Merry Christmas!

Hello and Merry Christmas, friends!My name is Jack. My Mama Bear and Papa Goose have been busy, so I figured I would pull my weight (around 17lbs) and write this letter. This has been a year of new things for me and my parents. When I was still in my Mama’s belly, we moved all the way from Prince George, British Columbia to Kenora, Ontario, where my very own Mama grew up! My Papa got a job with the Bimose Tribal Council as an Engineer-in-training (he was already a Papa-in-training). He was excited to live only 2.5 hours from the world’s best soft-serve ice cream and donuts. Until we found a proper den, we stayed with my grandparents. I was in no hurry to leave Mama’s cozy womb. I gave her plenty of time to finish her Master’s courses, Kindergarten teaching, substitute teaching, book reviews, and even planting a garden a week before I came. I loved listening to her sing and feeling her rub her belly. I moved around a lot to let her know I was okay! My Papa Goose always takes nice care of Mama and me. Turns out my parents are relatively endearing and they won the Cutest Couple Contest on the radio. Finally, my parents found a den that suited our needs. 

A few weeks later, it was time for me to arrive. Papa Goose, Mama Bear, our midwife Bekkie, and I were all very brave and I was born on June 5, 2018. It was extra special because we got to be in our very own bear den. It is so wonderful to be together as a family. Since we were busy adjusting, recovering, and enjoying our time together at home, we sometimes even forgot it was summertime! I’ve learned that there are pros and cons to being out of the womb. Feeding takes more effort, especially when you have a bit of a tongue tie. After a quick surgery, some special exercises, and lots of help and patience from my parents, I finally started putting on the pounds and now I’m a ravenous little bear that guzzles all the milk in sight. Cuddling is great, but Bear and Goose wanted me to learn to sleep on my own, which is not as nice, but I’ve learned to live with it.

On the other hand, life outside the womb has many wonderful things to offer: the cold lake water on my legs on a summer day; a warm breeze while on a walk in my stroller; finally seeing Papa Goose’s beard that Mama Bear kept telling me about in the womb; meeting my grandparents, great aunts and uncles, regular aunts and uncles, and cousins; a wonderful blessing from Goose; drums at Pow Wows that remind me of my Mama’s heartbeat, a parade of yellow buses by my window every morning; fun activities made just for me by my Mama Bear; and trips (business and leisure) to fun places like Winnipeg, Thunder Bay, Minneapolis, Fort Frances, Bergland, Grand Forks, Portland, and Vancouver.

Although my parents are overjoyed to have me, they still find time to do other things, too. Papa Goose plays soccer inside and outside, picks flowers for my Mama, makes homemade ice cream cakes, and even won the coveted Husband of the Year award for the 4th year in a row. Mama Bear still sells Lipsense, does calligraphy for things like baby announcements and even a wedding, and initiated daily exercise to do together with Goose. They love each other very much. I even heard them popping late night popcorn pretty often. I imagine they must hold hands as they share their tasty snacks and nice times together. 

Now that it is winter, everything outside is white and cold. I think my parents felt bad for the freezing trees and they cut on down and invited him to stay in our den. They even gave him nice lights to wear and hung some toys on him to play with. I ran into an old man named Santa at a pancake restaurant in Winnipeg. He seems nice and must like to travel because I saw him again in Portland. We celebrated Christmas in Kenora a little early this year since we would be Christmas-ing and bringing in the New Year all the way in Abbotsford. I got some really nice gifts like a sled, handsome clothes, and some toys. I’m looking forward to Christmas Round 2 and having lots more wrapping paper to play with. It seems that Christmas is a special time when we focus on giving things, time, and talents to bring joy to others. After all, that was the purpose of Christ’s gift to us. Because of Him, we can be happy together forever. I wish you all the merriest Christmas and a wonderful, exciting New Year. I can’t wait to see what this year brings.Love, Jack (and Ryan and Josie)

Cutest Couple Contest.

 A few months ago, Ryan and I entered the a radio contest for the cutest couple in our community. The winner was announced on Valentines Day. We won over $600 in merchandise and gift certificates! A few evenings ago, we used one of our gift certificates for a lovely Greek Restaurant in town. Ryan made sure that our outfits were coordinated. I mean, we are the cutest couple, after all. Then after supper we went on a nice sprint down the Harbourfront (baby can come any time now) hand in hand. 

The best part of all, as usual, was just spending time together. It is so easy being together. We often comment how wonderful it's been to spend time in each stage of our relationship, focusing on those stages. Whenever we go to a wedding, we always write "Enjoy the stages as they come" in the cards we give. We have found it to be the most rewarding but also practical advice. In July, we've been married four years! We have gotten to know each other so well and have built a nice and sturdy foundation. 

Moments.

My sweet Ryan and I went out the other night for a walk around the lake we live beside. The water is nice and warm-ready for summertime. We've been going on lots of beautiful walks and he has been coming home to spend his lunch break with me, too. Ryan has been snapping lots of beautiful photos of my belly lately. He is so wonderful at capturing moments and I don't mean just with a camera. 

He appreciates moments as they come and go 

and finds joy in all the stages we've shared together.

Springtime.

One of the most lovely parts for me of our brand new house is seeing the yard wake up from a winter's sleep. When we purchased our home, it was still very snowy outside. As we walked around the yard with the realtor, I was pointing out lilac bushes and apple trees. She kept saying, "I'm not sure what that is, you'll just have to see." But, I knew what they were and I couldn't wait to have a yard with so many beauties every spring and summer. 

So far, we've had the most beautiful plants and trees come up. Namely, a garden of Bleeding Hearts, Lamb's ear, tall beautiful ferns, lilacs, Jacob's ladder, Sumac bushes, tons of succulents, chives, onions, garlic and a beautiful white blooming apple tree. I've added many vegetables to our garden, planted wild flower seeds, peonies, fuchsias and begonias. It is pure magic in our yard as the chimes sway back and forth while the blossom petals fall slowly to the ground. 

Isn't is beautiful how nature teaches us the need to have winter so we can fully appreciate the newness of spring?

Just keep swimming.

Early this morning, our midwife came over for a home visit. She commented,

 "This is a very precious baby. They all are.

 But you have worked especially hard for this one." 

Often, when others ask me how I'm feeling they will say, "Don't you know morning sickness only lasts for the first three months?" or "Just you wait, it's way easier having a baby in than out!" or, "You need to start packing on some pounds if you're ever going to produce enough milk for baby!" Each of these can easily be true, but in other situations, they just may not be the case. Those comments might not be the best thing to say to a woman who has just tossed her cookies...many, many times.

During the first 20 weeks of my pregnancy, I experienced full on Hyperemesis Gravidarum, a medical term that translates to Extreme Morning Sickness. It is relentless and caused me to loose many, many pounds and vomit many times a day. 
Most women are encouraged to exercise throughout pregnancy, but there were times when I was told to even limit even how much I walked in a day to avoid loosing more weight. After switching to a new doctor, I was able to get the support I needed medically to get through the period of time. I decided prior to becoming pregnant that I would do all I could to avoid medication during my pregnancy due to personal reasons, past experiences I have had working with my students and conflicting results I had found in my research. I wanted to honour that decision, so along with my doctor and my sweet Ryan, we made action plans to help me through the experience.
 My doctor watched me closely and had me visit the ER regularly for IV. I had many, many ultrasounds and countless trips to have my blood work tested. I trusted our doctor that she would start me on the medication as a last resort if truly needed. She was very much an angel sent to us. As the weeks went on, I developed many strategies to deal with my symptoms and miraculously continued to fulfill my many, many responsibilities during that time as best as I could. One of those magical strategies was swimming! Going to the pool and swimming laps with Ryan was almost instant relief. I didn't even feel nauseas in the pool. 

Even after 20 weeks, I have still struggled with strong periods of nausea and continued occasional vomiting. It's is common for Hyperemesis Gravidarum to taper off a little after about 25 weeks, but does not usually just go away. So, we have kept swimming whenever we can! The photo above is about two weeks ago. Swimming feels extra nice now with my belly, too. The midwife shared that swimming is actually extremely good for the health of the placenta. So, it's a double bonus! Other strategies that have worked for me are yoga/stretching, light walks, very bland foods and then strictly avoiding them after they no longer work for me, deep breathing and meditation after I vomited, taking a short nap after work so I could carry on for the evening and chewable prenatal vitamins.

My heart goes out to other women who experience Hyperemesis Gravidarum. From my experience, it was crucial to advocate for myself medically, find the right doctor, have my husband as my incredible support system and be gentle with myself. Whether you choose to medicate or not, it is an extremely difficult experience at times but be proud of each day you continue to put one foot in front of another. Remember, tomorrow is a new day! I remember feeling so discouraged when I found something I thought I could eat, only to vomit a few minutes later or when I saw the scale had a smaller number than the week before. Just remind yourself: your little one is still growing inside of you. Babies are very resiliant! Every bit of nutrients you hold onto goes straight to baby, so give yourself a break and remember the hard work your body is trying to do. 

Catherine Lake.

 "Take time to appreciate and love your body. Give thanks for all that it gives to you in this wonderful life."

The other evening, my Dad drove us to Catherine Lake, just a little bit out of town. The light was absolutely perfect as the forest reflected beautifully off the water.  Our midwife says baby bear could come any day now, so we had to take photos quick!

It was so lovely to take some photos together and celebrate my growing belly and our new little one growing inside. It truly is a miracle. It's such a special and sacred time for Ryan and I and the photos captured that beautifully.

Plant a Garden.

"This is the recipe of life...

Think of those flowers you plant

in the garden each year

they will teach you 

that people too

must wilt

fall

root

rise

in order to bloom."

-Rupi Kaur

I'm often asked, "How did you tell Ryan when you realized you were pregnant?"

It's always a tough question to answer. This is my third time being pregnant. I remember the first time, I felt as if I could barely breathe. I was so excited to tell him. We had been married for several years and had prayed earnestly throughout that time to know when to have our little one. By the third pregnancy, I also felt like I could barely breathe. But I was scared. A woman changes when she experiences pregnancy loss. She becomes tentative. But with those painful experiences, she can also become strong.

I remember the day we returned home from the hospital after my second miscarriage last spring. I felt empty and it seemed almost painful to be in our beautiful apartment that afternoon. It looked just as we had left it. And now, as we returned, it looked the same. But everything had changed. So, I changed out of my hospital gown and I went to my garden. 

Just hours before, I had officially begun again the painful process of miscarriage both mentally and physically. And now, I was kneeled down on two-by-four planks weeding my garden and tending to my delicate little sprouts. I watched as my own tears rolled down my cheeks into the soil. I was so glad I had decided to plant my garden earlier that Spring. That day, I felt as if my body had betrayed me and did not allow me to nurture the seeds within me. But as my bare hands touched the soil, I knew I was still meant to nuture. Just in different ways for now. Just as I had nurtured before. 

There was plenty of sadness in the time that followed, but I'd always find peace when I visited my garden. I'd often wake up myself up crying in the nights that followed as complicated pregnancy hormones left my body. I had physical reminders for several weeks. My employer showed me so much compassion and let me have several days off, I just couldn't be near the children at school for a while. I think the most difficult was going to have an ultrasound to be sure my womb was completely empty. I sat in the waiting area watching several pregnant mothers come in and out, beaming with their brand new photo of their little miracle. Conversely, when my appointment ended, the pillow in the ultrasound room was wet and needed to be changed. It was a strong example to me that we never really know what another person is experiencing, so it's always best to be kind and sensitive.

So, when I saw my pregnancy test this time, I vividly remember holding my belly and tenderly asking the baby to stay this time. When I told Ryan, we prayed together and then we vowed to try not to focus on it in attempt to not to be so attached until we were further along. So, that's what we did. And we've celebrated each day, each week this little one holds on. Our experiences with pregnancy loss are deeply woven into our fabric now. It is something that was placed in our path to make us stronger and more filled with gratitude for what we have at all stages of life.  Those difficult days brought us closer together and caused us to rely on peace that can only come from Heaven. Peace that was found in many quiet places, but especially as I knelt beside my rainbow carrots talking to my Heavenly Father, pleading with Him to care for our little one until we could. 

This Spring, we planted seeds again for our little garden as a gentle reminder of how Heavenly Father often cares for us in unexpected, small ways if we only take time to recognize them.

Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade.

Last year, when we were living in Prince George, Husband and I were at the grocery store. We had got almost everything on our list and as we were leaving I saw a sign in the corner of my eye, "Marmalade Oranges." I squealed in excitement. I had never made marmalade but I have always loved Paddington Bear who always has a marmalade sandwich in his hat, just in case of emergency. The oranges were perfect-thick skinned, worn out and even included a recipe. Soon enough, our little basement apartment smelt like the sweetest, tastiest grove of citrus as we made the smallest jar of bright orange marmalade for our fridge. 

Over the Easter Weekend, we celebrated our little bear at the most lovely Paddington baby shower complete with all kinds of marmalade sweets, beautiful (very generous) gifts, fun games and delightful company. So many dear friends and family attended. It was held at a beautiful tea house and planned meticulously by my sister, Clarabelle and my mum.

32 weeks along and Baby bear was kicking away throughout the evening! 

"Paddington has a habit of bringing people closer together."

-Michael Bond   

Our Miracle.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

As winter melts away, we are excited for our little sapling to feel the warm spring sunshine! I am 28 weeks along with our sweet rainbow baby. I am due May 25th! We are overwhelmed with gratitude that all is well and we have learned there’s a season for everything, no matter how joyful or sad. 

And that really is a miracle.

Chapter 5: Star People

"Star people are rare. In the beginning, stars supplied the ingredients that became us, the primordial elements. We are star stuff...And I think every once in a while someone comes along who is a little more primitive than the rest of us, a little closer to our beginnings, a little more in touch with the stuff we're made of...they do not shed tears, but light."

-Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli

Every now and again, I'll come across people who exude light. It's a kind of goodness that seems to burst from deep inside them. Sometimes it's in their eyes. Or in the way they speak. Or even how they treat the people around them. When you find a star person, hold on to them. Usually, I recognize it in their eyes. I saw it in my husband, Ryan, when I first met him. But day by day, moment by moment, I realize his light shines. It shines in every corner of my day. Whether it's the brightness of the noonday sun, the shine of each glittering star in the milky way on the darkest night, the full moon on a cold winter's night or the wispy coloured dance alongside the Northern Lights, I can feel the warmth and love of his light and goodness. I have, in actuality, found my Star Boy and I'm holding on with both hands.

Chapter 4: Twenty Seven Things I've Learned

Today is my birthday! And I'm 27! Age is such a strange thing. It's there simply as a measure of time. It doesn't measure experience, ability or even maturity. It is simply there, to write on important documents and to help us keep track of things. In my brain, I will easily think, "I'm 20..wait, 25? No, 19..." when someone asked me my age. I'm a 20-something. The details of this one don't matter to me. Except on my birthday. Remember, age keeps track. And for me, on my birthday, I boldly declare my age because...I made it. I am here. My body has sustained life for 27 years. And I am so very grateful. It's a day to celebrate being alive. And every year added onto our timeline of life is an accomplishment and a joy. 

So, here's a list. I thought about some ideas throughout the day. But for the most part, this is what comes to mind as I ponder the things I've learned this year.

1. Cut your hair. At least once. You'll find new things you like about yourself.
2. Light candles, as much as possible. Ones that smell like heaven to you. Preferably coconut. 
3. Only sign a lease to an apartment that has a garden you can plant. It works wonders for every area of life.
4. It's okay to miss something for a while. It's okay to always miss something, too. But be present. Carry on and recognize that there is more good for you to do.
5. Your thoughts don't always tell you the truth. Remember that.
6. Try the elliptical at the gym! Even if you have to ask how to turn it on. 
7. Pull over and pick the wildflowers. 
8. With time and patience, the experiences that scared you will change into the very things that shape you. 
9. Show those you love that you are thinking of them. Even when you are far away.
10. After you swim laps, take one last trip up and down the lane for a gratitude lap. With each stroke, think of something you are grateful for. 
11. Write down favorite quotes and mantras into the reminders in your phone. Schedule them for weeks or even months from now. They will come when you most need them. 
12. Make a Pooh Bear. Almond milk, a touch of honey, cinnamon, cardamom, 30 seconds in the microwave. 
13. Always carry a little change in your purse for pay parking. Actually, maybe don't. And see how a miraculous old man pulls up just on time and give you 50 cents just because. 
14. Take a vitamin every single day.
15. Buy yourself a water bottle you love to drink from.
16. Avoid comparing your life to someone else's. It will only bring heartache. Your life, your body, your personality, your goals are different. But also powerful and good. 
17. Remember your breath. It's a powerful thing. 
18. Wear lipstick. Especially to a job interview. Or when you do official things like register your car or go through the border. They take you more seriously. 
19.  Go where the locals go. 
20. Change comes and goes. Embrace change big or small and hold both hands of the ones you love through it all. 
21. If they say you can get Laser Eye Surgery, do it. Be brave. When they tell you it's time to lay on the operating chair, tell them you need a warm blanket. They will leave and you will have some extra time to get your nervous system back in check. 
22. Pray in the car on your way to work. Take three deep breaths and remind yourself how capable you are. 
23. Go to a regular yoga class. And always thank your teacher. They care about you and worry when you don't show up. 
24. Explore the place you live. And wear warm moccasins when you get home. 
25. Dance in the kitchen. 
26. Angry words said to you are very rarely actually because of you or even for you but rather a cry for help. 
26 1/2. Love whoever said those words anyway.
27. Take time to honour, appreciate and love your body. Be grateful for all the things it gives you in this wonderful life. 

Chapter 3 "Our Husband Cake"

This month, Ryan and I celebrated four years since our very first date and three years from our engagement. On our very first date, we went to a cute old home that had been converted into a cake house. It was called The Chocolate. 

As soon as we went in, I quietly noticed one of the cakes was named, "The Husband." I giggled to myself, but decided not to point out the name, since it was, after all, our very first date AND the first time we had ever met in person. Ryan pointed it out and said, "Oh! That's funny. The husband cake! Let's order that one and try it." 

Needless to say, the Husband Cake has become a bit of a legend for us. Each January, we'd go back and enjoy a piece together. We even had Husband cake at our engagement party. After our first date, I told my mother, "I want to marry a boy just like that," but I could have never actually predicted that he would, in fact, become my heaven-sent husband.

 This January, we have been quite busy getting settled into our new home. Since we moved from another country there are lots of things to get done. So, we almost forgot about our day! When we remembered, we were both dismayed. We hadn't prepared to celebrate and we were so, so many kilometers from our dear cake house and the delicious and special husband cake. I thought we could just buy any kind of fancy cake to celebrate, but Ryan insisted we have, "yellow cake with fudge chocolate icing," just like our beloved Husband cake. We searched our new town to no avail. Rather, we postponed our celebration to the weekend. I made Ryan a little Husband cake in a loaf pan and we ate it together for several days to come. 

After (and during...long story) our first date years ago, I was sick with strep throat. I was looking through our texts today from the day after our date. I wrote to Ryan, "I just finished supper-chicken broth and ice-cream for dessert. Good thing you bought me that cake yesterday to get some food in me."

His response,"That husband should take care of you for a while."

...and oh, how he has done that. 
(Forever and always). 

Creating a Haven.

 I have thought of a particular Wednesday lately. To be perfectly honest, I have struggled to put it into words, unsure of how to adequately express myself. Instead, I wrote down notes from the day until I could lace them all together. And after yesterday's historical event, I felt even more inclined to share.

The day in which I am referring is  Wednesday November 9th, 2016. It was a regular Wednesday school wise with our usual reading and writing day regimen. But it would become one of the most difficult teaching days of my life. But as I drove to the school on this particular Wednesday, my stomach was in knots. When I heard the results of the election, I immediately thought of each of my students. I took several big yoga breaths in the parking lot, in 2-4-3 out 2-3-4...put on my brave face and remembered that I was there that day for one overarching purpose. It was the same purpose as everyday. I was there to be the advocate of my students. 

I was teaching Kindergarten that day in the United States. My classroom appeared like so many across America. I had several immigrant and minority groups represented, academic levels, various disabiltiies  and students from mixed families. We had spent the last months trying to strengthen literacy skills in the English language. "They're in kindergarten. No one is even going to mention last night's news," I told myself.

The bell rang, I opened my classroom door and was greeted by my smiling little ones, just like a regular day. I smiled back, feeling relived to be with such a positive bunch on a day that seemed so surreal. A few minutes later, a parent came to the door. A parent whose eyes were swollen and whose tears still ran down her cheeks. Her little girl stood beside tears rolling down her eyes, too. 

"Sorry, Mrs. Beaumont, it's been a very bad night for us. Sorry we are late." 

"Oh, not a problem. I understand."

"My mommy has been crying all night AND I lost my shoe," her daughter announced as she stomped into the classroom. 

The day rolled on business as usual. But things seemed different.  Aside from a little girl sporadically exclaiming during carpet time that "Donald Duck" is the new president, more serious questions were asked completely out of the blue, 

"But, Mrs. Beaumont, it's okay if my skin is darker than his? Right?"

And the lunchroom seemed to be bursting with emotion from young and older grade levels alike. I ate with my students each day and I did on that Wednesday, too. There was a flurry of election driven comments, sporadically directed to me, or overheard, 

"She's crying because she's scared they are actually going to build the wall now."

"I saw my older sister crying in the bathroom."

"She said I'm going back to Mexico." 

"We are so worried for our friends." 

"His family packed up their house to leave."

"I think my teacher voted for Trump. I guess she doesn't want me here."

And most heart-wrenching kindergartener question, considering it was the day after the election,

"Is it true the bad guy is really winning?" 

You see, it has become the trend to assume those who had concerned feeling about the election results were in fact, "immature" or even "sore losers" if any sense of worry was expressed.  But I saw something different. The "result" was so much more than who won the election. The result was also a slew of very personal thoughts and feelings. These children were questioning and feeling actual worry and fear. And that fear was driven by the adult chatter in the election. The chatter was too loud, too harsh and too worrisome to these little ones.  These "little ones" are not "sore losers" after all, but little ones who did not have a say on a ballot. But had become victims of news coverage, overheard debates and even hate. 

It has made me cringe in the past several weeks to hear comments such as, "Move on," "Be positive," "What's done is done," "We already have our rights and freedoms, there's nothing to worry about," when they are actual children and families still living in fear because they may not have the same freedoms as others in their midst. 

I am inheritantly a peacemaker. It's part of my being and always has been. But, I could not see how simply forgetting the impact and moving on would bring peace to my students. Ignoring student feelings or wishing they would go away is not being "neutral" as a teacher. It's being completely non-complacent. In hindsight, to declare that the media coverage was false, irrelevant and scrutinizing completely ignores the minority groups who were left feeling traumatized. In that case, yes, what's done is done. I desperately wanted my students to believe that they are more than what they've been hearing. They are important and valued because they are all different.  And the fact that they were actually hearing voices telling them the opposite, actually made me angry.

I left the lunchroom and when back to my class, looking for a quiet refuge to collect my thoughts. And as I sought that refuge, I had an epiphany. And I had work to do. I realized that I could not control what they had heard. I could not control the worry, fear and anxiety they were feeling outside my classroom and had been building up in their society for years. But I could do everything in my power to create an environment that was safe in my classroom. I was still their advocate. So, When they entered my class, I wanted them to enter a haven. 

And all of a sudden, those little things that I did out of habit became so meaningful. Bending down to greet the students every morning at the door, complimenting kindness and compassion, actively celebrating small successes, the warm twinking strands of Christmas lights hanging across the wall, the sparkling larger-than-life paper flowers, the little mittens I brought waiting for them by the door, the specific snacks they loved in the cupboard. Each were doing their own little part to create a haven.

Wednesday November 9th, 2016 was a turning point for me as a teacher and actual as an advocate. I quickly shifted my day plan to include how they can "make someone's day," never stop believing in their own abilities and that they have a voice. I finally began to recognize and fully grasp the deep responsibility a teacher holds everyday, but especially on days, weeks, years that are difficult for a young person to understand and to make sense of. So, even though at the end of the school day, I felt like curling up in my bed, I stayed into the evening continuing to prep for that haven I sought. 

Towards the end of the session, we were back on the carpet, studying the elements of our children's book that day. A very small little boy, again completely unprompted, had something to say. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and spoke in a soft voice and broken English.

He said, "Mrs. Beaumont, I'm going to be president one day." 

Chapter 2 "Step Aside, Elvis Stojko."

Last Monday evening, Husband and I went to the Skating Oval for our Family Night. The oval was built for and is used for competitive speed skating. It's outside, surrounded by evergreens, but the ice was smooth as can be. They tend to it each morning for the speed skating. There's even a cute little (heated) cabin to put on your skates and warm up in between laps. And it make it even more darling, the fee is placed in a little box and regulated by...honesty. Usually, when I've skated outside, I get a bit nervous skating fast because the ice is unpredictable. But this ice was flawless. 

Since I could walk, I was skating. My sisters and I all started skating very young. I joined the Keewatin Figure Skating Club when I was only 3 years old. We grew up in Kenora, Ontario where everyone seemed to know how to skate. I remember when I went to University it was the first time I had ever seen a "skate rental" place at the rink. Everyone has skates or has access to skates where I am from. And I've always loved the ice. Whenever I put on my skates and even just skate laps, I feel a sense of home. I love the strong, clear sound my blades make against the ice. It has always caused me to feel powerful and free.

I remember when we were dating, Ryan mentioned he could skate but couldn't really stop. He explained he hadn't played hockey and really hadn't skated much growing up at all. Being from Kenora, I was very surprised and thought it was very strange. I really thought being Canadian and skating went hand in hand.

 Usually, when someone has not had much exposure to skating, the fear of falling seems to paralyze them. Especially, when someone tries skating as an adult. But that is not Ryan. He is fearless on the ice. At Christmastime, we went to an outdoor rink on Lake of the Woods. Ryan announced afterwards that it was, "one of the best things he has ever done...in his life!"  Needless to say, I've recognized that he has some real skating passion inside his lower mainland, British Columbia, heart. And I absolutely love it. 

Prior to going skating, we decided it was time to invest in some skates for Ryan. We found a sale at Canadian Tire. Ryan tried on his skates, we got them sharpened, I announced to the employee that they were his first skates (it's very momentous!) and we were off. 

He quickly laced up his skates and zoomed around and around the oval. Cross-overs (forward and backwards), spirals, quick stops, fancy footwork, power skating...you name it, he was practicing it. And more than that, he is very, very talented. He picks up skills so quickly. I admire the persistence he has on the ice. Even though he is trying something that he has not really done in the past, he has found confidence in it. It's so neat to be reminded that it's never too late to try something new-and really love it, too! It was -17 and he didn't care one bit. He kept suggesting that we go around just one more time...or maybe two or three more times. And I didn't mind either; I love seeing the magic he's found on the ice.

 "Jos, can we come here again sometime?"

"Of course."

"Oh, good!"

Chapter 1 "Northern Kindness"

After packing our tiny car with our most our most beautiful, special and necessary things, we made the journey North. Despite the beautiful Narnia-like snowy landscapes, the roads were completely clear as we veered around mountains, past rivers and lakes. The sense of adventure was most definitely there. We were moving to a place neither of us have been for the next year. A place where we knew no one but each other. It was clearly going to be our place as we navigated and fit into our new community. 

Upon arriving here, we found our quaint little apartment with all the needful furnishings. And! The light fixtures look like acorns and the table has teacup decor. So, we were thrilled.

One thing we quickly learned is that, "It doesn't matter what you are trying to do, the people in Prince George will help you," (that's a direct quote from my first friend, the teller at Walmart, as she bagged many, many plastic hangers). We quickly noticed. Sure, there a people who are having a not-so-great day. But that being said, I have not heard even one car lay on their horn since we've been here (there's 70,000 people here, so lots of cars on the road), someone will always let you in when you're trying to change lanes,no one is in a rush, people smile at strangers in the grocery store, people always welcome us to their community and words like "I apologize," "please," "thank you," and "excuse me" are commonplace (Ryan says everyone even thanks the public bus driver, whether they leave through the front door or not). Remember we didn't know anyone. These are all strangers.

When we arrived to our new apartment, we were greeted by the most kind, motherly landlord that perhaps has ever existed. She showed us our place and motioned to the bedroom. She had washed the bedding and put together two single beds for us to sleep on until we found our own mattress. 

 We found a mattress on Kijiji a couple days later (you know the buy/sell website). We made our way to the lady's home, Caitlin, to lay on her mattress and we quickly found out she lived very much in the woods. And it had snowed and our little frosted glass ford focus kept getting stuck. Husband was fearless and I was worried we'd end up as two little bears buried in the ditch until Spring. When we told Caitlin we couldn't get out there right now, she offered to come pick us up! Or we could come tomorrow. 

The roads were plowed the next day and we took a nice Sunday drive out to her house. We veered through gorgeous terrain of crisp white snow, pine trees and poplar trees. When we arrived at her house, we were greeted by many of her long-time friends. She let us in, we layed on the mattress and we made some small talk about her beautifully beaded, beaver fur mukluks in the corner of the room. The house was heated with wood from her property and there were exquisite dream catchers sprinkled throughout. 

We mentioned we didn't really know anyone in town yet and we didn't have a truck. She mentioned she might have a friend that could help, but honestly, I didn't think anything would come of it. I mean we "met" her on the internet. I began brainstorming ornate plans to get the mattress from her house to ours, a good 20 minute drive away. We left, thinking we'd never see the perfect white bed again. 

"Oh, hello, again, Ryan," she greeted as we drove home, "I contacted my friend and he is not able to fit the mattress in the bed of his truck. So, my friend called one of his friends and they can help you move it right now! And then maybe you could stay a while for our bonfire." 

We ended up spending much of our afternoon at her wilderness bungalow, roasting hot dogs, looking at her exquisite new children's book, learning how to make homemade soap, chatting with a sweet medicine woman who spends her days teaching kindergarteners Cree and casually becoming friends with everyone there. Sometimes, her friends would say, "So, how do you know Caitlin?" and they didn't think it was at all strange that we were actually the ones buying her mattress from her post online. Obviously, instant friends are a common occurrence in these parts. 

As we left, she gave us a heart-shaped coconut oil bar of homemade soap. She even said she would call us next time she had a bonfire. The very generous friend of a friend from the Ukraine and Ryan loaded the new mattress, drove it to our house and delivered it through our tiny doorway into our basement. It was clear that everyone had made time to help us just because we needed a little help. 

It was beautiful. I am embarrassed to say that I almost forgot what it's like to live in Northern Canada. Some would say it's the cold that knits people together in communities like these. I like to believe it's the common feeling that at the end of the day, we are all in this together. And kindness makes the journey all the more...kind.

"Happy Christmas, Tree."

By the way, Husband and I actually live inside a barn. It's a very tiny studio apartment in my grandparent's barn used for their horses. The previous owners had their jockey stay here. There's a door that goes directly into the barn and in the morning, we hear the horses waking up, too. The entire place includes one room, a teensy kitchenette and a small bathroom. Honestly, it's smaller that it sounds. 

We often joke when Ryan is at his desk and I'm on the couch that we are so far away from each other, "even on the other end of the house!"

Some days, like Saturdays, when we are home all day doing things, it seems a tad small. But only sometimes. All the other times, we absolutely love our little barn. We even nicknamed it the Bear Den. It has taught us that we actually don't need very much space. And we actually don't need all the things we used to have. But most importantly, it has caused us to love each other more and more. Living in such close quarters has taught us how to be even more accommodating and kind to one another. It is a warm, cozy place where we feel like we are the only people in the whole world. Just us, and the occasional horse or barn cat. 

So, when it came to picking out a Christmas Tree, we really needed to choose the smallest one on the lot. And also, it needed to be extra charming. My sister came with me and we found a beautiful, tiny Alberta Spruce in a festive, red pot. I brought it home to my studious Ryan, knocked on the door and he greeted me with, "Oh! My Christmas Jos." (By the way, it's easy to get in the Christmas spirit when you literally live in a stable of sorts). We tenderly named our little bit of Christmas, "Tree." He is very handsome and majestic with warm, white lights, one ornament (that says,"Be Beary Merry") and a glittery paper star taped to the top. It makes our little barn seem even more quaint than usual.

 I wouldn't trade this place for the biggest home in the world.

Octobers.

 The mountains are a canvas of all shades of red, yellow and orange. It smells like crisp leaves each morning and feels a bit chilly. We've made homemade Zuppa Tuscano soup, spaghetti squash, warm muffins and hot chocolate, just to name a few. It seems October is in full swing. I would never exclaim that October is my favourite month when we are enjoying blissful flower-filled May and June. But when we are actually here in the midst of October-I adore it. 

One thing that October does to me, however, is everyday seems like the perfect day to stay home with my wonderful Ryan. It's chilly enough to sip on something hot and talk all day long. In the meantime, we seized a few moments to visit a pumpkin patch. A man from our Church plants a huge patch of pumpkins and gives them for free to the community. He even had donuts and hot chocolate for us.

Ryan and I have been watching Anne of Green Gables lately. I've

been educating him of all things Anne. I think Anne said it best (like always), "I so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers." September is so busy, full of change and a stark contrast  from the summer months-especially in regards to daily to-dos. But October comes and the colours burst, seemingly saying to all of us: You did it. You made it through September! 

Small Talk.

I remember, as I approached 21, I always had something in the back of my mind, "Should I serve a mission? And when should I go?" In my church, women have the option to choose to serve a 1.5 year mission. It is voluntary and unpaid. I greatly admire the missionaries and the hard work that they do. And it is a great sacrifice. And I think it is a beautiful way to "give back" and serve Heavenly Father. But it is also not the only way to do so.

Age 21 in Rexburg, Idaho

Fast forward many years and here's one of the most common questions I hear when first meeting someone, 

"You must have been a great missionary. Where did you serve?"

In the past, it's always followed by me trying to find the words to explain a decision that is so very personal and dear to my heart; in short something that I wouldn't usually want to explain to a complete stranger. Then they will say, 

"Wait, you didn't serve a mission?"

Or even worse,

"What were you even doing then?"

I've attempted many responses, "I served an untraditional mission,"  or, "I feel like my mission is to be a teacher" or "I served in a small town in Northern Canada for my whole life." But all of those responses felt so strange to say. And would be followed by a blank stare and a quick change of subject. I know they were just trying to make small talk. That's all. But as soon as those questions are asked, the entire table goes silent and you just want to explain! But can't... I've realized that often times, others are not meaning to ask hard questions but often "life questions" are the easiest to think of on the spot. Sound familiar? Bless their hearts.

I took my "mission decision" very, very seriously. I attended the temple every week, prayed, fasted, read, read, read...but it just never felt right. I earned to be closer to God and I knew a mission would bring me on that path. But I knew my mission needed to be "untraditional," so to speak. But why? I wasn't sick. I was completely able bodied, ready to serve. But I felt like my mission was not as easy to figure out as turning in my mission application and being assigned to where I would serve. I'm not trying to say a traditional mission is easy by any means, but a traditional missionary knows where they will serve and for how long. I was almost envious of the clear assignment that was given to other women choosing to go on their missions. And how they could quickly say, "I served in Argentina!" when a stranger asked.

And there I was, hopelessly wishing to be a missionary. I wanted to "give back." I wanted to wear a missionary tag and teach what brought me so much happiness in my life. On a less serious note, I even wore a dress every day and  looked like a missionary already, most days. But I knew that Heavenly Father had a plan for me that was not so conventional. I knew it. And I knew that I couldn't change God's will for me. For some time, that made me very sad. I felt like I had the desire and also the skill set to be very successful as a missionary. Many of my peers also took their decision to go on a mission very seriously. But it was difficult to see so many other women just carelessly applying for their missions just because it "was an adventure"-this was especially the case when women could go on a mission at 19 rather than 21 in recent years. How is it that it was so easy for them to decide to go? Where was the constant weighing of the decision that I was making? I hope there were quiet times of prayer for each mission decision. It almost seemed like it was just something that women did these days. And it caused women who did not serve a mission to feel like they had to explain something that seemed almost foreign to others-actually deciding if it was God's will for them.

So, my 21 year old self decided to trust in His timing, always asking in my prayers who to serve and where exactly I needed to be to serve them. The results were miraculous, faith building and at times difficult. Looking back on the time, it is so very clear I needed to be exactly where I was serving in a way that He needed me to. There is no need to list the many, many reasons it was very evident that I was in fact serving my mission. I don't need to prove it to anyone, even myself. The experiences are there in my memory and my relationship with God increased 10 fold. 

I have seen countless friends go down the same road as myself. Wonderful, strong women who prayed earnestly and deeply wanted to "give back" to their Father in Heaven and could only see one way to do so that being a full-time traditional mission. Many have come to me for support as they wondered what their "mission" will look like and how they will answer the very questions I have so often heard. Many have told me in fear how others will assume something is wrong with them and that's why they didn't go. And that completely breaks my heart. And I realized how relevant it is to share my experience.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with your Spirt. And it doesn't matter how you answer those questions. Remember how oftentimes, people are just using those questions as a go-to small talk topic? My aunt told me once that they don't really care if you did or didn't go on your traditional mission. She's right. Not in a heartless way, but just in a absent-minded way. They just want something to talk about for the dinner party. But in your mind, their question brings up each time you have wrestled with the idea, feelings of inadequency and deeply hoping that you could go, too.

 Remember: 

It's between you and the Lord! It's between you and the Lord.  The details are intimate and special. And they don't need to be shared in such casual settings.

When you don't serve a mission, there is no celebration when you return home because the point is, your mission is different. You are still serving. There is no clear beginning or ending to celebrate with posters and balloons. There's no talk in church when you return home as you share beautiful faith building stories. But it is no less important. You have those stories, too, you know. And you wouldn't trade them for anything. You are still strong and wonderful. You know it and Heavenly Father does, too. He is proud of the service you have given.

And you know what, I still don't know how to answer those questions. It really just depends, case by case. Person by person. The key is to not let it bother you. Feel proud of all that you have done and the woman you have become. What a beautiful thing to know how to bring real questions to your God in prayer. And feel proud that Heavenly Father has trusted you in a plan that is too beautiful to possibly explain over a dinner table.  

Maybe just say,

"No, His plan was different for me. Could you pass the peas, please?"

And then smile. And carry on.