In A Field

Degrassi's Voula getting ready for her first Jr. High dance Sorting through old pictures, yearbooks, and keepsakes, I try to eliminate useless clutter.  I pick up a stack of pictures from my school days, one for every year.  Surprisingly, one is missing.  Grade 7.  All that I have is the class picture, a tiny frame of myself.  The picture is so small I'm not even sure it's me.  I walk into the bright overhead light and squint with my nearly 40 year old eyes, peering at a 13 year old me.  Hair cut into a strawberry blond bob, a smiling brace-face.  I'm reminded of my first experience with imaginative prayer.  I had been listening to a sermon series  Undivided .  One sermon ended with an exercise where you imagined yourself sitting at a small, round, child's table.  Beside you on one side is an empty chair, on the other a bag full of memories symbolized by snapshots or mementos.  Jesus sits down in the chair beside you so you can rummage through the contents

Last week school began. Three kids off to school. They left and took my sanity with them. It was a bad week. For parenting But I'm not supposed to tell you that. I'm supposed to tell you that my life is perfect. I am perfect. I never yell, lose my patience, throw fits or give useless threats. My children are perfectly behaved. They always listen. They never talk back. Their rooms are immaculate and book bags tidy. Just like the rest of their tastefully decorated and photo-shoot, magazine-ready home. I'm supposed to tell you that I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. I laugh in the face of adversity. I eat stress for lunch. I can juggle making supper, refereeing spats, folding laundry, and milling flour all at the same time. I always know the right thing to say. I give wonderful gifts and I never forget a birthday But the truth is granola bar wrappers, smashed Goldfish, sippy cups, and toys litter my living room/kitchen. The dishwasher sits patiently, waiting