Love. Love. Love.

“No Love Greater.”

~Christ Tomlin

Sunday 19th, December 2010.

I have neglected you dear journal. Reality hit me this week. The real world has begun to breakthrough the walls of denial and numbness. In the reflection of the eyes and kind smiles of the people who surround me, I catch a glimpse of what a low and broken person I am.  After the roller coaster this week has been for me, I reach the Lord’s day down and more depressed than I have been since last winter. With my chest cold, I have been shut in since Wednesday and Monday’s events were to disheartening to write down. For two days, I have wrapped myself up in the cocoon of my room. 

This afternoon, I went downstairs to the kitchen to finish off the coffee pot. I felt an urge to check out the Bible study shelf in the book nook.  As I looked at the different titles and topics available, a resurgence of hope brought warmth to my heart.  Today, I was awoken at 7:30 a.m. by a voice whispering “Just trust me,” repeatedly into my mind. This same voice was now repeating the words, “The answer is in God’s word,” over and over again. I found myself saying it out loud. “The answer is in God’s Word. The answer is in God’s word!”

I had the whole downstairs to myself. I retrieved my Advent Devotional from my room, lit some candles on the dining room table and began to catch up on the days I had previously missed. I read through the prophecies proclaiming the Salvation that was yet to come. “What WONDROUS love is this?!” I thought to myself and began to hum the hymn’s tune. 

What wondrous love is this

That caused the Lord of bliss

To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,

To bear the dreadful curse for my soul?

What wondrous love is this 

That caused the Lord of lie

To lay aside His crown for my soul, for my soul,

To lay aside His crown for my soul?

The deep truths that I cling to for life spell out an incredible love through the motivation, purpose and completion that was the life of Jesus Christ. And yet, how often do I miss and disregard this love!  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son so that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16. Love. Love. Love!! All that I need! I am reminded of the Beth Moore conference back in March. God met hundreds of women in Toronto that day with a very important message crying out from the book of Isaiah. “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” Isaiah 43:18 & 19. All year, the Lord has been refining me, healing me, strengthening me, breaking me free from bondage, and now He rescues me and molds me. “He who began a good work in You will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6.

The answer for the day was now clarified. Even though I was hurting so very deeply, God was reminding me that He was doing a new thing in me, a good work, and He was going to carry me through until its completion.  Lord God, please give me the sight to perceive and discern the new work that You are doing in my life.

I was inspired by yesterday’s “Daily Bread.” The author presented a different way of letting Christ’s love live through me; a way to embrace the possibilities of becoming Christ-like through faith and claiming God’s promises as my own.

Part I = The Character of Christ (based on 1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

Jesus is patient, He is kind.

Jesus does not envy and He does not boast. He is not proud.

Jesus is not easily angered, He keeps no record of wrongs.

Jesus does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Jesus always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always persevered.

Jesus never fails.

Part II = Bearing the Image of Christ

Sarah is patient, He is kind.

Sarah does not envy and He does not boast. He is not proud.

Sarah is not easily angered, He keeps no record of wrongs.

Sarah does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Sarah always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always persevered.

Sarah never fails.

Reasons for Loving Mists & Hating Drains

“Great faith isn’t the ability to believe long and far into the misty future. It’s simply taking God at His word and taking the next step.”

~Joni Eareckson Tada

Sunday 12, December 2010.

I did so want to attend the service at Flanborough Baptist Church this morning. I had predicted the night before that when it would be time to get up, I would rather sleep; such was the case. At 8:30 a.m., I turned the persistent alarm off for good then did something I’m not sure I have ever done before -- I pulled the covers right  over my head and I stayed like that for the next four hours!  Evidently, I was not going to face the world before I was ready! I’m in my bed, cozy with my coffee, looking out at a dreary world. There is a light mist of rain keeping everything damp. I may go out later regardless and spite it.

During my walk, I was full to the brim of loving Christ, being thankful and content. There was a huge contrast between my mood and the weather, though! It was overcast and damp, but not at all chilly. I plodded through mucky paths, splashing mud just about everywhere! I felt like Elizabeth Bennett traipsing across the countryside through mud and dirt bound for Netherfield to visit her ailing sister Jane. I can hear Mrs. Hurst’s disapproving voice now,  “I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I’m absolutely certain!” It may have been track pants instead of a petticoat but it was equal to the number of inches deep in mud! Truthfully, I’m not keen walking through slop, but overall I did not mind the condition of the ground because I was walking with a purpose.

A delicate mist had settled over the fields on the horizon. I had to go out and greet it. Before I romanticize too strongly I will address the real facts of fog. It is cold, drab, muggy, spooky and damp. BUT I am a mix of Anglo-Saxon and Celtic blood, so to me it is alluring, mysterious, dazing, clandestine and smokey with passion. To me, this mist was delicious and romantic. I was excited from my fleece hood to my muddy hiking boots. The apple trees have been showered in rain enhancing a pretty reddish tone in the bark. Unlike yesterday, the trees were joyfully entreating me to dance with them. I sang the chorus of the Revelation Song aloud as I walked,

“Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty;

The one who is and is to come.

With all creation, I sing:

Praise to the King of Kings!

You are my everything

And I will adore You!”

The raindrops dangling on the tips of the leaves were like a string of pearls. I was quite contented and I felt the presence of Jesus with me strongly.

I had taken a gravel path between two neighbouring farm houses to get to the main road. I guessed which one was Anita’s. It was a beautiful home with a luxurious exterior. I mentioned the professional landscape before. Deep red brick, more than one tourette, it looked a like a miniature castle. The structure was evidently aged, but all the windows were brand new. It gave the house an odd look. It was like running into someone with a fake tan who’s just had their teeth bleached! A few minutes from Drummond House, I caught a whiff of something burning and sweet. It was so strange to smell mulled spices on the main road. “So beautiful!” I couldn’t help but exclaim out loud. I turned the corner and there was the house. I grow fonder of it everyday!

Wet, muddy, sweaty and out of breath, I couldn’t wait to strip off my yucky track pants and jump into the shower! I will now document the first con to this country-living. The water supply comes from a well, so a foul smell emits from the faucet everytime you run the tap. The first time I washed my hands in this place, I thought that I had released a silent-but-deadly without realizing it! I was so embarrassed at the thought of someone coming into the bathroom after me, I cannot tell you! The tub and shower are spanking new. It has a good hot water pressure, but unfortunately the bathing water comes from the same source. My spa-like shower turned sour within five minutes. I’m told the proper name for this odour is sulfur. I’d say it’s more like hog shit (and yes, I know what that smells like from experience)! Sorry, I describe things as they really are! Sometimes I express it eloquently and sometimes I’m as common as the streets. This stuff was rank! It totally overpowered my sweet smelling shampoo made with olives, avacados and shea. Little did I know that my relaxing shower was about to turn even more revolting.

My words will be brief because I can already feel my stomach turning.  In the house, there is a routine to be followed after a shower. You take a squeegy head and try to get rid of the moisture on the tiles and the tub. The practicality of this procedure is not as simple as it sounds, but I was making do until I encountered a problem. While shampooing, I had loosened quite a tangle of hair. Instead of following my better judgment and flicking it into the toilet, I let it drop and float towards the drain to be retrieved later. First of all, let me make it abundantly clear that hairs in the bathroom and I are not sympatico. Not in this life! Not even if they belong to me. Secondly, in the same way one cannot hook a few strands of spaghetti without tugging the whole pile of noodles, one cannot grab a few long strands of hair from the surface of a shower drain without dragging up the ones that have slipped down before them. UGH!

Dear reader, please tell me that you have had the same experience before, so that I don’t have to expand on the stringy goopy horrors that came up out of that drain! There I was on my hands and knees, between tub and toilet, gagging and crying wishing that I could keep my eyes closed and get this over with! For those brief moments, I hated this house, I hated being here and I hated everybody in it. Sad to think, but that was the first time I had actually broken down and cried since I’ve been here. Such a simple cleaning chore had me so emotionally exhausted, I wanted to spend the rest of the evening in bed and forgo supper. Maybe that’s why I have been so numb. I once heard an analogy comparing the structure of the female psyche to a bowl of fish hooks. You can’t pull on one hook without linking the whole sordid mess of them. Dealing with the reasons and emotions that lead to me coming to Drummond House is like that incident in the shower. If I start, one thought will release all the other garbage I've been repressing in order to survive. It is disgusting and repulsive and I would rather leave it to rot out-of-sight in the dark recesses of the sewer!

In an type-A frenzy, I cleaned up the bathroom, wished I could go on strike against bathing ever again, and started to blow dry my hair. I quickly shut the dryer off as I thought of the loose hairs being blown about the room. I swooped up my belongings into my arms and retreated my room. I decided to dry my hair there, that way any hair would blend into the rug. I would be able to vacuum it up later without every having to be aware of it! Denial? Anybody?

Some time has gone by. I’m snuggled back in bed watching a downpour of snowflakes bounce off my window pane. I just finished my devotions -- I am so loved by God! That’s all I have to say. 

Being in Season

“There is a seed of God’s love in every event, every circumstance, every unpleasant situation in which you may find yourself.” ~ Barbara Johnson

I departed with the resolution of clearing my muddled head. As I had been quite disappointed about the newspaper that morning, I decided to walk to the end of the road to find the mail box so that I could get it myself in future. Once at the main street, I turned and looked back at Drummond House. It is like a scene out of a movie. It is a grand old farmhouse with soft antiquated features. “ It is too good to be true for me to be here.” I thought as I  tread back up the lawn. Feeling even the slightest bit of belonging to this place blessed my heart. I cut across the orchard again to the church. “I feel like I’m living out a novel,” I thought to myself.  

At the parking lot, I turned down the path towards the back fields. I have seen the fruitless apple trees several times now, but something about them struck me painfully that afternoon. Some weeks back, my father had given me a pocket-sized note book with a red moleskin cover. I started carrying it in my coat so I could jot down descriptions or any other inspired thoughts. Was Sarah Moore affected by Lucy Maud Montgomery growing up? Most certainly! Anne Shirley, eat your heart out! So there, standing on the edge of the orchard, I pulled out my pen and notebook and began to write.

In endless rows, the apple trees twist and contort, writhing in an aching dance, lamenting their barren limbs and the fruit that they have born. Sorrowful skeletons, a few crumpled leaves having clung onto them and the wind rustles through them, rattling them like bones. My heart is touched and I am sad. Anyone who has ever experienced a winter in Southern Ontario knows that, in the absence of snow, the landscape can be very depressing. The healthy shades of nature fade into a pallet of waned hues; everything is stark and bland. The proud stems and stalks of spring and summer have shriveled up, tumbling into a tangled heap of dried grass. Everything has a place in the cycle of life with a time to stop, rest and shed away past seasons, but the crude sight of this saddens me.  At least, when buried under layers of snow, nature can grieve its loss with modesty.

Was I casting my own chagrin on the land that day? or was it depressing me? At this point, the Lord started to leave me signs of scripture to think on.  As I walked along the grassy path, I thought of Ecclesiastes Chapter 3.

“There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.”

I wonder if King Solomon was having a vision of Drummond House in the winter. On reflection, as I read these words, they cast such illumination on everything I saw and felt that afternoon; I feel comforted.

After a few more steps, I stopped on the edge of the cornfield.  A hushed gasp escaped me. The farmers had come and severed the cornstalks leaving 8 inch stubs sticking out of the ground. As I gazed over the slopes, I saw thousands of golden grave markers. It put me in mind of a cemetery for fallen soldiers. 

A time to plant and a time to uproot.

I crossed over the creek and saw a fallen log. It was a tree trunk that had been sawed down. It must have been a grand size for its base diameter was equal to my height. I couldn’t resist stroking the grain of the wood and the rough jagged edges where the tree had been separated from its roots.  Adjacent, there were two large piles of leafy branches removed from the trees. They had been scorched, burned to the colour of charcoal. A time to kill and a time to heal.  A time to tear down and a time to build.

Just before the bridge, I had noticed powdery deposits of copper. I thought that it might be bits of broken pottery, though it seemed like an odd place to find them. Still standing by the tree trunk, I spotted at my feet a mound of soil woven with spidery roots in the mould of a flower pot. It had been burned, too. 

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

“It’s not just me today!” I concluded. “It must be the realities of winter that are bringing me down.” I put my notebook away. I felt pathetic at my sappy thoughts. Dusk was settling, street lights were coming on in the distance. I needed to head back to the house. Then, the Lord brought another verse to my mind from the 42nd Psalm. 

“Why are you downcast, O my Soul? Why so disturbed within me? 

This question is posed twice in verse 5 & 11. That was EXACTLY how I felt.  

Verse 9, “Why must I go about mourning?” 

A time to mourn and a time to dance.

It isn’t ‘till now that I have looked up the verse and now receive my reply:

“Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God.”

I walked back to the house, treading over fallen husks and rotting cobs with these verses running through my brain. “I guess this is my season.” I suppose the the Lord has answered the revolving questions of what am I doing here? with “This is your season, my child.” But He has not left me without hope.

“By day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me.” (Psalm 42:8)

At the top of the hill and past a tower of crates, I saw Drummond House with all its lights strung outside and the warm inviting lamps shining brightly through the undressed windows. A beacon of hope glowing the settling dusk of evening. I smiled to myself, “This place is too good to be true.” There was nowhere else I wanted to be than right here. I feel that I must copy out the beginning of Psalm 42 before I stop writing and go for a walk.

As the deer pants for streams of water,

So my soul pants for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God?

Learning how to rest

“Change occurs when one becomes what she is, 

not when she tries to become what she is not” ~ Ruth P. Freedman

December 11, 2010.

     

  Oh! Am I exhausted! Strange day emotionally. Just got off the phone with my mother a few minutes ago. I intended to call her tomorrow, but I wanted her opinion on a series I was about to start reading. So I woke her up at 9:40 p.m. with my “pressing question”. I talked to her as if nothing was out of the ordinary. In response to her question of how I was doing, I cam back with, “Oh I’m numb!” as cheerfully as I would say, “Fine thanks! How are you?” What a caution I am as a daughter.  Things got tense at the end because she was making this especial point of letting me know that I had left “a” pill behind. I was not aware that I had gone a day without my antidepressants. Even so, I didn’t get the dramatic emphasis she was placing on it considering I had been taking them everyday since. My instinct was to get off the phone as quickly as possible. I shed a tear or two, then resumed looking at the books in the library corner. 

I realized tonight that I don’t miss anyone or anything since I got here. I haven’t felt anxious for anything (except  for the internet occasionally). I like to look up trivial facts when they come to me. I have had no aspartame in days. My intake of sugar has gone down by half and my caffeine consumption as been weaned even more so! Apart from this cold, I have felt fine. I haven’t even thought about it.  Though I was perturbed by there not being the daily crossword waiting for me when I came downstairs this morning. I genuinely felt put out about it as I was looking forward to filling it in over breakfast. I can only laugh and shake my head because I don’t even understand myself right now.

Oh! How I do not feel sociable! It took a half hour to negotiate myself out of bed this morning, so even the nice pleasantries with other residents was almost more than I could handle. The two women I am living with are both as nice as can be, but after ten minutes, I was worn out! After the one lady went up stairs, I stuck my head in the fridge, not only to grab the cream, but to hide my face and take a deep breath. This is no one’s fault. I’m just  tired. There is a need in this woman’s eyes. They are bright, alert and uncertain. I feel compassion and my instinct is to care and support, but that is not my roll here. She observes me intently and I find myself withdrawing with a cringe of uncomfortableness. I don’t want to be needed; I don’t want to be wanted; I just want to be. Any thought os the world I have temporarily left behind feels uncomfortable. My mind scarcely goes there. Maybe this concept of rest is starting to make sense.   

Sleeping-in throws off my routine leaving me dissatisfied for the rest of the day. I was about to go get my Daily Bread and Bible from upstairs when I felt drawn to the piano. Today, the hymn book was open to a particular spot whereas it had been shut before. Whether it was one of the children from last night or one of the residents or staff that morning, I dutifully sat down and began to play and sing.

O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus

“O the Deep , Deep Love of Jesus

Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

Rolling as a mighty ocean

In its fullness over me.

Underneath me, all around me,

Is the current of Thy love;

Leading onward, leading homeward

To my glorious rest above.

O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus,

Love of every love the best;

‘Tis an ocean vast of blessing,

‘Tis a haven sweet of rest.

O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus,

‘Tis a heaven of heavens to me;

And it lifts me up to glory,

For it lifts me up to Thee.”

I spent some time playing a few more hymns and then followed that up with some Christmas carols. Fred and Marlene came in from shopping. Fred expressed his appreciation for the songs and said that he felt like singing. I was afraid of disturbing the others, but the one lady said it reminded her of her grandparents; they had both played the piano. The other resident, who was up in her room over the piano, later told me that she was singing along as she was cleaning. This was a great comfort to me because it felt so good to play. As far as I was concerned God left the hymn book open for me. I was blessed to play to God’s praises with the sight of a church’s steeple in the distance through the window. The piano is mercilessly out of tune! The first few touches of the keys made my eyes roll to the back of my head. I couldn’t let that stop me, though. Music is music!

I did the crosswords ‘till I was ready to fall asleep. I knew I should go for a walk, but curling up to finish “Good Wives” was much more inviting. I sat on my bed for awhile staring out the window. 

“You need to rest,” a voice broke through the silence.

I knew I didn’t have to go out, but that I would regret it if I didn’t. I felt the same tugging away inside me that I have often felt through bouts of depression. With resolve, I voiced aloud, “Rest is one thing, but being depressed is another!” I got up, dressed for the outdoors and went for a walk.

Enjoying Numbness & Waiting on the Lord

“I haven’t a clue how my story will end, but that’s all right. When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, that’s when you discover the stars.” ~ Nancy Willard

December 10, 2010.

Day 3 -- I’m feeling quite worn out. Still have the cold. The honey-lemon concoction Judy recommended is certainly helping. It is delightfully addictive, too. I was awoken in the middle of the night (around 3 am) by Marlene knocking at my door. Fred and Marlene are the dear couple that live on the top floor.  They are around for support after the day staff go home and Fred helps with the maintenance of the house.  Apparently something triggered the sensors in the downstairs bathroom and the alarm went off. Darned if I heard it, though! I must have been in a very deep sleep!

When I finally rose this morning, I didn’t feel the least bit like being sociable. I felt crappy and exhausted. I did end up making the most of my day. I spent sometime working on the daily crossword over breakfast. Thankfully, the crossword puzzle had a Pavlov effect on my insides and put an end to my constipation! Devotions were good this morning. Now that I am done wiping up the honey and lemon that dripped down my shirt, I will write down the verses. That is after I mop up more of the drink I spilled by kicking the chair I was using as a footstool! Have I mentioned yet that I am slightly accident-prone?

“The wicked lie in wait for the righteous,

seeking their very lives;

but the Lord will not leave them in their power

or let them be condemned when brought to trial.

Wait for the Lord

and keep His way.

He will exalt you to inherit the land;

when the wicked are cut off, you will see it.”

~ Psalm 37:32-34

This was a great comfort. I feel as though this passage applies to me where I am right now. God has already made good this promise and has not left me “in [the wicked’s] power” or let me be condemned as I often am in that home.

Jocelyn and I had a chat about my “numbness.” As much as I am enjoying the indulgences of sleeping in, reading in a cozy nook, going for long walks in the fields and eating home cooked meals, I don’t particularly feel happy nor do I feel forlorn. It’s more of an indifferent contentment with the definitive question haunting me in the background.  “What am I doing here?” 

I have decided that everyday I go on my walks, I will be more ambitious. I stayed out longer today and covered much more terrain. I am still puzzled by those bizarre little grass pouches. Withered spikes stick out of them. I looked inside, it was as if someone had woven it with dry thread. This trivial mystery continues. I detoured from the path briefly because something caught my eye. It was a particular bush. All the leaves are gone revealing burgundy branches and twigs. I have never seen anything like it in all my life! One could almost believe that the twigs had been painted with a rich coat of French bordeau wine. this deep hue contrasted dramatically against the fresh dusting of snow on the ground.

There was another passage from the mornings devotions that lead me to the fields with even greater anticipation than the day before. I will transcribe that too now that the excitement of the alarm going off (AGAIN!) is over.

“Therefore I am now going to allure her;

I will lead her into the desert

and speak so tenderly to her.

There I will give her back her vineyards,

and will make the Valley of Achor (trouble) a door of hope.

There she will sing (respond) as in the days of her youth,

as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

‘In that day,’ declares the Lord,

‘you will call me “my husband”;

you will no longer call me “my master.”’

I will remove the name of Baals from her lips,

no longer will their names be invoked. (...)

I will betroth you to me forever;

I will betroth you in righteousness and justice,

in love and compassion.

I will betroth you in faithfulness,

and will acknowledge the Lord.”

~ Hosea 2:14-17; 19-20

There is power and promise in these words. All attempts are being made to distract me tonight! In the midst of copying this passage, I had to stop and read aloud excerpts of Ephesians to rebuke an enemy at my window. I may be numb, but the Holy Spirit keeps me alert. I know that I am well protected. Being called a “betrothed” and “allured into the desert” was so moving. I immediately thought of the deserted orchard that surrounds this blessed home. I remembered the wonderful romanced feeling I had experienced the day before; the longing and the calling. So, this afternoon I bundled up with haste to go meet my Lord. “Okay God,” I thought. “What do you want to show me? Here I am. I am trying to seek You to know Your will and I would like to sort this all out.” I reflected back to the passage in Psalm 37, but the only word that stuck out was wait. Sigh. Nothing stimulates the cheeks of this “flushing” bride than being told to wait! Oh Lord how long will I be disciplined in the virtue of patience before I am able to master it?! 

I kept walking down the hill when I heard chirping. I could see wee birds flitting and fluttering from branch to branch and tree to tree. I stood as still as could be. With every few moments passed, I stepped closer. My presence appeared to go unnoticed. In the cold dreary silence, I delighted in the sound of their chirping and the flapping of their wings. I couldn’t be sure if they were chickadees or sparrows. I watched as they systematically ducked to a foot of the tree, pecked and tugged at the grass with their beaks and unearthed fallen berries. From there, they darted up to the lofty branches where they nipped away at their treasures. Immediately my mind went to Jesus’ words on worry.

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single day to his life?”

~ Matthew 6:26 & 27

In the distance, I could hear the squaking of Canadian geese. Within a few seconds, lines of flapping black vees emerged through the trees soaring through the bleak sky, braving the chill wind and following their instincts to a new destination. I found myself staring up at an empty tree. The wee birds had flown away. I wondered if a stranger were to happen upon me gawking at that tree, if I would seem cute and charming in my innocent curiosity or if I would appear more queer and simple-minded. I chuckled at my self-effacing thought. I continued down the path getting further away from the farm house. I keep taking in the scenery with admiration and love at my Father’s handiwork. I have discovered that when I am surrounded by beauty, I tend to feel beautiful myself, as if God’s creation flatters my soul.

Yesterday, one of the residents mentioned having an encounter with a large dog who was wandering loose on her way to Terra Green houses. While walking down the path, through the withered corn fields, I also had a chance to meet the furry (fortunately friendly) German Shepherd named Polley. He froze at the bend as his bright eyes spotted me. I became keenly aware of its strong build as he bounded toward me. I felt the softness of his incredibly thick coat as it brushed against me. One quick whiff of my hand and he turned away and ran towards his approaching owner. A short pleasant middle-aged woman called out, 

“Good thing you didn’t have a dog or he’d go nuts.” 

Her name is Anita and she lives in a red brick house on a property that has been meticulously landscaped.  She had a direct but kind manner about her. She asked if I was new and where I was living. I felt a mixture of pride with a slight sting of shame as I responded. I introduced myself as one of the Drummond House women. She gave a knowing nod and maintained a neutral expression. It made me wonder what she was really thinking. She talked a little bit about the land, the neighbouring farmers and the new resident who doesn’t care for people walking on his land. She complemented me on having such nice teeth. Ha! Now that completely threw me! I am not going to describe my not-so-pearly whites except to say that I find they mar what is otherwise (as I am told and vainly think) a beautiful smile. She commented on the warmth of my hand when I took off my mitten to shaker hers and then went on her way recommending that I walk along the creek as it is such a pretty spot. I later discovered that this was a very true.

As can be expected, I thoroughly enjoyed my walk. Right now it is a necessity for me to venture further though this countryside everyday. After all, that’s what Elizabeth Bennet does whenever she stays somewhere new! I spent the rest of the day reading “Good Wives.” I have made excellent headway towards finishing it. There is a copy of “Pride & Prejudice” on the bookshelf in the tourette room which I plan on reading next. I had brief meeting with Jocelyn in her office before she returned home for the week-end. 

“You really are numb, aren’t you?” she smiled from across her desk.

“Yes, I am. But at least I have the awareness to know that I am in denial.” Sometimes I am so sarcastic, I cannot help myself. “I get why I’m here, but I don’t feel that I should be. I don’t see why I am deserving of all this blessing.” She shook her head at me adamantly.

“You are deserving to be here. It is no accident that you are in this place. No-one comes here by accident. This is an appointment by God.”

“I am just trying to figure out this whole process.”

With a comical groan she exclaimed, “Stop doing that!” She repeated the same instructions that Debra and Rachel had given me. “Just enjoy this time of rest. Enjoy the numbness. This is normal. Eventually you will hit your low point and crash. And it might take a few weeks, but don’t force it.”

I understand this concept theoretically, but not yet in application. The fact that Debra and Jocelyn say this to me with a knowing smile and a twinkle in their eye is just frustrating...because I don’t get it yet! So here I leave it: indefinitely enjoying my numbness and waiting on the Lord.