Jan 26, 2011 | Stories, The Parenthood, Uncategorized
Forgive me. My brain gets song lyrics stuck in it on a regular basis, and it seems to be even worse during pregnancy. And this super upbeat 90s dance tune that goes Ahhh…yeahhay…wanna be my looover? is playing with the repeat button stuck down right now. Yuck. So please read the title to this post with that song as the background music. Perhaps it’s more appropriately written Wanna Name my Bay-bay? so that you can hear it the way I do.
Ahem. You now have my solemn promise that I won’t use the word lover in this space again for a really long time. I’ve never really liked that word.. It hits my dislike list close to the word packet, which for reasons I’m afraid I can’t explain, other than the way it sounds, is just a word I don’t like at all. So next time you throw a big conference, don’t put guest packets at the reception table. Please. I’m confident I’m not the only packet-disliker…I just haven’t met all the word choice soul mates who can stand with me on this one, yet. Speak up if you’re out there…this is getting awkward.
Okay, seriously.
Being from different cultures, countries, contexts and probably some other C-words I’m too tired to think of, the Hubs and I are struggling with the baby name selecting. And he actually suggested that I ask you, sweet friends and blog readers, for suggestions.
He might kind of look like this.
There’s not going to be a magical decision making reveal moment 24 hours after this post hits the web (we won’t make an official commitment until the baby arrives) and I’m afraid I can’t promise you’ll win a special prize if we choose a name you suggest. (Seeing as we don’t have any special prizes, and I think getting to name the kid is enough.)
We’re taking a couple of days off (leaving tomorrow and coming back Saturday) for one last hurrah as a family of three. (Well, we’re already a family of four, number four’s just still on the inside. You know what I mean.) I’ll tell you where we went and share photos when we get back, of course.
We won’t be accessing the internet, but I have a few posts lined up for you while we’re gone…and don’t worry, they’re much more serious and thought-provoking than this one. But in exchange, I think you sweet guys and gals should make some name suggestions for us to read when we get back. We could seriously use some ideas, if nothing else, just to get our creative juices going. But wouldn’t you feel extra special if we chose a name you suggested? I know I would.
But here are the rules:
- It has to be a boy name.
- You have to find out what it means, and put the name and meaning in a comment on this post.
- You have to think about how it sounds with our last name. For example, Oliver will get called Ollie Collie. And that would just stink.
In return, I have some {hopefully} encouraging words coming up for you over the next few days, even though I’ll be away! I’ve had the chance to do some more thinking and writing about Hosea 6:6, as promised a while ago — and I hope it’s going to bless you like it has blessed me. I can’t wait to read your name suggestions when we get back! YAY!
I’ll miss you guys. And I really mean that.
xCC
Jan 24, 2011 | Prayers in Poetry & Prose, Stories
It’s a thought that keeps occurring, when I send and receive emails, texts, tweets and Facebook wall posts. When I sit across the table from folks for a meeting or a cup of coffee. And sadly, most often when I’m visiting my home country. It’s simply:
The more ways we have to communicate, the worse we are getting at communicating well.
Example. People host email on their phones so they can respond to emails quickly. Great. But sometimes the replies make this recipient feel like someone just wants me off the to-do list ASAP. Often, there are three other questions in my email that don’t get answered via Blackberry, and I have to email again.
At the heart of every message, we communicate because we seek connection. If I remember anything from my freshman Communications classes at Uni, I remember that there’s a sender, there’s a method of transmission, there’s a message, and there’s a recipient. And a lot can go wrong in between.
In face to face conversation, as much as 90% of what we’re communicating is not necessarily said with the words coming out of our mouths. The tone we use to say those words matters. Facial expressions, body language, the loudness or softness of our voice, the gestures we make with our hands and sometimes just the look in our eyes — all these things contribute to what we are saying, without words.
Although the indicators are different, Social Media definitely has its own brand of nonverbal communication.
LOL. :-* OMG! K, thanks, bye.
And again, it is not just what is said, but what is left unsaid. When “Dear ____” or “Sincerely ____” no longer start or finish an email. When we speed type because we’re busy, we want to be more productive, or {a Collie house *dislike*} we are replying to your email from our Blackberry.
The more ways we have to communicate, the worse we are getting at communicating well.
A Tale of Two Meetings
On this last visit home, it seemed like a fourth member of the party without a chair often joined us at the table. Mrs. Blackberry or Mr. iPhone, who wouldn’t be ordering off the menu or picking up the check, might still cut us off mid-sentence or make it difficult to carry on a steady conversation. And what isn’t said — the unintended message — is what I really hear: You are pretty important, but I want to keep my options open in case something more important comes along.
We recently went to a meeting that was very important to us. The other party also said it was important, but sat down and immediately sat the Blackberry on the table. With each grumbly vibration, a call was screened, and I felt my personal self worth being weighed in the balance. Is this meeting more or less important than taking this call? I’ll press ignore.
{Conversation continues…}
Another vibration. Is this conversation more or less important than this call?
{Conversation pauses for a decision to be made.} Ignore.
Next vibration: Is this conversation more important than this call? No. We’re asked to wait for the call to be taken.
Afterwards, the Hubs mentioned that he’d considered leaving the room and calling the person we were meeting with to see if we could chat over the phone and perhaps get more accomplished.
The alternative: There’s a wonderful pastor we sometimes visit while we’re back in the Carolinas who has the uncanny ability to meet with you and, start to finish, seem completely undistracted. For the hour we’re in his office, it feels like nothing in the world is going to take his focus off the time with us. He looks you in the eyes, listens with all his being, and is slow to form a response. I leave feeling valued and wanting to remember to show the same kindness to others. {I can’t say I’ve acquired the skill yet.}
I’m aware that life has emergencies. We’re waiting on a call because our wife could go into labour any time. Our Mom is in surgery. We’re waiting to hear the results…it could be cancer.
In these cases, we can be kind enough to explain to the person sitting in front of us the reason why we might ‘divert’ our real life conversation for the sake of a phone call that could go to voicemail instead. But should we screen every call as if we’re constantly expecting an emergency?
I’m not recommending we go back to the days when long distance communication only happened with a telephone wired to the wall or with paper, pen and a postage stamp. I do want us to think about what we’re communicating through new mediums of technology, based on what we say, and what we don’t.
Could we be missing the boat if we place higher value on the phone on the table than the real live person sitting across from us? {I am guilty of burying myself in my Macbook, so I’m speaking to me, too.}
At the heart of it all, we Facebook and tweet, we blog and email, we call and write, and we meet for coffee or dinner because we want to know that we matter. We want to know our lives matter. We want to know somebody thinks we’re worth paying attention to. The sending and receiving of messages is about connection.
I recently read a letter from a friend to a friend and these words struck me:
Thank you for smiling at me every time I walk in the door. Thank you for talking to me like I am the most important person to you at that moment.
That’s the stuff that matters.
My prayer in a nutshell: Jesus, You were incredibly focused on loving the person in front of you. Lord, help us, in every way that we communicate, to be better at loving and valuing each other. Let our messages to one another communicate You’re important and You matter more than anything else, because everyone matters to You.
xCC
Jan 22, 2011 | Stories
When Hero Hubs and I went to an island off the coast of Honduras on Honeymoon {you know, the place where I was bitten by a spider monkey}, we had a pretty picture perfect week. Sans the monkey bite. As the adventure was coming to a close, I thought it would be nice if we somehow collected some sand to take with us. I pictured putting it in glass vases with candles and some of the shells that I also collected on the beach there, and us looking at them and remembering our special honeymoon for years to come.
Being the wonderful and dashing new hubs that he was, HH took to the challenge and decided that the easiest way would be to fill some plastic drink bottles that we could toss in our suitcases. To avoid bringing back the sand fleas which were a bit of an issue, he got wet sand from the ocean. Two full bottles of sand later, I was wrapping my coral and shells and rocks with paper towels like precious treasure, excited about putting things together with a vase from Ikea when we returned to Scotland.
We flew back to North Carolina for about a week to tie up loose ends (and pack up a lot of the wedding gifts I loved but *sniff, sniff* couldn’t bring along to Scotland.) And finally, we arrived back in Edinburgh and moved into our new place. It was a tiny wee flat on Dean Park Street, with a kitchen so small I could open the fridge, dishwasher and oven standing in the same spot. But not at the same time, because it was that small.
We settled in and began unpacking boxes and putting things in place, as you do, doing our best to find a spot for things and quickly making house become home. We set aside our bottles of sand until we got a chance to do something with them.
We found some vases at Ikea and I was eager to start my first mini-DIY decorating project as Mrs. Mark Collie. But do you remember that one interesting line if you’re reading the King James account of Jesus instructing the people to take away the stone which closed the cave where Lazarus had been laid to rest? Lazarus’s sister Martha said,
“Lord, by this time, he stinketh.”
It was so then, and again now. Our magical memory honeymoon sand stank with an awful stink-stank-stunk, the way Dr. Seuss describes the Grinch. I was terribly disappointed because I had such high hopes for that sand. It wasn’t easily replaced, mind you. I thought the only thing to do was to turf it. However, I had no idea at this point that I’d married such a Hero Hubs.
As an occasional special treat in Edinburgh, we used to split a portion of take away, Singapore Style Chow Mein and wonton soup from Loon Wah on London Road. My pregger tastebuds can taste it now… And their takeout came in these perfectly portioned plastic containers that I saved and reused to freeze perfectly portioned amounts of Chili con Carne or homemade Spaghetti Bolognaise sauce.
Loon Wah perfectly portioned plastic came to the rescue, Hero Hubs poured our stinking sand into a few of these tubs and left them outside on the window sill to dry out and bleach in the sun. It was July, after all. But we checked how things were going after a few days and, being in Edinburgh we discovered, still,
they stinketh.
But Hero Hubs would not give up. He next decided to put the tubs on a low heat in the oven, and to dry them out with an occasional stir.
Finally, after suffering the smelly-flat-stinks for ages, it turned out that baking the sand on low temps, it stinketh no more. I can’t think of a good reason to add a don’t try this at home disclaimer right here, but maybe I should.
We’ve moved four times during our three and a half years of marriage, not counting the six months we spent in the States raising ministry support. And each place we’ve called home has featured this pair of vases with rocks and shells and sand that doth not stinketh, somewhere prominently serving as a warm reminder of our special {though monkey-bite-ridden} beginnings.
There are things in life that are worth the extra effort. You may want to throw in the towel, or throw out the baby with the bath water, or insert your own euphemism for wussing out right here. You might be facing projects or deadlines or mountaintops with challenges much more magnanimous than stinking sand.
We’ve all considered, and perhaps pointed out to someone else, that anything that is worth doing is probably hard work. Sometimes it just takes an extra measure of faith, hope, or plain old-fashioned elbow-grease to transition from what could’ve been to what now is and is great!
So don’t throw in the towel on that major move, that attempt at a career change, or that wee DIY project just yet. Our modern hearts sometimes struggle to persevere when we don’t get microwave-fast results, but a worthwhile outcome could be right around the corner.
xCC
Jan 21, 2011 | Stories, The Parenthood
These days, he is my constant companion. Around 6:30 or 7 am he’s awake, and Hero Hubs fishes him out of his crib, and together we pile into our bed for however long he can stand it. Eventually, I’m finally willing to open my eyes, and his face is a few inches from mine, ready with one word: “Breck” {meaning breakfast}. I’m pretty easily convinced that we should get up for breakfast, because I’m hungry, too.
We are almost never more than a room or two apart from sun up to sun down.
When baking is on the list of things to accomplish, he stands on a chair in front of the counter, wooden spoon in hand and stirs while I scurry to toss in the ingredients. Chocolate chips disappear at warp speed, even when they’ve already been mixed in and have made their way into the muffin pan.
On some of my many, many trips to the bathroom, he’s there, standing on his tip toes to look into the sink. He has the black rubber sink stopper in his hands, and he is waiting for me to turn on the water to wash my hands, so that he can turn the sink stopper upside down and fill it with a little water, and then slowly pour it out. He’s eager to perform the special task of flushing, and he gently puts the lid down before we leave.
Just a few days ago, he watched me leave him in the nursery at the gym without crying. I normally have to sneak out once he’s settled. He watched me go with a bit of a sad face, but without tears. It felt like a huge moment in my Mommy heart; exciting and sore at the same time.
We’ve told him a Baby Brother is coming, and he knows where Baby Brother is. He occasionally tells Baby Brother, “Come!” or plays pee-tee-boo with my belly, covering his face with his hands.
Pee-tee-boooo!!!!
In the afternoons, he is often my excuse to get out of the heat and stroll to the pool. He begs me to put on his Mickey Mouse bathing suit. Even though HH and I think it looks dorky, he loves it.
“Mick Mouse, Mick Mouse, Mick Mooooooouse!!!”
Our washer and dryer are front loaders. These days, he loads the washer for me, and when it’s finished, he moves the clothes to the dryer for me. My aching back is silently thankful while I oversee and pull out things that shouldn’t go in the dryer. He doesn’t like it when things aren’t supposed to go in.
He is the reason I sometimes take a nap in the afternoons. But he’s sometimes the reason I don’t.
By five o’clock he’s tugging my apron strings in the kitchen, signing and asking for a cookie. Din-din seems terribly far away, but a little biscuit or a Bear-sized handful of Otees will usually do the trick.
These days he would rather draw on a blank page than a page with something on it. And he would rather tell you what he would like drawn than try to draw it himself.
G-pa! Buck! Mouse-ke-tools!
These days, after dinner and bathtime, we sometimes sit on the couch to read a book. I’m tired from carrying extra weight around all day, probably sore from standing up in the kitchen so much. I have his books memorized, so I can read with my eyes closed, but if I begin to doze off, his little face turns up to me with a simple command:
Wake!!
After saying prayers, we tuck him into his crib. He likes to have his two favourite blankies, and wants us to find the tags for him so that he can rub them between his fingers or across his lips. The days when blankies must go into the wash are not always pleasant.
We listen to him for the next hour sometimes, talking to himself or his baby cousin far away in Colorado. He sings and giggles and HH goes upstairs to encourage him to go to sleep.
These days, he’s sometimes the reason I’m tired. But sometimes he’s the reason I get a chance to rest. Sometimes he keeps me on my feet a lot more than I want to be, but sometimes he is the reason I go for a walk when I otherwise wouldn’t but really should.
These days, he is an incredible source of joy to us — a walking, talking, gleefully-squealing as he runs into a fence reminder of the blessings of God.
And these days, more than anything else, he is my constant reminder that these nine months…these forty weeks…these 280 days of knitting and growing, working and waiting, (and even waddling) are so, very, worth it.
xCC
Jan 20, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word
Although some of you might discourage me from doing so, I will readily admit that I am a fan of Michael Jackson’s music. As unusual, intriguing, perhaps scandalous, as his personal life was, I think it’s undeniable that he had incredible talent. I also think he inspired a lot of people, and I think the way his life ended was a terrible tragedy.
I had a roommate from Japan when I was at university, and she shared my affinity for MJ. Sometimes when we were in the car, we’d put his History album in, and his song, “Man in the Mirror” would come on, and we’d sing along or just enjoy the music. As it ended, she would gingerly look over and point her finger at the repeat button, in hopes that we could listen to the song again. I, of course, joyfully agreed that we should.
These are the lyrics I find particularly inspiring:
I’m starting with the man in the mirror,
I’m asking him to change his ways.
And no message could’ve been any clearer:
if you want to make the world a better place,
take a look at yourself and make the CHANGE.
WHOO! WHOO! Na-na-naaaa Na-na-naaaaa Na, na, na naaaaaa…
I suppose that last part isn’t as inspirational, but it sure did get me going.
There is a lot of truth in those words, and when it comes to thinking about walking out a life of faith with Jesus at the helm, they remind me of these words:
If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land. {II Chron. 7:14}
I’d heard that verse repeatedly quoted for years before the penny dropped and it became something significant to me. I remember sitting at a conference in London when the speaker pointed out the obvious: God is saying that HIS PEOPLE need to turn from their wicked ways. Not that they need to convince people who don’t believe in God or want to be God’s people to turn from their wicked ways. Not that we need to try to eradicate the things that we see around us that are wrong. Not that we need to fight a ‘culture war’ to defend the sanctity of marriage. Not that we need to be busy boycotting Home Depot and Sears. (I am not saying there isn’t a place for evangelism and discipleship — I am saying there is also a place for making sure we’re looking in the mirror every day, too.)
If MY PEOPLE will humble themselves and turn from THEIR wicked ways, I will heal their land.
The change starts with those of us who say we are the people of God.
Hero Hubs and I have had some strain on our relationship these past few weeks. We have a lot on our plates, a lot on our calendars, the impending change of everything is looming over us as we count down the weeks and days until Baby Brother’s arrival. Life has laid a little stress on our shoulders, and, as is often the case in many relationships, stress finds its way of surfacing and causing frustration and friction and strain.
I sat down to pray and think about how things could be different, and just began to lay the challenges out before the Lord: We’re struggling to communicate, to come to an agreement on decisions…things just feel strained. And it wasn’t long into that assessment when the Lord began to help me see things differently. Where I might want to say, “But I am trying hard! But I am doing this… But I am…” the Lord helped me to think about HH’s perspective, and also reminded me of the very loving ways that he has endeavoured to take things off my plate and to help me through the burden of being heavily pregnant, operating on not much sleep, with thick ankles and heartburn.
And then I found myself praying this way: “Help me to see how I need to change and what I can do — how I can do my part to show love, to communicate the things that HH needs to see and hear to feel respected and loved.”
And the words from II Chronicles 7:14 surfaced in my mind. And the lyrics from Man in the Mirror. It is always easier to see someone else’s speck than your own plank. But when you find yourself saying, “How can I love? What can I do differently? Where am I falling short?” you can bet that the Lord is probably leading you.
Whether you’re changing a nation or changing a neighbourhood, or even just changing the direction things are going in your own home, the best place to start is with the {wo}man in the mirror.
Whoo! Whoo! Na-na-naaaa Na-na-naaaaa Na, na, na naaaaaa…
xCC
The rest of the lyrics to Man in the Mirror can be found right here. Pretty inspiring!
Jan 19, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word
There are a couple things pretty high on my list of prioritised to-dos for the year ahead. Besides babywearing and potty training, of course. And two of those high-water marks are reading a lot more and writing a lot more.
For a long time a lot of folks have been telling me that, when it comes to writing, I have a gift. For a short time, I’ve really started believing it. And it’s made me decide to start branching out in different and creative ways. It’s made me begin to recognise the oft-quoted words of Eric Liddell, as they nicely adapt to my life:
When I {write}, I feel His pleasure.
Cue theme song from Chariots of Fire.
It is often the case with the things that you’re really meant to be doing, that the writing is on the wall, so to speak, but something about you keeps you from stepping out. Whether it’s fear or doubt or mistrust of your own abilities or God’s ability to work through you, odds are you’ve lived in a space where a part of you felt like getting out of the boat, but another part of you thought a little too much about the possibility of sinking rather than walking on the water.
But the grace of God has an inspiring way of breaking through, and in His mysterious ways, through many voices, including yours, He has been reminding me about being faithful with a talent instead of burying it in the ground.
Stephen King’s book, On Writing, was in the top ten writing books recommended at The High Calling a while ago. The post recommended that, if I could handle the occasional “potty-mouth,” the book was a peek into brilliance, entertaining and humorous.
I decided to jump on board, grabbed a paperback version just before we left the States, and had finished the book within a week of our return. And while there were indeed some potty-mouth moments, the overwhelming sentiment for me was one of profound appreciation. Here’s a person who has been operating in his gifting, and he has taken the time to articulate the process through which he came to where he is, with words from the wise for folks just starting out like me.
More than anything else in the book, the most profound moment came when he began discussing prolific authors, and other authors who wrote one or two incredible books, and then never wrote again. He asked the question that we often ask about one-hit wonders in every profession: Well, what happened? What did they do with all that talent? Why is this all we have from this author or that musician?
I wouldn’t begin to suggest that King would classify himself as a very religious person, and would consider it safe to say, based on the autobiographical facets of the book that he would not call himself a Christian. But he summed this discussion up with words that pierced my heart in a profound way:
“…I always wonder two things about these [great authors who wrote very little]: how long did it take them to write the books they did write, and what did they do with the rest of their time? Knit afghans? Organize church bazaars? Deify plums? I am probably being snotty here, but I am also, believe me, honestly curious. If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?“
Touché.
I am not sure what the road ahead of me looks like — how I am meant to proceed with writing in a way that will have a significant impact on the world around me. But I feel like a new chapter is beginning for me, and I’m excited for you to join me on the adventure.
But first, I want to make sure I ask you the same question.
We know that life is but a vapor. If you have 70 or 80 years on this Earth, that’s pretty good. Are there ‘talents’ you will look back on with regret? Are there places where you feel like you’re burying something in the ground instead of faithfully making use of what you’ve been given?
It doesn’t have to be a creative art — writing or painting or creating decorative flowers out of fabric scraps. But is there something that you can fill in the blank with “When I _________ I feel His pleasure?” And is the answer that fills in that blank something you’re doing or pursuing right now?
And if not, why in God’s Name aren’t you?
xCC
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