I keep thinking about something I said last time I wrote on my blog about never doubting Dan’s love for me. Technically, that’s an untruth. There have been nights when I cried myself to sleep because I was sure he didn’t. I’ve listened to bitter lies in my mind that told me he doesn’t care or he would work less or notice that I was sad or take my broad hints that he stop a certain habit or do the bedtime routine more often with the children.
I often doubt God’s love for me too, actually.
But I think what I was trying to say is that underneath those childish feelings I have, there is also a knowing. These two beings both have a sure and steady love that I know is there whether I feel it or not.
That confession behind me, I can move on to lighter things. Like celebrating 19 years of marriage. It is inconceivable that those of us who are so young and inexperienced have almost 20 years behind us already. It’s baffling, really.
(stolen from my friend Amy’s facebook page)
To celebrate our 19 year old marriage, we left home for about 47 hours and went away to the quiet little town of Peace River. It was quite likely the sweetest getaway we’ve ever had. I think the combination of it being August and ever so beautiful and the extent of our tiredness and need for a rest before we left made it seem extra special.
I will try not to gush.
We soaked in sunshine and conversation, ice cream and some Alberta history, political debates in both Canada and the US in the news, and the sweeping grandeur of the Peace River and the farmland surrounding it.
I thought how well the name of the Peace fit our time away. The other day in church one of the men read this little quote about how if we don’t do what Jesus said and come apart to rest awhile, we will come apart. I was nodding my head vigorously inside because just that morning I felt like the seams of my endurance were just about splitting and I didn’t know what to do if they did.
We’ve just had a crazy summer and it’s like the prescription said “Rest a little”. So we finally did. We even browsed a small museum. Now I’m not really a museum person, but then it’s been a long time since I went to one without children. It used to be school children when I was teaching and now it’s my own kids. And museums are stressful places where you’re afraid someone is going to sit in the 200 year old canoe or try on the fur coat that says “Thank you for not touching me” on it.
But the tough people who make up the richness of history always fascinate me. Especially up here in the North. How did those pioneer ladies make it through mud and long months of winter and deaths of their babies? Where did they go when they needed a rest?
(excuse my nasty phone pics)
The book on the right is called The Unmentionable History of the West. It’s about women and woman stuff. In it there’s a story of a fur trader’s Aboriginal wife who was pregnant and traveling with a group of men. She dropped behind the company, but later brought forth “the little stranger”, tied it into a cradleboard, and carried on with the trip. Another lady knew her time was near, so they stopped to make camp and while her husband went to find suitable poles to construct a teepee, she had her baby and washed him in snow before wrapping him. He cried and shivered with the cold, but she believed he always withstood cold better than others because of his first bath in the snow.
That little paper in the corner of the I Am Albertan book? It is from a fortune cookie at a Chinese restaurant we ate at on Friday night. It says, “You will become an accomplished writer.” One can always dream.
They were quite magnificent and now there is a pie on the kitchen counter ready to eat for Sunday lunch.
I am teaching my sister’s preschool Sunday school class this morning because she has a bad cold. It’s about returning good for evil and I haven’t taught little guys for ages.
Tomorrow I have an assignment due for a writing group I’m part of and I haven’t written a thing yet. I can’t wait till I become an accomplished writer. (haha)
See you later. Have a blessed Sunday.