Today we went to the Vineyard. We arrived late. A half dozen of the locals flanked each entrance (the Vineyard is in a refurbished tractor manufacturing plant in the heart of the core). That was somewhat intimidating if not just very different. We went in during the worship time. Everyone was standing. We joined more of the locals in the back row because it was too hard to get at any of the other seating.

Strangely, I was more concerned with what the native people were thinking of me than having a lot of thoughts about them. Did they wonder why or that I looked uncomfortable or wasn't as "in" to the worship as the other people? Did it bother them that we were sitting in "their" row? As I write this, I realize how absurd these thoughts are. But that's how easily I get self-conscious.

I did notice how battered, scarred, and generally ill many of these people looked. So downtrodden. And yet some of them have smiles that can light up the room. I loved the way some of the men interacted with them. Just kind of kidding around with them. A real ease. The pastor happened to meet us in the parking lot. Really friendly and personable. He introduced us to Melvin. It's amazing what knowing someone's name does. They're no longer just "one of them". They're a real, unique person (who happens to share my dad's name).

I also saw the most beautiful lady who was Aboriginal. She wore a flowing skirt and blouse in a lilac colour and soft white leather moccasins. She glowed with a radiance that came from God. What a difference!

Anyways, there was more to my experience than the presence of native people. It is striking what an impact having this people group around has on me. At Willowlake, there is refreshing mix of ethnicity, but most everyone is in a similar economic bracket and as such, fairly comfortable. It's been very good to get out of my comfort zone.

As I was saying, there was more. People were worshipping with heart, soul and body. This is not new to me, but not something I've been around in the last four years or so. Part of me desperately wanted to join in and part of me mocked their passion, cynical about what it really meant or accomplished. This cynicism was jolting. A real sign of my disillusionment and woundedness. I decided I need to start journalling and praying earnestly for a soft heart and an openness to God and his working.

My thoughts are so broken up today.

Most of the music was unknown to me. It was amazing how much of it spoke of pain. A few phrases stuck out: "though he slay me I will trust him", "come, Lord Jesus, come" and something about everything I do being about God. I just tried to soak it in a bit.

It turns out that the Sunday we picked they were having a get together afterwards "at the farm" and so there was no teaching time and the service was cut short. As we left, we picked up a brochure on a course they run about justice...forming relationships with people who are poor...struggling with issues of inequality (I don't really know how to put it, but it sounded interesting).

I don't know if I would want to regularly attend a church like that or not, but I'm glad I went. Going out of my comfort zone is teaching me a great deal about myself if nothing else.

I'm finally back. We just took a big vacation. Although we were gone for ten days, we probably only spent under two days actually relaxing. But those hours were precious. It's amazing how good it feels to sit under towering pine trees and just read. Or kick back with my husband and watch our son play on the beach. Or view a thunderstorm from the 18th floor of a hotel. We saw a lot of old friends and friends as well, which was also worth it.

Now we return to our work. It's a bit of a struggle facing dirty dishes and the mess that Jacob leaves in his wake. Seems like just after I clean up another mess is made. Not always the most satisfying of work. Tomorrow I have four hours to try and get at some number crunching and accounting. I'm worried that there won't be enough time and then when will I get any more? It seems like every time I attempt to do that I run into some sort of problem that derails me and by the time I can get back to it, I've lost all momentum and it seem doubly difficult. It can be so frustrating being a mom in that so many things remain undone. And yet taking care of my son is so much fun most of the time. If only my only responsibility were that, then I wouldn't have to worry about these other things.

We went to Bethlehem Aboriginal Fellowship on Sunday. My first thought was: "what a letdown". Very few people there, the main pastor wasn't speaking, and there were having testimonials instead of a sermon. Very quickly, I was convicted of how accustomed I've become to a certain amount of polish and image. But how necessary is that anyways? The three people who spoke were completely themselves and in a word, refreshing. Not the best public speakers, certainly, but genuine and simple. Instead of making me comfortable, they challenged me with my lack of faith, love, courage, passion, and knowledge of God's Word. I felt completely stripped of all pretense. Where I used to feel numb, I felt raw, like after a penetrating massage.

It wasn't the powerful, amazing service that, for some reason, I had anticipated; but God was there in the plainness of it all. There was nowhere for me or Him to hide. He was there, listening to the woman crying out in the middle of the service "no one took care of me..." He was there in the compassionate women who responded to her cry. He was there as a young man spoke of his struggle to continue strong in his faith even though the passion and excitement had waned, and brought Scripture after Scripture to my attention. He was there in the man whose "Amen's" and "that's right's" conveyed a depth of faith and contentment in spite of his extensive physical limitations.

I realized how shallow I am. How concerned with appearance. How wounded I am, although I've tried to cover it with a big Band-Aid. And I realized how great God is. His transforming power is limitless. His provisions are enough. He still heals those with wounds. His love overflows. I'm thankful for the way he spoke to me and humbled me.