making the boo boos better

Nicola over at Which Name wrote a post today about ice/heat packs she made for her kids and their boo boos. Aside from thinking this fabulous idea, it made me think about my kids and their intense love of band-aids. If my daughter stubs a toe.... it needs a band-aid.

I remember a friend of mine telling me her children always wanted band-aids when they were kids and she was more than happy to sticker them up as it seemed to make any problem better.
I also remember when I was a little girl and my dad would draw "a dolly" (a little face) on my band-aids when I had one on a finger so that I could have a little friend to talk to while wearing the band-aid. That always made me feel better.

Then it reminded me of one my proudest moments when I was working at  non-for-profit Daycare years ago before I was married and a mama.
I worked in a class of 16 children from ages 3-5; "The Rainbow Room" and I was the official band-aid giver of the class.

One of the little girls in the class, (we'll call her Jennifer) was a very troubled little girl who came from a very dysfunctional home situation. She was part of the daycare as an intervention from Child Welfare had demanded she be put in a program that would provide some good care and stability for the poor thing.
Despite our best efforts though, Jennifer was in and out of our facility as her mother would periodically disappear and Jenny was temporarily removed from her mother's care.
One day while Jenny was living at home and had been coming to the center, she arrived with some very troublesome burns on the palms of her hands. It's still disturbing and heartbreaking to me, so I will spare you the details of the story she told us about how her hands were burned but the wounds had been inflicted by the burners of an electric stove-top.

We called her social worker and I was given the job of administering first aid to those poor little hands.
Naturally Jenny was TERRIFIED of me touching them and tried to keep them balled up her sleeves.
With a lot of coaxing and reassuring I finally got to clean them with clean cotton and warm water and applied burn ointment with Q-tips. But when I tried to apply a gauze bandage she started shrieking and crying and tried to run away. Over the next few minutes I talked her down of her ledge so-to-speak and using all my powers of persuasion, I convinced her that the bandage could be the coolest thing ever. We could put some tape on the outside of it and decorate it however she wanted. It was a very sweet moment to watch her warm to this idea and then even become enthusiastic picking out markers and stickers (even a little glitter glue) to decorate the tape of her bandaged hands.

Most of all I was proud of how this little girl trusted me not to hurt her when a lot of other grown-ups in her life did. and I was moved by the childhood essence in her that still couldn't be squelched no matter how much she had been forced to grow up beyond her time.
Now I've been a mama myself for a few years now, and I am still humbled by the trust of my little's when they come to me with the total belief that I can fix any pain they have. There are miracles in a mother's kisses and hugs, there is something special and even a little fun in all the special attention of being lovingly tended to and of course there is  magic in a band-aid. (especially those ones covered in cartoons).

cheers.

My little Ava Grace after she fell and skinned both her knees when she was a babe. Double knee band-aids!

A walk in the woods

We've gotten a lot of snow as of late.

It's only fitting as I just  made a resolution to go outside more this winter, despite the cold.

Usually the extent of my outdoor excursions at this time of year consist of me running to my vehicle from the house and then from the vehicle into whatever warm building I am headed to. Mad dashes across parking lots, that's my winter sport.

But this weekend we finally got a reprieve from the terribly cold temperatures and I needed a reprieve from being holed up indoors. It was a glorious, sunny day and we have a stretch of wooded trails behind our new house that needed to be explored.
I decided to explore them....alone.

More than the fresh air, and even more than the exercise, I needed the chance to get away on my own and find something else for my mind to focus on, my eyes to look at and my heart to respond to. I needed to recharge my senses the way only nature can do.
I've had a lot on my plate.
With all the stress and transition of moving, and settling, struggles with my health and a very recent miscarriage I'm still grieving, let's just say God and I needed to have a chat.

I emptied my head and heart of everything that's been going on, cried a little and refocused by taking the time to listen to His replies. Sometimes our conversations can seem very one sided, but I think nature is one of His greatest tools to speaking to the deepest places in us. It's something we can all connect to so tangibly.

I won't lie and say I ended my stroll through beauty with any concrete answers, new revelations or enlightenment. It doesn't necessarily work that way. But I did pay attention to things other than my frustrations, other than my fears, doubts, worries and anxieties, and yes, I was blessed.

There's something about winter and it's landscape that particularly spoke to me and the state I've been in. Underneath all those cold layers is joy just waiting to spring up and little bits of the promise of life show up under all that weight if we just pay attention.
 Later tucked into my Bible, I found this poem that so aptly fit the whole experience:

All Beautiful the March of Days

Frances Whitmarsh Wile (1878-1939)

 

All beautiful the march of days, as 

seasons come and go;

The hand that shaped the rose hath

wrought the crystal of the snow;

Hath sent the hoary frost of heaven.

the flowing waters sealed,

And laid a silent lovelness on hill

and wood and field

O'er white expanses sparkling pure

the radiant morns unfold;

The solemn splendors of the night

burn brighter than the cold;

Life mounts in every throbbing vein,

love deepens round the hearth,

and clearer sounds the angel hymn,

"Good will to men on earth"

O thou from Whose unfathomed 

law the year in beauty flows,

Thyself the vision passing by in

crystal and in rose.

Day unto day doth utter speech, and 

night to night proclaim,

In ever changing words of light, the

wonder of Thy Name.

The View from My Windows...

I love the country.
I love the prairies
That's  just the way I am.

Now, I have loved all sorts of beautiful places
I feel tingly at smell of the ocean and I feel an almost physical ache at the loveliness of the mountains. But the prairies with their wide open skies and golden fields as far as I can see are just a part of my DNA.
I was born in Saskatchewan
Lived in British Columbia
Grew up in Northern Alberta
Enjoyed the Busy City and
played in Ocean waves

The country is where I belong.

How blessed I have been with my country home where this is the view from my back porch!
I wake up in the mornings when the fog is settled thick along the ground and sip my coffee slowly transporting myself in my imagination back in time to a place where homesteads ruled the landscape and life was harder won.

Isn't the country like that? Like a time machine of days gone by?
The city holds great histories too, but nature has a way of keeping records that concrete, steel and glass just cannot. Like the record book is still on the table and time is almost standing still.

Even with modern machinery, every farm and the people who work it are playing out the age old story of reaping and sowing. The simple and basic  fundamentals of life and living off the land are right out my window
and I'm right where I belong.

My family Tree is full  of farmers; People who tamed the prairies in both Alberta and Manitoba, so there is a personal sense of history to watching this country way of life. It has a way of grounding me and reminding me of the simple and basic fundamentals of my life; my beliefs, my values. My Prayers have a way of hitting less ceiling in these wide open skies and to walk among the golden fields as they're being shaved down is like walking in a parable.
Jesus understood farmers and the country.

Soon, I'll be heading closer the city, settling in an old French town full of trees and neighborhood houses.
I'm ready for it, but I know that when I'm surrounded by buildings no matter how cheerful community can be, I will long for the wildness of our own personal homestead we've had carved out in this tiny country town.

And after all, you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl.