers. They sang a trio with their brother...during the musical interlude, Aubree whipped out a harmonica and Megan rocked the house with my wooden Quebec spoons. It was so much fun!

2006-03-02T20:08:00.000-06:00

I love my job. Seriously, I can't get over it. I think, like most people my age, jobs have been mainly taking whatever we can get so we have cash for school, travel, killing time, etc. So now that I'm waking up and looking forward to punching in, it's like, whoa!!! Such a blessing, and one that I waited so long for. For a year I did the care home thing, loving the people but struggling with worry about my future. Then I heard about this position with SAI, and applied there. I went through two interviews...the first one accepted me, but I turned it down because it wasn't what I was looking for. (Normally I'm one to play it safe, so I almost took it, but Someone softly told me to wait.) Then I went in for another interview a month later (still not quite the position I was hoping for), and a couple weeks later SAI got back to me...not about that second interview, but about the exact position I wanted. They hired me right over the phone, no interview, and got me set up with an orientation schedule right away. (In the midst of all of this, I tried two different casual positions and ended up quitting both because I was never available when they needed me.) For me, to have that much going on and not go insane is amazing.
But seriously, it's so incredible. I get to work with people who challenge me in ways I hate but need, and who bless me in ways I love. There's this one guy whose face lights up when he sees the simplest things (a shiny watch, a sticker on the ground, a flower) -- and when his eyes meet yours, it's like he's letting you into a beautiful world that not many people get to see. And this girl I work with is like a teddy bear, she'll just snuggle right up to you, and it wouldn't matter if the world passed you by. Another girl, who doesn't attach easily to others, kissed my hand once when I was leaving. And there's another guy who gives me the most nerve-wracking five hours of my week, but when he's happy you know all the "uncertain" moments were worth it. I love talking about Spongebob and puppies and french fries and coins, hockey and babies. The scope of conversation is never large, but each thing in it is fascinating and wonderful.
All in all, this job rocks. It was totally worth the wait, and I'm learning things I don't think I could learn anywhere else. God is good.

Chinese Food

2006-02-24T18:07:00.000-06:00

My mom and my sister, Courtney*, were up visiting me this weekend. While I was at work on Saturday evening and they were bumming around my house, the phone rang. Courtney picked it up and here's how the conversation went:
"Hello?"
"Um, harro, dida you owda some-a Chinese food?"
"Uhh...no, I don't think so."
"Oh, because-a, you -- you cawwed and you make-a an owda fo Chinese food today."
"No, we didn't...but I'll go check with the guys downstairs."
At this point, Courtney sets the receiver on the floor and runs downstairs to where Jared and Andrew are sitting blissfully in their living room, not knowing that some strange teenage girl is about to bewilder them with a most random question.
"Uh, did you guys order any Chinese food?" Courtney asks.
After probably passing a look of confusion between one another, the boys say no, and Courtney runs back upstairs to the phone.
"Um, no, they didn't order any Chinese food either."
There is a loud laugh. "You're such a retard!"
Courtney's heart breaks in two at the stranger's insult.**
The stranger goes on. "Don't you even know who this is?"
"No."
"It's your old roommate, you idiot!"
"Uh...Megan?"
The laughter is deafening. Courtney is hopelessly lost.
"It's Britt!" the stranger finally confesses.
"Oh..." says Courtney. "This is Courtney."
At which point it is Britt's turn to be sheepish...actually, no. She laughs raucously but is probably turning all shades of red. She and Courtney share a good laugh, and Courtney takes the message that I, Retard, am to call Britt when I get home.

*Names not changed because then this story would be pointless.
**No hearts were actually broken in the making of this story.

Olaf + Carol

2006-02-13T16:29:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. No, I'm not going to rant about the evils of a day that exists for the sole purpose of making singles feel depressed, or the downfall of innocent traditions that is capitalism. We all get enough of that already. I'm just going to paint a picture of something that made my heart melt and gave me another glimpse into the world of real, true, tested and sweet love that I hope each of us gets to experience one day.

I was sitting across the table from a shrunken woman with white hair that's only a touch lighter than her complexion; her shiny blue eyes were wide as they slowly took in the room around her, reflecting a mind that was working furiously but not comprehending anything. She was hunched forward, her knobby fingers on the wheels of her wheelchair, ready to back away from the table and resume her determined wandering should the urge strike again. Crumbs from a readily-consumed carrot cake sat on her paper plate. (Alzheimer's can't kill a sweet tooth!) Her children and husband laughed as they visited back and forth around her, when suddenly her wavery voice cut through the chatter with a quiet mutter: "I think that we should all..." She trailed off and the silence lingered for a few extra seconds as we waited to see if there was more. There wasn't. Her eyes had turned their focus on her husband's arm. He was sitting in a chair with his walker parked beside him, a fairly new addition to his life. Up until a few weeks ago, he'd been living at home. Now he was in respite care in the hospital adjoined to his wife's long-term care unit, waiting for a bed to open up somewhere in the health region. It's the first time in years they've lived in the same building.
Grandpa reached over and took Grandma's hand in his. Looking her full in the face, he began to sing in his perfectly-pitched bass voice: "Let me call you sweetheart. I'm in love with you...let me hear you whisper that you love me too...."Grandma continued to stare at his arm, not responding.
The moment was cut short when the staff came to serve us coffee, but I'll always remember it. I've seen Grandpa serenade Grandma many times before, but this time seemed different somehow. Maybe it's just because I'm older and they're older...I understand more, and they're closer to their last days on earth.
It also makes me think of the fact that we as humans don't understand much. Our minds are always racing, trying to figure life out, but there's too much to know. A lot of our time is spent wandering somewhat aimlessly. But there is a God whose love is always there, being expressed in so many ways that we don't always recognize. Yet just because we don't always recognize it doesn't mean it's not always there.

Punny

2006-02-05T16:00:00.000-06:00

I've decided one of the reasons I like working at the care home is because I can finally let loose all the corny puns I've built up over the weeks...and people will actually laugh at them! They're not courtesy laughs either, they're real. We all know the difference.
The sad thing is, I don't find my puns very funny. They just pop into my head all the time and I have to let them out, but I'm afraid all my witty friends would be less than receptive. So I unleash my punning powers on seniors whose cackles make the wait worthwhile.