Photographs by Laurie @ Horizons Photography

June 22, 2018

The lilac

I have never been a gardener; I enjoy them but to me, they always just seem to be another room that needs maintenance.  I have lived in a few homes now that had beautiful gardens and I have always managed to keep them clean and maintained but to say I found any joy in it would be lying to you. The one thing that I have always loved though are flowering trees. When Josh was born we planted a cherry tree so that every spring we could enjoy the cherry blossoms; we moved before I ever saw one but that doesn't matter because each spring we drive by and I take pride in the fact that I left something beautiful behind. When Kaleb was born I planted a lilac and again we moved before I really saw any real blooms. The last mothers day before we left that house I was given a magnolia and I planted it in the front so that we could drive by and see it as it grew and bloomed. The house we are in now had a beautiful garden when we moved in, a huge butterfly bush full of beautiful dark purple blossoms added so much colour and beauty until it died during the ice storm a few years back. We had a lilac here too that survived and seemed to thrive. Every year I enjoy both the look and the smell of the lilacs on the breeze and I have to admit to a bit of sadness each year when I look outside and see the ground covered in a purple carpet of fallen petals. 

A few years ago I found an old blue dresser that someone was throwing out, I picked it up and it was stored at my cottage waiting for me to have space in the car for me to bring it home, this spring it finally made it's way to Toronto with Tim and Kaper and as I pulled out the drawers and started looking it over I quickly realized that it was not going to be suitable for an indoor dresser. However, I hated to throw it out so I decided to use it as a garden piece. It was blue so I didn't need to paint it. I bought soil and some plants and lined the drawers with plastic and added some holes for drainage and made it into a leveled planter. When I stood back and looked at my work I realized that the sides of the drawers hadn't been painted the blue colour and were actually not overly attractive so I pulled out some paint and added some dragonflies and flowers to it. On the top of the dresser, I put some pots with flowers and one used one of Kaper's old rain boots to make a cute little pot for the last of the flowers I had. The entire thing only took an afternoon but spending a beautiful day in the backyard making something look both cute and whimsical made me feel really good. I felt that I had accomplished something that wouldn't be destroyed or messed up the next time the guys came home from school. So began a discovery of the joy of creating a garden. I began to look at my backyard differently, I worked, I created, I painted, I beaded, I planted, I watered, I enjoyed myself and found peace while I was doing it. 

As I began to take more interest in the garden I also started learning how to care for the plants I have for so long basically ignored. One of those things was my lilac. One day I was up on the roof of my shed trying to trim back the apple tree and the lilac tree when I realized that the apple tree was actually killing the lilacs; it was just too crowded. I took out the apple tree since it never bore fruit and I focused on the lilacs. Now, most people who read this will know that a lilac is a bush; I knew it... but mine had become a lilac tree. I was so tall, you could barely see the blooms. It took a friend looking at it to point out that I needed to prune it harshly in order to get it back to being a bush, to push the green down and allow the blooms to really flourish. Yesterday I took the tree trimmer and I went after the lilacs. As I worked and cut I felt like I was killing it, All the branches were falling at my feet and my heart was so sad as it got more and more bare. Now, sitting below the lilac is a fairy home, in the lower branches hang fairy lights and beaded suncatchers, glass bottles with lights also hang from the lower branches in an attempt to add magic to the garden even after the sun goes down. It is a pretty spot. When I stood back after my extreme pruning I saw all the bare spots and sat on the deck contemplating it with both sadness and hope. Then I had an epiphany.

It is an age-old analogy, but pruning a tree to give it more health and beauty is necessary. Pruning humans will have the same results. My lilacs were really pretty, I enjoyed them, they bloomed each year, but they were not what they started out to be. They were meant to be a bush, they started as a bush but time and neglect had turned them into a tree and it was getting so tall that the beauty was becoming more and more difficult to see each year. It took someone reminding me that it was actually a bush for me to finally realize I needed to do something about it. 

Last November when I sat in my doctors' office and answered the questions she asked me it was like someone pointed out that I was not a tree, I was actually meant to be a bush and my beauty was becoming more and more difficult to see because I wasn't who I was supposed to be. The pruning process is hard, it hurts, it's left me bare, I may be hanging a few pretty lights and beads on it to look okay but the reality is that it's an ugly process. Some of the questions made me remember who I was, the person I was before all the years of struggling to keep my head above water, and I was shocked that I had forgotten that woman, that she had become so distant that I could barely remember being her at all. I have neglected her to focus on more pressing matters but it's springtime and now I need to prune her, or God does at least. 

As I sat on my deck looking at my poor bare lilac I began to have hope, because the promise is that all that pruning will bring even more green branches and blooms next year, and the beauty will be more visible, and even more the year following that. It was killing a tree to bring back a bush. 

As I sift through the last 11 years I realize that I have a lot of pruning to do, cutting out the internal voice that has been lying to me, the fears, and the anger that has gone so deep into my roots that it spreads into all areas of my life and just leaves a deep sadness that needs to be sorted through and cut out, and that will take work, sweat and tears, it will leave me bare for a time, it will feel ugly for a bit but with time my true self will begin to show herself again. I will once again bloom and be visible and known for what I was actually intended to be.

June 14, 2018


After taking a bid deep breath yesterday I closed my eyes and hit send and my post went live; having opened up I felt raw and exposed and very very nervous about the possible response I would receive. I didn't want to look at the responses that I was receiving, the texts, the emails, the messages on Facebook because the bandage being ripped off my silence left me feeling so exposed. I have to admit that when I finally did look; when I finally opened the messages I was so comforted by the responses I read. So many people who are in similar spots, so many people with the same struggles, so many people who offered comfort, prayers, love. I am realizing how little credit I have given the people in my life and the world in general. It all seems so silly really, given I know myself I wouldn't think less of someone if they told me what I told you yesterday.  Thank you all for the love and show of support and acceptance. I needed that more than you can know. Sometimes I feel very 'unknown' and there is a part of me today, though still feeling rather exposed, that feels a little more known.

This is a journey that so many are on and while I take comfort in knowing I am not alone I find it a sad thought, to know how many others are feeling the weight of what I am feeling. Many people said 'you are not alone; I understand' and so now I say that to you. You are not alone,  I understand.

More to come, but not today. My brain needs a break today; I just wanted to say thank you for your kindness, compassion and gentle response to my post yesterday. It has helped.


June 13, 2018

Time to fight back

I haven't written in a long time, I have been putting off to busyness and time management but when I really sit and think about it I have to admit that I stopped writing out of fear. The last few months I have been trying to face some of those fears, trying to come to grips with where life has brought me and how I got to this point, this chapter. As I sit here I struggle with where to start because it seems like my brain is so full and trying to make sense of it all is hard for me. However, I have always found that writing, feeling heard and known is a source of therapy so I am going to start and let it flow.

In early November I finally found a doctor who was much closer to our new home and I went to meet her, I liked her immediately and had all my records sent to her and she became my new doctor. She had me come in for a routine check-up a few weeks later and as we chatted through my family medical history I told her all about the boys and their health issues. I guess she was listening to all that I was saying, and not saying because at the end of the appointment she asked me to fill out a screening test. It didn't take too much time but as I answered the questions I began to see a pattern, things that I kind of knew about myself but that I hadn't wanted to face and address. When I handed the test back to her she scored it up, looked at me and said 'do you realize that you are living with a moderate depression, and high anxiety? I wanted to cry because as she spoke the words resonated and I was both angry and a little hopeful. Angry that I was the way I was, and hopeful because someone recognized me, someone, who might be able to help me. We talked at length and she prescribed some medicine to get me over the crunch and she suggested I talk to a therapist. The problem was, I don't talk to people about how I am doing mentally, or if I do it's 'Im good, I've got this, I trust God'; all of which is not untrue but it doesn't cover the whole truth. Therein lies my fear in sharing this post, in picking up the blog again. Sharing with you my deepest fears and admitting the absolute truth is not easy, but it also means that I have to also delve into some painful areas of my life that up until now I have safely avoided (or at least ignored until I couldn't anymore. )

Tim and I were talking last night and he was trying to get me to open up with him about it all since I am still resisting therapeutic help he reminded me that he's been a pastor for 15 years and has a little experience. He asked 'do you ever really talk about this stuff with anyone?' and I had to admit that I don't. Writing has always been my way of working through my thoughts, and so it was him to got me to a place where I am now sitting here writing this post.

Over the last winter, I have been struggling to understand my mental health and figure out how I got here, and where to begin in finding healing, coping strategies. I have also struggled with deep shame and sense of failure about it all.  Shame and failure. Just admitting that brings embarrassment.  Throughout the last 11 years, I have heard so many times about how well Tim and I have handled what we have gone through with Joshua. People continuously tell us how strong we are, how they admire the way we have coped... having to sit here and tell you that I am not strong, that I haven't been coping brings a deep sense of shame; and failure as I know this post will let people down. I also think back to those days of pregnancy after the diagnosis when God told me 'Be strong and courageous' I have failed there too. I want to be strong, I put on the smile,  I am pretending.

As the winter wore on it became clear to both Tim and I as well as my doctor that I am suffering from PTSD; I get it, my brain understands it but it makes me feel weak, it makes me feel like I am whining just saying it out loud and so I am stuck in silence and I haven't been able to move. There just seems like so much stuff to work through that I don't know where to start and so I take my pills and I try baby steps but then I slip and anxiety overwhelms me and I go back to hiding.

I don't want to hide anymore. I am tired. I want to let go of the shame, I want to be the honest person that I have always claimed to be on this blog. I don't want to let more people down, I want to do what God has called me to do, I want to be strong, I want to be courageous and so here I sit. Coffee beside me growing cold, a sore throat from fighting the tears that both threaten to flood me but also cleanse me.

This is not going to be worked out in one post; this will most likely be a series of posts as I allow you to join me on my journey back to myself, back to wholeness.

Thanks for reading, and listening.


November 5, 2017

Warrior child

Photo was taken last week

I was worried this afternoon.

In a gym with about 10 kids and two karate teachers, I listened as the sensei asked the kids to start the warm-up. First they had to do sprints, no biggy. Then they had to run sprints and touch the line, again no biggy, then he said I want you to run sprints and when you get to the line I want you to do 10 push ups... my gut twisted and I looked at Josh who was so focused that he didn't see my panicked look of concern. Lets just say Josh is not my 'co ordinated' kid; with a weaker right side and high muscle tone things like athletics don't come naturally to him. I quickly looked at my phone and tried to make it look like all was well but I was worried. Does he even know how to do a push-up? Does he have the arm strength to do this? I can see he's already winded from all the sprints, what if the warm-ups become the sticking point on what could be the perfect sport for him?

The kids lined up on the white line, they crouched and waited for the go signal. 20 eyes all set in one direction; I was only watching two of them and they were focused, clear, determined. I held my breath as the sensei yelled GO, and I watched as Josh sprinted past the younger kids, then past the tallest kid in the group, then as he slid to the first line I moved to the edge of my seat as quickly as he slid into the push-up position. One, then two, three, four... all ten perfect push-ups and before I could gasp for the breath I had been holding he was up and sprinting the next line to do it all again. I swear I was beaming, and my throat hurt from the lump that formed there. When he was done three sets he sprinted back to the start line; his smile said he knew what he'd done, and when he got to the line he looked at me with a shy "I'm too cool to want my Mom to show me how proud she is of me but I am still young enough to really care what she thinks" smile. I nodded at him and smiled in an"I'm proud of you but know that I can't jump up and run over there to give you a giant hug because you are nine and that would embarrass you' kind of way. It was a silent understanding that passed between us in that quick meeting of eyes, an acknowledgment that he has been aching for in every sport he tries. He wasn't last, he wasn't second to last, he was almost the first kid back to the line and he knew it.

As I sat on the sidelines watching him I saw the warrior child I have seen so many times in the hospital, or when facing something very serious or painful or scary. He had his "this means war" face on as he learned the punches and kicks and bows, where to place his feet, how to hold his arms, how to make a proper fist; and his attention to detail was noticed and commented on by his sensei who patted his back on the way out and then came over to chat with me about how great he was.

I was proud (to put it mildly). We have worked so hard, come so far together and while this was his success alone I have to admit I was just as anxious, just as out of breath, just as proud as he was. He has so longed to find a place to fit, a place to put his competitive side and not be crushed in defeat and today he rose to the occasion and he was shining.

For those of you who follow this blog (dwindling as it is because of my lack of writing lately) you will know that last spring this was something we were all praying for, a moment like this for him and I was very aware of all those prayers today when I sat on the sidelines watching God answer them.

October 9, 2017

Thanksgiving gift that keeps giving

Today in my memory app there were obviously a lot of posts about a special young man in my life, a sweet little Kaper who happens to be our Thanksgiving baby.  Each post went something like "I can't believe my baby is one already... WOW, Kaleb is already 2,  where have the years gone, Kaleb is no longer 3,4,5,6 and today, he's no longer 7. I shouldn't be surprised, each year I someone look at him and feel surprised that he's taller, older, more articulate, but that's life really right? The thing is, he's my baby, my youngest and last;  and it comes home with each year older he gets. There is something else that happens each year though, this amazing transformation of the baby, toddler, boy... a human who I have the absolute pleasure of watching emerge as a man. I watch him and feel so much pride in the person he's becoming. The kid who stops playing if someone is hurt and runs over to make sure they are okay, the kid who prays for peace when his friends are fighting, the kid who hurts when the world hurts, the kid who finds every bug, no matter how small and wants to bring it to me as a gift, a show of pride?, (maybe it's like a cat with a mouse? - still haven't figured this one out as I HATE BUGS) the kid who can be causing trouble while smiling at you and with sparkly eyes tell you how much he loves you so that it's impossible to be annoyed about the mess.  The kid who comes with me on a photoshoot as my assistant and manages to calm the clients, ease the tension they feel, find the perfects spots for shooting, and manages polite conversation like a pro.  This kid is going places, I just can't wait to see where.

Today as I reflected on his birth with him, I reminded him about how he was our gift from God for Thanksgiving; so that no matter what happens in life we will always remember to be thankful for the gifts we have been given and I was taken back 8 years ago to the moment when they took Kaleb out in the OR and put him close to my face, he sucked on my nose and my heart grew to  a size I thought impossible. The hole in his heart that they feared was there was pronounced healed and the pediatrician in the room looked at me and announced that he was a healthy baby boy. What a wonderful gift, what a beautiful memory. I don't have many memories from that day, I was pretty sick and some of my memories are mixed up or just stories that Tim has told me to fill in the blanks but those two memories are clear as day, I can still see the doctors eyes look into mine as he made his announcement and I can still see little Kaper's eyes as he sought me out, like he knew deep down that I was his Mama and that he was home.

There will never be a time when I don't wonder that they two amazing little people came from my body, there won't ever be a time when I don't realize how blessed I am that God is working in their lives and is there to help me raise them, there is never going to be a day that I breathe on this earth that I don't love them with everything in me, that I won't fight for them and pray for them and move heaven and earth to be the best mama I can be for them, even if it hurts.


I am so thankful for you, for your life, your heart, your passions, and joys, for the love that you show to each member of our family, for the wonderful conversations and bountiful snuggles. You cheer me, you encourage me, you take interest in me the way most children don't with their Moms. I am so fascinated by you, and genuinely interested in the person you are and will be. There is no way for you to know how much I love you until you have kids of your own one day but I do, so much. I want to wish you a happy birthday and to say thank you for the joy, the laughter, the love. You are truly a wonderful gift!

Happy Birthday! All of my love,

Mama xoxox

September 29, 2017

His decision

When the boys were babies we had a choice to make regarding whether or not we would have them baptized or dedicated; I had been raised that you had a believers baptism and when you were old enough to decide if you wanted to follow Jesus then you made that choice on your own; Tim was baptized as a baby and saw both sides as equally relevant so he didn't have a strong opinion either way, or at least he went with me on my preferred choice and together we stood before God and dedicated our boys to him, promised to raise them to know the Love of God and to understand his call to his followers. We took a lot of flack over our choice as it's not the typical 'anglican' way; we heard all the arguments and were even told that Josh wouldn't be so sick if we had gotten him baptized. However, I was sure of my convictions and we smiled at the nay sayers and did what we felt was right.

This past summer year and I have been reading the Bible together, as we worked our way through the New Testament this summer Josh was presented with baptism multiple times and he had a lot of questions about it; we had a lot of talks about the gift of Jesus and what it means to follow him. In early September the conversation again came up as we finished the Bible (and started it again as per Josh's request). As we chatted I asked him if he would like to think about getting baptized and again we had more talks about what that looks like, what it means. His biggest concern was that he didn't have enough faith yet. (Big smile here because if I had waited for enough faith I never would have been baptized). He said he wanted to think about it and I did the hardest thing a parent ever has to do, I sat back and let God work in him. I resisted the temptation MULTIPLE times to ask him about it, or talk to him; instead, I waited.

On Tuesday night Josh called me to his room to listen to a story he had on the audiobook. It was about a little girl who was running away from God, but he was pursuing her and using people to show his love to her. In the end of the story, she decided that she wanted to be a Christian. At the point of her decision, Josh jumped up and stopped the CD player with a big smile. I have to admit I was confused. I asked him what it was about this story he wanted to share with me and he replied 'I like that God loved her and she was running away but he kept showing her he loved her and then she chose to be a Christian" I smiled and agreed that it was a nice story and then I asked him. "Do you want to be a Christian Josh?" and he smiled so big it lit the room. "YES"! I want to be baptized and I want Daddy to it!".

I share this because I am so humbled as I am once again reminded that the Holy Spirit is working in my kids, he and Josh have been working together to come to this choice and I am so happy for him, and so thankful I didn't keep pestering him about it. When we started out by making a choice to dedicate over baptize it was so that this moment could come, where he made that choice on his own, not for Tim and I but for him and had I done what I really wanted to do (bug him about it consistently) he would have been doing it for me, or possibly not do it all just rebel against my harassment.

I am feeling really blessed as we head into this special celebration with Joshua. God is faithful.

September 8, 2017

Happy New Year!

Most people see January as the first month of a new year; rightly so I suppose since it is the new year after all. However, for me the new year traditions always come in September; maybe it's the years of starting school in september and always being told about fresh starts with a new teacher or new school etc. Whatever the reason I have never shaken the habit of seeing September as a place to rewind the things that need rewinding and starting fresh again, with new plans, new hopes, new goals. I always get my new agenda in September and when I see those crisp clean pages I feel a fresh beginning stretching out before me.

During the summer months I had time to think, time to refresh and what I found was a sense of lacking, a feeling of loss or complacency or maybe both. I couldn't figure it out, I was both sad and frustrated and I yearned for more but I couldn't tell you what that was.

The other day I watched a movie on Netflix and while I was watching it I was hit with a realization; it was a spiritual thing. My longing was for more joy, more closeness with God. My feelings of loss came from that lack of time spent with him; and my sadness was the missing of that closeness we had.

One of the things that became apparent quite quickly was that for me, writing is a way of sorting out feelings and thoughts, it helps unscatter my brain and figure out what is actually going on up there. So, here I sit. On the abyss of something absolutely wonderful that is to come. Starting to once again spend time each day, proper time, not just throwing prayers into the wind as I move from A to B. Time where I pray for my husband, for my kids, for my friends, for my church and for the world. Time where I share my thoughts and worries, fears and disapointments, hopes and dreams with the God of the Universe who made me for relationship with him. Already I am seeing him, like scales falling off my eyes I have begun to once again purposely look for the ways in which God is working in my life and the life of my kids and it's fun.

The other night Josh was praying for rain and cooler weather and I was quick to correct and tell him that God isn't Santa, you don't hand him a wish list and walk away... (which is true yes) but I quickly learned so much more about God and relationship when God gave Josh exactly what he had been praying for. It poured yesterday, I mean buckets, in between were sunny periods and then more rain, and it was cooler. When the kids got off the bus after school Josh was screaming "God answered my prayers!" and Kaleb was screaming "It's Josh's fault mama, God answered his prayers!' (When I say screaming I really mean it, the whole of the distillery district probably heard their proclamations of answered prayer. I laughed and we chatted about it, because here is what I learned.

1) God wants to hear from them, whatever they have to say, whatever their worries are, whatever their desires and while I need to help them learn I shouldn't try to control that budding relationship they have with Him.
2) God uses the littest prayers (like rain and cooler weather) to build a foundation of faith in the lives of his children.

I was so happy to see that rain yesterday, despite hating that it actually did rain, I was happy that God loves my kids so much that it matters to him that they believe in the power of prayer, and that they learn that their voices, their thoughts, matter to the God who made it all.

What a beautiful rain...
What a beautiful September...

Happy New Year.