It is always tempting to resist the hard and painful parts, to hate the stretch marks, and run away from the challenges. And, it is so much more helpful to me to see how the stretching can make more space.

If Easter is about dying as well as resurrection, then I shouldn’t be surprised that the new life is as earthy as the death. Rot has to be cleared away, dry bones rehydrated, muscles reacclimatized to movement. Resistance needs to fall away. These things take time and practice, at least in my experience of my own humanity.

It gives me such pure joy to marvel at the ice in the puddles, to lose myself in exploring the micro-universe, to delightedly smash the ice through. And this can be true also in my soul.

The world is a hot mess right now. I am not sure there is a better way to say that. Everything feels upside down and unbelievable. Pope Francis declared a jubilee year of hope; now he’s praying for a world praying for him in a hospital bed.

Diefenbaker Lake is a deep section of the Saskatchewan River that cuts a T-shape through the south-central part of our province. The lake is part of the landscape and the story of our lives, and today the lake is a metaphor for my grief.

Twice, I was very pregnant in Advent, and I thought a lot about how riding on a donkey might bring on labour. With each month of pregnancy, babies occupied more of my body – as well as my mind and heart. And with birth, these little people become literal parts of my body and soul existing in the world distinct from me.

Over the summer, I wrestled my way through a nasty case of pneumonia. As a life-long asthmatic, I have lots of experience with lung infections and trouble. Into the fall, my lungs were still struggling. The acute crisis had passed, I rested, and now it was time to do the work: eat, move and sleep for my lungs.

The etymology of tending is from the Latin “tendere” to stretch, in a certain direction. What a fabulous way to think about the way we care!