Rocking the Boat

I remember the time my siblings and I stole my older brother’s dory and rowed out to a little island off from our house. As we began our journey back, the wind picked up and started to blow us off course. “Row harder, row harder!” I shouted as we gripped the oars, straining every muscle while the waves rocked the boat and pushed us farther from the shoreline.

The experience was terrifying, and I shudder at the thought of it now. Thankfully, the dory didn’t capsize and eventually landed us in a protected cove on the other side of the main harbor. Boy, did we get scolded!

In a literal sense, I can relate to the fear and uncertainty of being in a rocking boat. Our actions led us into turbulent waters, yet, much like the spirit, the wind ultimately guided my siblings and me to safety. If the wind had blown us in the wrong direction, it could have swept us out to sea, and our naivety would have put us in great danger.

Figuratively speaking, “rocking the boat” refers to actions that cause conflict and disrupt calm. This is because many view conflict as negative and tend to avoid it at all costs. Conflict, however, when handled constructively, can have positive effects, leading to growth and transformation.

As a child, growing up in an environment filled with unhealthy conflict, I had to learn to keep the waters calm—to not “rock the boat,” so to speak.

Understanding the difference between constructive and destructive conflict has helped me to step out of my comfort zone. Although I’m no longer afraid to rock the boat today, I recognize from my experiences that an “I’m right, and you are wrong” mentality can very well tip the boat over.

Jesus rocked the boat by challenging the religious traditions and social norms of His time. He healed on the Sabbath, defying the restrictive interpretations of the law, and willingly engaged with outcasts and sinners. He prioritized divine law and love over the rigid, man-made rules and power structures that the Pharisees so coveted.

Jesus encouraged people to question their established beliefs and seek a deeper, more inclusive understanding of love and acceptance. His mission was to save all of humanity, and His actions often disrupted the status quo. Not only that, but He broke down barriers, advocated for the marginalized, and exemplified the courage to stand up for His beliefs, inspiring others to do the same.

Derick and I were deeply inspired by you, Burns Mosa. You will always hold a special place in our hearts. The kindness and warmth you extended to our family during a time when our faith was shaken gave us the hope we needed to maintain the peace of Christ in our lives.

Quispamsis United Church, where our family now attends, became “Open and Affirming” a few years ago, creating a safe space for the LGBTQ+ community. This is especially important for my non-binary child, their spouse, and our three grandsons, as it allows them to experience love and acceptance within a church community. It also helps them heal from the scars of hatred they've unfortunately faced in both the secular and Christian worlds.

The church has become a source of enlightenment for us again. Our oldest grandson occasionally shares his musical talents with the congregation by playing the piano. Meanwhile, our youngest grandson, who is just five years old, brings smiles to everyone with his charming personality as he stands larger than life on stage, singing to us all.

Did Quispamsis United Church rock the boat by becoming “Open and Affirming?” Absolutely. Did they tip the boat over? Certainly not. The love of Christ is a safe harbor that transcends human understanding, embracing all believers and keeping our boat secure in the storms that inevitably accompany change.

Rocking the boat isn't something to be taken lightly. We must always remain mindful of Jesus’ message to love our neighbor as ourselves when challenging the status quo, because those who disagree with our faith path are also part of God’s fleet.

Furthermore, by showing respect and love for one another, I believe our paths will ultimately reunite on the common shore of Christ as we navigate our journeys to advance the Kingdom of God.

As we approach the Christmas season, I pray that the personal, political, and religious divides affecting families can be bridged, even if the boat is rocking slightly. We never want it to capsize and leave us adrift in a sea of regret.

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.” Galatians 5:6

Bottom line: Love must win the day, for if we lose sight of love, we close our listening ears and become no more than another clanging cymbal.

Merry Christmas. 

Surviving the Undertow of Grief

Losing a loved one strikes at the very core of our being, plunging us into a stormy sea of grief where we navigate unpredictable waves of sorrow, and grief becomes an unwelcome guest in our family story. 

After a loss, it’s completely natural to experience intense emotions that linger beneath the surface. In these turbulent times, grief may feel like a powerful undertow, relentlessly dragging you deeper into your pain. You might find it hard to imagine that joy will ever grace your life again as you become submerged in a dark, murky ocean of despair. Remember, you’re not alone in these uncharted waters.

August 25th, the day my sister called to tell me that our mother had suddenly passed away, forever altered the course of my life. The news hit me like a freight train, leaving me breathless and in a state of shock.

In the days that followed, I felt as though the persistent undertow of grief was dragging me under as I fought with all my might to stay afloat emotionally. The mundane day-to-day tasks became monumental challenges. The weeks and months became a blur, filled with sleepless nights and endless questioning.

As I write this, it’s clear that I’ve survived the undertow as I grappled with my mother’s death. It’s also clear that I’m not “over” grieving for her, even though over three decades have passed. 

Why? Because grief is a never-ending journey. We never fully get over losing our loved ones. No matter how much time passes, the emptiness left by their absence stays with us—especially from those immense losses that knock the wind out of us.

Through my own grief work, I’ve realized that we, as a society, struggle to honour grief properly. After a specific timeframe, we’re expected to “let go and move on.”

                                     

Additionally, in an attempt to alleviate the pain, we often resort to clichés such as “Stay strong,” “Time heals all wounds,” or “They’re in a better place.” I’m not saying clichés aren’t well-meaning. My point is that they can press the griever to power through and put on a brave face, while their emotions lie silent beneath a facade of strength, locking their pain away in the hidden parts of their hearts.

One of my biggest takeaways about grief is that everyone navigates their complex, deeply personal journey differently. We don’t all move along at the same speed; therefore, we must be careful not to judge how others grieve.

Some may ride the waves, allow their grief to carry them out to sea, and float amongst cherished memories. Others may battle against its current, repeatedly retreating to the shoreline, feeling utterly hopeless as they wrestle with accepting their loss. 

Regardless of how we navigate our individual journeys—whether we allow the pain to wash over us at the onset or resist it—one undeniable truth remains: the undertow of grief will continue to pull us under until we confront those lonely, murky waters and begin the slow process of healing.  

Grief will greet us all on this journey called life. Yet, even as uncomfortable as it may be, it has much to teach us. I wouldn’t have believed this truth in the rawness of my own grief when it brought me to my knees, when I was shaking my fist and questioning the “why.” However, as time progressed and the pain became less intense, grief not only became my greatest teacher, but it also offered me essential life lessons. 

With professional help, as I unravelled the pain, the guilt, the “should haves,” and the “what ifs,” allowing it all to wash away like pebbles in the ocean tides, I began to carry my mother’s loss in a new light. 

Today, as I stand safely on the shoreline, reminiscing about life, I’m grateful for the wisdom my “grief work” has taught me: that it’s far better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, that losing my mother will always remain a part of who I am because love never dies. 

 

2 Corinthians 1:3-4: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

 

Blessings. 

 

The Pollinating Bee-lievers

My siblings and I used to catch bees for fun as kids. We’d find a glass jar, poke holes in the metal lid to ensure the bees didn’t suffocate, then release them back into the wild in the evening. Oddly, I don’t remember us ever getting stung for our actions. 

Looking back, we likely interfered with the bees’ vital pollination work by chasing them from flower to flower and holding them captive.

Imagine if we kept all pollinators captives. Humanity and our ecosystems would eventually suffer because over 80 percent of the world’s flowering plants depend on pollination for survival.

Out of all the pollinators, bees are still the most fascinating to me. Yes, they can sometimes be a nuisance—especially when they mistakenly try to land on my head, thinking it’s a flower. In those moments, I become quite the “bee-hating lunatic.”

However, when I observe them from a distance, buzzing from flower to flower in search of nectar, I can’t help but feel inspired by their simple yet vital role in our ecosystem. They carry out the crucial task of plant fertilization without even realizing the significant impact on the world they help grow.

The natural pollination process reminds us of Mother Earth’s intricate design and illustrates how God created living organisms that collaborate to nourish His people and ALL of creation.

Jesus’ stories are full of nature-based metaphors and parables that convey the simple truths of the Gospel to His followers, and His Infinite wisdom remains relevant today.

God’s creation must work together for the greater good.

Yet social media and news outlets are flooding our world with deceptive stories, and artificial intelligence (AI) is just getting started. Sadly, this is where many non-believers get their first glimpse of the Christian Church.

Friends and family outside the Church have asked me why I trust an exclusive God. When questioning my beliefs, they often point to the various media platforms and their negative influence that use religious fear to divide us.

Pollinators of fear are like locusts. Their deception breeds hate and indifference, and if we lose our sense of shared humanity, we risk swarming the fields of other cultures with a self-righteous mob mentality—essentially “polluting instead of pollinating” God’s message to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

Furthermore, fear pollinators attempt to hold our minds captive, like bees trapped in a jar, but Jesus unlocks hope and sets us free to become His “pollinating bee-lievers.”

So how can we combat these false narratives presented in our daily lives?

Consider the bees that perform life-saving pollination work. As followers of Christ, we, too, can pollinate those we encounter with compassion and kindness.

We can utilize the same platforms the voices of division used to mislead us to plant seeds of love and hope, reaching people beyond the boundaries of our physical lives.

While we may not always recognize how our actions brighten someone’s day, rest assured that the nectar of Jesus spreads through our faithful acts of love.  

Let us go out into the world as pollinating bee-believers, countering the negative by showing that God cares more about our hearts than our differences and that His diverse Garden is a sanctuary for ALL of us to bloom.

Together, we radiate a brighter and more beautiful light than we could ever do alone. — Author Joyce Rice.

Low Tide Season

Being open and vulnerable can heal both ourselves and those around us. 

Brené Brown wisely states, “We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”

A few years ago, I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)—a silent struggle that many people face as the days grow shorter and the changing seasons bring waves of gloominess. 

I often wondered why, as autumn’s stunning array of colors faded and the trees released their withered leaves, I felt like one of those falling leaves—desperate to regain my vibrant colors and reconnect with the beauty I had once experienced. 

I'd tell myself to “snap out of it,” dismissing my feelings as just another “bad day” or a case of the “winter blahs.” Yet the discarded leaf of my emotions would land in an ocean of despair, tattered and broken, as the tide pulled me out to sea and submerged me into a low tide season.

In nature, we cannot help but be inspired by how the low tide unveils the hidden beauty of the ocean floor and the breathtaking, expansive beaches. 

However, during an internal period of low tide, many of us may identify with the ocean's creatures stranded out of the water—some trapped in pools, others hiding under the shade of kelp draped over rocks, or buried in the sand, laying low until the tide rises and sets them free again.

While our low tide seasons vary, we can all relate to our struggles in life's ocean as we strive to return to brighter days and calmer waters. 

Nothing brightens my soul more than being in nature. Even as a child growing up in Newfoundland, the outdoors—especially the ocean—was my playground, a treasure I took for granted. Some of my fondest memories involve carefree moments spent with my siblings. We were always together, swimming in the salty waves, building rafts to venture out and explore the shoreline, or skating on its icy sheet. 

Although I'm no longer that carefree child, it's no wonder the sea has drawn me back. My life here in New Brunswick for the last five years feels like a full-circle moment. Yet, as an adult, I view the ocean in a different light. I’m attuned to the rhythm of its surroundings and aware of its constant motion: the sea is timeless; it’s the same ancient water, whether angry or calm, rising or falling.

Similarly, the internal workings of our minds and bodies are also in constant motion. A storm that rages and crashes against our inner shoreline can alter its landscape. We navigate through the tides of change, experience highs and lows, endure rough seas, and anticipate the storms' passing. Despite this, though, we remain the same unique body.

So how do we maintain balance in an ocean that seems intent on tipping us over and damaging the shoreline of our emotions?

The answer lies within each individual, of course.

Learning to stay connected to my emotions instead of ignoring them was a significant step. 

Another significant step was seeking ways to bring more light into my life through physical and mental engagement. 

More importantly, no matter how dire my situation or how rough my waters are, the buoy of Christ is always present for me to hold onto.

I’ll admit that this is a challenging time in our country's history. Many of us feel like we're being swept out to sea by the tides of political change and uncertainty. Anxiety and strong emotions are washing over us as we try to understand why our neighbors' leaders have turned against us. 

But I’m inspired by the resilience Canadian history teaches us: "God keep our land glorious and free." Ultimately, God controls the outcome, and we must not lose faith in Him.

As we enter spring, the season of new life, may we drown out the noise of negativity and embrace the beauty of renewal. 

Blessings!