Hallowe'en

So I forgot to post pictures of the Boys for Hallowe'en.


Boy2 was a little lumberjack -- would that be a lumberjohnny?




And The Boy was a fireman. Now he wants to wear that coat all the time.

5:15 am

It's 5:15 am.

Snow gently falls outside the window; big flakes have fallen during the night, leaving the trees across the street picture-postcard perfect.

I'm impressed my wife hasn't yet begun the Christmas music -- it's been on since the beginning of this month, but not yet today and we've been up for 20 minutes.

My youngest is sitting on the floor, gnawing a cookie. My eldest son is reading a book, as best as he can.

In a few hours we'll dress them warmly and take them outside to play in the new snow. Neither one knows this, but neither do they know that I hope that the world they grow up in will look drastically different from this one.

In the wake of the election of Illinois Senator Barak Obama to the White House, I hope that the change that is promised comes to pass. I'm not a terribly political person, but as a Christian I've been offended at how easily it's been assumed (by President Bush, Senator McCain, and several politicians here in Canada) that myself and people like me can be manipulated by the tossing off of a few glib catchphrases.

And I'm thankful that my country doesn't quite expell the same amount of pseudo-religious rhetoric that floats up from down south. It would be hard for me to name the religious traditions of our last four or five Prime Ministers. Roman Catholic, mostly, with a couple of Anglicans thrown in for good measure, I suppose.

I'm incredibly thankful that in Canada, I can be poor and not have to watch my children suffer for it. In the United States, I admire President Bush for his No Child Left Behind policy; I hope it can better be remembered as his legacy than any number of other things.

During the past eight years I've prayed that my own Prime Minister and the American President would be strong, caring leaders. I've not been disappointed in that.

But change is good.

And I hope that this snow doesn't melt immediately. 'Cause this change is good, too.

The Gospel of Christ is like a crucible in which we are formed.

We enter it willing, and knowingly bring ourselves to the refiner's fire.

The law is the heat that breaks us down, melts our hearts, shapes us into new forms

and new expressions of being.

As by metallurgist, we are squeezed and pounded, bound by laws

and the Creator's discerning hand. The slag is not wanted; it is not of the Creator's desire

though we ourselves may fear to be less without it.

The gospel is the soothing coolness of grace that calms us and affirms our new form.

It sets us into the New Creation; something that is pleasing to the eye of the Creator

and gives glory to his Name.

Toddler Property Laws

If I like it, it's mine.

If it's in my hand, it's mine.

If I can take it away from you, it's mine.

If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.

If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.

If we are building something together, all of the pieces are mine.

If it looks just like mine, it's mine.

If I think it's mine, it's mine.

If I give it to you, and change my mind later, it's mine.

If it's broken, it's yours!

-unknown

This is my life.

Driving home last night I was listening to a local Christian radio station -- something I don't do so often because I'm a huge CBC fan.

Anyways, because I'm in the habit of actually listening to song lyrics and reflecting on what they mean to me, a song from the band "Switchfoot" was playing. The chorus goes as follows:
this is your life, are you who you want to be
this is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be
when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?

I went for a walk with my little family, watched as my wife patiently waiting for our toddler to inspect every single item of interest along the pathway, and played 'googly eyes' with our baby.

We made supper together, and each tried different ways to get an obstinate toddler to eat, while at the same time plying a starving baby (by his facial expression) with assorted arrowroot cookies and bananas.

Then bathtime, and bedtime. We prayed together with our little family, and I kissed my boys and sent them off to bed. I read and put together a Adult Education lesson for Sunday until they were asleep, and then the co-Director and I picked the hymns that our church will sing on the Sundays in Advent.

Then, later, to bed.

And all I could think was yes, this is my life. Yes, this is where I want it to be, and yes -- it's what I hoped and prayed it would be when I was younger.

I am lucky. I am happy. I am a man most richly blessed.

now you know...

What I'm reading tonight.

A very good friend of ours breeds and raises Devon Rex cats. Incredibly nice animals. Docile, kind.

Except that the first time I was over at their house I asked how their cat survived the farm accident.

Ouch. I mean, luckily their looks grow on you -- well, they kinda have to. But now, I've seen an uglier cat:

update: now the 'Devon Rex' link actually links to their site, and I've added it to the links on the left.


more animals

'cause sometimes a 3rd or 4th opinion is good.

more animals