Well, I’ve missed my Food for Thought posts two weeks in a row now.  I’ve been in the studio recording the past two Fridays!  It’s grand fun, challenging, frustrating, exhilarating, and exhausting all at once.  I am collaborating on another cd with Gayla, and we’re nearly done the recording end of things.  I was blown away by a sweet young lady Gayla brought in to help with the background vocals.  Her name is Becka, she is 23, and blind.  And oh, what a voice!  Tomorrow I am going to Gayla’s church to help her with “special music.”  This is a challenge for me.  I am not a lover of church as we know it in North America.  So spending my Sunday morning away from my family in a Baptist church is not my favourite thing to do.  But I know it means a lot to her, so I will do it. 

“Life can be so good.  Life can be so hard.  Never knowing what each day will bring to where you are.”

 These are the first lines of the song I sang at my graduation.  “My Life is in Your Hands.”  Beautiful song.  I need to sing it again once in a while, just to remind myself.  Remind myself that I’m not in charge.  I have no control.  Only God does.  And to learn that is truly a beautiful thing.

The tensions around here are lessened.  I ended up being the one to break the ice.  Feelings have been discussed.  Irritations have been acknowledged.  Hands have been shaken.  Some of the issues that have come out are pretty much just plain ridiculous.  Still we choose to forgive.  We still intend to put in a fence.  I doubt I will ever feel completely comfortable with a social worker living two doors down.  They can see our back yard plainly.  So a privacy fence will make it pleasant around here again.  We’ll be able to really enjoy ourselves without the stress of being watched. 

So I choose to refocus.  I’m working at purging and deep cleaning every room in our house over the next couple of weeks.  It always takes longer than I plan, and then I get discouraged.  In fact, I was well on my way, before spring ever hit, to having the whole place spring cleaned.  But life happened, and cleaning and organizing took the back seat.  As a step of faith towards selling our other property and heading into some renovations here, I’m getting things ready. 

And I am thankful.  So blessed and thankful for the six people God has given me to live life with.  My kids and I have our moments of course - what family doesn’t - and I openly admit to them that I’m learning as much as they are.  My character still needs pruning.  And they forgive and keep loving me.  My husband continues to be totally devoted to me.  There are so many things in my life that are hard.  But there could many that are much worse. 

I’d rather put up with the difficulties I am personally walking through daily, if it means loving and being loved by these wonderful blessings in my life.  Even when it means stepping on glue sticks in the bathtub. 

Well, the sale of the other house has gone through.  At least I’m assuming it has.  It is not longer listed on MLS or the listing agent’s site.  Soooo, I guess we’re staying here.  Which is really hard.  But I guess we have no choice.  We could of course look into other houses, but they would have to be all that and then some to make it worth the loss of our beach. 

We need wisdom.  And grace.  And a quick sale of our mobile/lot in Mactaquac.  We do have someone interested in rent-to-own, but we really need the cash up front to be able to put up the fence and do some renos at this house. 

Yes, I am angry.  And hurt.  No, I do not think I’m not being a good Christian by feeling this way.  Even Jesus got angry.  So far, I don’t see that I’ve sinned in this situation, so I feel that right now I’m in good standing.  Please don’t preach at me right now.  I know all the same verses you do.  For likely about as long as you have.  I need to process, and pray, and let the Holy Spirit work His peace in me.  It won’t help if you start throwing Scripture verses or Christianese at me right now. 

Also, am I the only one who thinks that Social Services needs to revamp their obligation/anonymity policy?  I mean, if there is truly a very obvious case of abuse or neglect, and you’ve tried to talk to the parents, I can see wanting to be able to quietly report it.  But even the social worker who handled our case two years ago said that most of the time, the reports/accusations are unfounded.  So I think that number one, if a person feels obligated to report a situation they need to first be asked if they’ve spoken with the persons involved.  If they have, they proceed with the guarantee of anonymity, unless the accusations are found to be false, and then the identity is allowed to be given to the accusee.  I bet that would stop a lot of the “axe to grind” reporting that goes on.  In fact, our own social worker asked me if I knew of anyone who had/has any issues with me.  Yeah, I can think of a couple of people.  Not that I’ve really done anything.  They just can’t stand me.  Poor them. 

And, we really did see that house several years ago, and it was truly love at first site.  There has been lots of doubt over the past few days as we’ve investigated our options about the level of regret I might feel if we gave up our waterfrontage.  At this point, I feel like it would be nothing but blissful, sweet relief.  We still own our mobile/lot, and it’s the next best thing to waterfront, and we know and like the neighbours there.  So we could still have a “cottage”. 

We need wisdom.  And grace to walk this out in a way that only glorifies God.  Without doing or saying anything we’ll regret.

And without eating too much chocolate.

I’m sure many of you have seen the joke about the child that’s gone missing, everything is pandemonium as the search and rescue squad, police, etc have been called in.  Then someone calls the house, hears the commotion in the background when a child answers the phone, and asks what’s going on.  The child explains that the commotion is due to a search for a missing person.  The caller asks who they are looking for, and the child giggles “Me.”

That joke used to be funny.  I was funny before I was a mom.  It was funny before each of my kids has caused that sense of panic to stir up in you when they don’t answer and you can’t see them.  It was funny before Social Services investigated us because of an anonymous caller’s report that we are doing less than a good job with our children.  And it’s even less funny now that we are waiting with bated breath to see if the same call is going to be made a second time.

You see, one day about a month ago, I “lost” Eliana.  I’m not proud to admit how quickly panic set in, and even less proud of the reason WHY panic set it.  I was scared someone was going to find out, and report me.  Well, they did find out, and they almost reported me.  The story we’ve heard is that a conversation with another neighbour convinced them to not do it.  And what would they be reporting?  I found her.  In my basement, sound asleep under a bath towel.  After I looked downstairs three times.  I felt stupid.  Complete idiot.  But what’s worse is that apparently, making a mistake like that, at least in my life, almost guarantees a report to Social Services.

Social Services is the joke.  They are what’s funny, in a very pathetic sense.  They won’t help you continue therapy for an autistic child if you don’t go through public school.  They’re respite care causes more stress and work than the “respite” is worth.  And they certainly will not help fund something like, say a fence.  Oh no.  They’d rather invest their time and money into responding to anonymous reports AFTER the fact.  After they could have stepped in and helped the situation not occur in the first place.

I am essentially a prisoner in my house at the moment.  For six months in the past year, I blamed it on winter.  “Just wait until summer,” I said to myself over and over.  I can’t go outside, because I know I’m being watched.  I hate that feeling.  I KNOW I’m not doing anything wrong, but people don’t care.  They’ll report you anyway.  Because they can.

But now it’s not just the kids.  We’ve had some very insulting, hurtful and intense interactions with our immediate neighbours, and we are shell-shocked to say the least.  I am terrified to open the door lest the dog dash away on me and set one measly hair over the property line.  Let’s not mention the fact that these neighbours made a fuss of our dog.  Fed him, played with him, asked us to leave him out to be around them while we went to town and they worked in their yard.  Now, it’s screams of “Get the H*LL off my property, you D*MN dog!”  And in front of the kids no less. 

So, the house below?  We actually are investigating purchasing it.  It’s doubtful it will go through, and there is another offer in at present.  There were several conditions to be met, so we can only hope that some of them fail.  We hate the thought of leaving our beloved waterfront.  As of last night, we had figured if we put in a fence (not a cheap proposition, might I add) and convert the garage into a few bedrooms, the situation here will be livable, and better than that, attractive to us again.  However, tonight as we were headed to town, we saw a truck pull into the neighbour’s yard.  My husband knew right away who it was.  “Doggone.”  It’s a dog catcher.

I must really p*ss a lot of people off.  Because for many years now, there is SOMETHING like this going on pretty much constantly.

So right now, I need to figure out how to find joy in my days again.  This ain’t fun, people, and I need a break.  We are definitely not flush for funds right now, and the only suitable option for a fence is a six foot high minimum privacy fence.  We have no idea how we’ll ever afford it. 

God, we’re stuck.  Help!

I’m having an affair.  I found someone so much grander.  There are so many pros about the one I’m with now, but as most discover, after a few years, the cons being more apparent.

My new interest and I met about five years ago.  Every so often I drive by just to see if the attraction has diminished or grown.  Every time I fall more in love.

Please don’t judge me.  I know from all appearances I’ve got it made.  Never has there been one more perfect.  Or so the outsiders observe.  Things are never quite as idylic as they seem from afar.

Of course, I will show you a picture.  Just in case you are ever passing by and see us together, you’ll be informed and aware.

Somebody help me stop.

I’m sure it’s hurting my first love.

I’ve never been fickle before.

I don’t want anyone to get hurt.

I.AM.IN.LOVE.

Psalm 130

A Pilgrim Song

 1-2 Help, God—the bottom has fallen out of my life! Master, hear my cry for help!
   Listen hard! Open your ears!
      Listen to my cries for mercy.

 3-4 If you, God, kept records on wrongdoings,
      who would stand a chance?
   As it turns out, forgiveness is your habit,
      and that’s why you’re worshiped.

 5-6 I pray to God—my life a prayer—
      and wait for what he’ll say and do.
   My life’s on the line before God, my Lord,
      waiting and watching till morning,
      waiting and watching till morning.

 7-8 O Israel, wait and watch for God—
      with God’s arrival comes love,
      with God’s arrival comes generous redemption.
   No doubt about it—he’ll redeem Israel,
      buy back Israel from captivity to sin.

Bet that title caught your attention! 

Yesterday we took a road trip.  I know many people who don’t go very far in vehicles with young(ish) children because they have, well, young(ish) children.  Ours love road trips.  So off went.  We did have a destination, and in fact a goal, in mind.  We don’t have a dock, and had found an ad for some in Back Bay.  Yeah, it’s back there.  Behind St. George.  Along the ocean.  Beautiful and hidden it, is quaint and isolated.  Beautiful homes and run-down shacks dot the roadside, and we drew lots of stares in our Sprinter.  I’m sure it’s not every day a behemoth of a vehicle drives down the interwoven streets of Back Bay. 

So, we found the man selling the docks.  The kids picked flowers for me while Greg talked docks with the vendor.  Then we all got out, and oh my.  There was a perfect little beach!  We did some beach-combing and came home with a wonderful selection of treasures from the sea.  I’ve personally never seen so much sea glass on one small stretch of beach ever.  And we’ve done our fair share of beach-combing.  Anyway, we have sea anemones, clam and crab shells, lobster claws, and a whole lot of sea glass.  Perfect for display in a jar. 

And mange.  I keep forgetting to pass along a little story from this past Christmas.  Apparently, Mary failed in her attempts to keep the Baby Jesus away from sickly canines.  Although I have personally seen no reference to any dogs being present in the stable, it must have been so.  As far as Brett is concerned, Jesus could be found lying ”in the mange.” 

These are two great sites for making sure that things get reused and repurposed rather than just sent to the land-fill.  However, my frustration is growing with both sites.  I have spoken for several things, been in the middle of negotiating a pick-up time/date/location, and then I either get an email saying, sorry, the item is spoken for, or hear nothing for a few days and finally inquire as to what’s happening, and the item is gone.  VERY frustrating.  I would appreciate a courtesy email if things have changed, just to let me know, the item is taken.  I have refrained from sending nasty emails, but it would feel nice to be spiteful, just once.   Well, not really.  But….argh!

We do have water again, by the way.  Apparently a hose was left running, though the mystery remains as to which hose, how long, who turned it on, etc.  I know when the kids were out on Monday, so I’m a bit baffled by the whole thing.  Even if one of the kids had turned the hose on, it wasn’t on long enough to drain a well.  Anyway, I guess we’ll be watering our gardens from the river and rain barrels!