She's Here!

WoW!  Three months since my girl showed up on the scene.  Josh asks me every second day when I am going to post a new blog, but I have been reluctant to try and tackle this first post since Zoe's arrival.  I mean, HOW can I accurately reflect this new turn in the 'Journey of Joyce'?  Not to mention the fact that the first month to six weeks post-delivery is all a bit hazy.

Zoe; her name means 'life'...

Already I see Zoe could not be more aptly named.  I have always been amazed at the power of naming as far back as that recorded in Biblical times.  And I find this power of naming continues to be true as I learn more about the personality of my daughter - so full of life, so independent already, so stubborn like her *ahem* Dad (okay, okay, like her Mum too).

That sounds so weird - "MY" daughter.  Like she is a possession or something, or as if she belongs to me.  Although I suppose we do believe that to be true since we "gave her back" to God during her dedication ceremony a few weeks ago!  But then comes the understanding that this raising a child business is hard work - not something that can be done alone (at least not well).  Noper, no sirreee bob, no way Jose.  Raising Zoe requires God's guidance, and the support and help of family and friends...  Though I am so very grateful for the support of our two Corps, the struggle of being at a far distance from family and close friends has become even more pronounced now that Zoe has been thrown into the mix.

I struggle to articulate how life has changed since becoming a parent, until I realize;

"there are no words."  

The centre of our little world.

Words fail to describe the intensity of emotion I feel for this little person who grew inside of me and who catapulted into this big bad world in her own time and in her own way.  The girl who is already managing to cause us to do all of those things we said we would never do as parents - e.g. her clothes and her toys are slowly and steadily taking over all of our living space.

Totally cliche, but more notably, she has taken over a pretty big space in my heart as well. I feel fiercely protective of her, like a mama bear guarding her cub.  I feel inexplicable joy when she smiles at me, partially because she makes us work so hard for smiles;).  And I feel overwhelming love as I look at the peaceful version of her while rocking her to sleep.

Nothing profound friends, nothing new or earth shattering from this girl, except to say my daughter is here, and in the words of the Caper that I am:

"I loveS her!"

Getting Ready!

The last few weeks of pregnancy sure are interesting.  You acknowledge wholeheartedly - and probably tearfully - that the battle to get comfortable is most definitely lost.  Well-intentioned people comment on how big you are getting and that the baby must be big (if you've done the math,... it doesn't add up)!  And, it becomes very difficult for your every thought to not be consumed by anticipating meeting your baby for the very first time.

This idea of "being ready" is fascinating.  I mean - obviously - there are things that you need in order to 'be ready'.  Something for the baby to travel home in (car seat and outfit related), something for the baby to sleep in, something to contain the waste, just to name a few.  All of this energy and effort is invested in getting the baby room ready.  And yet...

And yet, I find the more "ready" the nursery gets, the less "ready" I feel for the arrival of this little bundle that will undoubtedly turn my whole world upside down!

Those who are already parents can mockingly laugh at those soon to be first time parents for the small details they are obsessing about, but let's be truthful.  This is like anything else in life - we're just trying to cope with the unknown by dealing with the known, those things we can control - like having a finished nursery with a completely inadequate supply of diapers, a ridiculous number of onesies, and shelves full of receiving blankets waiting to 'receive' this new life.

"Patience is a virtue" apparently, but difficult to master when you are
excitedly anticipating the arrival of a little one!

With the final item of furniture now set-up - the glider (sidebar:  I must tell you, this rocker is already the most comfortable place in the house for me to be)...  But I digress, as I sit in my rocker in the baby's room writing this, I realize that THIS is as ready as I will ever be, which is not at all ready.

SO - I just want to meet this baby!!!  (And based on the number and frequency of inquiries from family members and friends, I sense I am not alone in this).

Looking forward to sharing the good news in - I hope - the not-too-distant future.  And to my Bible scholar friends - please note the lower case spelling here, I am not implying "THE Good News", but still 'good news', right!?!?

Not comfortable.  

That is how I would define my entry into the final stretch of this pregnancy.  A friend shared a comic of a pregnant woman wearing a sign on her belly that read, "Eviction Notice: Get Out!  Love, Mom."  That is *exactly* how I feel (except I would sign it "Mum"... once a Brit, always a Brit)!

Each day that now passes with the baby still inside of me comes as a surprise.  I just expect him or her to show up literally every day - no real reason for this...  Yes, I still have a month-ish to go, but I just *feel* like it should be time.  And though now amusing, it certainly wasn't funny at the time when after 2 hours of trying to 'get comfortable' in bed the other night I woke up Josh to yell at him, "I HATE being pregnant!"  (Don't worry, I love the baby inside me, I am just ready for him/her to be outside of me).

I waddle. 

Yes, like a duck.  I can't pinpoint the exact moment that it happened - but it has happened.  Most times as I walk, I just try to forget, but there is the odd occasion where I am acutely aware of how hilarious I must look (at least by the number of blatant stares I receive as I am out and about).  Sidebar:  If they think I look funny when I walk-waddle, they should see me try to put on my shoes or zip up my coat.

I am obsessed with my body.

Not in a 'I am worried about stretch marks,' or 'I wish I hadn't gained *that* pound' kind of way, but in a, 'How is it even possible that my body can do this?!?!'  Seriously, the human body - and I will say in particular the FEMALE body - is incredible.  The fact that it can grow and readjust in order to carry another life within it seriously astounds me.  Whenever the baby is really moving or kicking, which is often, I literally stop what I am doing, pull my shirt up and stare at my stomach move around like a bouncy castle!  Disclaimer:  I typically limit this fascination to my own home or when others are not present!!!

The experience up to now continues to solidify my belief and amazement in God and the wonder of creation, and I have yet to meet this new life!  So,... I already anticipate long stretches of time lost to just staring at our baby doing absolutely nothing.

So, in summary: I am an uncomfortable duck that can't stop staring at my stomach...  All jokes aside, this journey of pregnancy has been quite an eye opener - and I am increasingly thinking about the next stop,... Motherhood!

New year... new baby,... new challenges.

The snow we wanted at Christmas finally came with the New Year!

Hard to believe that Christmas has come and gone as I sit here in early 2013.  Along with the new year comes the realization that within 7ish weeks, I'll be a mum!  Also - on a related note - comes the realization that within that same period of time, I will no longer be pregnant!!!  Don't get me wrong, I don't hate pregnancy, but I do recognize that I am NOT anything like that woman on "What to Expect When You Are Expecting" who has that constant pregnant glow, who still walks - not waddles - around with perfect make-up and stilettos, and who only has to give a gentle sneeze in order to deliver her child.

Me in my endless effort to get comfortable...

It is amazing the things that people warned me of, but that I couldn't fully comprehend until I'd experienced them for myself...  Such as the constant - and losing - battle of getting comfortable in the final trimester.  Or there are those things that no one told me about, but I can only deduce must be pregnancy related.  Like my  insanely chapped lips.  Josh has affectionately renamed my lips, 'razors'.  I can only attribute this new phenomenon to my night-time mouth breathing - aka just call me 'Snoring Monster'!  Which, let's be honest, other than the chapped lips has more implications for my husband than for me.

And, I know, I know, there are also those things that no one can prepare you for...  But let's just sidestep that *elephant in the room* for the moment!

A big surprise for me (and likely will be for those of you who know me) has been my loss of appetite.  Perhaps more shocking is my lack luster interest in food.  As a person who has traditionally adored food - this has come as probably one of the biggest surprises of all.  Food and eating has become purely functional - I know the baby needs it (and that I do), but much of the enjoyment has gone from it.  I have heartburn before I eat,... AND after I eat.  It seems unlike many expectant mums I have spoken with, I now have a much smaller appetite than pre-pregnant Joyce!  Even when I think I have sufficiently reduced quantities, it is always *too* much food.  Adding to my general and overall discomfort :D.

Now cold drinks on the other hand, I DO enjoy.  And this particular realization can be written up in the books.  After 5-6 years of the thought of a glass of ice cold milk being disgusting to me, these days,... nothing is more appealing! I feel like I could be one of the greatest advocates for the "Got milk?" advertising campaign, because I genuinely get hyped up at the thought of milk. [Insert pause here while I went & grabbed myself an ice cold glass of milk]. 

All of this to say, I am excited about entering into this next phase - this new year, new baby, new challenge!  And it did strike me last night that even though pregnancy isn't a complete walk in the park, I am pretty sure I will miss my baby giving me a little hoof,... or,... a BIG one.  But then, he or she will be too busy keeping me up all night for me to notice.

The First Snowfall - I am blessed!

As I sit here in our heavily decorated living room, I find it difficult to imagine what Christmas preparations and celebrations will be like next holiday season with a baby at the centre of it all!  Sidebar:  I should also point out that I sit here snugly wrapped in my Snoogle (a genius invention that others may know of as a body pillow designed specifically for pregnant women)!  Best.early.birthday.present.ever.

My 3 current faves: Snoogle, cozy CB throw & hot apple chai!

And I feel especially reflective this morning as I look out at our first snowfall of the 2012-13 winter season here on Cape Breton and think back over the last 4 Christmases.  I can hardly believe how my life - and my locations - have changed.  I've lived in Goderich, ON - in Winnipeg, MB - and now Glace Bay, NS.  I've resided in my family home, a condo, and now my own house.  I've been a planner, a student / cadet, and am now an officer.  I've been single, married, and now pregnant...

Our first snowfall has arrived...  YEAH!

It was only 4 years ago when I became a senior soldier in The Salvation Army that my life really began to change.  And it has just caused me to pause - to take a breath this morning as the sky has gone from to dark to light (with Josh at the gym, I have a quiet moment to do that:)...  I am blessed.

In the busyness of this Christmas season, I will confess to you I have had moments of feeling overwhelmed, and I'll admit, being a bit melancholy.  To be thousands of kilometres from family and friends as I experience this journey of pregnancy and upcoming motherhood without being surrounded by those I love is sometimes tough, combined with extremely long days, difficulty sleeping, blah, blah, blah.

Whine over.  Because it is then, in those low moments, that the baby gives me a significant 'hoof' (far more than a kick) reminding me of the miracle of life growing inside me.  Or Josh shows up with yet another Christmas surprise (how the man can find ways to surprise me when we share a vehicle and work together is beyond me)!  Or, we receive a note of encouragement from someone to say thanks for our hard work in the community.  God seems to give me these subtle - and not so gentle - reminders that He is here with me, that life is actually pretty wonderful in all of its messiness and chaos and disorder.

Within the imperfection of your own life - as I will hazard a guess I am not alone in that - can you find blessing this Christmas?  My prayer this morning is that you experience the fullness of His joy this holiday season!

Christmas at the Downers!

Shop until you drop....

For those of you who knew me in my previous employment, you will know that I was a bit of a clothes horse.  My weakness: Coats...  Shoes....  Purses...  Most accessories.  Okay, I really loved *all* items of clothing.  Thankfully, something changed in me when I became a Salvation Army soldier, and though I still appreciate clothing, my passionate love did diminish, and the majority of my wardrobe now consists of very functional uniform items.

Though I always enjoyed new clothes, interestingly, I was never a big shopper.  I was never one of those girls who enjoyed hours at the mall, or just went from store to store to kill time.  The desire for shopping became even less prominent when the justification for new clothes - and my budget - didn't allow for it.  So I can tell you that with pregnancy, my interest in shopping has been even further diminished...

For any boy blog followers who get awkward at the discussion of changes to a woman's pregnant body, might I suggest you stop reading ... now.

So, Cape Breton is a beautiful island, but I wouldn't say it is known for being the hub of shopping activity.  Don't get me wrong, to date, I have lacked nothing (except the occasional treat from Starbucks).  Everything I have needed, I can find.  Until now...  You see, pregnancy means that 'certain parts' of your body grow...  Resulting in the need for some new basic wardrobe items.

With my mother-in-law visiting, her and I decided to brave the mall in search of a few necessities.  I was shocked to discover after visiting every single clothing store in the mall, including a number of anchor department stores, we found ourselves empty handed and discouraged.  Not a single maternity item to be found...  I can't seriously be the only pregnant woman on the island who needs  something to wear!?!?!

We eventually found ourselves pulling into Wal-Mart, which apparently houses the sole maternity section in the area.  And I use the term "section" fairly loosely since it consisted of literally 2 small racks of clothing: one, included a sweater Josh had already bought for me, and the other, panty hose for pregnant ladies (which I must confess hadn't entered my mind until that very moment, but is PURE GENIUS!).

Actually NOT a maternity shirt, but an old faithful of mine that someone once told me I looked pregnant in when I wore it!!!

This particular excursion did nothing for my dislike of shopping (nothing against the company I should clarify)!  But it did make me MOST grateful to my sister-in-law who does have a love of shopping and who generously shared her entire maternity wardrobe from two pregnancies with me.  The best of every world for me - it feels like a new wardrobe every time I open my closet, without the hassle of shopping, and for a budget price of,... $0!

FYI - I will post an update of me in my maternity uniform when it arrives, 'cos not gonna lie folks, the old tunic is getting "pretty snug":).

Surprise!

So,... there have been some surprises as I continue to make my way through this pregnancy (which I know is no surprise to many of you)!  Warning to Readers: if you are expecting a BIG surprise like an announcement of twins or something, I suggest you stop reading here - because you will be disappointed friends!?!?!

Stamina & Endurance:  Let me set the scene for you.  On our day off last week - where we were surprisingly experiencing some sunshine - Josh and I took someone's advice to check out a scenic view of lovely Cape Breton, and decided to go for a short, little hike up Ben Eion (a mere 2.5km loop).  Now, in fairness, it is pretty much straight up for the first 1.25km, but still...  I am not lying to you when I tell you that it was one of the poorest showings I have EVER had when it comes to physical activity.  Barely 300 feet up and I felt my lungs burning, every breath felt like searing pain, and I was sure my heart was going to pound its way out right through my rib cage.

So, even though I realized it was probably time for a short break, I was embarrassed to admit to Josh that I needed to stop.  A far cry from our pre-dating runs together!  I kept saying to Josh, "I think something is wrong with me," and he'd respond, "nothing is *wrong* with you Joyce, you're pregnant!!!"  Well, I am happy to report we did survive the walk, and thanks to an Orange Julius gift card from a friend, we also celebrated my 'success' with a mango madness smoothie:).

I also felt somewhat relieved when reading my info pack from the Health Unit later that day which informed me at this point in my pregnancy, my heart is pumping approximately 20% more blood than usual.  THERE IT IS!  The explanation, aka excuse, I was looking for.

Heartburn: not so much a surprise, but for some odd reason I had decided I wasn't going to have heartburn (for no good or logical reason I might add).  I guess because everyone told me once the 'morning sickness' - I use that term loosely - ends, then comes the heartburn.  I sort of assumed since the sickness has yet to end, the heartburn wouldn't happen.  Wrong assumption.  A strange sensation for a person who formerly had a stomach of steel that could handle just about anything!

Attention: There is no other way to say it.  I am not a person who typically enjoys attention.  I enjoy interaction with people, but too much attention on me makes me self-conscious and uncomfortable.  And yet, there is something special about knowing how much this baby is already loved so much by the people around me; the way my church family is so concerned about how I am feeling; and, how everyone is checking in to make sure that I am taking care of "their little Cape Bretoner"!  It is quite endearing:).  Don't get me wrong, I still don't need the attention, but there can be no doubt that this child is already very loved, and that is a-ok by this gal!


Mushy moment:  Thanks to all who have checked in recently - sickness aside, all is well.  And I'm looking forward to many, many more surprises in the future!

The New Journey of Pregnancy

This "Joyce's Journey" blog began two summers ago when I spent my summer assignment in Gander, NL.  The beginning of my journey as an officer, a married woman and a Cape Bretoner went relatively unrecorded as I seemed too occupied actually figuring out what all of that meant...

But I realize as I enter into this newest journey of momma-to-be, as a pregnant lady, that I may regret not taking note of some of the surprises and excitement that come along with being a human incubator.  So - here I am - 15 weeks in, ready to share with you some of the "joys" of carrying a growing baby in my womb!

Milk.  Nope, a bit premature to be speaking of breast milk at this stage of the game (and potentially awkward), but relax friends, I am talking about cow's milk!  A number of years ago I gave up cow's milk and all related products entirely, and for a number of years since, heavily minimized my dairy intake.  I tell people I've experienced no cravings, but the truth is, I'm a changed woman when it comes to milk. All of a sudden, I can't get enough of the stuff!  I want cereal, I drink ice, cold glasses of it - well, I should clarify, I haven't turned around THAT much, I stick with the chocolate variety.  I crave cheese & crackers - nothing fancy here, straight up saltines (minus the salt) and cheddar.  It has been an interesting turn of events for someone who until recently couldn't stomach the thought of it.

Ice cold.  I cannot describe to you the new emphasis I place on ICE.  I go through trays of it a day.  Pretty much every drink I get requires a refilling of the ice cube tray, and a cloth to wipe up the water spilled while carrying the tray to the freezer (noper, the clumsiness is not something that I have lost sadly).  The icey cold drink seems to be the only thing that satisfies my thirst, except for the times it makes me sick.  But that doesn't stop me friends, because the truth is, *everything* makes me sick.

Puke.  Yep, I said it.  I used the faux pas, unattractive, perhaps even slightly vulgar sounding word.  But when you've thrown up as much as I have in the last 90 days, I figure I've earned the right to say it.  This is not to scare those of you potential parents, because apparently a large number of expectant women do not experience this particular symptom.  I, however, am NOT one of those women!  I am grateful to know that this doesn't mean something is wrong with me (thanks Mum & sis for putting my mind at ease that this is 'normal' for us)...  But let me tell you, life got a *whole* lot easier when the word of my pregnancy was out and I didn't have to try and explain my countless washroom trips.

Weight Gain.  Something I have yet to explain away due to pregnancy, though many have "graciously" told me that they knew I was pregnant because of my weight gain.  I can assure you friends, that - to date - not a single pound has been added to the scale because of my pregnancy.  Weight redistribution - absolutely.  Did my body know that I would not be able to keep food down for two months after learning of my pregnancy?  Absolutely.  So I am grateful for those cushion pounds that were gained in ADVANCE of my pregnancy (*extra* big thanks to the Allure of the Seas cruise & Northern Ireland for that particular privilege)!!!

Rollercoaster.  Of the emotional variety.  Yep, I am textbook hormonal.  I officially cry at the  most ridiculous and mundane things.  The other day, I accidentally whacked Josh smack across the face with my elbow.  I often respond to these situations with awkward laughter when I feel really badly or see someone get hurt.  What made this extra interesting was when my laughter turned to hysterical crying because I was so sorry I had hurt him.  I knew my reaction was perhaps excessive by the expression on Josh's face - the poor guy was pretty confident he shouldn't make fun of me in that moment, but wasn't entirely sure how to react to my complete switch from laughter to full-out, inconsolable weeping.  Good times.

But all things considered, it is good times.  Life will soon forever be changed people keep telling me, but my life has rarely had any 'sameness' to it anyway...  And, like with most change, I recognize there is only so much I can do to prepare for it.  So in the meantime, I am eagerly expectant - looking forward to this continuation of the journey of my life, and the beginning of the miracle of new life!!!

A Tribute to Joyce "Sr." - My Granny

With almost a year since my last post, it seemed to require my grandmother's passing to inspire a revival of the "Journey of Joyce" blog.

Yes, this blog post is in honour of Joyce Wilson.  I was her namesake, she - my paternal grandmother.  "Granny" as we Wilson kids affectionately called her.  Granny - a widow of almost 30 years who until the last half decade or so remained fiercely independent, living alone in her lovely rural cottage of 'Ashley'.  It was only when the ugly disease of Alzheimer's took a grip over her that she lost some of that independence. Particularly cruel when my Gran could previously recall - and grill you - on specific details from a trans-Atlantic telephone conversation held 6 months earlier.

Her best friend, pseudo-sister & sister-in-law, Florence.  

Though she spent most of her adult life in Britain, Granny was proudly born a Canadian, and she enjoyed adventure on the oil fields of Trinidad in her younger years.  Joyce lived an exciting life, a far cry from her final decades spent in a small village where her property backed onto rolling hills and sheep pasture.  A time in her quiet and peaceful later years where adventure amounted to a trip to the 'Horse & Jockey' a hundred yards up the road, or into Wem for the weekly groceries, mass, or to have her hair set.

The backyard view from 'Ashley'

So as a tweenager full of attitude, I must confess to you that the summer my sis and I spent in the U.K., we would have to break up our time at 'Ashley' for the bright lights and action of the big city of B'ham!  But with some distance of miles (i.e., thousands) and time (i.e., two decades) - I look back increasingly fondly on the bond that was formed with 'our Gran' during that summer and those genteel times that we shared.

Take the weekly grocery shop - a 3+ hour affair where shoppers and staff alike would make way for the woman who would hand-pick one-by-one each potato to ensure the perfect roast potato for Sunday dinner.  For those of you who have tasted my roasties, they pale in comparison to Gran's!  In fact, Gran's Sunday dinners were - and I will dare to suggest will forever remain - unparalleled, with preparation beginning before dawn (we would go to Saturday night mass so Sunday morning could be left open for intense cooking).  She taught me much about the art of cooking and baking... tips and skills I still use today.  

No Granny-quality meal, but we did our best:).

And oh,... her lemon cake,...  Every ingredient measured to the 1/2 teaspoon, with a ruler never far away to ensure precisely equal pieces.  Speaking of measuring, grocery store trips had my Gran arriving with supplies in hand, including empty pop bottles marked with permanent marker showing the level where they had been filled to.  Why you might ask?  OF COURSE to ensure we weren't being 'taken' between purchases with a lesser amount of liquid in the bottle.


Sunday dinners promised an afternoon walk around Colemere Lake, (where Louise and I would giggle like little girls as Granny apologized for her 'broccoli toots'), and also when we could anxiously anticipate deliciously creative meals made from leftovers on Monday night.  Don't get me wrong, Gran amounted to much more than her impeccable cooking abilities, but her character, her love for things being done well and properly, and her love for family was often demonstrated in this tangible way.  

One of my last visits to 'Ashley' with the  infamous driveway gravel.

Though in her later years it was difficult to see Granny's sharp mind in decline, it did offer us opportunity to experience her softer side.  To see her gush & giggle at the sight or mention of a baby.  The arrival of her first great-grandchild, my niece, gave her unparalleled joy - and I remember her being in awe of Becs picking up one piece of gravel at a time off of Ashley's driveway and dropping it onto the lawn.  She would smile from the window as she watched us build daisy chain crowns in the garden. 

It is these memories that flood to mind as I grieve the loss of my Granny and as I celebrate a wonderful life lived.  And while I am thankful for these memories, I am more thankful of God's promise that Joyce - my Gran - is in her eternal home with her Maker and her Saviour.  Of the promise that I, too, will one day join her in my Heavenly home.  Are you confident this day of the promise of your eternal home?

Joyce (Sr.) and Joyce (Jr.) - My Gran

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going” (John 14:1-4).

Love via 'Today's Temp'!

"Love will hold us together" - a beautiful song by Matt Maher.

This song got me to thinking about what it is that holds people and relationships together amidst physical distance, despite trials and misunderstandings, even with huge differences of opinion.  I think this thought of how love holds my most important relationships together has been on my mind as I continue to settle into my new home and community of Glace Bay, Nova Scotia.  Friendships and family relationships have - once again - been altered as a result of me beginning this new chapter of my life in marriage and in ministry...  And I am discovering - once again - that they remain solid and strong.  

Why?

The best way for me to describe *why* is with a story...  Half of my family now live in the United Kingdom, and other than my parents, all of us live in different communities across Canada and England.  In addition, it seems to be a regular occurrence for one or more of us to be "on the move" - travelling to some new destination.  So how is it possible for us to keep in touch when we are land masses, oceans, and time zones apart?  Well, the answer comes in a thermometer.

What?

A thermometer you ask?...  It's really quite simple...  Every few days, my Dad sends an email to all us entitled, "Today's Temp".  And included in this email is an image - a screen shot - of the thermometer that most of us have on the home page of our laptops.  What makes these particular images special is that they include the temperature for every community that the 'Wilsons' represent.  The temperature is overlaid on a picture of the weather - whether it is sunny or cloudy, day or night, raining, snowing or clear skies.  His email often has only the attached image accompanied by a lone sentence, such as the most recent, "Cloudy Glace Bay ousts all for top spot.  Dad."  And that is it.  That is the full extent of it.

How?

You might be thinking...How does this represent "love holding us together?"  Well, that simple image with a one-liner is enough to stimulate discussion, a bouncing off point for conversation between family members that keeps us up-to-date with what is happening in one another's lives!  It is like we get a sneak peek into what is going on, a picture of the places we all are - we can imagine more vividly what people are up to, even whether they are enjoying sunshine or chilly temperatures that day!  My brother may reply to tell us he is at Edmonton airport on his way to a Nunavut gold mine, or to discuss his latest renovation project.  Pooch may share a recent work debacle that leaves us all chuckling.  Or my sis, a funny story to share from one of the kids.  Whatever the news, it is shared across the miles and it begins over something as simple as a thermometer.


Love holds us together via a thermometer.  This is not to suggest that the love between my family is tentative or at risk, quite the opposite.  More that it takes very little to maintain relationships that are built on the foundation of love.  Countless other examples exist of how you - my friends - retain connections with those who mean the most to you in spite of distance and disagreements and differences, whether it is BBM, or facebook, skyping, or a pair of 8 1/2 Steve Madden shoes in the mail.  

Thank you to those who adapt and adjust to our ever-changing lives and allow love to hold us together.  (As a sidebar, who knows where these family 'today's temp' emails are headed with Dad's recent addition of a comparison between pounds sterling and the Canadian dollar!)


PS Check out the song if you don't already know it:
Matt Maher's 'Love will hold us together'

Stories.

I *heart* stories.  All stories, but especially real life ones.  I love hearing funny stories, stories of depth and redemption, stories of grace, or tales of adventure. From a very young age, I have loved stories.  Whether it was listening to my parents reading me a bedtime story, thinking I had fooled my Dad to let me stay up late while he told me a story, drinking tea with my Gran while she told me of her time in Trinidad, or laying under my blankets with a flashlight in the early hours of the morning because I was totally enthralled in the story I was reading.  I used to say to a good friend of mine, "Tell me a story."  Because,... you see,... there is nothing that I love more than sitting around with a friend discussing some story that brings both tears to my eyes and laughter that bubbles up from my gut.

So, with only a day left before I complete my last course at CFOT, I find myself glad that it is a 'Human Diversity' class we are ending with.  It is some intense stuff in this intensive, and although I feel emotionally drained, I have been in my element because,... it is ALL about the stories!  We have heard or read of the stories of the experience of aboriginal people in Canada, we have heard from recent arrivals to Canada who came from a refugee camp in Uganda, we have heard the stories of children who attended residential schools, the stories of those who are discriminated against because of their sexual identity or orientation.  And I have changed because of the POWER of personal stories.


So, if there is anything I have learned or can take away from this week, it is the importance of continuing to tell the story - to never forget where we came from, to understand and respect our differences in order to look ahead to the future.  And the only way for us to maintain history or remember events is to actually listen to people's stories - to 'really' hear what they are saying, and allow these stories to change us from the inside out.

I leave you with this question, "What's your story today?"

(First) Two Grey Hairs

Well, the inevitable has happened...  I officially have two grey hairs - not faded out from colouring, not sun-kissed, but actual grey hair!  And they are strategically placed that a number of people have found the need to tell me that I do.  My response?  A polite, "yes, I am aware."


But here is the thing.  I actually don't care.  I imagined that I would mind, but I haven't found it upsetting or traumatizing in any way.  And that was actually the biggest surprise of all - that the event passed by without tears or drama - that it was genuinely a non-issue for me.  Because I totally thought it would be.


WHY did I think I would be bothered to find grey hair?

(1)  I dye my hair.  I assumed in recent years that I was doing it in anticipation of grey hair.  It turns out it is nothing to do with that and more because of a snooty girl from church camp a decade & a half ago who told me my hair was mousy brown...  I've never forgotten that (so, sidebar: remember kids - words can hurt!); but, over time, I realize that Ms. Beautiful Chestnut Brown Hair had her own insecurities - and the 'mousy brown' comment was really compensating for that.


(2)  I used to say marks didn't matter,... until I got my first bad grade.  Turned out it did matter a little bit, so I had to work through that until I can now return to my original claim, "it isn't about the grade, but about what I have learned."


(3)  I was seriously traumatized in anticipation of two milestone birthdays - 25 & 30.  Wasn't sure how I would cope on the actual day as I was certain I was nowhere close to that age.  Then they happened,... and I can now say age is only a number (marrying someone 7 years my junior to help that thought process along)!?!?

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In summary, the grey hair is perhaps where this perspective and wisdom comes from - and if that is the case, I wouldn't trade one grey hair for an entire head of beautiful chestnut locks.  Like Samson, perhaps my strength is in my hair - and so to remove or cover these hairs would be to not acknowledge that with those 2 grey hairs comes all of my life's experiences (good & bad, sad & happy).  


I've loved my life thus far, but I have no desire to turn back the clock and return to those younger days.  I am happy exactly where I am... right now... two grey hairs & all.


 Thoughts?

The Simple Pleasures

Today, I finally caved and threw away my iron...  You see, somehow I got these weird burn streaks on the base of my iron that rubbed off onto the front collar of one of my white uniform shirts - ruining it for future wear :(.  So, tonight, I opened up the box holding a brand new iron (Sidebar 1: the iron that Josh bought prior to coming to Training College though yet to be used until tonight).  And while I blasted out my favourite tunes on my iPod and danced around in one spot, I ironed all of my uniform shirts.  One after the other, I watched the shirts go from wrinkled and slightly disheveled to a lovely, smooth pressed shirt.  Call me crazy, but there was some strange satisfaction in this monotonous act.

A simple pleasure.

And this got me to thinking, I have enjoyed a number of simple pleasures in the last week or 10 days:

- a half price, grande, extra hot, soy Tazo Chai Tea Latte from Starbucks (ok, perhaps not quite so simple)...
- a phone call with an old friend
- french toast made with Newfoundland homemade white bread and pure maple syrup (I just drooled on my keyboard a little)
- a skype chat with my Dad
- a package from Mum with a short note, new black socks and Granny underpants (honestly love that you keep me in full supply Mum)!
- early morning devotions with a cup of tea and ... absolute quiet...
- the feeling of mastering a simple song on the piano (even if it still is only with one hand)
- a late afternoon nap under my colourful rag quilt
- an 'I love you' from Josh for no particular reason
- you get where I am going with this I think...

The simple pleasures.

When my family lived in North Wales, I was 11 or 12 years old and I got my first job... a paper route.  This paper route offered borderline slave wages.  I made just over 2 pounds ($4CDN) to deliver 218 newspapers every week.  Though I would receive a *bonus* if flyers came in, my brothers would always charge me if I got their help, so no matter what, I seemed to end up with approx. $4 spending money.  Let me tell you, it was hard-earned money.  Mostly because the UK's reputation for constantly raining is true,... and I would often come home almost floating and at least 15lbs heavier from my clothes being completely water-logged.

BUT - and this is a *BIG* butt (ha ha - yes, go ahead and make the bum jokes now if you must).  Sorry, sidebar:  BUT - the thing was, I was sooo proud of my meager earnings, and I would somehow manage to stretch them to have them go such a long way.  I would happily skip a mile down the road to the Spar (the local small market/corner store) and buy myself a 33p ($0.66) pop - it was called a Supercan.  And honestly, you would've thought I had come into big money the way I was so happy with my purchase.  Maybe I would get a little snack if the money was burning a hole in my jean pocket, but honestly, to me, nothing could've brought more of a skip into my step than being able to pick up a few treats for my family and for me to enjoy my Supercan of pop on the long journey uphill back to the house.  Dad still brings up the 'Supercan' on occasion.

A simple pleasure.

We live in a world that seems so concerned with "bigger is always better".  New York City was built on a principle of *trumping* whatever had come before.  But here is what I am pondering tonight after baking some basic biscuits and finishing my ironing.  Life can be *so* good when we allow ourselves to enjoy the simple pleasures: to totally - and without guilt or shame - admit that we enjoy the simple, the inexpensive, the uncomplicated, the un-busy.  To say that "life is *so* good."  I believe this is what God intended for our lives - not always perhaps, but that we take time to enjoy those simple things...

 Whatever that 'Simple Pleasure' is for you, whether crawling under the covers early one night to read your favourite book, to put on a movie classic, to take your children to the park, to go for a walk on a cool evening...  Whatever that 'Simple Pleasure' is, I encourage you to make the time, to let the feeling of joy and absolute peace & contentment overwhelm you, to quiet your heart enough to drown out all of the sounds of chaos around you.  Even if it is something as silly as ironing or going to buy and drink a Supercan of pop...

What are your simple pleasures today?

The Sounds of Christmas

“We wish you a Merry Christmas!  

We wish you a Merry Christmas!

We wish you a Merry Christmas, 

And a Happy New Year!”

This was the melody drifting across the parking lot on the final shopping Saturday before Christmas.  I happen to be in balmy Abbotsford, B.C., but the sound of a Salvation Army brass ensemble could be heard in any number of communities across this expansive country.  As this collection of young and…. not so young… folks play common Christmas carols to all who pass by – – I witness something fascinating.  (Sidebar: the benefit of not growing up Army or playing an instrument was that I could stand beside the kettle and watch this wonderful moment unfold).

You see, with every musical note that bounces between the snowflakes and floats between the dashing people, the cars and the shopping carts, I watch an interesting phenomenon begin to take place….  Ready for it?

People smile.   

People are smiling.

We aren’t just talking about hiding a shy grin, but literal ear-to-ear, almost laughing, hurts-the-cheeks, tooth-filled smiles!  The simple sound of Christmas carols played on brass instruments while they are walking into a store, and I see before my very eyes people’s hearts turning to mush; they can’t even contain their happiness.  Their smile is giving them away.  The normally intensely stressed faces of those with too much to do and too little time, for those who have been fighting the crowds for weeks, I see them actually pause long enough to listen to a few bars, to pull out some change or small bills to pop into the kettle before heading about their business.  But this time, something is different.  They go about their day with a smile on their face!

Because I am not a ‘band geek’, I may never *fully* get it.  But this morning, I felt I got it as much as I ever will.  I felt I understood why these bandsmen and women were so committed and willing to sacrifice their last shopping Saturday before Christmas to play some tunes for strangers.  I got to see the gift of hope and of Christmas that was being offered through music, and how freely it was accepted by the passers-by!

So too is the gift of salvation through Jesus free:).  I think as God listens to the sounds of the band, and as he watches the shoppers’ smiling faces, he is saying to all of us, “Now THIS is the way I want you to celebrate my Son’s birthday!  Enjoy the sounds of Christmas my children!”

So,... in the words of one converted Ebenezer Scrooge and Andrea Bocelli, “God bless us everyone!”

Not Gander, NL.... but the beginning of a new & exciting adventure:)

I have been encouraged to continue blogging 'Joyce's Journey' even though the Gander leg of the journey is currently complete... Oh, twist my rubber arm why don't you!?!?! Especially since there is certainly much to tell following my departure mid/late August from the very unique culture and hospitable environment that is Newfoundland. Miss all you Ganderites BTW:(.

Most notable on the news front is my engagement to the 'other J' - the one, the only, Joshua C. Downer.

Sidebar 1: if his dreams come true - this is the same Josh who will one day be General Downer (a future world leader of The Salvation Army for all you non-Salvationists out there who are wondering what on earth I am rambling on about). And yes, for all of you 'I told you so's' out there, it *is* the very same Josh who I perhaps protested just a little too much was (and always would be) 'just a friend' and was - let me quote here - "like a little brother to me." Turns out God had other plans!

  Sidebar 2: I think it is important that I clear up any confusion here that it *is* a different kind of love that I have for Josh than I do for my lil' bros Paul and Mark.

For those of you who received the news by seeing it plastered all over facebook, let me tell you that... I blame Josh (lol). I blame Josh because of the 125 people he told in advance that he was going to propose to me on that specific day (turns out he tells people things when he is excited)!!! Josh had to quickly get the word out that night before we left and went camping with my family where we would be without access to the internet for days. Thus, everyone who he had told would be left hanging wondering if I had said yes!?!? Oh, so to not leave you hanging, I did say YES.

I've heard the comment that it came as a bit of a shock to some because it seemed to happen so fast, and I take a page out of Ma & Pa Wilson's book on that one: "When you know, you know." Life is too short - I am learning that we shouldn't waste a single, precious minute on this earth! Josh taught me that,... continues to teach me that.

But regardless of the details of how we got together, none of that stuff would've mattered if this wasn't what I believe to be "a match made in Heaven". Am I perfect? I think we all know the answer to that question.... Is he perfect? Please refer to previous statement. Are we perfect as a couple? Ummm! However, I do believe we *are* perfect for one another. We are like peanut butter and jam, like peas and carrots (?!?!), like ketchup and mustard (don't worry Josh, I will be the mustard)!!!

What's the story of the engagement? Well, you'll have to wait for a future blog post to hear that one, but the real story - the important story - is:

I LOVE HIM. Plain & simple. And I thank God for him every day.

Okay, enough mushiness from me - just wanted to put it out there that I am still alive and kickin', that I am excited about my final year of training, but more than that, I can't wait to see what God has in store for Josh and my life together in marriage and in ministry - M+M.