SheLoves Magazine

How to Run Away. Or: What I Learned from the Wizard of Oz

“It was okay that I desired to run away; I just needed to figure out what exactly I was running away to.”

By Ashley Mandanici | Twitter: @ashleymandanici

Last weekend I ran away. I am not saying that figuratively; I actually ran away. I purchased a plane ticket, packed my cute little purple suitcase and ran as far as my feet could carry me. Apparently, my feet could only carry me as far as Winnipeg, Manitoba.

I’ll be honest; it had been a hard week. No, “hard week” sounds too mild … Last week sucker-punched me in the heart. Yeah, that’s more like it. I was forced to confront some issues at home and at work that I wasn’t really that eager to deal with—and of course, if things are going to happen, they’re all going to happen at the same time.

I felt like a failure. I felt frustrated. And I felt fed up. And when you feel like that many “F” words, you know you need to do something.

I began to identify with Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I had this insatiable urge to throw all my belongings into a wicker basket, hop onto a bicycle and try and outrun the twister.

However, I couldn’t deny the nagging suspicion that by running away, I was behaving like a complete and utter coward.

“You are under the unfortunate impression that just because you run away you have no courage.”- The Wizard of Oz

On the night of my runaway, a rather wise friend called me up for a chat. As we were talking about our week (sucker punches and all) he made an off-the-cuff remark about how I had “run away” from my problems for the weekend, which followed with me confessing that that was exactly my intention.  This took us along a whole rabbit trail (or yellow brick road if you will) of thoughts ranging from Moses running away from Egypt, to Elijah feeling overwhelmed by leadership, to me trying to explain the entire story of the Wizard of Oz in less than a minute.

Meanwhile, my friend summed up our whole discussion with these simple words :

“Ashley, I guess it’s not about what you are running away from, but rather what you are running away to.”

Off to See the Wizard

I couldn’t help but think about Dorothy again and her quest to see the Wizard. I imagined her happily (and somewhat ignorantly) skipping down the yellow brick road towards the Emerald city. I thought about the characters she found along the way and how they all needed something—a brain, a heart, some courage … a home. I thought about how Dorothy’s problems still managed to find her—the only difference was that this time she was heading somewhere.

The more I thought about it, the more the whole “running away” idea began to appeal to me. It was okay that I desired to run away; I just needed to figure out what exactly I was running away to. I needed to figure out who exactly my Wizard was going to be. You know, just like the fictional movie character I had decided to base my life around.

Just click your heals three times …

The ending of the Wizard of Oz always got me a little angry for a couple different reasons. One, because Dorothy went through all that drama to be told that she had the power to get what she wanted the whole time, and because the movie ends as a dream sequence and I hate when movies end in a dream sequence.

I suppose my weekend ended pretty similarly though, well, apart from the dream sequence thing. (That didn’t happen.) However I needed to run away so I could begin to see “home” more clearly. My runaway put the colour back into my world when I was stuck seeing everything in black and white. My runaway gave my brain a much-needed rest, my heart some much-needed healing, and it also helped me grow a little courage. I was reunited with friends, drove around a new city and got lost a bunch of times. And I smiled so much my face started hurting.

I needed to run away to remind myself where I was going. I needed to run away to remind myself that God wasn’t some Wizard I could only find with the help of a magic formula. God had been with me the whole way. No heal clicking necessary.

And just like my friend Dorothy, I needed to run away to realize I already had everything I needed.

_____________________

My dear SheLoves friends:

• If you could run away to anything or anyone right now, what would you run away to?
• What do you need to find?
• Any other comments or thoughts?

About Ashley:

My name is Ashley and I am the Children’s Ministry Coordinator at Relate Church in Surrey, B.C. My mission is to develop the God-given potential in every child who crosses my path *Insert Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” here*. I love all things jazzy, particularly music, and I tend to break into song throughout the day for no apparent reason. I blog here and tweet @AshleyMandanici

Fear vs Love: My Power to Choose

I believe when we choose to function in love, we choose to step out in courage and break walls of ignorance and indifference …

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

Sometimes, even the most ordinary task can lead to panic. I try to focus on the recipe in front of me and drown out the thoughts swirling around in my mind: “What if I fail?”

From the archives of my brain I pull a memory from the past that has imprinted Fear on my mind. The smell of burnt supper and the image of my husband’s brave face as the beads of sweat form on his brow and he labours through every bite.

I pour some milk into the mixture.

“Was that supposed to be half a cup? Uh-oh.” I messed up the measurements.

As I attempt to juggle tasks, turning from the frying pan to the cutting board, I continue to draw out these fears in my mind. I begin to believe that if I fail at making this meal, I’ve failed as a person, as a woman and as a wife … again.

“What is that smell?”

It’s all downhill from here.

Not only do my thoughts get the best of me, I become an emotional mess, and it starts to show in the way I respond to other people, and the way I hold the knife in my hands.

The thought that my efforts will only disappoint plants itself in my brain, and I begin to feel at first inadequate, then irritated and finally angry. By the time I’m done trying to salvage what I hoped would be an edible meal, I collapse into tears.

“Forget it. You’ll never be good enough,” I tell myself. I’m left feeling hopeless and my evening is ruined.

Thoughts Have Power

Hi, my name is Stephanie and I’m often afraid.

Fear and thoughts of ridicule and rejection, have paralysed me many times in my life. They have kept me from taking risks, reaching out, sharing my heart and even building relationships.

But, I’m learning that God has given us the gift of controlling our thoughts and choosing to function in love, so our lives are not ruled by fear.

In her book The Gift in You, Dr Caroline Leaf explains that our thoughts have emotions attached to them and that all emotions are derived from two root emotions: fear and love. Dr Leaf’s studies have led her to conclude that, because these two emotions cannot function at the same time, at any given moment we are functioning in either fear or in love. And it is our thoughts and emotions that determine our attitude.

“Fear is not a natural part of how we were created … We were created for love and all that goes with it, but we have learned to fear,” says Dr. Leaf.

However, God has equipped us to deal with fear, because we were created with the ability to choose between fear and love. Dr. Leaf explains that this choice happens in the frontal lobe of our brain. She says the frontal lobe allows us to stand outside ourselves and observe our own thinking, helping us make decisions about our thoughts and evaluate information. I imagine this as the part of the brain where I talk to myself.

Making Better Choices

Through my work as a photographer and a writer, I have learned to ask questions in order to understand people and social issues better. I’m finding that it’s also a great way to learn more about myself, so I can make better choices. When I ask myself questions like, “Why are you reacting to making a mistake in this way?” “What are you afraid of?” or “What is stopping you?” the answers lead me to an awareness that can help me choose to operate in love. Obviously, I don’t always make that choice, but I’ve found that asking questions always creates bridges of understanding, whether I’m trying to understand a story, another person, myself, my circumstances or social problems.

As I analyse and understand information, people and circumstances, I can then choose how I am going to react to them. And by controlling my thoughts, I determine my attitude.

I’ve seen how this works in my own life, and the more I practice, the more I find myself analysing situations and choosing to function in love. It’s not easy, because even when I try and perform a simple task, like making a good meal, if I’m not careful, I can let my fears overwhelm, even control me.

I’ve also seen what transformation happens when people learn to realign their thinking. The women at Living Hope in Uganda, have experienced some of the most horrible traumas–abuse, rejection, betrayal. Experiences in their life taught them that they were unwanted, unworthy and incapable. Through discipleship and trauma rehabilitation, they learn to process their traumas and confront their past. They forgive and let go of the toxic elements in their lives. They learn to see themselves and understand their value through God’s lens. Where they once saw brokenness and fear, they begin to see beauty and love. As they realign their thoughts and begin to function in love, their lives, health and relationships improve.

When I hear their stories and try to imagine what it’s like to have travelled their journeys, I sometimes wonder if I could have found the courage to choose to heal in the same way they did.

But they are examples to me that God has given us the key to a great life–one full of purpose–and it all begins with the ability to choose. I believe that when we choose to function in love, we choose to step out in courage, break walls of ignorance and indifference, as well as burst bubbles of isolation. When we choose Love, we become better people and we make our world a better place.

_______________________________________________

About Stephanie:

I believe in the power of storytelling. I’m a photographer and writer for Fakeleft. Together with my husband, we love sharing stories of courage, of strength in the face of adversity, of triumph and hope. I truly believe that by partnering with others who want to bring change and justice to our world, we can actually make a difference.  I’m learning to walk in my nascent faith, but it’s not always easy. It’s an interesting journey.

I am currently living in Uganda, but my heart is everywhere. I’m a proud Latina from Choluteca, Honduras. I wish I had a Latino accent. My favourite meal is dessert and my favourite sport is tanning. I blog at fakeleft.com and tweet at @stephmotz.

Wellness Wednesday: The One Decision I Regret Most

“I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.”

By Tara Rodden Robinson |Twitter: @tararodden 

When I went to church this past Sunday, I grew a little tense. It was Mother’s Day and I usually avoid any public observances that include motherhood. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with my mom—in fact, quite the opposite. It’s that Mother’s Day reminds me of an inescapable fact: I am not a mom.

Just the other day, I got treated to big dose of all the mom-ness that I am not privy to. I had been invited to a mid-week happy hour–a drinks with the girls evening. I arrived at the bar early so I could sit and sip my wine in peace for a while, just to enjoy the sensation of having nothing to do and nowhere to go.

When my friend arrived, another woman rose from a table across the room to intercept her. I knew this was going to happen—my friend had told me that she’d invited others to join us—and I knew that probably all these other women were going to be complete strangers to me. No big deal: I’m good at meeting new people. What I didn’t know was that all the women at the table had kids in the same Montessori school. Yep, it was a Mommy’s Night Out.

To be honest, my non-mommyness didn’t phase me. At least not at first. The conversation didn’t revolve entirely around kids. We talked about other topics, like one woman’s impending divorce and her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s complete meltdown. And when they learned that I am a productivity coach, the group became positively enraptured, asking me all sorts of questions about time management and such. But then the dreaded moment arrived.

“How old are your kids?”

I paused. Swallowed.

“I don’t have any kids,” I replied.

Cue the crickets.

“Oh!” she said, finally.

I didn’t realize how truly awkward that moment was until a few days later when I received—no lie—a handwritten letter of apology from the person who’d invited me.

Damn.

Looking Back

It’s not that I never wanted children. I was just very ambivalent for a long time. Plus I was waiting for the right time: the time when we had a stable income and health insurance. When we finally got around to trying, I was 38 years old. It took me three years to get pregnant. And in my eighth week, I miscarried.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I spent weeks doubled over with grief. And when I wasn’t howling in pain, I was in my office, working as usual, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. I didn’t (and still don’t) understand the shame that came with the sadness. Why should I be ashamed of myself? I hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet for the longest time, I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.

My aunt, one of my mom’s younger sisters, tried to comfort me. The little book she sent told me, “never doubt that you are a mother.” Of course, I know this is bull****. Mommies have actual children. For me, no child equalled not a mommy.

Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to. There are many things about my life that I love. I have a lot of happiness, joy, abundance. There is only this one thing that is missing.

In Hindsight

I wish I could go back and talk to my still-ovulating younger self.

I’d tell her that there is never a right time to have a baby. I’d kick her butt and tell her to stop second-guessing her heart’s desire. And I would tell her to throw out her birth control pills and get herself pregnant.

When I look at my younger friends, the ones wrestling with the same ambivalence about being a mom, juggling the same timing issues and looking for that just-right moment, I want to take them by their shoulders and shake them until their teeth rattle. I want to yell, “When you’re fifty and menopausal and highly accomplished, the only thing that will matter to you is your family. Please, for goodness sake, have one!” If they didn’t call the cops first, would they get the message?

I wonder how my cocky twenty-something self would have reacted to such a visit.

I hope with all my heart I would have listened to me.

______________________________

Dear SheLoves readers, take a few moments to consider these questions:

• If I got a visit from my twenty years older self, what would she most want me to know?
• The heart’s desire I am second-guessing right now is …

______________________________

About Tara:

Tara Rodden Robinson is an author, coach, and educator. Known as The Productivity Maven, she blogs at tararobinson and tweets @tararodden. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and their two dogs. She is working on mastering complex yoga poses and searching for the perfect gluten-free bread recipe. When she’s not writing, coaching, or teaching, she’s out in the wilderness hiking and watching birds.

Senior Moments That Matter: Thank you, Connie

“I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father.”

By Daniela Schwartz | Twitter: @dannyschwartz
Today I want to tell you about Connie. Every month I lead a group of faithful moms on a visit to our local seniors home. We bring our young children and babies and the seniors love our little visits.

From our very first visit, I connected with the lovely Connie. She reminded me of my grandmother who passed away at a very tender time in my life.

Tender Years

My parents had just separated. I had moved away from my mother to follow my twin sister who felt obligated to take care of our father. My father was falling into a deep pit of alcoholism and drug addiction. It was a very lonely time in my life. We had moved to live with my aunt and her family. My grandma was the only maternal person in my life.

I was 10 years old. My body was changing; I was changing.

I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father. Not the big kind, but the kind you put on the back of a pick-up truck. My grandma and my sister felt like all I had left in the world.

Every night I sat with her in the living room. She told stories, tried to teach me French and had the most beautiful, pure white hair. She had brown freckles everywhere which she told me were liver spots. And she smelled like Oil of Olay.

She made me toast and coffee for breakfast every morning and filled my maternal void. She loved me and I loved her.

One morning I was up, getting ready for school when I heard her call out in fear. I ran to her room, but was brushed aside by my aunt. I peered in from the door. Something was wrong. My Grandma was crying, saying she couldn’t walk. She had had a stroke in her sleep that night.

About a month later my Grandma passed away. She was the first person I loved who died.

I felt shattered and misplaced.

At that point, I’d experienced more than one person should have to go through in a lifetime. Following her death, one of the most difficult things I had to do, was open my heart again. I had guarded my heart for years and it’s been quite the journey with God who continuously presents me with opportunities to love.

I didn’t expect our seniors visits to be one of those opportunities.

When I first met her, Connie seemed too sharp-minded to be in the home. She read widely and I even brought her books from home to add to her library. But as time went on, I could see the disease attacking her mind, started to win.

Connie started to fill a soft space in my heart, a place that stilled echoed with the loss of my beloved grandma. It was a place I had abandoned as a heartbroken ten-year-old, unable to cope with the amount of loss life had doled out.

This past Christmas we had our second Christmas visit with our seniors. We dressed in our best and brought special gifts for the kids to hand out. I had it on my list to pick up a book as a special gift for Connie. At my last visit, when saying goodbye, she mentioned how it had been a rough year for her healthwise and I wanted to do something special for her. Although I did not get around to picking up that book, I thought I could just pop in after our visit one day and drop it off.

On my arrival, the Recreation Coordinator quickly pulled me to the side. She knew I’d be looking for Connie and told me the news: Connie had passed away.

I tried to absorb the shock. Over the next hour, I bit back the flood of tears. I concentrated on decorating cookies, singing carols and looking intently into the faces of the seniors I had come to know … Suddenly I wanted to stop time.

When we came to the end of our visit, I pushed through the exit doors and let go of all the tears I’d been holding in. I cried off and on for the rest of that day. The grief was unexpected, but important.

I had been so afraid to open my heart again; to love and expose myself to the possibility of deep loss. But Connie awakened a part of me that was dormant and hurting, making me aware that maybe the things I instinctively avoid, may hold a key to unlocking the biggest miracles.

I now understand it is better to have loved and lost.

Visiting these seniors also opened my eyes to the treasure our elders are. I think maybe because of the loss of my grandmother, I used to resent old age and what it represented, but today, when I see a senior struggling with a bag or a door, I jump to help, not because they are helpless, but because it’s my honor to serve these treasures in our society.

For that I have to thank Connie.

____________________________

About Daniela:
Daniela is stepping into the role of stay-at-home mom. She loves Jesus, her husband and kids and jumps feet first into opportunities to serve in her community. Daniela lives by this statement, “Preach the gospel always, use words when necessary.” She loves to live life big and laughs a lot. She blogs with her twin sister Trinity at Lime in the coconuts.

Making Memories: When Small Moments are Cradled in a Mother’s Big Love

“When we grace a shared moment with our undivided attention and love, we create heartprints that can be carried with us, always.”

By Stefanie Thomas | Twitter: @stefanie_nicole

When I was a kid, it was always a bit of a thrill when the Avon Lady paid our home a visit. I’d study the glossy pages of the catalogues she delivered, making note of which treasures my heart desired. Strawberry-scented lip gloss! Bath powder, complete with a fluffy pink powder puff. A necklace with a pendant of a pigtailed girl on a swing. (She’s tucked away in a drawer somewhere, but this cute girl still swings on.) I especially appreciated when seasonal items were featured. Poring over pictures of Christmas ornaments made me excited for the coming holiday.

Mother’s Day was another occasion that seemed to be a big deal in the land of Avon. When I spotted this little plate in the catalogue, I knew I had to get it for my mom:

A Mother’s Beauty

What strikes me as funny today is (A) what does “Love is a Song for Mother” even mean? and (B) that I would have had to go through my mom to order the plate, so she couldn’t have been too surprised when she unwrapped it on Mother’s Day. But the beautiful thing about my mom is that she always seemed surprised, reacting as if whatever I’d given her was the best gift she could have received. Yes, even those fake red roses whose polyester petals we’d doused in Babe perfume (or was it Charlie?). You’d have thought we had given her the world.

To start from the beginning, my mom was an adorable baby:

Right? When she first learned to speak, she couldn’t pronounce her own name – Faye – so she called herself “Little Pay.” This, combined with the fact that, as a child, she tied a rope to a piece of wood and dragged it through the forest as her pet alligator, is, to me, heartbreakingly cute and only makes me love her more.

I remember my mom coming to my school when I was a kid and my classmates saying, “That’s your mom? She’s so pretty!” I felt proud that my mom was lovely on the outside, but what made me even more proud was how lovely she was on the inside.

Fond Memories

When kids at school got picked on, my mom encouraged us to reach out to them with kindness. She could often be heard reminding us, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” While some kids on the playground were echoing narrow-minded or racist beliefs, my mom taught my sisters and me to be loving and inclusive. I am so grateful she never tolerated prejudice or hatred.

Ours was the mom who let us blow through straws into a mixing bowl full of milk to make bubbles. When my friend’s mom arrived to find us at the kitchen table in all our bubble-blowing glory, she scoffed at what a waste of milk it was and asked my mom, “How could you let them do this?!” (This woman was a little on the stern side–she made her kids wear slippers in the house at all times–and to this day, if I get a whiff of Estée Lauder’s Youth Dew perfume, I am immediately reminded of her.)

Not all of our friends came from happy homes, but my parents created an environment in which others felt safe, comfortable and taken care of. Our friends knew they were welcome at our house, that they would be allowed to stay for dinner, play loudly and make a mess. More than once we took in friends, teens who had it so rough at home that they lived with us for a while. I am so glad our house was that house.

My mom is patient, gentle, wise and loving. She inspires me with her spiritual practice and offers reminders of God when I need it most. My mom has blessed my life in countless ways, but as I give thanks for her today, I’m remembering some sweet simple moments we shared when I was about five years old.

Just Mom and Me

Our home was usually busy with activity, but once in a while I’d get my mom all to myself. It didn’t matter what we did, getting one-on-one time with her was a treat. I have fond memories of sitting on the bathroom counter, watching mom apply the face mask she’d made from whipped egg whites. Then it would be my turn. We’d let our masks dry and then carefully peel them off, marvelling at how smooth and clean our skin felt. Mom had her hands full raising three little girls, so I don’t imagine she got much time to pamper herself. Having a few minutes to give herself an inexpensive, homemade facial might have been my mom’s attempt at squeezing in some overdue self-care, but for me, it was memory-making material.

It felt special.

Another experience I often recall took place one winter’s day when mom and I had the house to ourselves. We munched on popcorn and sang along to Barbra Streisand’s Greatest Hits Volume 2 as we watched snowflakes fall outside. And then we cleaned out the fireplace. My mom folded over the top few inches of a brown grocery bag, and together we used the wrought-iron broom and shovel to carefully fill the bag with delicate black ashes. It was the most menial and mundane of tasks, probably something my mom was happy to cross off of her never-ending To Do List, but several decades later, I still fondly remember how special it felt to take on this job together on that quiet, snowy afternoon.

Once, when I was unable to sleep because I was sick with the flu, my mom scooped me up in my favourite pink blanket and together we retreated to the family room couch. She fixed me a little snack, and together in the early morning darkness, we watched The Flintstones. I was sick and I could have been miserable, but something about having my mom’s undivided care for me, being up together when everyone else was sleeping, made it feel all better. I still have that pink blanket, and my mom is still there with TLC when I need it.

How Love is Felt

Years ago on The Oprah Winfrey Show, author Toni Morrison raised the question, “When your child walks into the room, does your face light up?” More than parents’ words, it’s the love children can see that makes them feel special. For me, it wasn’t just sharing these experiences with my mom that propelled me to deposit them in my Good Memories Bank. What made these simple moments special was that my mom’s face did light up. I could feel that she was as delighted to be in my company as I was to be in hers.

Life can get busy, and perhaps at times we feel the pressure of having to divide ourselves among many people and demands. Writing this post reminded me that it’s not always the big events and gestures that have the most impact.

A sliver of a day devoted to homemade facials, or cleaning out the fireplace, or even cuddling through the flu can become a treasured memory.

- When we’re present with the ones we’re with, when our faces reflect the love we feel, the ordinary can become extraordinary.

- When we grace a shared moment with our undivided attention and love, we create heartprints that can be carried with us, always.

Happy Mother’s Day, to my own beautiful mom and to my beautiful SheLoves sisters–whether you are a mom or long to be one, whether you’re celebrating your mom today or missing and remembering her.

Thank you for making the world go ’round.

This one goes out to YOU!

_________________________________

My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• What are your favourite mother memories?

__________________________

About Stefanie:

Stefanie is a Registered Clinical Counsellor living in Vancouver, BC. She feels blessed to work in a helping profession and is grateful that her work requires her to show up not in a power suit but with listening ears and a compassionate heart. Stefanie enjoys spending time with family and friends and has never met a kid or baby she doesn’t like. She is a noticer and appreciator of birds (chickadees, herons, eagles) and many a beach rock has come home in her pocket. Stefanie is a lover of music, tv and movies, and she is gifted at absorbing and retaining useless pop culture trivia. She loves walking, fresh air, the smell of dirt, and anything of the salt and vinegar persuasion. She can often be found puttering.

Mercy: The Flowering of a Girl

“She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly.”

By Musu Taylor-Lewis | Twitter: @mercycanada

Have you ever watched a flower bloom? No, really watched a rosebud as it slowly opens up to reveal the majesty of its creation?

It’s incredible to see how much beauty is shut up into a rather small bud. Nothing of the vibrant colour is visible until the bud begins to open up; and yet all the beauty and all the radiant colour is already present within the bud. What that bud needs is the right conditions for it to blossom.

Over the last year at Mercy Ministries, I’ve had the incredible opportunity of watching a flower bloom: not a rose, not a lily, but one young woman who graduated from Mercy Ministries this week and is going out into the world with a colour and beauty that was not visible when she first arrived.

You had to be there … She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly. In my role, I mostly watch our residents from a distance and from that perspective, her manner made me wonder why she even bothered coming to Mercy Ministries, and whether she would stay. Residents come of their own free will and are free to go if they choose to.

But she stayed … and now, whenever I look at her, all I see is a flower in full bloom. She is friendly, straightforward, intelligent and thoughtful. Today she seems more shy than defiant, more curious than challenging and open to fellowship and friendship. I cannot describe just how much her whole demeanor has changed, in response to the word of God and the love of God’s people.

Watching her today reminds me of how the apostle Paul describes working with his friend Apollos to bring about change to people’s lives.

“I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow. It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow.”

I know for sure that God has done this remarkable work of blossoming in a young woman’s life. Mercy Ministries was the soil in which she was planted and God used different persons to bring her to full bloom: One person counseled and another planned. One person led worship and another gave. One person challenged and another was gentle. One person prayed and another raised money.

What is important is that this flower bloomed.

_____________________________

About Musu:

My life is lived out of the calling “to advance Christ-centred work.” I am currently Director of Marketing and Development at Mercy Ministries, working to get the word out about the life-transforming work that takes place here. Prior to my work at Mercy, I directed a Crisis Pregnancy Centre, studied Christianity and Culture at Regent College and co-led women’s programs at my local church. I have four great children and am married to Steven, a gift to me from the Creator.

Image credit: Girl in Garden, by Sean Carpenter

Wellness Wednesday: Finding My Resting Place, No Guilt Added

Taking time to rest may just be the most spiritual thing I do all week.

By Claire De Boer | Twitter: @Britchic19

Last weekend I attended a conference called LifeWomen at my home church here in Surrey, Canada. The concept of LifeWomen couldn’t have been more inspiring—this conference really did breathe life into me.

One of the speakers, Dr. Robi Sonderegger, is a clinical psychologist and humanitarian activist—an amazing speaker who has an innate ability to speak to the very heart of women and seemingly understand our deepest needs.

Dr. Robi said many profound things over the three-day conference, but the phrase that really took route in my brain was perhaps one of the most simplistic:

“Taking time to rest may just be the most spiritual thing you do all week.”

I never take rests.

To me my rest time is when I put my head on my pillow at night and close my eyes. Even then, my brain is often swimming with a multitude of thoughts.

God has been tapping me on my shoulder and telling me to rest for some time now. It’s therefore no surprise to me that this particular phrase from Dr. Robi is the one that sticks in my mind.

A Moment of Rest

I took a trip with my family earlier this spring down to Florida. Part of me didn’t even want to go because it meant leaving a heavy workload. At the same time, I relished the thought of an opportunity to unwind.

It ended up being one of the most relaxing two weeks I’ve ever had. It wasn’t until I found myself out of my usual environment that I realized how much I needed the break. I felt calm; I could breathe deeply again and enjoy the life around me. On this trip I promised myself that when I returned home, I would take more time to relax.

It didn’t last. The memories of my relaxing trip soon faded into the background and within a couple of weeks I was back to my old routine—soccer mum one minute, crazy writer the next.

Resting in Him

Dr. Robi’s words are taking me on a journey. On this journey I’m pondering why and how God needs me to rest. The answer is transparent: If I don’t take time to rest, when do I connect with Him? How can I let Him take center place in my life if I’m too busy to let God in?

God’s message is clear: we need rest in order to have strength when we are working.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-29 The Message)

What good am I to my family, friends and work if I don’t rest? I become irritable, my mind often fogging over, and I go through the day in a state of heightened anxiety, which could eventually lead to illness. It’s quite clear why God requires me to rest.

But sometimes I’m a little like a petulant child, you see. I know what I need to do and why it’s good for me, but I keep running along in my own world, ignoring what’s best and just focusing on “getting things done.”

What would it be like if I spent a day focusing on NOT getting things done? What if I just rested in God for that day—took long walks on the beach, listened to music, wrote in my journal and prayed? It’s so easy! As a mother it would take a little logistical finagling, but it is do-able. So why don’t I ever do it?

Valuing my Time

As a child there was nothing I enjoyed more than singing or painting while listening to music. These things brought me peace, connection with myself and allowed my mind to rest. I valued this time to myself.

As I’ve grown older and added more tasks to my plate, including motherhood, taking care of a home and working, I’ve placed increasingly less value on my “alone time.” I like to accomplish tasks and feel anxious if I can’t.

Laying Aside Guilt

Until I really pondered the concept of rest and why I don’t make time for it in my life, I had no idea guilt was a factor.

When I rest, I feel guilty.

When I think of the times I’ve made the decision to put my feet up on the couch and read for half an hour, I have been unable to shake the thought that I could and should be doing something more useful.

It’s as though I feel I have to fill every second of my life doing something that will have some kind of productive outcome. But the irony is that without rest, everything else I do becomes unproductive. I can’t give all of myself to anything if I’m discounting my own needs.

What would my life look like if I took the time to really rest—self-condemnation aside—every day?

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• Do you take time to rest? If not, why?
• Does resting bring you closer to God?
• How could you incorporate a few minutes of rest into your daily life?

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About Claire:

Born and raised in the UK, Claire De Boer is the SheLoves Wellness Editor. She is a creative writer, woman of God, mother and wife. She is currently working on her first women’s fiction novel and a collection of short stories.

Claire is also a graduate of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University and currently mentors in the Southbank creative writing program at the university.

Can a Mother Forget the Child She Has Born?

“Just a few weeks ago we had to call the police, because a mother was prostituting her own daughter.”

By Danielle Strickland | Twitter: @djstrickland

Mothers are amazing. At least that’s what Hallmark says.

I’m always a bit conflicted around Mother’s Day. It’s not just the commercialism and sentimentalism and obvious manipulated emotionalism of the day in our culture–it’s also the fact that my own reality and the world of the people where I live and serve are so vastly different.

My mother is amazing.There’s no doubt about that. She’s the spitting image of  Hallmark propaganda–actually, thinking about it now makes me think she might have taken some kind of special training. Always kind and considerate, full of love, understanding and perseverance. Not too soft, not too hard. I mean, really, I’ve been extremely blessed.

On the other hand there are the people I serve and work with every day.They often have a different story: abandonment, neglect, abuse and almost every kind of unimaginable thing. Just a few weeks ago we had to call the police because a mother was prostituting her own daughter. It’s a sick world.

So, my conflict grows.

This must also be on God’s mind because He wrote an incredible verse in Isaiah 49:15 that explains this tension much better than I can. “Can a mother forget the child she has born?” The question is asked by a prophet as a rhetorical one, but it hangs in the air. What you want to do is respond with a big fat “No!” and you even want to believe it. But if we are honest, we know that the answer is “Yes”–tragically, through brokenness or sinfulness, a mother can forget the child she has born. But then the Scripture goes on: “ … even though she may forget–I will never forget you. I have engraved you on the palm of my hand.” God answers with the Truth.

This isn’t Hallmark, but it would make a great Mother’s Day card for a lot of people I know. Even though she may forget, I will never forget. The reality of the situation is that every person who is born, is not born by the will of a human alone. The willingness or goodness of the parent does not determine the value of the child. For GOD has planned and willed that people are born. His desire is to see life grow and prosper.

God is the ultimate Mother. We catch a glimpse of this through Jesus’ weeping over Jerusalem as he says out loud he longs to be like a mother hen who gathers her chicks into the nest (Matt. 23:37) … He longs for us like a mother. He has the ultimate Mother heart.

I first heard about this promise from Isaiah from my Dad. The most fascinating part about this tension in my life, is where my parents come from. They are both supposed to be statistics that reflect the world’s worst news. Both of them were discarded children–my Dad abandoned and my mother a casualty of addiction and violence; a ward of the court at ten years old. In adoption circles, she is a hard case–the kind people talk about with raised eyebrows … everyone knowing that the chances of her wholeness are almost nil because what life had dealt her.

But God intervened. Even though their mothers forgot, God didn’t. And this is true for everyone, everywhere. God will not forget–He cannot. The Bible tells us that He has knit us together in our mother’s womb … He has designed our lives before one day has come to be. This is incredible.

Catherine Booth (co-founder of The Salvation Army) used to tuck her kids into bed every night and tell them, “You were born to change the world.” And she was right. The psalmist says that the cry of an infant puts the enemy to flight–and he is right. Every yelp of life, every glimpse of hope, every small act of kindness and goodness in a dark world is evidence that God keeps his promises. Even though she may forget, I will never forget you. I have tattooed you on me. Forever.

Now take that, Hallmark.

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About Danielle
Danielle serves Jesus as the Corps Officer of Crossroads Community in Edmonton, Canada. Her passion is social justice, including establishing human trafficking response teams in local situations and giving leadership to the global team for the Stop The Traffik campaign. Danielle speaks and teaches around the world and has written several books: Just Imagine: the social justice agenda, Challenging Evil and The Liberating Truth: How Jesus Empowers Women. Danielle is married and has two sons.

The Sound of One Girl Crying

“Ramona says the sadness inside is unbearable. Her childhood made her afraid of white people.”

By Kisa MacDonald | Twitter: @kisamac

 You know what it’s like, when a little girl cries. She sobs uncontrollably.

Tears overflow. Cheeks get soaked. Shoulders get all scrunched up. Her little gasps for air get bigger and bigger. But eventually, she starts breathing again. She remembers that somebody loves her. Tears stop. Life goes on.

Red-cheeked with fear, this one little girl asked quietly for her mother. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. Her teacher responded quickly. The little girl could not stop crying.  In a fit of anger, the teacher suddenly kicked her. She fell backwards, down a flight of stairs, and died.

Her mother came back to the school. The teacher told her: “We do not know where your daughter went; she ran away.”

Nobody knows where she is buried.

Sacred Story

Ramona tells me this story: a complete stranger, waiting to be picked up from the ferry arrivals lounge. She tells me that she saw the little girl fall, and die.  She was always terrified to cry in school, after that.

The dusky waves come into Departure Bay. While we wait, Ramona tells me a few more stories. It is hard to realize how this happened. Here. On the gorgeous island that always feels like home to me. Her words linger in the atmosphere, dancing between us like lights.

Ramona says the sadness inside is unbearable. Her childhood made her afraid of white people. Her voice shakes. She tells me of more rapes and beatings. I watch her, reflecting the pain and reality of it. She asks how healing is possible.

She wants her spirit to be free.

I feel a deep sense of awe at the tenacity of her life. Her courage outshines the sun.

Truth and Reconciliation

I know that her story is true. I have researched and wept over many stories just like hers. I have seen the black and white photographs. I have heard similar words, from different voices. Ramona told me her story, simply because it needed to be told. But her story echoes the stories of others. The Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission is providing a unique opportunity to speak and hear the truth about the experiences of aboriginal children in residential schools, and to seek healing.

Dusk comes, and it’s time to go. I lean forward and tell her how her words have touched me, deeply. I will not forget them.  I tell her it is time for her healing, and that her words have meant a lot to me.

When I look at her, the deep-setting sadness in her eyes hits me like a wave. Tears begin to stream down her face.

I cannot stop them from falling.

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About Kisa:

Kisa completed her law degree earlier this year and is currently finishing her articling year at a non-profit that focuses on law reform, legal research and outreach. She grew up on Vancouver Island but has lived all over: North America, Southeast Asia and Europe. In this next season of life, she hopes to see creative community and access to justice established in Vancouver.

RELATE with Helen: Pathways of Friendship

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” Anais Nin

By Helen Burns | Twitter: @helenburns

Last night, John and I returned home from a trip to Germany where we ministered at a relationship conference and spoke in several awesome churches in the very quaint and beautiful city of Detmold.

The time I spent there was so extraordinarily special to me because I was able to share it with my husband, John. It fed my soul in ways that perhaps only a girl like me, who grew up Mennonite, could truly appreciate.

The Language of Hearts

Something awakens and stirs me so deeply when I can connect with my Mennonite Russian/German roots in such a palpable way. We may live across oceans, but the language of our hearts and heritage connects us deeply.

I’ll never forget my initial introduction to this small, but remarkable group of people…

I had just finished teaching my session at Charlotte Scanlon-Gambill’s women’s conference in Bradford, England, when a group of seven rather tender and teary-eyed women approached me and said,

“I think we are your people.”

At first those words seemed strange to be hearing in England, but very soon it all made sense. Their ears had tuned in to certain words and customs that I had brought up during my teaching—things that would be unique to someone raised in a Mennonite church and home. We shared a common history, a common faith, a common language, common customs within our community, as well as common food.

Sharing Community

It was a ‘moment’ I’ll never forget. Time stopped as we shared our stories and our journeys to “here and now”. Suddenly I was lost in a world of beautiful familiarity, speaking German and found myself longing for a delicious feast of my favourite dishes that my Oma, Mom and aunties would make like Borscht, Perishky, Kotletten or a yummy helping of Rollkuchen, served with a juicy slice of watermelon. My mouth is watering as I write.

Following our encounter in England, we continued to stay in touch with each other. I became especially connected to my friend Vera. We were so very aware that our relationship was divinely orchestrated by God for a greater purpose than we could understand at the moment.

This recent trip was my third visit to Detmold and this stunning community of friends that God so graciously introduced into my world. The opportunity to minister there astounds me and blesses me beyond what I could express in words. It simply makes my heart and soul sing ridiculously loud!

Building Family

I am continuously in awe of how lavishly and thoughtfully God knits His big, magnificent family together. He is the divine connector-of-the-dots, and not one detail ever escapes His notice.

Over 25 years ago, God asked John to lay down his dental practice to plant a church. I knew it was a clear directive from the Spirit of God and I willingly released the security of the financial stability that dentistry afforded us as a family. I admit however that I struggled laying down a deep desire to travel and explore the world. I couldn’t imagine there would ever be enough money in our budget to do that ever again.

I love how God puts His desires in our hearts and then uses them as a cord of connection to His heart. He is an extravagant Father who loves to lavish His children.

I have traveled to more countries than I would have ever imagined in my wildest dreams and it has been with the greatest purpose imaginable—to grow and build the family of God. It has all happened so beautifully and organically. I have been learning to leave the details to God. He knows what He is doing.

It was just a few short years ago that I found myself in Bradford, England, where I met so many people with whom my heart will forever be connected, and in the midst of this glorious opportunity walked seven more friends—friends of my history and friends of my destiny.

These gorgeous Mennonite sisters were so hungry for God that they dared to step out into an unfamiliar place, get on an airplane and head to a conference that they had seen advertised on Christian Television. It was there that our lives collided and we have never been the same since.

God is always up to something! He has created pathways for us to walk on that will supernaturally align our destiny with others. Much fruit has come from that one encounter—there are always multitudes on the other side of our obedience to God.

My heart so resonates with these words from Romans 8:12-16…

“So don’t you see that we don’t owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent. There’s nothing in it for us, nothing at all. The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life. God’s Spirit beckons. There are things to do and places to go!

This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! (Message)

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• How has God aligned your life and purpose with others’?
• Which friendships in your life have come as a result of obedience to God?

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About Helen:

Helen Burns and her husband, John, speak around the world on the topic of relationships. They host the popular TV show “Relate with John and Helen.”