Heading into the Mission or Heading the Mission?

"Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:"   ~ Matthew 28:19

You know how Girl Guides have those sashes that extend from one shoulder to the hip? They're covered in badges that the girls have earned by study, participation or accomplishment. There's the badges that everyone gets for baking a cake or looking after their family pet or sewing a straight line. Then there's that one special badge. The one that not everyone achieves, the one that takes more sacrifice and determination to get. The one that the other girls look at and go, "wow, you have that badge!" For me it was my snowshoeing badge. Not very many little girls got that badge and it was one I was proud to have sewn on my sash (and we're talking old-fashioned-rope-web-rabbit-foot-tall-as-me-real-deal-snow-shoes here, none of that lightweight aluminum stuff we have today). 

**Well, in the Christian sub-culture it could be argued that we have figurative sashes that we sew little badges on to. There's the conversion badge and subsequent baptism badge, the Christmas nativity badge (probably another badge just for girls if you have the honour of playing Mary), the church choir badge, the faithful tither badge, the Holy Matrimony badge, Sunday school teacher badge, guest speaker badge, scripture reading badge, committee leader badge, song leader badge, soup kitchen badge, I could go on but I think you get it. Then there's THE badge. The one you'll get the most questions about, the most ooooohs and aaaaahs, the one that proves that you are a dedicated, self-sacrificing Christ follower. . .The Missionary Badge. Da, da, Duuuummmmmm. 

Some churches, like mine, put a lot of emphasis on going to the mission field. We look at missionaries the way that the public looks at firefighters. We think of words like duty, sacrifice, heroism and we do it all with a feeling of awe. How many years did you spend in the mission? Wow, really? What was it like? Are you fluent in three languages now? What was the hardest thing you saw? Which disaster were you helping with? Did you cure a disease? Did you get a disease? 

Okay, well, we're not all so forthcoming with those exact questions but I'm just trying to get across that an overseas mission is the "Holy Grail" of Christian Service. In saying all this I am in no way trying to take away from the importance and dedication and sacrifice of committing to an overseas mission. After all, it is commanded of us. My question is are we over-emphasizing the overseas mission? Obviously I'm arguing that we are indeed doing just that. 

I remember as a kid when our school would be fundraising for the needy in developing countries. My dad would often wonder out loud about how it was that we could find money to give to people in other countries but we still had homeless and starving people in our own country - our own cities for that matter. These thoughts always stuck with me. The same could be said about the Gospel in other countries. Sure, there are lots of folk who have never heard the Gospel overseas - however, there are a lot of people at home who have never heard the Gospel either, or worse, have never heard it in a way that makes sense to them. 

A few years ago I had the pleasure of doing a ride-along with an outstanding Halton Region Paramedic and fellow Christ-follower. He has been on several missions, including a year spent in Haiti where he and his family were amidst the chaos of the earthquake when it happened. At this time I had not been on a mission yet and I was talking over different options with him. Then he said something to me that I will never forget. He said, "You know, Lexi, the greatest mission field we have is in the workplace." The greatest mission field is not in a third world country with a different language. The greatest mission field is wherever you are right now - wherever God has led you to at this moment. 

That's a powerful and sobering thought. Powerful because you have a mission at this very moment and sobering because think about how you went about your day today. Did you treat it as an opportunity to be a witness for Christ? Your greatest mission field is right here in front of you - but so is the toughest.

Which leads me to another thought. So many of us get excited when we have the opportunity to leave on an overseas mission. I was very excited when I was called to a short-term medical mission in El Salvador. It's a life-changing experience. In fact, I would go as far to say that for many of us, an overseas mission changes us more than it changes the people we meet (take that with a grain of salt). However, as quick as I was to accept the chance to jump into a a new situation in a new culture with new people I have to criticize myself for not accepting that chance on the home front.

How many of us actually go out of our comfort zones at home? I'm just observing that we spend a lot of time in each other's fellowship which is comforting and rejuvenating. I'm wondering though if we may need to confront the fact that shaking someone's hand after singing once a month is not missionary work. That spending all of our time with friends from church and in our own community does not spread the Good News. That being too self-concious to strike up a conversation does not further Christ's love or break down stereotypes. How can we take that comfort and rejuvenation we find in our own church and community and spread it outward?

Maybe we need to get a teensy-bit more excited about the mission field God has placed us in before we start longing for the mission field overseas.

Just a thought. 

"And he went out from thence, and came into his own country; and his disciples follow him." 

~Mark 6:1

**The earning badges thing is an illustration. A Christ-filled spirit realizes that these "badges" do not earn him or her a place in Heaven. Only through accepting Christ as saviour and his free forgiveness grants us a place in Heaven. The "badges" are things we are propelled to do through our love for Christ.

A Free Gift from The King: Part 1

Once upon a time, in a beautiful kingdom, there was a young prince who was not particularly well-behaved. He was rude to the servants, brushed off his responsibilities, was always late and made fun of the disfigured. He didn't care too much about his title or his kingdom because he had older brothers and sisters who were all very responsible and who would inherit the kingdom. He would never have the glory or the riches that came with being a king. In fact he hardly ever bothered to speak to his father the King and he pretty much figured that his father didn't give a hoot about him or what he did.

Until one day, while he was relaxing under a tree, pondering what to do with all of his spare time he thought he heard his father calling for him. He ignored the call at first, annoyed that he should be bothered. Then after awhile he began to wonder what the old man wanted. It felt as though he hadn't seen his father in ages. With a sigh he got up and went to look for his father. He wasn't in the throne room. The Prince felt like giving up the search right then. After all, if it was so important, his father should just come and tell him so. But just then he met his older sister who said she could show him where to find their father. Why not? thought the Prince, I was bored anyway. He let his sister guide him out into the Royal Garden. She pointed him in the direction of their father who the young Prince could now see sitting on an ornate bench surrounded by vines with huge blossoming golden flowers. In the King's lap was a small mirrored box, reflecting rays of sun onto his father's aged face. The King turned then, and seeing his son in the garden he ran to his son, laughing and holding him in a warm embrace. The Prince was a bit stunned - he didn't remember his Father being so loving or so full of joy.

"Come son, sit beside me here in the garden, I want to speak to you," said the King as he motioned the Prince to sit on the bench to his right. "Son, let's not beat around the bush," said the King. I love you. I love you more than you could ever imagine and it has broken my heart not to have you near me. I want to give you the most valuable thing I have. I want to give you the keys to the Kingdom. I want you to rule by my side." The King handed the little mirrored box to the young Prince.

The Prince was absolutely stunned. He had come to the garden expecting to maybe just catch up with the old man, probably get scolded at worst. However, now his father wanted him, the least deserving of the family to inherit the Kingdom. This must be a joke, he thought. He caught his reflection in the top of the mirrored box and for the first time he really saw himself clearly and he was saddened by how he was living.

"Father, you've got to be kidding me. You must not have any idea of what I have done," said the Prince.

"Sure I do," said the King. You've lied and cheated, you've been selfish, prideful and rude, you've been lustful, crude, uncaring. You've been petty and you've held hate in your heart. You have hurt others and you have disrespected even me. I know you don't deserve what I'm giving you, but frankly, there's nothing you could have done to deserve a gift this awesome. I hate what you have done in the past, but I love you and I can forgive everything you've done. All you have to do is accept my gift to you. I promise you that I mean it son. I. love. you. Do you believe me?"

The Prince was amazed that this was happening to him, but his father was speaking with such sincerity and such overwhelming love that the Prince knew he was speaking the truth.
"Yes father, I believe you. I will accept the keys to the Kingdom. But father, please, I have not learned how to live like a good son and prince. If it pleases you, allow me to leave the kingdom and travel to the far, far away places where I can meet people and learn how to be a good servant so that I will return knowing how to be a good ruler. I want to tell everyone I meet along the way of the wonderful gift you have given me."

The King pondered this for a moment. "Son, that is a very honourable request. The keys to the Kingdom are yours and they are freely given to you. I will never seek to take them away from you. Hold them close to your heart and through them you and I will always be able to hear and speak to each other. However, when you venture into the far, far away lands you will encounter many dangers. If you lack vigilance you may lose the keys, or there may be people who would seek to take them from you. Remember too that the farther away you are from the Kingdom the heavier the keys become and you may become tired and stumble. Above all things, remember that the day will come when I will summon you back to the Kingdom. If you arrive at the gates without the keys you will be locked out forever, stuck wandering the far, far away lands. Please son, be careful. You belong here with me."

So the Prince set out to learn how to lead by serving others. Even though he traveled in joy and faith he was beset by some troubles in the far, far away lands. But that is a story for another time. . .

The End.

"Make my Day"

I feel that God has put it in my heart to write about this right now - I think this because I can’t seem to fall asleep, so I figured God wants me to put this to paper now. I’m thinking about how every day we have a free gift that we can give to other people. Well, maybe not free, because we may have to put our own wishes or feelings or problems aside in order to give it I suppose. But it’s free, as in you won’t have to go the store to search and pay for it, type of free. 

I didn't really have a picture for this post.
But she's cute - so she'll do.

Every day, we have the power to make someone’s day - or at least a part of their day. Seriously! I think we are totally under-valuing this power. Just think about it - you can affect someone else’s life for the better every. single. day. You can even do it numerous times a day. 

Sadly, I didn’t really figure this out until last summer when I had my revelation of sorts. But now that I have realized this power I feel I have a responsibility to give this gift and I enjoy the feeling I get in return from giving it. I also feel shame on the days when I could have chosen to give this gift but didn’t because I was in a bad mood, or was preoccupied by thoughts and worries or because I was being selfish or because I wasn’t feeling well. Why? Because it would have only taken me a pittance of time, of focus, of love and caring to do it. 

Now I’m not talking about being a saint, or a martyr or any of those overwhelming words. I just mean taking a small amount of time to touch someone’s day. Like asking how the cashier’s day is going and doing it with sincerity. Being brave enough to compliment a stranger when it strikes you. Smiling at people - just smiling because why the heck not? Pausing to give directions, and when it looks like they don’t get it, taking a few moments longer to write them down, and when they still seem unsure, taking a few moments longer to let them follow you in your vehicle as you lead them. How about tipping your waitress a bit more than usual, even if she didn’t do an extraordinary job. One special thing that has always made my day is when I’m in the drive-thru for an ice cap and when I pull up to the window to pay they give me my drink and tell me that the people ahead of me already paid for it with the message “have a good day” or “pay it forward”. All these small things that have the potential to make someone feel better about the confusing world we live in - even if it’s only for a few minutes. 

I am fortunate that I work in a field where I get to interact with people every day. I’m trying to realize that I have the privilege of making someone feel better, even if it’s not necessarily with medicine. How I enter the room, whether it’s an emergency or a simple transfer, can set the tone for the patient’s entire experience. If I can come in with positive energy, a reassuring smile, introduce myself and ask with sincerity how they are feeling today I believe I can really improve that patient’s situation. If I can try my best to create a rapport with my patient and really listen to them then they might leave me feeling refreshed - the same way I feel refreshed after having a really good conversation with someone. If I can use my small stature, little voice, bubbly-ness and a dose of humility to get a chuckle out of a patient then that should be the least I can do for them.

Then why is it so hard to do that sometimes? When I’m having a less-than-stellar day it can just seem like people are so annoying or mean or stupid or clueless! I don’t really want to look at them, much less try and make their day better. I just want to focus on me. I’m trying to remember that when I’m having one of these less-than-stellar days, I’m at risk for the less-than-stellar part of my nature to negatively impact my friendships, my family, my coworkers, my patients, etc. There are times, when I’m in one of those moods, all that it takes is another person just trying to better my day in a small way. Sometimes that’s enough to snap me out of it. I’m also learning that often it takes more.

I remember when I was about half-way through final practicum I came to my site for the beginning of my shift knowing that I was in a miserable mood. I had a really good site, and a really good preceptor and had been fortunate that up until that day I’d been a pleasant and easy-going student that was well-liked by the staff. But that evening, as I was alone doing the routine check of the ambulance I knew that I was grouchy, and that I could not afford to be grouchy when my paramedic future was riding on this practicum. So there, as I sat in the airway chair staring at a bag full of drugs for what felt like the gazillionth time I tried something I hadn’t done before. I prayed to God to take away my wretchedness and replace it with his grace. You might think this is silly, but for me I realized it as a miracle right away because just then, two staff members walked in and instead of shutting them out or being curt with them, God gave me a warm heart and sincerity in my speech and we were soon laughing over one of many outrageous stories you would only hear on an ambulance. If God can grant me that when I ask, then I need to be asking more often. 

The other thing I need to be doing more often is telling people when they have blessed me. I just think, if I knew when I was really making a difference in someone’s day I think I might be all the more motivated to try to be a blessing to others. I should tell the waitress that she made my day when she remembered my “usual” even though I hadn’t been there in months. I should tell the sales representative that I really appreciated that they went the extra mile to help me get that deal. I need to take the time to sincerely return the thanks that patients will sometimes give for my service in this industry, instead of just brushing it off as “no big deal”. You should know that when you take the time to comment on this blog it encourages me to keep writing. I want to tell my work partner that when he indulges me in one of our deeper conversations it is often the best conversation that I have all week. I want those people that think to invite me to their home for dinner, or to a volleyball game to know that I look forward to it every time and being part of the family means so much to me. I’m only just beginning to fathom the power we have to be a blessing to other people. I hope you see it too!

“If the world is cold, make it your business to build fires”

-Horace Traubel

Special and Loved

I wasn't going to write today. After all, it's Valentine's Day - why would I want to write about a day that encourages 24 hours or less of warm-fuzzy lovey-dovey feelings at its best and feelings of self-pity, jealousy, greed, unrealistic expectations, anger, rejection and self-loathing at its worst? Hmmm, not so inspiring.

And I'm not all that bitter really. Sure, as a person of the dreaded lack of marital status I get a bit tired of Vday being shoved down my throat in all forms of advertising and being disqualified from some awesome contest opportunities because of my lack of a significant other. However, over all, I'm for a day that makes someone feel special and loved. 

But my heart definitely goes out to those who don't feel special and loved. I get that too. After all, there were no flowers for me today, no card, no chocolates, no special supper, no hugs and kisses and no "I love you"s. And as pathetic as that sentence looks, it's not a pity party, it's just fact. There are more facts though - I also didn't have a "significant other" hit me or verbally abuse me, I wasn't forgotten about or stood up. Seems like a fair trade off I suppose.

And it gets better. Sure, maybe I don't get to feel special and loved on this particular day of the year. But I KNOW that I am and its not constrained to a specific day. My friend sewed me a beautiful dress the other day, an older woman in the community phoned just to check up on me this week. Another lady shared her heart with me on Sunday in the hopes of encouraging me. A family reiterated to me that I am always welcome at their house anytime. My parents came out to a function to support me. My best friend is going to study with me this week and lend me their truck. Some flowers and a card can hardly compete with that, right?

On top of all that - God loves me and knows the desires of my heart and He has a plan. All I have to do is trust that He's working in my best interests and delight in His presence. Each day is a new adventure.

I'm just devoting my time to a particular project this month. Come March I'll be back with more posts.

Happy Valentine's Day. I hope that even though you might not FEEL like you're special and loved - you still KNOW that you're special and loved.

Because That's What You Do

When I was a baby girl my dad would lift me up on the hour so that I could see the cuckoo bird pop out of the cuckoo clock. I felt like I was hundreds of feet in the air when he would let me ride on his shoulders. When I was tired he would pick me up and carry me to bed. I was amazed at his strength when he would fly me around the house like an airplane or hold me upside down by the ankles. And even when he was in the middle of a conversation, if I reached out with stretched arms and said “Daddy, up?” he would hear me and pick me up without missing a beat because that’s what you do when you love your baby girl.

When I was a little girl my dad would sometimes drop me off at school in his police car -even though we lived right across the street, just because he knew it made me feel special. He told me I was smart, not just beautiful - but smart, and he told me often. He pushed me on the swings, took me to fly kites and blew bubbles with me. He sang to me and told me fairytales. He knelt beside my bed and prayed with me. I would stand on top of his feet and he would dance with me and tell me that we would dance like this on my wedding day. And he held my hand, because that’s what you do when you love your little girl. 

When I was a teenage girl my dad would read everything I wrote and edit it for me and then he would read it again, even if I was cramming an eight page essay at midnight. He came to listen to me sing, or play or practice or speak and always told me that he was proud of me. He told me I was beautiful, not just smart - but beautiful when I felt like the ugliest girl at school. And he held me while I cried over the injustices of youth, because that’s what you do when you love your teenage girl.

When I was a young woman, just starting out, my dad would take my car when I wasn’t watching and put gas in it, just because. He would discuss politics, philosophy, religion and current events into the wee hours of the morning with me, often playing devil’s advocate because he knew it challenged me and made me think. He showered my mother with an abundance of love, respect and admiration, demonstrating to me how a man should treat his wife. He encouraged me to take risks, try new things and to see the world. And he offered me his arm to take when walking, because that’s what you do when you love and honour the young lady that is your daughter. 

When I, as a woman, am busy with the day-to-day things of life, my dad calls me to talk, just because. He listens to my failures and successes and tells me that “everything will work out, it always does.” He loves my dog as much as I do and he makes me wheat-free cupcakes as a surprise. He tells me I’m smart and beautiful. He tries to impart the wisdom of financial planning and he comes by my house to fix, build or plant things -often before I even know it needs to be done. He blows bubbles with me as the sun goes down and we talk about the deeper things like faith, love and the meaning of life. And, whenever we part ways, whether on the phone or in person, our last words are always “I love you” because that’s what you do when you love your grown daughter.

When I am. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .because that’s what you do when you love your daughter.

For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. Of what man is there of you, whom if his son ask for bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?  -Matthew 7:8-11

My Mom's Story: Part III - A Little Family, A Lot of Love

I’ve always found it a bit odd when other women refer to their mothers as their “best friend”. It’s always seemed to me that a mother is not meant to be a best friend. She’s meant to be my mother, you can’t really add to that relationship. To be a mom is too unique, there’s no other relationship that we as a society so strongly value and yet abuse so much.

My mom decided to undertake this somewhat daunting relationship less than three years into her marriage. She and Sandy had been living in a small apartment in Kingston, Ontario. Mom had gone to college and studied a layout and design type of program. However, the year that she finished the program was the year the industry was completely revamped to facilitate new-fangled computer technology. This effectively made her training obsolete. In Kingston she was working at Woolco as a pharmacy assistant. My dad was in a security management position while he waited for his call-up to the RCMP. If I do the math it would have been around May 1984 when my parents would have told their family to expect the first new member on both the McKechnie and James side. My maternal grandmother was thrilled. However, when my parents brought her out to the site of their newest purchase - a confederation aged farmhouse in a hamlet called Yarker, she cried, upset that my father could consider bringing her pregnant daughter to live in such a rundown excuse for a home. She didn’t need to worry - Mom always has enthusiasm for all the projects she undertakes and she and my dad soon DIY’d that rundown farmhouse into a sweet, antiqued home.

Like many couples in their early 20’s just starting out, my parents lived paycheque to paycheque and as they have always told Cam and I, there were a lot of Kraft Dinner and hot dog suppers during this time. They had just had a hot dog supper the evening that my mother went into labour. When she suggested that they go to the hospital my dad wanted to know if it was okay if they finished watching “The A-Team” first. The trip to the hospital was further delayed when the car wouldn’t start. It was the middle of a January blizzard and here was my mom in labour with her first child waiting for her husband and the neighbours to get the car started. The delay didn’t really matter. I’ve never been one to make anything easy on my mother, including my birth. It took another 16 hours before I made my appearance mid-morning on January 9, 1985. My mother has always been ahead of the times in style and although in a very traditional sense I was named after both of my parents, the name they chose - “Alexis” was very modern and unique and a lot of people didn’t care for it. Today, I think it sits in the top ten or twenty of the most popular girls names in North America. My mom has told me that about a week after I was born my dad went back to work and after he left she remembers having an overwhelming feeling wash over her - that she was now completely responsible for this little warm sleepy body for about the next 20 years. Wow. Just writing that makes me feel overwhelmed. I must have not been too scary though because for my third birthday my mom gave me a baby brother. Cameron Allan James was born the evening of January 8, 1988. I remember sitting on my mom’s hospital bed wondering why she was naming him after a camera - he didn’t look like a camera.
It’s quite clear to me at this moment that I cannot sum up my mom’s affect on my childhood in this single post, so I may come back to it in later posts. For now, I would impart possibly the most important habit my mother raised us with which I’m sure she started from the day we were each born.

“I love you”: Mom told us she loved us every single day of our childhood, including when we were teenagers. Whether it was in the morning when we got up, when we left for school, following the debriefing of our latest misbehaviour, when comforting us or celebrating with us or at bedtime, at least once a day my mom told me she loved me.
I never had to wonder. This didn’t necessarily make punishments easier and it definitely did not prevent me from treating her poorly. However, I would never underestimate the power of these simple words repeated to me on a regular basis.

I would say that this practice gave me strength and confidence as a child. Kids might tease me and push me around, but at least I can go home to my mom who loves me the way I am. I’m a bit scared to try out for this team, but whether I make it or not my mom will celebrate with me or encourage me to try again. I’m not sure if I’ll get the highest mark on my essay this time, but Mom knows I worked hard at it and she’s just as proud of me because of that. This assurance in our relationship gave me the freedom to go make a place in the world knowing that she would be behind me all the way and that the words “I love you” would never be withheld from me, no matter if it was just an ordinary day or one of the biggest days of my life.

Back in 1988 my parents had been waiting patiently for one of the biggest days in all of our lives and it came shortly after my brother’s birth. It was the day we became an RCMP family and I think it prompted one of the most noble sacrifices any wife and mother can make.

To be continued. . .

My Mom's Story: Part II - "As Long as We Both Shall Live"

My mother is one of those people lucky enough to be living a real-life love story. I am not being dramatic in the slightest when I say this. Anyone who has spent even a small amount of time with my parents as a couple knows that it’s true. I’ve learned a lot about relationships and marriage from my parents. People have often told me that my parent’s relationship is not the norm. I can’t really speak to that. I can say however, that I’ve decided that my mom’s fairytale marriage is probably about 10 percent Disney magic and 90 per cent hard work, mutual effort and commitment. If you hadn’t guessed from the last post, that slightly rebellious young man was my dad, Sandy. Let’s keep in mind that Mom was only 15 years old which means that as it stands today, my mom has spent more of her life together with my dad than she has apart from him. However, I also want to be clear before I continue that my mother is not simply the sum of her beautiful marriage but that it is a large part of her life and one of the greatest gifts she has given me as a mother. It’s the most natural way to continue this story.


The “magic” part began on January 22, 1977. My parents agree wholeheartedly that this day marked their first date together. However, they also wholeheartedly disagree on what they did. My dad says that they went to a party at his friend’s house. My mom always counters that her parents would never have allowed her to go to a party. She remembers that they went to a movie. This is always a fun conversation to listen to. Sometimes I think that surely one of them knows that the other is right but keeps up the premise just because it’s entertaining. Regardless of what they did their first date it was a success because it was the first of many. My mom once told me that they hadn’t been dating long when she told her mother that she thought he was “the one”. My grandma was skeptical of course - though it didn’t take long for her to accept Sandy as a permanent fixture. My mom has also said that she probably would have married him as a teenager if her parents hadn’t strongly preferred a longer courting period. There were other rules that they were held to while dating.

Curfew. If my dad brought my mom home late she would find all the doors to the house locked. They recall her dad coming to the door in his underwear and glaring at Sandy before letting his daughter in.

The “Sunday Rules”. On Sundays you went to church with your family. Then you could have dinner with one family or the other. You were not allowed to play cards, go to the movies or to parties or bowling on Sundays.

Limited PDA (public displays of affection). You weren’t supposed to hug or kiss or have hands placed on knees etc. Maybe you could put your arm around their shoulders and once in awhile you could hold hands. . .but probably not on Sundays.

My dad believes that my mom made him a better man from the start. She believed in him and supported him and being madly in love has always been a motivator. My dad’s dream was to be an RCMP officer and it was during this time with my mom that he really began making changes to move his life into that career path. My mom knew that she wanted to marry and raise children with the love of her life. After nearly six years of growing together as young adults, weathering their first trials, separations for work and other life events they committed their lives to each other in holy matrimony for “better or worse, rich or poor and in sickness and in health” on September 18, 1982. This promise requires not only love but also maintenance and patience. My parents have been making it look easy for almost 30 years.

A few of the many things I’ve learned about marriage from my Mom

It’s an equal partnership: Marriage isn’t just some all encompassing term for being with your “soulmate” or “best friend” or other goopey-gushiness. It’s not a security blanket or a financial umbrella. It’s not a wedding and it’s certainly not a baby. It’s not meant to always be sunshine, rainbows and pink bunnies. It is a binding partnership with a foundation of love. A partner is defined as someone who takes part in an undertaking with another with shared risks and profits. For my mom this means that in all things she must always work together with my dad. They need to work toward the same goals and they need to share the workload along the way while still playing to each others strengths and weaknesses. There always needs to be room for compromise, changes in the plan and patience and understanding. They succeed together and they fail together. They celebrate each other’s victories and they comfort each other during trials. In everything the effort put forward is equal and the love remains mutual. Love is most definitely the foundation of a good marriage but it’s not necessarily what makes it grow.

Respect: As a kid I remember telling school mates that my parents didn’t fight. Those kids used to look at me like I was completely naive and told me that my parents had to fight, they probably just didn’t do it in front of me. In reality, my parents really didn’t fight, probably because my mom believes in tackling problems head on and not stewing and bottling up emotion. Of course they’ve had disagreements and likely they’ve even had some heated discussions though those discussions never did fall on my ears. In all disagreements though my parents have retained a high level of respect for each other. Now, before I continue on what I know could be interpreted as a debatable topic I would say that I have no intention of judging anyone’s marriage or relationship. Your approach to your marriage is your own and what works for some couples does not work for others. I am only reflecting on what I’ve observed. My parents do not yell at each other, they don’t raise their voices even and they certainly never raise a hand to each other. It’s just not necessary. They believe that when you love someone you want to hear them out, you want to try and understand their point of view and you want to find a solution that suits you both. You think before you talk to avoid saying something you’ll regret later. This might mean walking away and agreeing to talk later but it never means refusing to talk or bottling up emotions. It means respecting your partner enough that your problems with each other are not water cooler topics at work. My mother will never “bad talk” my father in front of anyone. She will never call him by any derogatory names or adjectives and she will never seek to embarrass him in front of peers. It doesn’t matter how mad or frustrated she is. Those type of actions are anti-productive and are ideally not how you should really treat anyone, much less someone you love.

The love is in the little things: One of my favourite memories about my parents is watching them make dinner together. A song would come on like “Lady in Red”. First my parents would start singing it and by the end of it they would be slow-dancing together around the kitchen floor. I knew my parents really really loved each other because of the little things they did for each other. Whether it was timing supper around a hockey game to make sure dad wouldn’t miss anything to picking up a new kitchen gadget or Scottish knickknack just because she knew he would like it, my mom has taught me that actions speak just as loudly or louder than words. Showing that you care is part of the upkeep of a happy marriage. In true “Prince Charming” form my dad loves spoiling my mom. She’s had a marriage filled with bouquets of flowers, “just because” gifts and special date nights.

These are only three things I’ve learned from my mom’s marriage. I know that they work because my parents marriage is quite seriously one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. She’s an amazing wife and partner to my dad and I can only hope that I’ve learned enough to contribute similarly to my own marriage if I’m so blessed at some point.

As I stated at the beginning of this post, my mother is not simply the sum of her awesome marriage. She knows about sacrifice, about making the best of all situations, about being a career woman and most notably to myself, about mothering.

To be continued. . .