Author: Jackie

I’ve started several posts lately and left them unfinished … but now I know what I’m trying to capture.

Life has been so good lately, so full of beauty, saturated with miracles.

Miracles, I’ve learned, are everywhere. Any evidence of God’s hand at work is a miracle, but we need to have eyes of faith to see them.

A speaker I heard recently, shared a comment that has stayed with me: “You’ve got to plan for miracles.”

I’ve thought about that a lot… it’s complex, because we can’t plan what the miracles will be, even though we might be full of suggestions for God.

What we can plan though, is that He will do something.

He will provide.

He will carry us.

He will stay with us.

And He will show up in all sorts of amazing little ways that become miracles when we see all of life through a faith-filled perspective.

Last week, it was a sunset that glowed vibrantly and felt like it was an “I love you” written across the sky from God.

On Monday, I got a soccer ball kicked into my face and knew I would need a visit to my chiropractor. But HOW would I get an appointment before leaving on my next trip?

Of course they were all booked up, but I asked to be placed on the wait list. Then I thanked God that even if I couldn’t get my shoulders adjusted, He would heal me or make a way possible to enjoy my weekend away.

Five minutes later, the receptionist called back and had an availability for that evening – 15 minutes after I would leave my bank. The driving time was 10 minutes.

Coincidence? Personally, no. I give God the glory and thanks for those moments!

I’ve met people who speak truth into my life and share encouragement that is exactly what I need at the time.

Each encounter fills me with awe at His goodness, in arranging these meetings.

Then there’s been this whole car situation… I needed to get a spare key cut, but their schedule was completely full last night. They offered to squeeze me in first thing this morning, and I absolutely thanked them – and God!

When I arrived this morning, they said the key I need isn’t in stock. To state it mildly, my inner reaction to that wasn’t entirely calm. I replied without freaking out though, simply stating that I was told just last night that they have stock.

He disappeared to go and check, and returned saying it’s here.

I don’t know what happened there, but God knew I need that key this morning. So God took care of that little detail – that miracle.

He’s everywhere, working in every aspect of life, when you look for Him.

When you thank Him for all that He’s going to do on your behalf, in full faith that He is working, He will prove Himself worthy of your trust.

The miracles might not be the ones you ask for. Your ideas and suggestions cannot sway what He knows is best for you.

But no matter where you are, if you invite Him to work in your life in His way, you will begin to see miracles which are evidence of His interest in your life.

You’ve just got to plan for miracles!

I brought Beta home tonight!

She’s a 2013 Toyota Camry LE, and I am officially thrilled to be her new owner.

I know, my previous post on this topic mentioned names like Vivianne or Samantha… but none of them seemed quite right.

And eventually I decided, what better name for my second car than Beta, literally meaning, the second.

Considering the fact that people say I’m the 2.0 version of who I was a year ago… it felt like the car that I’ll be driving forward into this next season of life should be named something that includes the number “two.”

Because of restoration… and new chapters… and all that He’s done in my life… the number two just seemed so fitting for this car that feels like another gift from God.

So, Beta she is. (In case you’re not aware, Beta has a value of two in the Greek numeral system. Sorry, I’m a writer… I like wordplay ;)).

And yes, once again, I’ll say it myself:

I know that I overthink things.

And I’m fully aware that it’s just an automobile to use as my earthly mode of transportation.

But, why not add some spice to life with a few harmless, creative quirks, like naming my car?!

I bought my favourite air fresheners.

I have a glass writer to add some inspiration to the rearview mirror… (I think I’ll stick with what I had in my Belinda car: “I do not travel alone; Jesus is with me.”)

The wooden angel with Psalm 91:11 written on it is in my desk at school, ready to be hung on the mirror tomorrow morning.

I was wondering how I would feel at home in a Camry, since I was so used to my Sentra, but since I drove her home from the dealer I know this Beta car will soon feel like my own.

Especially when it has my personal touches added.

Now all I need to do is come up with words for the license plate to become a fitting acronym.😁

Today’s art class was going to be calm and organized, so that I can leave school at dismissal and get to my much needed massage appointment on time.

However, “art class,” “calm,” and “organized” shouldn’t ever be in the same sentence. In my fifth year of teaching, I’m still learning that.

The only way to describe today’s class is “in my face.”

As I walk around the room, hands are popping up – in my face.

Papers are jumping off desks for approval and advice – in my face.

A bloody tooth on a palm covered in chalk dust appears – uncomfortably close to my face.

My face is trying to stay calm, even though deep inside – I might not actually be.

The student who just thrust an obtusely drawn candle flame in my face sounds worried. “Miss Wideman, I… accidentally made it wide.”

That’s repairable, with some oil pastel blending, and I move on.

The next group is sniffing the hairspray I used to fix the chalk on their artwork.

“Ahhh, roses!”

“Wow, that’s niccccce.”

“Hmm. I like that!”

“Ewww! It smells BAD!”

At the last comment, the first three pause in their appreciative inhalations and look confused.

The negative student is a boy – with sisters – who probably use hairspray. Therefore, it has to smell bad. He can’t call it anything else!

Now everyone solemnly agrees with him that it smells like mosquito spray, and all suggestions of roses are no longer being verbalized.

As they continue furtively sniffing their papers, I move on to explain to another student what the purpose of hairspray really is. He couldn’t figure out why such a great art product would be called “hairspray.”

It is at this point that the tooth nearly collided with my nose.

“Can I get a paper towel? I just pulled out my tooth.”

(Yes. In art class. With chalk pastels on your fingers. Of course, that seems like a logical thing to do… all in a day’s work, you know.)

“Sure, please go ahead!” (I hope he didn’t hear the emphasis on please that I was mentally feeling!)

The conversation moves to what chalk pastels are made of.

“Literally, coloured dust! They’re just dust!”

I automatically replied, “so are we.”

I should have known better. I mean, we are made of dust, but what was I thinking to remind a class of nine-year-olds about that fact?!

“Wait. WHAT?!”

“Ohhh, yeah! Remember? God was explaining about how to make Adam!” (her partner looks very confused as though she doesn’t remember the conversation.) “Like, it was in the Bible He was explaining it.” “Oh, yes. Now I know what you’re talking about.” With that, art resumed, at least for that group…

On the other side of the room, they progress to discussing mummification, following these bridges:

“We’re made of dust, but we actually also GO BACK to dust,” a student importantly announces. “So if you dig up a grave, you would literally just find dust.”

“Except my grandma! She’ll still have her two metal knees.” (Currently, grandma is recovering from knee replacements but she is very alive and well)

“But everything else will be dust!”

“What? NO! They dug Pharaoh up, and he was still… all nice! Well, like, not nice probably, but… not dust!”

“Oh, him. Well that’s because they made him into a MUMMY.”

“Still dust,” came a quiet comment from a head that was diligently bent over his art project.

The previously requested paper towel is now stuffed into the mouth which is recently minus one tooth.

Another child hops across the room, snapping his fingers, going to select his next oil pastel.

Little people and coloured chalk dust are everywhere.

Art class is happening in fourth grade – in top gear!

***

Update: The desks are cleaned, pastels have been returned to boxes, and the children are dismissed. Minus one tooth and a paper towel that has now been thrown in the garbage. I will make it to my appointment on time, breathless and needing the relaxation of a massage more than I did prior to art class.

Now I shall exhale, recover, and look forward to next Wednesday afternoon, when I get to repeat the circus!

A few days ago, I said goodbye to my first car and watched it being winched onto the back of a tow truck.

I’ve been scrolling autotrader, comparing prices and specs, admiring sleek sedans and expensive rims… and reminding myself of my budget.

Car shopping really is fun, I’ve discovered. It’s exciting to dream about what I’ll be driving.

Before I buy a new car though, I’m reflecting on the years with my first car, which my teenage self jokingly dubbed Belinda.

After many conversations in which my dad outlined the budget and I vetoed many cars I deemed “ugly,” we settled on the Nissan Sentra. I liked the tail lights and the fact that she was little.

I remember feeling so sophisticated that first Sunday as I stepped out of my new car at church, wearing heels of course. I had sponged Belinda until she shone for the occasion, and I was in my teenage Girl Boss prime.

That car zipped out of the highschool parking lot for Tim’s runs during lunch break, and strong, lasting friendships were formed.

We solved life issues inside her, planned our weddings, and helped eachother with homework assignments. There was nothing our girl squad, our cars, and maybe a frying pan couldn’t handle.

The first winter I had her, before she got snow tires, I spun circles on the fresh snow in the school parking lot. (And no, that is not something I’ve done in recent years, but it was a great after school stress reliever for a first year teacher.)

I loved winter driving (except when I couldn’t see). With a good set of snow tires, I drove with confidence and embraced the challenge of the early morning drive to work before the roads are cleared. Belinda’s bumper sent many powder drifts flying, and we never went off the road.

During the long, lonely weeks of covid lockdowns, I would take my dog through the Tim Horton’s drive through on Friday nights – just for a chance to go somewhere in my car. The growling sounds from the darkened interior of my Sentra were a little unexpected for the Tim’s staff, and I received many odd looks. Of course, my poodle always barked out the back window as we drove away.

In times of teenage drama, I used to jump into that car and drive to the trail near my house where I’d go for a walk and sort out my thoughts.

It was that car that everyone recognized as mine because of the huge, fluffy steering wheel inside – real sheep wool, dyed my favourite shade of blush.

There have been countless after youth chats until the wee hours with neighbourhood friends who I used to carpool with… I realize now that I had that car for awhile. Those chats are a distant memory and those friendships have faded with the changes of time.

In more recent years, those late night drives became a place to think, my own quiet time.

I know it’s just a car, but these memories linked to it are still precious to sift through.

She was a big part of my becoming an independent adult – that little Sentra was my step into freedom and adventure.

This past summer, Belinda faithfully drove to Tennessee, through the Smoky Mountains, and rolled steadily through it all.

Her last trip was my solo road trip, just a few weeks ago. I’m planning to go again soon and it feels odd that I won’t be taking Belinda, but a new car (if I get one in time, that is!)

That car has been rocked with laughter, it’s heard heart-to-heart conversations, it listened to my tears and rang with my singing.

I used glass writers to write my favourite inspirations on the mirror or other surfaces… the last one I put on the rearview mirror said “I do not journey alone, for Jesus is with me.”

Yes, she frequently needed repairs and many people say it was a problem car – which is true. But I loved my little Sentra.

I’m glad to know where I’m at, as I was tired of paying repair bills and wondering what would go wrong next. But still, nostalgia outweighed that relief as I unloaded my things from every nook and cranny, finding missing clothes in her trunk for the last time.

A friend of mine was trying to imagine me without a Sentra. We both wonder what that will be like.

But although it has been a huge part of my personality and life to create quirky memories and pursue adventure in that car, now that those times are over I see it clearly: I lived and left my girlhood in that car, and I’m not the same person anymore. (Thankfully!)

So as I ride into a new chapter of adult life, it seems fitting that I’ll have a new car to drive into the future.

It’s truly been a good ride, Belinda.

Now I’ll look forward to continuing the journey in Vivianne, Samantha, or Josephine, depending on the model I get!

I am thrilled with the feeling of acheivement tonight…

I left youth floating on air and was nearly giggling with delight before I reached the privacy inside my dear little Belinda car.

If anyone had been with me, I’m sure they’d have said I glowed as I drove home.

So, what was extraordinary about the evening, that has me so excited?

Nothing. Nothing at all was different from any other evening, but it was the last one.

After eight summers, I have officially decided to resign from my career of youth baseball, and tonight was my last game.

As the sounds of my youth group socializing faded behind me, I waited for the regret to kick in. A little bit of uncertainty at least, about whether I should maybe sign up again next spring, just one more year?

But I didn’t feel any indecision, or regret, or nostalgia.

Rather, each step I took away from there, toward my car, felt like I was stepping out into a new chapter of life.

In a sense, leaving youth and moving forward in life is a new, uncharted chapter.

But it’s EXCITING!!!

So often, chapters end and I hold on as tightly as I can, only hearing the sound of the closing door as the finality of all the good within the room I am now barricaded from.

But finality is not always bad!

My friends, I realized tonight, closing a door is sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves.

Walking to my car tonight, I felt increasingly free. Conciously stepping out of that phase of my life and closing that door allows me to be open to the next doors God would open.

It takes courage to step out of our cozy little familiar rooms, into the hallway, and close the door behind ourselves.

But what if we were stuck in that room? What if that place is hindering us from reaching our full potential according to God’s purpose for our life? What if He intends for us to thrive elsewhere?

A chapter ending is not always finality. It may become a crucial launching pad in your story.

But sometimes we need to be willing to close one chapter before God will open the next.

So – I have officially resigned from youth baseball. Eight summers of it were sufficient for one who doesn’t like the sport, and over the years, my place there was fading.

Young teen me was the life of the party… to one of the group… to an “”older girl,” with no peers to connect with, so I tried to become a sort of “big sister” to those insecure 15-year-olds. Now the youngest youth girls barely even know who I am anymore, my “little friends” are grown up and dating, and everyone seems to know how to go about their routine whether I’m in my spot or not.

To everything there is a season… including a time to step through the doorway and move forward.

So I played my last game tonight, and enjoyed the evening more immensely than I have in years!

Closing doors takes courage, but it is necessary before we can experience positve change.