Val's Stage

My Rose-Coloured Glasses vs Toxic Positivity

My favourite sunglasses have a rosy tint that make the sky look bluer and the grass look greener. I’ve tried the gray lenses because they matched my chosen frames better, but the world looked dull and dismal, and my optimistic nature just couldn’t stand them for long. Bring out the rose-coloured glasses!

I stand on Val’s Stage this beautiful fall day as a friend trying to grapple with the idea of “toxic positivity”. After a colleague sent an email to our staff conference on this topic a couple of weeks ago, I knew this would be my next blog post, but I’ve honestly needed some time to process it.

TOXIC and POSITIVITY: two words that just don’t seem like they go together!

Who doesn’t like to be around upbeat, positive people who always have a smile for you? Apparently, not everyone shares that opinion…

Looking to Friends for Advice

I’ve always been a good listener; an optimistic, positive listener. When I look back over many of my friendships, I see a pattern of being there for people when they needed someone to listen. I rode in many boats on stormy waters with friends who went through cancer, broken marriages and mental illnesses. There was a period of closeness as we weathered the storm, and then we climbed out of the boat and went our separate ways – still friends, but the intensity of our relationship petered out as our lives took us in different directions.

A couple of years ago, I met a lady and we became friends. We had many things in common, which gave us lots to talk about, and we met regularly. The terms of our friendship didn’t rely on a huge life event – we started our relationship on a level playing field. I had high hopes for a different kind of friendship – maybe even a “best friend”, a term I didn’t use much growing up as a pastor’s kid and moving from community to community every few years. Less than two years later, however, I walked away from the relationship and cited “toxic negativity” as the reason to do this.

While it started off in a balanced way, it quickly turned into a realm where I dreaded spending time with her. The conversation was always self-centered, negative towards others, and judgmental; with her sometimes getting upset over things I didn’t say (e.g. I should have praised her for something she had just spent a large amount of time praising herself for). I came home feeling like all the life (and positive energy) had been sucked out of me.

Why do I look back at my other friendships as being more positive when we navigated issues that were more inherently negative? The difference was that my other friends made steps toward moving on from their circumstances. They leaned on my optimism, my spirituality, and encouraging shoulder and faced forward. They were able to find the courage to make changes in their lives to help them through horrible circumstances. They didn’t sit in a corner wailing, “Poor me! Poor me!”

Looking to Music for Advice

If you’ve turned on your radio lately, you may have heard the following Demi Lavato/Marshmellow September 2020 release, Ok Not to Be Ok.

…When you’re down and you feel ashamed
It’s okay not to be okay

The song was released in partnership with the Hope for the Day suicide prevention movement. While the words in the song’s lyrics suggest that feeling down and validating your negative emotions is okay, and encourages the listener not to give up, it doesn’t provide an alternative solution to not feeling okay.

Looking to Psychology for Advice

In his article in Psychology Today entitled, Toxic Positivity: Don’t Always Look on the Bright Side (the title threw me for a minute, as a person who always looks on the bright side), Dr. Konstantin Lukin, clinical psychologist, defines toxic positivity this way:

The concept that keeping positive, and keeping positive only, is the right way to live your life. It means only focussing on positive things and rejecting anything that may trigger negative emotions.

This seems to be the opposite of the message that the Gratitude movement has been promoting the last few years – looking to all the things you can be thankful for to raise your spirits. In other words, focussing on positive things.

In the last line of his article, Lukin says, “… paying attention and processing your emotions as they come and go may help you better understand yourself, and those around you.” Okay, I’ll admit that you can’t just run from everything negative in your life or refuse to acknowledge that some things bring you down. But I don’t think the doctor is prescribing a session of wallowing either.

Looking to God for Advice

I finally figured out why this whole concept was so confusing for me as I processed this statement of Dr. Lukin’s:

“Evolutionarily, we as humans cannot program ourselves to only feel happy.”

Ahh, there it is. We cannot program ourselves. Nope. The concept of toxic positivity is a secular one; a concept that defines life outside of a faith-based belief system; life without Christ.

The thing that disappointed me most about that one toxic friendship was that we both claimed to share the same belief system. But when I define myself as a child of God, I can be positive all the time, because I trust Him to help me through the tough times.

I still have to pray for the power of His grace to deal with negative circumstances. I still face challenges. I could follow the song lyrics above and tell myself it’s okay to feel miserable. I could bring down everyone around me with my dark mood and Eeyore-pessimism, or I can lean on the one who created me to help me through. If I choose Faith and Trust as my doctor’s prescription (not dissing doctors – they are often an extension of God’s hands), I can remain positive in my circumstances. I trust that my heavenly Father will not let me down.

Toxic positivity? In my world, this is an oxymoron.

As believers, let’s allow the light of God to shine through us in our sphere of influence. Let’s show others what a life in Christ can be:

Positive.

I’m putting on my rose-coloured glasses now to go walk in the beauty of Autumn… Have you got yours?

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 4: 6-7

“The joy of the Lord is my strength.“
Nehemiah 8:10

The Ink on my Stage

Right up there with enjoying a glass of wine, dancing or listening to secular music, tattoos were on the naughty list for a long time in the Christian circle. I feature my ‘ink’ on Val’s Stage this week after a certain celebrity posted a video of himself diving into his pool for one last autumn dip, and folks on social media went ballistic as they realized that his body is a canvas for a lot of tattoo ink. The price you pay for being popular is that everyone is up in your business.

I’ve seen some crazy tattoos. A young girl working in a mall store had a huge arm and shoulder tattoo of Strawberry Shortcake and her castle, and I honestly tried picturing her in a wedding dress with that image inked there. My inner voice asked, “Did you think this through?” While visiting a tattoo establishment for one of my own inked artworks, I also saw a young man walk out with an amazing image of Jason Alexander covering his entire calf. You might be a fan of George on the Seinfeld series, but really? You know that’s permanent, right? You’ve seen them too – tattoos that make you question the owner’s sanity. And then I remind myself that judging others isn’t very Christian of me.

There seems to be a definitive line in the sand dividing those who believe in the purity of their skin in their ink-freeness and those who like displaying symbols of their values in a more permanently-needled way. The truth is that it’s rare to see someone with only one tattoo – it can actually become very addictive. Falling into the latter category, I have four.

My first was a heart on my shoulder symbolizing Love. Who doesn’t need some Love in their lives? Why not have a reminder that I found Love, in addition to the diamond on my finger (which I had to remove last month because the amount of hand sanitizer I have to use as a teacher was destroying my finger under the ring)?

Next was Family. I got an anklet with charms displaying the initial letters of each of my boys: R, D and B. Proud Mama here of each of them. Now that they all live on their own, I appreciate having this symbol of still being a Mom.

God was my next inspiration, while third is not where I’d place him on my priority list. A small cross on my wrist; not only does it brand me as His, it reminds myself to act as His child.

Finally, I wanted a representation of my Roots. On my calf, I proudly wear a Made in Newfoundland image, even though we’ve lived “away” for almost 20 years.

Each of my tattoos was planned and thought through before booking the appointment. These values are permanent, so, in my mind, the ink’s permanency is acceptable. On this Thanksgiving weekend, each one is also a reminder of things I am most grateful for.

Yet, the action of inking these values on my skin does not give others a guarantee that I truly value Love, Family, God or Roots unless I show these values in tangible ways in how I live. (I wonder how someone shows their true devotion to Strawberry Shortcake…)
Actions speak louder than tattoos. My faithfulness, respect, and thoughtful gestures speak louder of my Love to my husband than the heart on my shoulder. My support, guidance, and helping hand to my sons speak louder of my Family value than the inked anklet charms. I’m not sure what actions reflect the value of Roots except maybe hanging photos of the island on my wall, adding salt beef and doughboys to my pea soup, and at times speaking with a distinct accent. My reflection of God’s image – showing love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – speaks louder of my love for God than a small cross on my wrist.

When you consider getting some ink needled into your skin, I believe it should be preceded by a period of reflection on your values. When people look at your choices of tattoos, also recognizing that they are not cheap, they get a sense of who you are. Some will argue that tattoos are personal – they are not for others. The image that you present; the way you dress, how you style your hair, the tattoos on your body, can be one of two things: a mirror of your soul or a mask. They’re only personal if you never leave your house.

The heart tattoo on my shoulder can mirror the Love I feel for others or it can be a mask – showing my desire to make others believe I have Love in my life when maybe I don’t. One motivation is very honest, while the other is a reflection of living a lie.

All that to say, I have permanently inked my body with things that I now have to be accountable for. My life on Val’s Stage should reflect those things that I am advertising. On my own, that’s a big responsibility. But I’m not on my own. God’s grace gives me power. I lean into Him and ask for His help.

Help me especially live up to wearing your cross, Lord – the symbol of Your love.

Let my actions speak of my heritage – I am a child of God.

TRUST: Teaching in 2020

Little Sarah approaches the gate to the Kindergarten yard gripping her father’s strong fingers tightly. Her bright smile is hidden under two masks: one is green with pink flowers; the other is apprehension. School has changed a lot, and her teacher’s warm smile is hidden behind masks of her own. Sarah hears the caring in my voice and sees it in my eyes, but it takes more trust and emotional effort to accept it.

After a few tears and Dad’s gentle encouragement, she reluctantly pulls her hand out of his and reaches for mine. This is her first expression of trust today, and I will not crush it by reminding her that we are meant to stay at least a meter a part. I’ll wash my hands later. I hold her little fingers and give them a squeeze.

“We are going to have a fun day!” I promise, and she looks into my eyes for reassurance. I see the shift happen; the second that Sarah offers me the gift of her trust. She is mine now – mine for the next six hours.

Sarah has an advantage over some of our little pumpkins – she is in her second year of Kindergarten with me. She has seen my whole face, experienced my smile, and knows she can trust me.

Trust is one of the most beautiful things about teaching Kindergarten. In our inquiry-based program, we learn about a wide range of topics, allowing the students to lead with their natural curiosity about the world. So, every year is different; not only with new faces, but with new interests. I love the spontaneity of it, the freedom to cover the curriculum in a unique way every year. Their little faces light up with new discoveries, and they trust that I’m telling the truth when I share crazy facts. Yes, the polar bear’s skin is black under all that white fur. Yes, birds only have one elimination spot, so what they drop is a pee/poop-calcified combo. And yes, the footprints on the moon will be there for 100 million years. I could tell them that Santa broke his leg and his brother old Saint Chris was taking over his run this year, and they would accept it as fact. Their trust gives me power and responsibility.

I had a student, when I taught Grade 3 a number of years ago, who was not as trusting. He held a lot of knowledge in his young head and questioned everything. When I shared cool facts like those above, he raised his hand for permission to add to the discussion. His response always began with the same two words: “Well, actually…” And then he went on to explain how one could argue with the truth of some part of my statement. I hoped that this habit of his did not have a negative impact on how my other students trusted my word.

After two full weeks of our strange 2020 school year, during which twenty of my students and my teaching partner have all missed a number of days and have suffered through invasive COVID tests, I find myself on Val’s Stage thinking about trust.

We were officially informed yesterday morning that a student in our school tested positive for COVID-19. Considering how the common cold has spread like wildfire in our class, despite all the precautions we’re taking, the risk of the virus traveling two floors down in our four-story building seems quite high. Going to work each day requires trust. I trust public health experts who tell me that wearing my mask and visor and maintaining distance makes me low-risk. I trust that all the hand washing, sanitizing, disinfecting, separating with plexiglass dividers, controlling the number of students who access an area at once, will help lessen my chance of contracting it. I trust, as I acknowledge my 51st birthday, that as a healthy woman who hasn’t yet been labeled “vulnerable”, I will be okay if I do get it.

But putting my trust in OPH (Ottawa Public Health) gives me limited confidence – they are human and not all-knowing; fallible. There were delays in getting the test result, delays in informing the school, and miscommunication with families.

Thankfully, I have another layer of trust to keep me centered. I trust in an all-knowing, all-powerful God who loves me. Psalm 118:8 says, “It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in people.”

That doesn’t mean I’m immune from getting the virus. That doesn’t mean I won’t die if it attacks my body. What it does mean is that He is in control. He has my life mapped out. If I put my full trust in him, I don’t need to worry or stress. He will take care of me.

I claim the promises in God’s Word:

“Commit everything you do to the Lord. Trust him, and he will help you.”
Psalm 37:5

“The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm.”
Exodus 14:14

Don’t call me a frontline hero. I’m just one of the Hero’s kids.

“But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.”
Isaiah 40: 31

I trust You, Father.

Dear Student,

Dear Student,

Thank you for your smiling eyes, brimming with excitement as you climbed the stairs into school this week. Thank you for hand-delivering the beautiful flower cut from your garden.

Thank you for controlling your sadness to leave your family and your anxious feelings about following your masked and visored teachers; for practicing self-regulation at such a young age. When you had tears, there were only a few, and you dried them quickly. I watched a different teacher carry a crying, heaving, gagging child into the school. Her face protection proved its need, separating the four inches of space between their mouths, with one of them coughing tears. Both were likely feeling fear at that moment.

Thank you, my little child, for accepting each pump of hand sanitizer and happily going to the sink to lather and wash every time without complaining. The request came often.

Thank you for quickly catching on to strange routines that involved more sitting on chairs than Kindergarten normally requires; more listening and following fast-paced directions. “Orange Team, line up to the washroom. Green Team, get your lunch bags from the shelf. Blue Team, go into the cubbies to get your jackets.” Thank you for learning your color, and preventing me from having to repeat my visor-mask-shouted instructions too often. My throat has been relatively quiet for six months. The strain is shocking.

Thank you for resisting your child-desire to hug your friends and teachers, using our touchless Greeting of the Day instead: Day 1 – thumbs up; Day 2 – bow or curtsy. We’ll make it fun, won’t we?

Thank you for understanding (?) that we can play together from a distance; for sitting your bottom on a coral reef fishy decal so you are three feet away from your floormates. Thank you for learning to communicate through your plexiglass window when sitting at your table.

Thank you for practicing at home to become independent with your jacket zipper, your lunch containers, and your washroom business. There will be times when you need help, and that’s okay. We’ll be there for you. But each day we get through with a score of zero for bathroom accidents will be a victory for our team!

Thank you for walking in the halls with robot arms separating us in line, following the direction of the green arrows, and staying on our side of the red line. You are learning the driver’s rules of the road very early. What a safe driver you’ll be over a decade from now!

Thank you for wearing a mask to school when masks are not mandatory for your age, and for wearing it for as long as you are able. You are a superhero, and now you look like one too!

Thank you for remembering to cough into the crook of your arm when parts of your snack or water attack your throat. Your quick response is a superhero power.

Thank you, my one little friend, for missing your very first day of Senior Kindergarten because your sister had a runny nose. You sacrificed to keep us all protected. We will make your first day super special.

Thank you, my other little friend, for enduring a COVID test this weekend and waiting for the result before returning to school. You are being careful, and that means you’re ‘full of care’ for your friends.

Thank you for loving to learn new things and for asking questions. Despite all the changes to keep us safe, this will never change: no one can cover your curiosity with a mask or hide your joy of discovery. You come with wonderful ideas, and we will endeavor to expand on them and show you how you can find your own answers for the rest of your life!

But for now, thank you for being a very special member of our class. You make it all worthwhile.

Your JK/SK Teacher,

Mrs. Val

When Your Body Contradicts Your Mind

We met with 21 families virtually this week to share how our Kindergarten class will operate this year in a pandemic. My partner and I did each interview while wearing a mask. We asked to see each child’s mask, compared the patterns and colours, and invited them to play a game.

“See if you can guess how we’re feeling by only looking at our eyes.”

Mrs. Holly covers her face and reveals big round eyes and the child guesses. “Surprised?” “Excited?” Yes! This is our new reality when you can’t see our mouths.

Mrs. Val’s turn. I cover my face and when I pull my hands away, my forehead is drawn with lines, my eyebrows pulled down. “Mad?” “Grumpy?” Yes! They are good at this game.

Some of them agree to also take a turn, with the majority of them reflecting “Happy” with their squinting eyes. They are excited to see us, to be coming back to school.

I explain that when school begins, we won’t be able to wear our fun, colourful masks – we have to wear plain, medical masks AND… “You’re not going to believe it… Wait for it…”

Holly and I both pull our heavy visors over our heads and exclaim, “Did you know that you were coming to SPACE SCHOOL this year?! Say hello to Astronaut Holly and Astronaut Val!” Some of them look a little uncertain, but smile or laugh as we carry on with the image.

In the five seconds we wore that visor, our masked faces and upbeat words hid our growing apprehension. The visor was heavy. Our voices echoed back into our own ears. The thick plastic fogged up with our filtered breath. We are going to have to wear these ALL DAY?

Between interviews, we put on the visors and walked around the room. The thick shield played with our depth perception and had the potential to cause vertigo. We are going to have to wear these ALL DAY?

We go home with a new layer of heaviness on our chests not even related to the last whispered confession of a mom who admitted that her son is not quite potty-trained for ‘Number One’ OR ‘Number Two’. Ugh.

While it was so wonderful to interact with our little students (15 of whom we taught last year), to see their smiling faces, and to build that relationship with their families, we carried stress home in our pockets.

Ann Voskamp in her book, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are, says, “Stress isn’t only a joy stealer. The way we respond to it can be sin.”

Does that mean that my canker sores that I haven’t seen for over six months are sins? Does that mean that my colleague’s cracked tooth is sin? It seems even when our minds are telling us that we are not stressed, our bodies revolt and let us know how we really feel.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.”
John 14:1

Ann suggests that trust and prayer are the solutions to stress; the action we can take instead of worrying. And I do. I hand over my canker-sore-worry to God and ask Him to take it.

And then I notice the jaw clenching, another area of my body that likes to show stress. I ask my Father, my life Director, to take my jaw-stress too.

Then there’s the pounding headache that accompanies me home as I leave school, where the students haven’t even started attending yet. Should I worry now that I have a symptom of COVID too, or do I check off another symptom of stress after a day of mask/visor trepidation and the ‘one step forward and two steps back’ of preparing our room and our program to accept four and five-year-olds (some who won’t even be four until December)?

Father, please take my worries.

Do I not trust God? Is that why my body is breaking down? All of a sudden, I understand Paul’s admonition in 1 Thessalonians 5:17:

Never stop praying.
(NLT)

I think it’s very human for us to forget that healthy habit until the worry starts to eat us alive. Then we look for a cure, rather than taking the preventative vitamins. Some people spend a fortune on supplements, vitamins, and herbal concoctions when we have the free dose of Trust readily available every day of the year. Our Director – that loving God – has to shake us up every now and then to remind us to take our Trust vitamin. Never stop praying.

If I look up that verse, it’s sandwiched between two other directives, equally forgettable in a life with no worry: always be joyful (v. 16) and be thankful in all circumstances (v. 18). Ironically, these two supplements are more easily swallowed when things are going well, when our bodies are feeling healthy and stress-free. They’re more difficult to take when I face uncertainty and fear as I plan to receive 22 beautiful, excited children into my classroom for six hours a day; sharing the same rectangular space, touching the same surfaces, and breathing the same air. “Is your child bringing a mask to school?” The responses were understandably discomforting. Masks aren’t mandatory for children in Kindergarten.

Be joyful and thankful. Where do I find the joy? The courage to be thankful?

Joy is a Fruit of the Spirit. We all have the capacity to experience it; to reflect. And it’s tied to thanksgiving. When I take my mind off the uncertainties and focus on the things I am grateful for, joy is hidden there.

Thank you for excited children. Thank you for supportive, trusting parents. Thank you for a well-paying job when many others have lost theirs because of the pandemic. Thank you for fresh air as I rip off my mask and gulp it in. Thank you for a car to drive home in. Thank you for a fridge full of food and the things I need to turn it into a good meal. Thank you for a loving husband to share it with. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Where has the heaviness gone? Oh, it’s there – hovering close by – waiting for me to finish my thanksgiving; waiting for me to let my guard down. But, as in the game of Hot Potato (which we won’t be able to play in Kindergarten this year), I toss it back to my Father who has offered to take care of it.

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.“
Philippians 4: 6-7

Never stop praying. Always be joyful and be thankful in all circumstances. I just need to keep taking my vitamins with a healthy dose of Trust.

We got this.

My Huge Stage

In Kindergarten, before the first day of school, the educator team meets with the parents of new students for an intake meeting. We talk about our expectations and welcome them to school. Parents are encouraged to ask questions and share important information that would help us get to know their child.

At one such interview a couple of years ago, a parent asked many questions, but her final one was, “Can I take a picture of your nails?” Odd, but I did have each nail painted in two colors of shellac with black markings to look like crayons. They were cute. My back-to-school nails. I agreed, of course, not even wondering who she would show the photo to. Maybe her husband, her girlfriends, her nail artist.

The next morning, my educator partner sent me a screenshot of a tweet that featured my nails. “Just met my kid’s Kindergarten teacher for the first time. She wins at nails.” And there they were in five different Crayola colors. Tweeted to 15.5K of her followers. I had no idea that she was the host of a CBC radio morning show in our nation’s capital. And, just like that, my fingers were famous.

When we sent her child home with a banged-up face the day before Photo Day (he fell on his own face), all of Ottawa heard about that too. Thank goodness, she still hadn’t said my name. But it made me a little nervous that if I slipped up, or she even perceived that I slipped up, she had a large radio, Twitter, Instagram… audience that might hear about it.

That might be an extreme example, but we can easily end up in social media without even knowing it’s happening. If you haven’t already told Facebook you’d like to approve any photo you’re tagged in before it’s posted on your Timeline, do it. A photo does not always reflect what you’d like it to. It can speak a thousand words, sure, but they’re not necessarily the thousand you’d like to send to your friends, your mom, and your third-grade Sunday School teacher.

It wasn’t that many years ago that the Internet was a concept; an idea; but the regular human didn’t know how they could use it; FaceBook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Whatsapp… all words that no one had assigned to things yet. In fact, I used my first real computer in my last year of high school. I programmed a race car to drive across the screen. (I’m sure my Adam-and-Eve-code was just the beginning of the Gran Turismo games so popular today – I’m still waiting for my share of the royalties…)

This computer/technology age in which we now live has made the world shrink. Children have the opportunity to get to know and spend time with their grandparents, even when they live across the country from each other. We can stay connected with extended family all over the world without paying a long-distance phone bill. You can find the love of your life without ever leaving your chair, and even see what he looks like too (assuming he’s honest enough to post a current photo of himself rather than someone he wishes he looked like)! Those now working from home, in our pandemic world, hold face-to-face meetings without ever leaving their houses. It is mind-boggling what advanced technology has done to our world.

While it’s made the planet smaller, in the sense that we can reach out and contact people around the world with ease, it’s made our audience bigger in our life-performance. A friend of a friend of a cousin knows about details of my life, whether I want them to or not. That’s a bit of pressure on the stage. The venue just changed from the school auditorium to the stage of the Rungrado May Stadium in North Korea, the largest football stadium in the world. Gulp. Talk about stage fright.

Before you freak out at this thought, remember the underlying point of Val’s Stage is the idea of living for the audience of One, and not worrying about all those other dudes and dudettes in the stands. But it doesn’t hurt to remember they are there. As the Scriptures say, “No one is righteous— not even one.” (‭‭Romans‬ ‭3:10)‬‬.‭ ‬This gives me an out when I mess up. Kind of. But God is the only one likely to give me grace and mercy. The others in the audience are more likely to judge me and talk about me behind my back. Just saying.

In the Fall, when strangers meet me and admire my crayon nails, they often identify me as a school teacher without me first revealing this fact. Who else would walk around 24 hours a day with such childishly decorative fingernails? As I reflect on Val’s Stage today, I wonder what things about me tell strangers that I am a child of God? What clues do people see? My audience of One sees my heart and knows my desires, but all those other people in the auditorium: what do they see? The tattoo of the cross on my wrist is not enough. I pray that my life: my attitudes, my kindness, my love for others reflect God’s glory. Not specifically for those strangers I meet, but to make my Father proud.

“But give reverent honor in your hearts to the Anointed One and treat him as the holy Master of your lives. And if anyone asks about the hope living within you, always be ready to explain your faith with gentleness and respect. Maintain a clean conscience, so that those who slander you for living a pure life in Christ will have to lie about you and will be ashamed because of their slander. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if it is in God’s plan, than for doing evil.”
1 Peter 3:15-17 TPT

The Light of the World is Jesus. He is the Truth. He is the answer to everything. Our “confident hope.” When we allow Him to rule our hearts, His light will shine through us – that Jesus-glow will advertise to the world that we are His, like wearing a neon sign around our necks. Do you remember the Sunday School song?

“Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m going to let it shine. Let it shine, shine, shine. Let it shine!“

Let’s hold our candles high.

An Angel Lived Here

Rewind the old film reel to time-travel back at least forty years…

My brother and I bounced around, untethered, on the back seat of the family station wagon as we pulled into the driveway of my grandparents’ gravel driveway in a small town in central Newfoundland. The main door was open in expectation and, with the crunch of the tires, her face appeared behind the glass of the storm door.

I swear she had springs in her wool slippers as she waved excitedly to her guests, bouncing with joy to see us. She took her apron off and laid it on the washer in the porch just before we got pulled in, one by one, for a kiss and a bear hug.

Then she was off, bustling about – bustling was her only mode of movement – getting a snack or a drink or finishing dinner prep. She talked nonstop; laughing, only letting Pop get a word in when she got him to affirm one of her stories.

My brother Jon and I wandered into the rest of the 3-bedroom bungalow to explore. A Bible lay open on the dining room table, like someone had been interrupted while reading it and planned to go back soon to continue. Behind the table was a cabinet of board games; evidence of the ten children who grew up in this tiny house. One of those uncles grunted hello from the couch before turning back to the only TV; the black and white images much more interesting than a couple of kids. We busied ourselves with a game or pen and paper until we heard her go to the door to call the others in for supper.

“Da-VID! Dex-TER!” with the second syllable of each name going up to an unearthly pitch. Then she seated us all in the eat-in kitchen and bowed her head to “ask the blessing.”

She chatted through the meal, telling us stories we’d heard a hundred times like it was the first time she’d told them; her wide eyes flashing with humour and life. It always amazed me how she could eat and still keep up the steady flow of words. But there were fresh berries for dessert – bakeapples (or cloudberries, as some may know them). This was my nan’s marijuana – the drug that slowed her down and opened her senses to an extreme awareness.

She closed her eyes after a mouthful, a big smile of appreciation and delight spreading across her face as she let the berries sit on her tongue. “Plain delicious!” she praised. “If there are berries in Heaven, they are bakeapples!”

Even with the sprinkle of sugar over the top, I didn’t share her enjoyment. While I liked the sweet-but-tart flavour, the little seeds got caught in my teeth and bothered me for the rest of the day, with my tongue tiring from trying to root them out. (I’ve never eaten a bowl of bakeapples or a piece of bakeapple cheesecake since without thinking of her and her enjoyment of that treat.)

And then it was back to bustling, as the table was cleared away and the dishes hand-washed with a cup-towel tossed my way to help with drying.

When the last dish was put away, my mom placed one of the kitchen chairs in the middle of the room and the lady of the house took her seat. It was time to tame that wild hair; time to “put a TONI in.” She talked her way through it as Mom twisted her grey hair around the tiny plastic tubes, using the tail of the comb to part her thin hair into neat rows of pink curlers. Everyone disappeared from the kitchen when the chemicals went on. That stuff smelled almost as bad as boiling the feathers off turrs. Almost. (Frankly, there’s no smell that can compete with that).

She glanced quickly at the finished product of tight curls in the bathroom mirror, thanking Mom profusely for the service. Then she bustled into the dining room to sit at the big pump organ. I ran to stand by her side. Making music out of that monstrosity was nothing short of a miracle. The first notes droned over the sound of the air hissing from the foot pedals with a sound just slightly better than the music (?) of bagpipes.

“Faith of our fathers!” she belted out with passion. Then on to, “We are heirs of the Father, joint heirs with the Son…” She wouldn’t make it through the auditions of The Voice, but she won the most points for fervour. Never was her faith more pronounced than when she sat on that wooden bench.

Then it was back to the kitchen setting us up with a stalk of rhubarb from her garden and a small bowl of sugar for dipping. As we dug in, she plopped her round bottom in her rocking chair next to the wood stove and picked up her knitting. Someone would have a new thick pair of wool socks this winter.

What I felt in that moment, as I watched her knit and talk and laugh, was a warmth separate from the wood stove’s heat. It was a feeling of home where love and generosity prevailed. And I knew that everyone who walked through her front door (well, side door – no one ever used the front door) sensed this feeling; were treated with this hospitality and kindness.

The film stops suddenly as the tape’s end flaps away from the reel. That feeling. That smile. That big, big heart. That is what I remember. That is what I will always remember about my grandmother.

I stand on Val’s Stage today as a granddaughter who just lost someone very dear. We didn’t see each other often because we never lived close by. But she holds a place in my heart and always will.

In her 95th year of living, COVID-19 didn’t take her, but COVID-19 will prevent me from saying goodbye in person or reminiscing with family. I will watch her funeral on a screen.

You could say that everyone says kind words about the dead, but sometimes an individual is extraordinary, as my nan was. She was an angel here.

Now, she’s an angel there.

I will see you again, Nan. Until then, I will hold those memories close and feel the warmth of your love when I replay the film in my mind.

When they arrive at the gates of death, God welcomes those who love him.
Psalm 116:15 MSG

But we are citizens of heaven, where the Lord Jesus Christ lives. And we are eagerly waiting for him to return as our Savior. He will take our weak mortal bodies and change them into glorious bodies like his own, using the same power with which he will bring everything under his control.
Philippians 3:20-21 NLT

For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands.
Corinthians 5:1

Achieving Balance: A Self-Image Confession

I stand on Val’s Stage today and admit I’ve struggled with self-image issues. With the money I’ve spent over the years on hair extensions, gel nails, eyelash extensions and makeup, Hubby and I could go on a very nice cruise (not that cruising is very desirable right now; so, no loss).

Did you know the Christian’s Handbook gives us guidelines for fashion? 1 Peter ‭3:3 instructs us, ‬“‭Don’t be concerned about the outward beauty of fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or beautiful clothes.” Pause here while I catch my breath. Don’t be concerned? I was not raised to be unconcerned about how I look. ‬

Before I hit the teen years, my mother was bleaching my hair blond with peroxide because my natural color was dirty-looking (guess that’s why it’s called dirty-blond). No one had seen my natural hair color for five minutes since (until the coronavirus locked us in our houses and shut down the hair salons). I’ve struggled with self-image issues all my life, and I recently pegged that hair-dye moment as the beginning of a lifetime of beauty treatments that served to give me self-worth. I’m not blaming you, Mom, I’ve got a whole superficial society surrounding me where being real and raw isn’t considered attractive.

Up until this year, I also never left the house as an adult without a full face of makeup, even when I was recovering from pink eye. My friends laughed at me when I sat at the table to put on ‘my face’ in the mornings during cottage weekends. Our chances of seeing another human outside of the women in the cottage were slim. Yet, I didn’t feel complete or confident without making myself look as good as possible on the outside. More recently, I’ve pushed myself to go outside a few times to play tennis or go for a walk before my makeup routine was done, but I still try to stay somewhat hidden behind my sunglasses.

The last time I FaceTimed with my hair-bleaching mom, she had already prepared for bed, so she wouldn’t turn the iPad for me to see her. It was more of a WallTime as I stared at the Benjamin Moore Yellow Lotus wall over her shoulder while we talked. Pride in physical appearance is apparently a hereditary trait. Thank goodness I didn’t have any daughters to pass it down to. (We won’t talk about my youngest son who is on a modelling agency’s payroll.)

Now, I discover Peter is telling us – well, okay – me that I really shouldn’t care so much.
But he didn’t stop there. Verse 4 says, “You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God.” Huh. If I spent even half the time doing devotions or praying as I have decorating my outside appearance, you’d have to wear shades to be near my halo. Cosmopolitan doesn’t give us tips on how to attain that beauty.

Hair dye, makeup, clothing, and other add-ons aside, then, there’s my weight. Hubby claims he can’t lose weight without a scale to track his progress, so against my better judgement, I bought one. When I stepped on, it told me I was supposed to be socially distancing, and only one person should be standing on it at a time! (I’m kidding, kind of). But it did say, based on my measurements and my weight, that I am overweight – not obese, but overweight. Is one O-word worse than the other? It’s still big and round and needs some trimming, and I seriously didn’t need a name for it.

We all recognize that the 19 in COVID-19 refers to the number of pounds we are likely to gain during the pandemic, but it’s still shocking to discover how much of my clothes no longer fit me. And if it was only 19 extra pounds that I was carrying around, it wouldn’t be as alarming. I power walk, I bike, I lift weights, play tennis, and do ab exercises. I’m not completely sedentary. Do I have to do all of those things every day to stay in shape? I never make dessert and rarely ever eat chips or junk in the evenings. I try to balance the meat on our plates with vegetables and add cheese with moderation. I don’t drink pop or eat white bread. Is there something to this “middle-aged spread” I’ve heard about?

I admit, I love to eat out occasionally, and when I do, I enjoy French fries (sometimes even poutine!) and less healthy choices. I enjoy Irish cream in my morning coffee (with frothed milk) and wine and cheese in the afternoon. How do I balance my love of food, wine, and eating out with taking care of my body, feeling good about myself and being healthy? How do I balance my desire to look my best on the outside with my desire for inner beauty?

What I do know, as I stand under the bright lights of my stage (which reveal my facial hair and deepening pores), is that I have to love myself in order to love others. I can’t get hung up on trying to lose weight and making myself more beautiful if it means that I’m unhappy and too obsessed to see that God loves me just the way I am. He thinks I’m beautiful. He made me, after all. Who am I to be unhappy with this body he put me in? He wants me to step away from the mirror and spend more time looking for people around me who I can help; who I can show God’s love to.

It is said that when a woman is pregnant, she has a glow about her. While, at 50, I certainly don’t want that glow, Jocelyn Hamsher describes a Christian woman’s appearance as having a “Jesus-beauty glow — her face will reflect her joy, her virtuous lifestyle, and her love for others.” Maybe I’ve been striving for the wrong thing all these years. It’s time to start focusing more on the Jesus-beauty glow; on the inner beauty – “the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit.“

“You are beautiful. For you are fearfully and wonderfully made…”
Psalm 139:14

“Physical training is good, but training for godliness is much better, promising benefits in this life and in the life to come.”
1 Timothy 4:8

“Be an example to all believers in what you say, in the way you live, in your love, your faith, and your purity.“
1 Timothy 4:12

Face the Right Direction and Take One Step at a Time

I stand on Val’s stage today as a mom walking down memory lane; specifically, those homework sessions at the kitchen table with a crying child.

“Mom, there’s too much! Two whole pages! I’ll be here all night.” He throws his head dramatically onto his folded arms and cries. Real tears. Real anxiety. That heavy Math textbook was not a friend; his or mine.

The teacher’s strategy for this recurring homework distress was to tell him he only had to complete every second problem. This would still demonstrate whether he had mastered the concept. True. But telling him he only had to do half the questions didn’t shrink the page. It was still the same overwhelming grid of numbers. He couldn’t even start it. The whole was too big to see each individual question.

Covering the bottom of the page with sticky notes did not fool his brain either. He was in the junior grades by this time, and not easy to trick. It took a lot of training and many more tears before he finally began to see that he just needed to tackle the job one problem at a time. Kicking up a fuss wasn’t going to get him out of doing the work. He had to do it, so he might as well face the right direction and take one step at a time.

It’s hard not to circle back to my own reality of the fall school start-up in less than three weeks. Concerned parents reach out to me for help with a decision about going back to school, joining through remote learning, or keeping their child home to do their own program (homeschooling), and I have to admit to them that I don’t know much more than they do about what this will all look like. When you look at the whole, it can be overwhelming and scary. It might make you want to pull your turtle head into your shell and refuse to come out. But no matter how long I stay in there and how many tears I shed, I still have to do what I have to do. I have to take my own advice to my son: face the right direction and take one step at a time.

Am I going to hate wearing a mask and a shield all day? Yes, but I’ll get used to it, just like all those other essential workers have been doing nonstop for months. Are my hands going to dry out and get sore from all the sanitizer? Yes, but I’ll find some really good moisturizer to help with that, and my fancy gel nails will distract from the ugliness. Will I have to change my program drastically into something unrecognizable? Yes, but my students will still acquire important life skills and will come to love learning. Will I find it hard to distance from four- and five-year olds who need a loving touch? Yes, but I’ll learn to use my words and my voice more effectively to soothe and comfort. Will I fear the chance of getting the corona virus from one of my students? Yes, but I’ll do the best I can to prevent that from happening and face it head-on, only if it does. Will it be the most challenging year ever as a teacher, student or parent? Yes, but if we all work together, we can face the right direction and take one step at a time.

There are many stories in the Bible of people who didn’t know what the future held but blindly followed God’s leading.

Noah – He built a giant boat where there was no water, while his neighbors laughed at him.
Abraham and Sarah – They packed up everything and left their home with no clear idea of where they were going. It was one step at a time in their journey toward “The Promised Land.”
Moses – He was told to lead the people, but he had no idea where his destination was or how long it would take them. If he had known he was facing 40 years in the wilderness with people who blamed him for every little thing that went wrong, he might have refused that leadership mission.
Paul – On the day that he was converted, Paul asked, “What shall I do, Lord?” And the answer came back, “Arise and go on into Damascus; and there you will be told of all that has been appointed for you to do.” He went without knowing what to expect.

Blind faith worked out in each of these cases. (See more faith stories in Hebrews 11).

Usually, in normal times, we base our plans on what we know. We weigh the pros and the cons; we try to make an informed decision. But what we know, in the case of COVID, is just so little. It’s going to require some blind faith to move forward. Despite my brave words, this week I’ve stumbled. It’s hard being this close to Day One with my students while still not knowing the details.

Do you know who does know everything? God. He sees how we can best navigate through the pandemic. He knows when and how it will end. I have to stop and pass my worries back to Him to carry. That backpack is too heavy for me. I’m going to let him lead the way into this mess, while bolstering me up with His comforting love.

I’m going to suit up with my protective gear, face the right direction, and take one step at a time.

“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.”
Proverbs 16:9

“Even when I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will not be afraid,
for you are close beside me.
Your rod and your staff
protect and comfort me.”
Psalm 23:4

Back to School: The Heart of a Teacher

I stand on Val‘s Stage today as a Kindergarten teacher; a teacher who is told that she has to go back to school– five days a week – with her whole class – during a pandemic. People ask me how I feel. Well, here is how I feel…

In June, after three months of at-home learning, my students were asked to send us a short video in which they told us what they loved most about Kindergarten. We received a variety of answers, including memories of field trips and special events; but almost all of them stated that ‘playing with their friends’ was what they enjoyed most.

One of our little ones, who has been diagnosed with a socially-challenging developmental disorder, sent the most touching video. Tears filled his eyes and his voice as he said, “I miss Mrs Val.” Mrs Val fought back her own tears as he continued with, “I miss Ms. Holly.” (Our Early Childhood Educator) “And I miss my friends.” This was more than a statement of what he loved about Kindergarten; this was an honest expression of his feelings in that moment, after three months apart. This separation has not been easy on children, especially our friends with special needs.

For four- and five-year-old children, play is their work. In those two years of Kindergarten, they learn how to get along with others, how to self-regulate, and how to be a contributing member of a community. They use language to express their wants, needs, and feelings. They learn to listen to others and respect differing ideas. They learn to ask questions and explore their innate curiosity. And each of those learnings is done while they play with their classmates.

It’s time for children to get back to ‘work’. They can’t effectively work from home like many of their parents do. They need each other.

When people ask me how I feel about going back to school, I tell them that I will face what I need to face and do what I’m told to do. I chose a profession that involves spending my days with little children, and if I didn’t believe that my job was essential to their social-emotional development, I wouldn’t do it.

I look past the tears, dirty noses, and washroom accidents to their smiling eyes. Sometimes it takes a while for them to gain that social confidence; to move through the stages of play from solitary play, to playing side by side with others, to interacting, to actually cooperatively playing together. Somewhere in that play spectrum, they see the value in friendship, and their eyes light up when they enter their friends’ space.

While this pandemic created a situation for families to reconnect and has forced them into spending more time together (which, for most families, was a positive thing), it’s time for children to reconnect with their friends.

Most of my students will have been at home for half a year when we start school in September. That’s a long time for a child who’s only been on the earth for four or five years. They will enter school after six months of being told they can’t share, they can’t play with friends, and they must stay a huge distance apart from others. They have had a fear of interaction instilled into them. Outside of the safety precautions we will need to implement, rebuilding our social learning environment is going to be a challenge.

Many parents, and teachers too, are expressing fear about this year’s startup. Fear breeds anxiety, and who needs that?

“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.”
Peter 5: 7

I look forward to seeing those smiling eyes, even if the rest of their faces were hidden behind masks (which right now is not a requirement). Children need to get back to work, so I need to get back there too. As a teacher, I will lead by example as we navigate through a whole new way of doing things. I will show flexibility and embrace change as a necessary element of my job. We will learn together as we play together, and our eyes will reflect our enjoyment as we rediscover how much we need each other.

We’re going to be okay. And if we’re not, we’ll deal with things as they come. That may seem reckless, but it’s a risk we need to take. Our children need each other now. Their future as world citizens, who live and work together effectively, depends on it.

I look past the fear and the necessary restrictive measures, and I look forward to seeing their smiling eyes.

Welcome back to school, my friends!

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 4: 6-7