I'm in the middle of 10 days of Productivity with Tim Challies, who wrote a book called "Do More Better", and started a Facebook group in order to encourage others to be productive. Over the years I've made many lists of resolutions, and once in a while I actually accomplish things on those lists. However, I think Tim has hit the nail on the head. It's really not about writing lists. Productivity is about knowing your purpose (to glorify God and do good works in order to bless others), defining your responsibilities, figuring out your roles, tasks and projects, then writing a mission statement for each of your areas of responsibility. That may sound complicated, but it really isn't.
One of the things I have realized is that in my VERY busy life, I have not made time to write on this blog. This is my creative and spiritual outlet, designed to share my life in a vulnerable way, for the purpose of encouragement. I want to point others to Christ, to the sufficiency of Scripture, and the good news of the gospel. It is my desire to finish well, and now that I'm in my sixties, I don't have as many years ahead as I have behind. So, I press on. I encourage you to click the links, buy the book, and join in the 10 days of Productivity. I'll share more about it later.
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I broke three metatarsals in my foot in October, 2012. Because of a previous shoulder/neck injury, I was unable to use crutches and ended up sitting in a wheelchair for a couple of months. During that time I gained over 35 lbs. My body is designed to move, and I simply stopped moving... and gained weight. I'd been hearing a lot about Trim Healthy Mama. A friend gave me the book, and I decided to try it. I lost about nine pounds, then stayed at the same weight for weeks. It was so disheartening to read all of the success stories, and come to the conclusion that it worked for THEM, but it wasn't going to work for ME. I tried regular dieting, cutting back, choosing good food. The scale didn't budge. A year went by. Finally, in June 2014, I took a look at myself and decided to just do it. My THM journey started out exactly the same way as it h ad the previous year. I lost nine pounds rather quickly, then stuck. The scale didn't budge. I was following the plan, but the plan wasn't working for me. Instead of giving up, I pleaded for help from the THM Facebook community. They were so helpful! After reviewing my menu, they told me that I wasn't eating enough - that I was "dieting" rather than eating to feed my body and meet my nutritional needs. I added in a snack, and made sure to eat every 3 hours or so, and the weight kept coming off. From the beginning of June until the end of August, I went from 210 to 194. That was 16 lbs in three months. From September to December, I took off a further 12 lbs, ending up at 182 on my birthday. That was 12 lbs in three months. A bit slower, but still coming off. By the end of March, I weighed 167. That's 15 lbs in almost four months. Since then, I've been stuck at 167, but the amazing thing is that my clothes are looser. I've lost inches. I've firmed up a bit. I still have loose skin, but I am now comfortable in size 11 clothing, which is so much better than the XL size 18 I was wearing a year ago. Next post, I'll tell you how I did it. Definitely, you should buy the book. Trim Healthy Mama. I've been busy. And that is an understatement.
I rise at 5:30, make coffee, shower and get my breakfast. I sit at the computer, checking email and Facebook while I nibble my eggs and sip my coffee. I read or listen to the Bible, and jot a few notes down, then head outside by 6:45 to do my circle check of my bus. That only takes a few minutes, so I zip back inside and do up the dishes and make my Shrinker Oolong Tea before heading out at 7:15. I love my bus run. My route takes me north through a beautiful countryside, with farmer's fields and little forested areas where I see coyotes. The sunrises are incredible, and I'm sad to think that the sun is rising higher in the sky much earlier in the morning. I'll have to wait until fall to experience the beauty of the sun peeking over the horizon, painting the sky with pink and orange and red. I pick up my first family at 7:35 am, and constantly watch the clock to make sure I'm on time at every stop. If a mom takes a minute or two to kiss her little girl goodbye, I need to step on the gas a bit to get to the next stop on time. If, on the other hand, a child is sick and is staying home that day, I must drive a bit slower to accommodate the fact that I didn't stop and pick up that child. When I took over this run, the kids were loud, obnoxious, disobedient and disruptive. I had to write a few incident reports, and give them many a talking to. I've built a rapport with these kids, and they understand that all of my rules are about their safety. I want to transport them safely to school, and safely home again at the end of the day. That means that throwing things is not permitted, for it distracts the driver and can injure another student. Eating on the bus is not allowed, because someone could choke on a bit of food. They all must stay seated, for standing and moving from seat to seat could result in a student taking a tumble if I have to suddenly put the brakes on. There are a lot of rules, but they all make sense. The kids are getting it! I am so pleased with my bus kids. It makes heading out the door twice a day into a mission rather than forced labour. I think I have the best run, the best kids, and the best route. I am truly blessed. I get home around 9:10 each morning, unless I have to fuel up the bus, which takes another 10 minutes. After checking my FB messages briefly, I've been gardening or doing yard work. I planted my seedlings and they came up beautifully, but I now have joined the ranks of gardeners who have experienced the dreaded "damping off". Most of my cauliflower, broccoli and cabbage have simply died. This, I found out, is due to not using sterilized potting soil. I used topsoil, reasoning to myself that it would be fine, and although the seedlings sprouted beautifully, a week or two later I noticed they were not looking so good. They seemed to have been pinched off right at the surface of the soil. The internet told me about "damping off", and I think that's my problem. I'm thankful that the tomatoes seem to have survived, and that's because I mixed old soil in with the topsoil. Live and learn, eh? Okay, so there's gardening and yard work and raking up stuff left from the winter and burning garbage. Lots of outside stuff. Not only that, but I plan on raising chickens for meat and a dozen more for eggs, so I have to get the brooder and some chicken tractors ready. On top of that, my dear husband has been renovating the kitchen since last summer. It's been a long haul, but the kitchen is nearly done. It will be so nice to move the table and chairs and the buffet back into the kitchen, and to be able to sit around the table at meal-times, laughing and chatting and sharing our lives. I do what I can to help with the renovation, but my husband does the vast majority of the work. He's done a beautiful job, and I am very thankful. My friend Jane has opened a store, Behind the Painted Door, and I have been setting up and updating her website. That took quite a bit of time in the beginning. I love what she does with paint, and I'm glad to be a help to her in her business. About three months ago, my friend Jane and I spent three days in Paris, and three days in Rome. It was the trip of a lifetime for me. A spur-of-the-moment decision, a Groupon deal, and two women who'd never traveled far were suddenly winging their way over the Atlantic. In my spare time I'm writing about our experiences. I don't want to forget one second of the trip, the sights, the sounds, the people, the culture, the food, the wine, and the cities. I long to go again, but for more than three days, for it simply wasn't enough time to take in even a small portion of what there was to enjoy. One of my favourite hours in Paris was spent in an artists' square atop Montmartre. We'd just visited the oldest church in Paris, then sipped some vin chaud while listening to an amazing French woman belting out some beautiful songs while cranking on a music machine. That was a delight. Just kitty corner from the singer we noticed a square filled with artists and art and canvases and paint. We wandered from artist to artist, admiring their work and chatting with a few of them. We overheard some people haggling with an artist for one of his paintings. He considered 300 Euros to be an insult. He'd been painting for over 30 years. After wandering around the square, kicking ourselves for not having enough money to buy a painting (or three), we headed towards a little Café that had been recommended to us. On the way, we browsed the shops, and were drawn into one that advertised a great discount on their art.
Jane bought a huge painting of the Eiffel Tower. I bought a painting of the artist's square at the top of Montmartre. I'll post these pictures later, when I figure out where they are stored. :D Every time I walk by and glance at that piece of art, my mind goes back to Paris. I am so thankful for the memories. To prove I was actually there, here's a picture of me as we arrived in Paris, with very little sleep, after flying all night: Three days of violence in Paris. People under siege. People taken hostage. Employees of a satirical newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, gunned down at work. Twelve dead that first day. Yesterday, it was a policewoman, killed in cold blood. Today, a kosher market was invaded and people died. I just heard that the original terrorists were gunned down as they burst out of the building near the Charles de Gaulle airport, where they’d been holed up. Jane and I were steps away from Charlie Hebdo a month ago. On the sixth of December, we explored the Marais District with a Discovery Tours guide called Lucie. As we began the tour, a huge contingent of bicyclists went by, making a racket, attracting attention. Lucie explained that this was typical of the area – there was always some sort of protest going on there. She told us that the people of Paris value their right to free speech and their right to protest what they considered to be injustice. She talked about the storming of the Bastilles, that occurred right down the road from where we were standing. (Did you know that there were only 6 prisoners there, and they lived in relative comfort, due to the fact that they were aristocrats, and although imprisoned, they were still entitled to many luxuries?) Certain Muslims are up in arms. They do not agree with “free speech” if it means Muhammad is mocked. Stéphane Charbonnier, editor and cartoonist at Charlie Hebdo, was among those killed on Wednesday. When the paper was hit with a firebomb in 2011, he stood defiantly among the debris and called the terrorists “idiots” who betrayed their own religion. He defended crude caricatures of Muhammad. "Muhammad isn't sacred to me," he said. "I don't blame Muslims for not laughing at our drawings. I live under French law. I don't live under Qur'anic law." There’s a debate raging around the world. Are these attacks based on the cartoons, which are crude and designed to be funny, mocking Muhammad whom the Muslims consider to be their prophet? Some pundits and ordinary folk are furious that anyone would do such a thing. Don’t they value their life? Charbonnier valued the freedom to write and draw what he wanted. "I don't have kids, no wife, no car, no credit," he told Le Monde. "Maybe it's a little pompous to say, but I'd rather die standing than live on my knees." Others believe the attacks are designed to provoke retaliation against ordinary Muslims. There are millions of Muslims in France, and less than 2% are radicalized. That’s still a lot of angry people who believe they have a cause, and want to recruit others to join their jihad. Could it be that the cartoons are just an excuse, and that the real intention of the radicals is to heighten suspicion against all Muslims? Quebec Newspapers Take a Stand Yesterday, Canada's French-language newspapers published a cartoon of Muslim prophet Mohammed on Thursday in solidarity with Paris's Charlie Hebdo, which originally published the cartoon in 2006. The caption read: "Attacking someone simply for their ideas and opinions is an unacceptable obstacle to democracy." Free Speech Oppressors have always sought to gag those who disagree with them. In 399BC, Socrates told the jury, “If you offered to let me off this time on condition I am not any longer to speak my mind... I should say to you, "Men of Athens, I shall obey the Gods rather than you." In 1215 Magna Carta, was signed. It is now regarded as the cornerstone of liberty in England, and had a great effect on the signers of the Declaration of Independence in the USA. Erasmus later wrote “ The Education of a Christian Prince,”and emphatically stated 'In a free state, tongues too should be free.' Galileo fought for the right to claim the sun does not revolve around the earth. John Milton, the poet, argued against restrictions of the freedom of the press. “He who destroys a good book, kills reason itself.” The French Have Fought Hard for Free Speech In 1770 Voltaire wrote in a letter: 'Monsieur l'Abbé, I detest what you write, but I would give my life to make it possible for you to continue to write.' 'The Declaration of the Rights of Man', a fundamental document of the French Revolution written in 1789, provides for freedom of speech . Freedom of speech means we tolerate those whose ideas we shun. For speech to truly be free, it must include things we disagree with. In 1929 Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, of the US Supreme Court, outlined his belief in free speech: 'The principle of free thought is not free thought for those who agree with us but freedom for the thought we hate.' Goebbels was in favour of free speech for views he liked. So was Stalin. Go ahead, say anything you want, as long as you agree with me. That is not free speech. That is not freedom of expression. In a free society, people must be granted the right to say what THEY think. Having said all that, I have to say this: for the Christian, there is no Free Speech. Whatsoever you do, in word or deed, do all to the glory of God. That’s the subject of another post. Meanwhile, I admire the Quebecers who stood in solidarity with Charlie Hebdo. I admire the courage of Sun News and Ezra Levant and Brian Lilley, who are willing to stand up and be counted as men who shun terrorism and defend the right of anyone to express their own opinion. I also admire the gumption of those who survived the deadly attack at Charlie Hebdo. They’re planning on publishing another newspaper next Wednesday. They posted this on their website: PARCE QUE LE CRAYON SERA TOUJOURS AU DESSUS DE LA BARBARIE… PARCE QUE LA LIBERTÉ EST UN DROIT UNIVERSEL… PARCE QUE VOUS NOUS SOUTENEZ… Because the pencil will always be mightier than the sword… Because liberty is a universal right… Because you support us… I'm thankful for a bunch of things today:
My mom's birthday. Had she lived, she would have been 82. I wrote on Facebook, "I miss her. She would have been 82. She was intelligent, argumentative, creative, funny, passionate and feisty. I see her in my kids."
My children and I finished watching the show, "Call the Midwife", tonight. Spoiler alert... On the show, Chummy is a big, awkward nurse from a privileged background who attended boarding school and was never able to please her demanding, high-born mother. She wants nothing more than to have a relationship with "Mater", as she calls her mom, Lady Browne. Mater is bound by her place in society. There are rules as rigid as boot camp, and Mater is embarrassed by her gangly daughter. She sends her off to school, and spends very little time with her. What time she does spend is in criticism and condemnation. Lady Browne shows up one day, and we learn she has cancer and very little time left. Not only that, but Pater (Chummy's father) has abandoned Lady Browne, who is now penniless, but not willing to admit it. She spends some time with Chummy and her husband, Peter, and shows a soft side as she cuddles her little grandson. Tonight's episode was especially poignant for me, as it showed Chummy and Peter ministering to Mater in her dying days. That's all I will say about that... go to Netflix and watch the entire series, NOW. I sat with my mother as she lay dying, too. We had Doris Day singing in the background as we watched her breathe those terrible breaths, those rattly breaths that tell the nurse to tell the family "It won't be long now." It's been over 15 years since I lost her, and I still want to pick up the phone, to give her the news, to share the kids' latest accomplishments. I still want to run in from the mailbox clutching an envelope with that familiar writing on it, eager to devour what she's written. Like Chummy and Mater, my mom and I had differences that went deep. We did not share the same faith, nor the same political views, nor the same world view. She couldn't fathom why I'd want any more than two or three children. She rarely saw our children and wasn't much of a granny to them, as she was still working full time right up until she discovered she had stage four cancer. I like to think that if she'd lived, she would have taken the time to visit, to come camping with us, to sit by a fire and chat. But it wasn't to be. No matter our differences, I loved my mother. Happy Birthday, Mater. A snow squall warning is in effect for the next 16 hours. This will likely mean that roads will be closed, buses will be delayed, and kids will have an extension to their Christmas vacation. I'm watching the forecast more closely now that I'm a bus driver for Murphy Bus Lines. Years of being a homeschooling mama meant that I didn't much care if schools were closed. Stormy weather meant we'd load up the wood stove and hunker down on the couch to read great books. The kids would complain that we never got a day off, but their complaints fell on deaf ears. As long as my hubby was at home, I didn't much care if it rained or stormed. I care now. I'm concerned about getting down the lane to drive to town on time to do my circle check. I'm watching the snow flood the yard, wondering if I'll get a call early in the morning, delaying or cancelling the run. I'll have mixed feelings. Staying home an extra day just gives me more time to work on projects. I have plenty to do. I'm never bored. But driving the bus is fun! I was a bus driver in Milton back in the late 70's. Back then, we were permitted to take our own kids on the bus with us. I remember driving on school trips to the African Lion Safari, and the kids still talk about the time the monkey peed on the windshield! I drove for a few years, often as a spare driver, and enjoyed every bit of it. When our family expanded to 6 kids, I decided to forego the trip to get my license renewed. So what possessed me to become a bus driver again after over 25 years' hiatus? A flyer came in the mail. I thought to myself, "This is something I can do." We need the income. I like kids. I like driving. I especially like driving a big bus. Murphy Bus Lines sent me to Mitchell to be trained under Loralee. I liked her immediately. She's the same age as my eldest daughter, and she's full of spunk and humour. She has no problem pointing out errors, because she wants her drivers to succeed. I had no problem being corrected, so we got along famously. I got my license in November, but didn't start working until I got back from our trip to Europe in December. I worked one full week, and it was an adventure! I have a great run. Five in-town stops where I pick up groups of kids, then one country stop. Two schools. Sixty-three kids. I'm fortunate to have taken over from a wonderful driver named Kathy, whom the children obviously loved. She set a certain standard for the bus, and the kids all know the rules. Three "bad kids" (their words) sit at the front of the bus, which I'm told solved a lot of problems. I'm trying to memorize all their names, but it will take me some time. It's so much fun to watch the little ones, clad in snowsuits and carrying backpacks, trying to climb the steps. It's like climbing Mount Everest for some of them. You can tell when kids are loved and cared for and trained to be polite and respectful. Those kids say "Thank you for the ride" as they leave the bus. Those kids are clean and have matching mitts and sunny smiles and happy faces. You notice other things, too. One little girl is a bit of a sneak. She thinks I don't notice when she breaks the rules, pushing the boundaries to see if I'll run a tight ship. I'm watching and biding my time. I want them to feel as comfortable with me as they did with Kathy before me. On the last day of school before the Christmas break, one little girl asked me, "When is Kathy coming back?" I told her she wasn't returning. Her face fell. I felt so bad for her. Change is hard for kids, but they're resilient. They'll adapt. I think that in time they'll discover that I'm a good driver who cares very much for them. I wrote them a wee poem: Remember when you ride the bus Never make a great big fuss! Keep the aisle free of debris To let the driver clearly see. Talk to your friends, stay in your seat, Don’t have stuff to drink or eat. Use the garbage and “lost and found” – We want to keep you safe and sound. So we do. It seems like such an innocuous day, the third day of January. Everyone's busy recuperating from the Christmas Celebrations and New Year's Revelry. I think most people have taken down their decorations and breathed a sigh of relief to have less clutter in the house. (We're doing that job tomorrow.) We're barely into the new year, and the vast majority of folks who have made a resolution or two are having trouble sticking to the plan. I'm squeaking in at the end of the day, getting a bit of writing done, listening to the Word of God. I would have gotten to this sooner, but I did mountains of laundry today, plus replaced the baking supplies and utensils back into the drawers that needed to be emptied so my hubby could install new plugs into our new island. After making supper and calling the family to get their food ( we don't have a kitchen table yet, so we grab food and eat all over the house) the kids convinced me to watch an episode or two of Season Three of "Call the Midwife". I was already feeling a bit blue, knowing that today was the day of a funeral of someone we loved and admired. Add to that sadness the memory that today was also the day that my dear old Pops died. Pops was my mom's dad, a grand old Newfie who had a great sense of humour and many wonderful stories to tell. He died January the Third, 1987. I still miss him. So I got to thinking about life and death, about the pain and the loss that never goes away when you lose a parent, a child, a friend. I've lost grandparents, parents, inlaws, relatives and friends. I've grieved the loss of babies to miscarriage - my own and my grandchildren. I've gone into stores after the death of my parents and wondered how everything could seem so NORMAL... the cashiers were still scanning the produce, the shoppers were still pushing carts like nothing was wrong, and yet my world had fallen apart. How could life just go on? We watched Episode Four of "Call the Midwife" Series 3, and saw a terrible accident that led to the death of a loved one (I'm purposely being vague in case anyone hasn't seen the episode) and my heart was wrenched at these words of wisdom in how to deal with this sort of loss: You keep on living until you feel alive. That's it. That's how to do it. You keep putting one foot in front of the other. You keep brushing your teeth, taking a shower, making your bed. You keep pouring a steaming hot mug of coffee, adding cream and a dash of vanilla, in hope that some day it might taste good again. You just keep on living, until you feel alive. I think this advice applies to all sorts of pain and loss. Don't let it throw you. Grieve, cry, sorrow, pray, talk, sleep... do what you have to do for a time. Then get back to living. |
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January 2020
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