The Plan Changed)

The plan when I got home from work was to do some unpacking, cleaning, organizing and putting away while my dinner cooked in the oven.

It was blown out of the water within 15 minutes.

We seem to have the most sensitive smoke detector on the planet. Our dryer sets it off. And tonight, the oven set it off.

So, rather than have to fan the smoke detector every few minutes for the duration of my cooking, I loaded the food into a tupperware container, and headed for mom and dad's house. I borrowed mom's oven, and helped her mix up a batch of banana bread in the meantime.

Then, I came home, ate my dinner, and did some unpacking. I decided to allow myself to be okay with not making major progress tonight. I'll do a bit each night until it's done, and my bedroom is slowly coming together as well.

I followed the unpacking with a yoga video (something new I'm trying to help with the tight and sore muscles I seem to be continually developing from stress), some sit-ups and push-ups.

Then a nice shower.

And now I'm sitting propped on my new bed, planning to catch up on some reading, some emails, and maybe even some writing.

And go to bed early!

The plan changed, and it threw me into a bit of a panic, but it worked out alright in the end. I'm working on being flexible about things like this... On breathing, and letting the changes happen, without them stressing me out. In this case, I'm thankful that I could simply head for mom and dad's to finish cooking my supper, and, that even though things didn't happen in the order I would have preferred, they did work out relatively smoothly.

Tears of the Father

another challenging thought from Henri Nouwen...

The Tears of the Father

The father in the story of the prodigal son suffered much. He saw his younger son leave, knowing the disappointments, rejections and abuses facing him. He saw his older son become angry and bitter, and was unable to offer him affection and support. A large part of the father's life has been waiting. He could not force his younger son to come home or his older son to let go of his resentments. Only they themselves could take the initiative to return.

During these long years of waiting the father cried many tears and died many deaths. He was emptied out by suffering. But that emptiness had created a place of welcome for his sons when the time of their return came. We are called to become like that father.

Monday Morning

I'm pretty exhausted after the weekend.

I have a few thoughts about the wedding that I'll share later today perhaps.

I'm sitting here, thinking Monday morning thoughts.

Trying to figure out plans for the week.

Trying to discern whether or not participation in a few different events is going to be possible.

Reflecting on the fact that it's Stampede season again here in Calgary. And that I absolutely hate Stampede. And that I'm firmly convinced that the only good thing about Stampede is that I get to wear jeans to work every day for an entire week.

About how I don't mind dropping my roommate at the train in the mornings, but I find it rather nice on the occasional morning when I don't have to. I can leave the house later, and move at what is generally a more leisurely pace in the morning.

Thinking about scarves, and how certain ones are inextricably linked to moments of prayer. And how I'm wearing a particular one for that reason today.

Realizing that I'm going to have to buckle down and get to the unpacking and settling in earnest this week.

Wondering if the tensions at work have dissipated, or if they'll flair again this week.

Knowing that I'm behind on emails (if I owe you one, it's coming, I promise.)

Waiting for my heart to shift again.

Praying for rain to fall.

Longing for words to pray.

It's Monday morning again. And I'm thinking Monday morning thoughts.