leap day blackout and dream homes

I remember the thrill of the power going off in my childhood home. We lived on a farm in the country. Blackouts occurred during thunder or winter storms. I liked them best when they happened in the evening. Then the whole house fell silent, and Mom and Dad would get out the kerosene lanterns and candle sticks, and I would start imagining I was Laura in Little House on the Prairie. Going to bed by candlelight was especially thrilling.

So when the power went out today from 2:15pm until 6:15pm today, I knew my kids would love it. Zoe raced out of school, thrilled that the lights had been out for the last hour of school. I took the long way home to avoid the traffic lights, which were out too. The girls giggled all the way, planning the fun things they were going to do now that the power was out.

Why is there this thrill about having the power out?

It seems to make life, or our choices, more simple. It certainly limits them. Shegofa compared it to Afghanistan, where they have electricity in only the rich areas of the city. In other areas, they have power one day, then none the next.

But we depend on it for our food. Sure, for today we could eat sandwiches and things from our powered-off fridge, but heating things up? There's no appliance in our house that could do that - well, maybe the barbeque. And heat? Our gas fireplace in the basement would still work, but that's it.

The winter stew I had planned for supper would have to wait for another evening. Tonight it would be take-out from a grocery store across town that still had power. The table was set with candles and an oil lantern. But just minutes before we sat down, the power came back on, and with it, the buzz of the fridge and the hum of the furnace and the warm air filling the room, and a feeling of warmth. We would not have to shiver under covers tonight.

But in how many homes in our world do they shiver every night? I'm so conscious of this right now. We're in the midst of house-hunting. This time feels much different than when we bought our first house 6 years ago. For this one, it feels like we're playing for keeps. Which puts the pressure on in a different way too. We've had two disappointments - one just this past Monday - where we've put in offers and they've fallen through. Because we're competitive, when someone ELSE gets the house, it seems even better than what we had initially thought. Then we REALLY want it. But I keep thinking of Shegofa's family in Afghanistan - where they have no heat at night, and their winter has been much worse than ours. Where they don't have electricity. Where they haven't ever shopped for their dream home, but just a home. So then I feel selfish for wanting a nicer home.

What does your dream home look like? Mine has a hearth, of course. And space to host others (which our present home seriously lacks). And some older elements. And some natural elements. And a maid.

And you?

holding the wild: chickadee magic

I have found my new winter love (thanks to a dear friend): feeding chickadees from the palms of our hands. For several summers now, we have loved finding monarch caterpillars and watching them transform to butterflies. Well, this is our way to connect with nature's wild in the cold of winter.

I had heard about this before, but this was my first time doing it: standing frozen still, waiting for a chickadee to bravely land on my hand to feast on seeds.

It was magical. Eden stood with her eyes closed, waiting for a bird to come. I asked her later why she did this. She said, "I was trying to be a tree." Her patience amazed me - hand stretched out, eyes closed. Then when a little bird would come, a smile would creep across that closed-eye face.

Zoe found a quiet place among the trees to stand and wait.

Don't let me fool you, though. These photos do not tell the whole story. They make it look like there was just beauty and magic. But there was wildness too, and not in the nice sense. In the siblings fighting sense. Like "it's MY turn now!" or "You already had one, go over there so that I can get one!" or "I got 8. How many did YOU get?"

Do you see the jealousy in her eyes? It's there.

But what a privilege: to hold the wild, if only for a moment.

chickadee dee dee from Rebecca Seiling on Vimeo.

Song: "Littlest Birds" by The Be Good Tanyas

sharing the love on Valentine's day

I loved Valentine's Day as a kid. As a teenager - not so much - the candy grams and roses that could be purchased in the cafeteria and the pressure to coupledom drove me a bit crazy. Made me feel alone some years, rather than loved. And that I should be part of a couple to feel whole, which I thought was dumb.

I've never been a fan of it as a romantic holiday, but celebrating Valentine's Day with my family is just fun - I get my kindergarten teacher hat on and go with the theme - hearts, hearts, everywhere.

The only time I've made meatloaf in the last 2 years is on this special holiday. Do you know why? It's not because my husband loves it, it's because you can cut it into cute heart shapes and put a nice red ketchup heart on top. I wanted to do the mashed potatoes in a heart shape too - on each person's plate - but Derek told me (with his look) that this was going too far.

Zoe's supper face

We had our valentine's supper last night because tonight won't work. After the theme-shaped meatloaf, we passed around construction paper hearts - one for each person. We each thought of something nice to "fill their bucket" and wrote this on the heart. We passed them around one by one and Eden (5 years) said, "I love this!" She got into the writing too, and wrote either "You are fun," "You are funny," or "You are fablis" (fabulous). The two youngest wanted to read their valentines to the rest of us  - they were proud of the words that were shared with them.

We also put hearts on our world map for some of the people that we know who live overseas. This map is by our kitchen table, and it's a reminder to pray/think about these people in various places.

Eden asked Derek to draw a Valentine's picture for me. This is what he drew:

It's an interesting, fictitious wedding proposal picture. Can you see the shiny ring in his hand? He has never been down on one knee to ask me anything. Our proposal went kind of like this: "so, should we get married?" "I think so. What do you think?" "Ya, I think so too." "Ok, well - when?"

That was it. No bent knee, no ring. I wanted ankle bracelets instead. That's just the kind of girl I am.

Getting back to this holiday today - for me, it's about sharing the love - the love that's expressed within our family, but also from our family out to others.

modern day prophet

I've been thinking lately about the prophetic voice and who are our modern day prophets.

Well, on Groundhog Day (Feb. 2), I met one.

I know this because she told me so in the waiting room of the contact lens clinic. Anne was seated next to me, quite gregarious and loud with silver-tipped French-manicured nails and purple highlights in her jet black hair. I'd say that Anne could most probably be in her late 50s and could most definitely talk my ears off.

We (she) talked about manners and kids-these-days, how kids need limits, and the legalism of the Catholic church. I mentioned I'm Mennonite. "Oh, well they have too many rules too." Anne is a born-again Christian who met Jesus at her kitchen sink 20 years ago.

She doesn't go to church, though, because she has found that God isn't there.

"Isn't it lonely?" I asked.

"Would you rather be alone or married to a man you don't love?" she responded.

I knew this was a trick question, so I stayed silent.

Anne responded, "We need to eat wheat - that's our daily bread. But people at church are being fed darnel. Do you know what darnel is? It's a weed that looks exactly like wheat, but it has a poison in it that puts people to sleep. When's the last time you saw someone falling asleep in church? It happens ALL THE TIME! That's because they're being fed DARNEL, not wheat."

I pondered this for a moment.

"I'm a modern day prophet," said Anne.

"Oh, is this what you sense your role is?" I asked.

"No. It's what God told me I am." she said.

"So, do you just see someone and sense what you're supposed to say to them?" I asked.

"No. God knows what they need to hear. Not me. I'm just allowing God to work through me. I've been doing it for years. God gives me a message, and I write it on a piece of paper or I tell them."

What's my message, God? I couldn't help but silently pray/ask this just because I'm so darn curious. Never, in one million years, could I have guessed what God's message, through Anne, was going to be.

We moved into little cubicles to wait for the optometry students to see us. But Anne walked back to my cubicle to tell me more. She had to whisper because the students were finishing a lecture in the adjoining lecture hall.

Anne is against infant baptism, baptism by sprinkling, and baptism by immersion in a tub in your church that holds everyone else's germs in it. The only true baptism, she said, is one in a river which washes your sins away to the sea of forgetfulness. I had never heard of this place before.

Anne hates the church but loves spending time with Jesus and the Holy Spirit. She asks God questions, and God answers.

"What kind of questions?" I asked.

"I asked him why is there sex. There's so much evil that comes from it - rape, abuse, you know. Why can't we just spit on our hands and shake them to make a baby?"

"So what did God say?" I asked.

She looked heavenward, triumphant. "She wants to know, God!" Then looking to me, said, "I'm so glad you asked. Do you know that part in the Bible where it talks about Jesus being the groom and the church being like the bride of Christ?" I nodded.

"Well, Jesus is the penis and the church is the vagina." She used hand signals just to make sure I understood.

"When the penis penetrates the vagina and ejaculates, that's the Holy Spirit bringing new life into the church. Isn't that amazing and incredibly beautiful? That's why we have sex!" Her whisper had grown dangerously louder, and I wondered who else was now benefiting from this teaching.

I did a quick scroll through my memory to see if I had heard any "Jesus is the penis" sermons in the past. Nope. None. Here was a new teaching. God? Is that you?

She continued. "Scientists have seen the sperm and the egg connect, and there's a spark of light when that happens. And when one sperm makes contact with the egg, all the other sperm run away. That's like Jesus too! When Jesus is there, all other gods run away."

"That's an interesting analogy," I said.

"It's not an analogy. It's the truth!" she responded. Anne told me that God has to be male for this to work.

"I like to think of God as spirit, as above any gender limitation." I countered.

"Oh Rebecca," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You have so much to learn." She left for her cubicle.

At that point, students came to examine my eyes. One minute later, Anne returned with a slip of paper that had her name and phone number written on. "I can tell you have a lot of questions, and that you have a lot to learn. Feel free to call me anytime."

Was that my message from God? After my appointment, I literally giggled all the way through the parking lot and on my drive to get my girls from school.

I'd heard of the "Jesus as lover" idea, and it's never really turned me on. But after relaying this story to a few family members, I was told of the long mystical traditions -- Christian, Jewish, Sufi -- where the divine and human join in sexual union. And though I don't quite get it yet, it must have held meaning for more people than just Anne over the ages.

If nothing else, it just totally made my day because I had a lot of material to write about when I got home.

A little quote to leave you with (as if I haven't used enough words already):

"Three things faintly represent heaven: Sabbath, sunshine, and sexual union." Berachot 57b (Talmud)

to everything there is a season

Eden: What are you doing, Mommy?

Me: Pulling out a white hair.

Eden: Oh. So that you won't look exactly like Daddy?

Me: Right.

Seriously, winter. What kind of weather is this? What season is this? 

Just brown with a touch of grey-white. Just like me.

what I didn't have time for

As a writing deadline approaches (9:00 am Jan. 30), I start to get antsy and protective of my time. I think I don't have time for some things. Because I'm notorious for under-guessing how long something will take me.

Yesterday afternoon, as I thought about all I had yet to do, here's what I didn't have time for:

Hopping on the wagon,
chains on wheels,
skates on feet,
dog on laps,
snow on tongues
for the trek back to the swamp in the gravel pit.

Metal blades on light snow,
the air fresh
the water frozen under our feet,
shimmery
shiny
snowy
bumpy ripples from last week's rain

I remember this feeling.
the magic of walking on water
wondering what's underneath
when will I fall through (and I did)
and the wet walk home
laughing
shivering
and of course the hot chocolate
and crackling fire

the pirouettes
figure eights
sudden stops
the falls

snow falling softly
slowly
no line where land meets sky

the scrape of plastic, clearing a path
the rhythmic song of metal to ice
swish, swish, swish,

weaving between bullrushes
giggling
barking
blades on ice
falling down
like snow
this dance
this ballet of learning to skate
accepting each fall

peek at my watch
we must go
yet this --
this is not wasted time
to stand beneath winter sky
on frozen pond
and delight

starbucks stories

Over the past 2 weeks, I've made the local Starbucks my part-time office. I like the white noise, the music, the free wifi, and the chai latte.

But some days the white noise has been more colourful than others. Some days it's pretty dull - which is exactly what I need to get some writing projects done. It's less distracting than the messes in my home. But the other day - boy. The distracting characters abounded.

Like the woman in her 50s who was talking really loudly to her dad about the intestinal infection that was spreading through her household, making her daughter faint because of low blood pressure, and making her question the wisdom of eating fries at Arby's. She wasn't sure if she was done with the infection (SO WHY ARE YOU SITTING IN A PUBLIC PLACE??), and she was warning her dad that sometimes it comes out both ends. Helpful advice. She was also planning a Chinese New Year's party and wanted to make sure that someone was picking up the oranges. She also wanted to make a creamy dessert using Grand Marnier. She teaches Latin at a local high school.

Or the man who was having some sort of business meeting with a woman about his age (early 30s). He was acting as a mentor of sorts to her, encouraging her in many ways. They're both in sales. He talked loudly. They are married, but not to each other. Both were professionally dressed; she wore high black leather boots. At one point he said to her, "I really like those boots. They're hot. They're like schwing!" WHAT?? He went on to describe someone they work with who has a nice body, but has dry hair and doesn't use the potential that she has in her looks. PARDON?? I wonder what he thought of my unruly hair and not-so-put-together outfit.

So maybe I've found my next calling. To spend hours in Starbucks and eavesdrop on other people's conversations then write about them. Could be a hobby anyway. If you're siting near me and you don't want your story recorded, just let me know. I'll be the one in the corner typing or scribbling furiously, making it look like I'm really getting a lot of work done.

me, the imposter

I haven't written for awhile. And thank you to those of you who have asked if I'm ok. Yep - I'm fine. Just a crapload of writing deadlines in the last week. Deadlines, presentations, all good things but converging at once.

That's part of the story. But not the whole thing.

Here's the other part: I really questioned if I have anything of value to say. 

And here's why: I read a really good article online, written by a mother of 3 young children - a woman who blogs every day. AND IT WAS REALLY, REALLY GOOD. Like I mean really good.

So good that it made me really question what the heck I think I'm doing. Why am I blogging? What's the purpose? How come I only have 2 young kids and can't write a kick-butt post like that one?

I have these 2 creatures on my shoulders. Are they on your shoulders too?

That gremlin on one side whispering slyly,

"Who do you think you are? 

You're not good enough.

SO MANY PEOPLE are BETTER than YOU."

And that encouraging coach on the other side shouting,

"You can do it!

Try something new!

Stretch yourself!

Believe!"

But even though that coach is shouting right in my ear, I let that whisper overwhelm me sometimes. Like last week. That gremlin won. He said,

"You don't have one single unique thought that's worth writing or blogging about. There are so many writers who are so much better than you. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???"

My husband and I led a workshop on Saturday. As we were driving there in the morning, I said to him, "Do you ever feel like you're an imposter? Like you really don't know what the heck you're talking about? And someone's going to find out? What do we have to say to all of these people who have so much more wisdom than we do? WHO DO WE THINK WE ARE??"

I compare myself to others (like this mom blogger) and I get jealous and feel unworthy. I feel like a fraud. And I hate those yucky things inside of me: comparing myself to others, judging myself, and feeling jealous. But they're definitely there. There are some blogs I don't even look at anymore because they make me feel jealous and inadequate.

And I know this Marianne Williamson quote. I've had it posted in my room for years.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

I know this. Of course I do. But some weeks I have big doubts. And I believe the line I tell myself that at best, I'll be mediocre. That I'm just an imposter.