I’m both fascinated by and repulsed with Christmas as I know it in my culture.  The artist/decorator in me oohs and aahs over the sparkle and the glamour of all those shiny ornaments lining aisle after aisle in practically every store out there.  I have to confess that I’ve already gone to Leons to check out how they did their tree and tablesettings this year.  There is someone very talented working at that establishment and I’m drawn like a bee to honey to their artistry.  I’ve also checked out Martha Stewart, that maven of all things beautiful, to see if she had any fresh offerings online for the upcoming season.  I’m not looking to buy.  I’m looking because I like to look at pretty things.

Pretty things cost money.  If I purchased even half of the things that catch my breath I’d be rather poor by now.  This is one of the things about Christmas that repulses me.  The expectation is that you’ll spend, spend, spend with reckless abandon on things that you don’t really need and on gifts that your loved ones don’t really want.  I totally believe in living my wage.  I also wonder if buying baubles and trim to deck the halls is the best use of the money I’ve been entrusted with.  The price I’d pay for a modest wreath could feed a child in and impoverished country for over a month after all.  I know because I’ve been perusing those gift catalogs.

So, on the one hand I really want to decorate for the season and on the other hand I don’t because I feel that my time and resources could be better spent elsewhere.  What to do?  Talk to my Heavenly Father about it, that’s what.

There are times I bring things before God and clearly get an answer.  Then there are those times where I present my questions and there is nothing but silence.  I can’t say that God clearly told me which hand to go with on this one.  What I did consider were my own children.  Sometimes I have clear instructions and expectations of D and P.  Other times I don’t and the boys being boys naturally go off and play.  They are unique individuals, my children.  Play for my eldest son usually involves something scientific.  He watches science programs on TV, researches science related stuff on the internet and conducts experiments in the name of science whenever he has spare time.  I don’t like the garbage trail he leaves in his wake but I must say that I do enjoy D being D.  When it comes to his science projects, there’s a twinkle in his eyes, a quickness to his step and an enthusiasm in his voice.  It’s obvious he’s in his element and I can’t help but smile.  P, on the other hand, likes sports in his spare time.  I can often hear him pleading with his brother to go outside with him to bump a volleyball, kick a soccer ball, play hockey or shoot some baskets.  He comes in panting from exhaustion after playing, his cheeks apple red and his smile stretching from ear to ear.  It brings joy to me to see him so enjoying himself.

I wonder if God enjoys seeing me play.  I’m not a science or sports type of gal.  Play for me is a walk in the woods with my camera along.  Second to that is decorating.  No one has to tell me to rearrange furniture, to try putting this throw over there, to hold up that picture against that wall to see how it will look.  Like D naturally gravitates towards science and P to sports, I’m drawn to making things pretty.  I like to think that God can relate.  One of the most wonderful things about walking in the big, wide world is taking in God’s masterpieces.  He’s a colour expert, the master at texture and His handiwork is more than just visual; it’s a feast for all the senses.  Like me, He’s always changing things.  We’re now fully into Autumn where God goes monochromatic.  Pretty much everything turns some shade of brown this time of year.  Soon winter will come where God will show us the beauty of white and what He can do with light and shadow as a medium.  He’s an artist too.

Since I’m not getting any clear instructions regarding Christmas, I’ve decided I’m going to play.  I’ll pull out what I already have in the way of decorations and have some fun with that and maybe even purchase a few of those shiny things that so catch my eye.  Whatever I spend for myself, I’ll be sure to at least double for those who haven’t been as blessed as I’ve been this year.  I hope that my Heavenly Father will see me having fun and that He’ll smile that his daughter is so enjoying herself.  I’m not sure Christmas is so much about right and wrong.  I think it’s a lot more about bringing joy to my Heavenly Father.  I can’t help but think that He’ll be pleased with me being just silly old me.

I trotted off to church alone today and came home to bickering boys.  That’s a sure sign that they are feeling better.  They are pretty capable of taking care of themselves now so I turned around and headed outdoors.  There’s no other way to describe today than gorgeous.  The sun is shining.  The sky is blue.  There are no pesky bugs to irritate.  I decided to go for a short walk out back.

I believe that every day holds beauty and I actively seek it out.  I didn’t have to go too far today before I spotted this western conifer seed bug on my mums.  Some day I will have the proper equipment to photograph these guys up close.  They are truly amazing.

Only a few steps further was this lovely ladybug.  Doesn’t he just pop against the blue of my garage door?

I ventured into the woods behind our home.  The forest floor is ankle deep in leaves and with all the light that now penetrates past the tops of the trees, those woods are like a whole new world.   Milkweed seeds are blowing all over the place this time of year and I couldn’t help photographing them.  I have fond memories of those little parachutes from my childhood.

I’ve become a big fan of mushrooms and fungi since moving out here.  I’ve asked DA for an identification book for Christmas.  I’d love to put names to some of the beauties I find.

Isn’t this pretty?  Some of the forest floor is flooded.  The sun shining through makes the neatest shadows and exposes some of Autumn’s more saturated hues.

Look at the dogwood trees in the background.  It’s hard to believe that these red beauties are around all year.  They get kind of hidden in the summer but really add colour in the fall and winter.

I can’t go for a walk these days without taking multiple pictures of my shadow.  I liked this one because my legs look a mile long.

I can’t tell you how much walks like these help me.  Letting my senses drink in beauty enables me to be full of it and we all can testify that out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.  I can choose to focus on my sick, quarreling children but that’s just going to fill me with irritation and what will flow from my heart to my mouth is complaining.  Sick, cranky kids are a reality right now but I don’t have to let it get to me.  There’s still plenty of beauty around me that I can take in instead and that in turn helps me to be a better mom to those sons who really need a contented mother to carry them through some low moments.

Normally, I look forward to Saturdays.  It’s the day the boys usually help me deliver newspapers.  I get a bit of a break from walking and I get to enjoy the company of D and P.  I drop them off at starting points and pick them up at finishing points and in between we ham it up with delivery stories that I suspect will one day be passed on as “horror” stories of when they were young.  We laugh a lot and usually celebrate the end of the fun with a lunch out at some fast food restaurant.  D and P never say “no” to that and always seem appreciative that I would pay them for delivering and take them out to eat.  Normally, I really enjoy the time I get with them.

Today was different.  P called me from school yesterday asking to be picked up; he wasn’t feeling well.  He was white as a ghost when I got to Ardtrea and crawled into bed as soon as I got him home.  D came home on the bus but announced as soon as he entered the door that he wasn’t feeling well either.  Very uncharacteristically, he didn’t jump at the chance to get on the computer or watch TV.  There were no science experiments or BB gun target practices either.  He quietly stole upstairs, closed the door of his bedroom and presumably joined his brother in the Land of Nod.  They emerged around dinnertime but both declared they weren’t up to eating.   They sat in front of the television, pale shadows of their usual selves, and without even being asked found their way back to their beds early in the evening.

Both got up to tell me that they were sorry but they didn’t think they could help me deliver today.  So off I went by myself.  The weather was pleasant enough and there were no problems to report but it wasn’t the same without my boisterous boys helping out.  I missed them and all the laughter they bring to an otherwise mundane job.  Let’s hope that there aren’t too many weekends where they are under the weather.

For many years, I bought or received candles and used them to decorate my home but never lit them.  It’s kind of silly.  Candles are designed to be lit.  Their purpose is to shine.

I’m now starting to light some of those candles and am enjoying watching them do what they were made to do.  They eventually burn out but they give me such pleasure before they do.

It made me think of myself.  I too am designed to shine and when I do I give my Maker great pleasure.  This red candle only blessed me with it’s spectacular melting patterns but what a show!  My little light may not bless many but maybe if it blesses even one it’s worth it.

This candle was most beautiful when it got dark.  Those rays of light are what made me want to take pictures of it.  So too when circumstances are darkest, the light of Christ within is most evidently beautiful.  It’s in those dark times that people take notice and look with wonder.  Or at least they should.  Shine, Jesus, shine.

Every Friday and Monday we sit down to dinner as a family.  Those are the evenings DA isn’t working and can eat with us.  DA loves to cook so he makes himself at home in the kitchen on his days off.  While he’s labouring over some culinary masterpiece, I quietly set about dressing the table.  A fine meal deserves a fine setting.  By the time supper is ready, the lights are dimmed, the candles are lit, classical music is playing in the background and the table is bedecked in colour coordinated pretty things.  On Mondays and Fridays we don’t eat, we dine.

Somehow, I expect the enhanced ambiance and the five star quality of the menu to have an effect on us all.  I dream of a meal where we all sit properly and discuss appropriate subject matter civilly all the while nibbling on our delicacies with the utmost decorum.  It is still a dream and not a reality.

Boys will be boys.  Propriety is not in their vocabularies.  Barring bodily noises and conversational tidbits that can make one lose one’s appetite, the boys play with the items on the table driving me to sigh deeply.  Today, P took his napkin ring and used it for a stickman head.  The body was made out of broken chicken souvlaki skewers.  Once he got the basics done he added his knife to his creation and declared that Mr. Stickman was doing the Soldja dance.  He then went on to use red wax from my centrepiece candle to put a red mark on Mr. Stickman’s head (also known as my napkin ring).  Why?  Because he decided Mr. Stickman was a religious dude.  Either that or the red stuff was blood coming out of his head.  Not exactly the table manners I’m shooting for.  Yes.  I laugh about it.  Until I try to pick off the red wax he’s dribbled across the tablecloth to anoint his artistic creation.  Then it seems less funny.

Life with boys isn’t about decorum.  If I make that my expectation (and I confess that sometimes I do), I will be disappointed.  Life to them is all about having fun and being funny.  They try as hard at that as I do at having a Better Homes and Gardens tablesetting.  I know that one day I will miss their antics but it isn’t today.  They aren’t going to change for me so maybe, for now, I need to change for them.  Can we compromise?  Six days a week of boy-style humour for one day of sanity maintaining mom-style table manners?  I’ll have to throw it out for consideration.  At the very least, I’ll get some laughs.

Halloween is not my favourite time of year.  I let the boys go out last year because my husband came on board and convinced me it was just for fun.  Of course, D and P loved it.

This year, they weren’t sure they were going to go out or not.  It really depended on what their school friends were doing.  Seems to me that their school friends weren’t terribly decisive either because, though I kept asking, I never got clear answers.

Just this morning P decided he wasn’t going to go.  He’d stay home with D (who had already decided he was too old for trick or treating).  Well, his friend called late this afternoon and suddenly P was going out and needed a costume.  He needed one fast.  He wanted to be a zombie because that would be easy.  Easy for who I don’t know.  I pulled out last year’s vampire make-up and blood, looked to the internet for some inspiration and did the best I could.

I’m no make-up artist and five minutes isn’t a whole lot of time to do something amazing.  Fortunately, my son is easy to please.

This is what I drive by to go to work.

My neck of the woods can be so beautiful at times.

The boys brought home a book from school last week and casually tossed it on the living room ottoman.  When I asked them about it, they told me some guy had come to the school and given the books out freely.  They informed me that it was about child abuse.

The boys showed no interest in reading the book themselves so I picked it up and read it cover to cover in two sittings.  It’s the true story of Maury Blair who as a child was unwanted, unloved and horribly beaten.  You would think that Mr. Blair would have written his memories out in angry tones but he didn’t.  You see, Maury Blair met God when he was a young man and his life was totally transformed.  He found the love and acceptance he craved as a child in Jesus Christ and went on to use his own history of abuse as a starting point for helping troubled youth.  He is now the director of Toronto Teen Challenge and Break-Through Ministries.

It’s also the story of Alice, Maury’s mother, who showed great promise of being an amazing evangelist as a young woman.  She got sidetracked with a relationship and from there made one bad choice after another.  Rather than confess her sins and deal with them, she chose to run from them and live a life of lies.  She ends her life exhausted and defeated, never able to leave her haunting past behind even though Maury shares with her God’s love and forgiveness.

I was amazed that this book was handed out in a public school setting.  Maury Blair clearly shares his salvation experience and for the remainder of the book gives all the credit to God for his transformed life.  It was a compelling read and I hope and pray that some of the other students who received a copy show more interest in reading it than D and P do at present.  Who knows what further good God can bring through this “child of woe”?

Quiet.  I love it and seek it out.  Today’s desire for peaceful reflection drove me back to the Orillia Fish and Game Conservancy.  I knew that there was at least one trail there that I hadn’t explored yet.

Happily, I didn’t encounter any bees.  What I did find was a trail riddled with adorable homemade signs (like the one above) alerting me to various wildflowers and tree species.  I already plan to do this trail again in late spring or early summer.  I love wildflowers and trees but can only definitely identify a handful of either.  I’m up for learning the names of some of these fascinating plants I spot.

The trail had various paths branching off of it leading to marsh lookout points.  Each place had a certain beauty about it.

I’m really growing fond of my own shadow.  That’s good because it goes with me wherever I go!

Something about the way these leaf droppings floated on the water made me think of swirls on a modern art painting.  If I ever try painting, this photo may inspire me.  There’s something about the colours and the movement that I find pretty.

I actually spent a few hours meandering today.  I’m astounded at that.  It didn’t seem like I was there that long.  This isn’t what a lot of people would call fun (I invited D and P to come along knowing that they would say “no thanks”) but it must be fun for me because I keep going back and time just flies when I’m there.

I was transported back in time today to my second year at university.  I was living off campus with a few friends about a forty-five minute walk  from school.  I did that walk faithfully five days a week in all kinds of weather.  I can remember many a class where I took notes soaking wet, a steady puddle of water pooling beside my seat as forty-five minutes worth of rain or snow tried to escape my clothing.  What most amazed me about that year was that I didn’t get sick once.  Up until then, I was prone to cold after cold, followed by sinus infections and usually an annual flu.  My room mates and I pretty much lived on canned soup and white bread (the cheapest kind), so I can’t really say that my incredibly healthy diet strengthened me.  I think I became heartier that year having to do that forty-five minute trudge twice a day, day in and day out, in all kinds of weather.

I thought about that today because I delivered a  lot of newspapers in not so nice weather.  For the last few routes I was wet, very wet.  I could have gotten all upset about it but what good would that have done?  Instead, I thought back to that extremely healthy year I had and all the healthy years I’ve had since then.  Being outside, braving the elements, getting exercise, it’s done me good.  I’m stronger than I used to be.  The thought didn’t quite get me singing in the rain but it did help me to push on and push through and get the job done.

Trials don’t have to bring me down.  With the right attitude they can make me better than I was before.  I need to exercise this way of thinking.  Today it rained.  Tomorrow it might snow.