Nearer, my God, to Thee

Until I began maternity leave, I worked part-time as an admin assistant for my home church. Typing, filing, organizing, formatting, and editing, may sound like death by paperwork but I was in my element. I couldn’t have been happier. My favourite time of the day was first thing in the morning as I’d begin preparing for office hours. With fingers flying over keys and emails whizzing out of my inbox, I’d open up YouTube and let my little computer fill the air with worship songs.

The musical notes would soak deep into my womb and the boys would respond with leaps and flips. With a belly morphing and bouncing, the three of us spent daily time in joyful praise and adoration of the one who gives life. One of the songs in particular caught my attention and I would play it over and over again, the melody lifting high in praise, my heart soaring alongside:

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Date Night: Rollerskating

Usually, I consider myself a pretty good skater. I grew up on the ice and spent a fair number of Saturday’s wheeling around the neighbourhood on a pair of inline rollerblades. So, finding myself wobbling around the rink, clutching at the sideboards, was a new experience for me.

A couple weeks ago, Andreas and I persuaded the grandparents to babysit our wee one (doesn’t take much to persuade them) and headed out on a date. We try to make date night a monthly occurrence and are always looking for fun, new ideas. That’s why I was so excited when we were given a Groupon for Christmas: two passes for an evening of rollerskating at Central City Arena in Surrey.

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Finding Laughter Amidst the Grief

When it comes to picking out a gravestone, some cemeteries only allow for markers so as not to disturb the natural appearance of the landscape. A marker is a flat headstone, compared to upright headstones which are called monuments. The price of our 20×12 baby sized marker was more than the funeral and came complete with a granite base, name, date, a five word epitaph and three emblems.

I’m twenty-three years old, I should not have to know this. But I do.

Last week we finally went to pick out a marker for Landon’s grave. For eight months his little plot of earth has been marked by a plastic slip of paper with his name and the occasional flower or stuffed bear.

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Decoupage Easter Eggs

As a child, the first signal of an approaching Easter was always the night that we’d get to dye eggs. The table would be set with glasses of brightly coloured water and a dozen, gleaming, hard boiled eggs would await each of us. We’d begin to dip and dunk the little white ovals, excitedly watching them transform before our very eyes. Our baskets would soon be filled with rainbow splashed, multi-hued masterpieces. Every year there was an egg we were proud of, an ugly egg that we hid behind the others, and at least one egg with a crack. Nestled in little woven baskets around the house, we would proudly leave our creations on display for the duration of the Easter season.

It’s been several years since I last decorated an egg, but now that I’ve got a little one of my own, it’s time to revive this time-honoured tradition. (Even if this year our baby Ali-gator doesn’t get to touch them.)

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