When love creeps into your heart

                                                  My family has some very exciting news to share: our nest has grown! A few evenings ago a special young man named Joe moved into our home. Joe's younger sister is our daughter Samantha, and in the 6.5 years since we adopted Sam, Joe has become very dear to our hearts. It is with great joy we welcome Joe!  

The other night, a few days before Joe moved in, I sat outside in the cool of a late summer's evening, quietly watching as the sun's last light waned over the darkening sky. As my spirit absorbed the silence of a dawning night, my heart quietly listened, mulled over life, and grew.

I have been contemplating the theme of nests lately, and that night my mind remembered back to when my nest began. Eric and I had been married a few years when we became parents for the first time.

Meeting Sammy for the first time

1st full day together

From the moment I saw our daughter's slight frame shyly enter the sterile social worker's office it was love at first site. As she peaked up at us from a cherubic elfin face I knew deep in my heart I'd love her forever. Sometimes love is like that: fast, instantaneous, a wholehearted diving in with all your soul has to offer.



And sometimes, love comes slowly, creeps up quietly in your heart and nestles in until you wonder how you ever lived without it.

I first met Joe 6.5 years ago as he stood quietly in the doorway of our old house, shyly saying hello as he and his foster mom dropped Sam off for a pre-adoption visit.

Siblings reunited 2010

Xmas 2011

Joe lived in a fantastic long term foster home in
 another town and we and his foster mom made it a top priority to keep the two siblings in close contact with regular visits.

museum 2011

For the past 6.5 years, every month or twoJoe would fly to my nest, perch on the edge for a day or two or twelve... and then fly back home to the safe and cozy nest in which he lived.

Red Robins 2014

Greenhouse

2015

high school grad

Suddenly a few weeks ago we were asked if Joe could come to us.  We had very little time to make a decision, but sometimes you just know in the deepest part of your heart what the right step to take is. This was one of those times. With God whispering into our spirits to go forward in faith, our nest expanded.

And so, on that quiet evening on my back deck, as I sat beneath my

2015

favourite tree and watched the stars slowly appear and begin to twinkle in the darkness my spirit realized what my heart has known for a very long time. I really love Joe.

Moving in 2016!

Joe has now been in our home for 4 days, and yet in a funny way it feels like forever. He is fitting in seamless with the personalities and spirits of our family. His gentle sense of humour, creative ideas, and kindness have been fun to get to know in a new way. I've had fun cooking with him and chatting and hearing some of his ideas (he has great plans to expand the sunroom where I grow a few tropical plants during the winter into an indoor rainforest type of room). 

There is a long line of special women who have loved and cared for Joe over the years, and their love for him will remain a constant in his life. In particular, he has an amazing foster mom under whose care he flourished for the past 7 years and who will continue to play a role in his life; a special Grandmother in Heaven;  and a birth mother he loves deeply.   These women will long be part of Joe's life and heart and I can never take their place, nor do I want to.

winter 2015

However, that said, I am thankful for the unique relationship he and I have and for this new role I am stepping into in his life. I am so overjoyed to have Joe here in our home!  I don't know what the future holds, and that is okay. For, today Joe is here in our nest, and I am thankful for that fact. Whatever the future, my heart is filled with joy to have him in my nest today and to care for him for as many tomorrows as God grants.

On morning's light

Morning has always seemed such a special time to me.  A time when the burgeoning sunlight softly arcs across the awakening world, the angles of it's rays so gentle as they touch each tree or surface, caressing each person who has awoken to greet the new day.

As the dew wafts fresh over the grass, the birds awaken after their night of rest, gently calling to each other across the boughs, connecting again, as they stretch their wings and prepare for the new day ahead.

And so, I was surprised to read a few weeks ago that the light of morning is indistinct from evening's light.  There is no physically measurable  difference between morning and evening sunlight in terms of the light's softness or gentleness of arc. As morning dawns and the sun creeps across our world it is the same in reverse as the arriving of nightfall.

The difference is in our perception.  In how our eyes adjust to the newness of the light after a nighttime of darkness.  And, I would hypothesize, in the softness of our spirits as we awaken to embrace a new day, our hearts open like a little child whose arm is loving touched by the wizened, wrinkled hand of her beloved grandmother.  It is in that moment of touch that all the secrets and truths of the earth are passed down throughout the generations.  Time after time.

Indeed, as with the light of the morning, in life our perception is everything.  It's a lesson I've been learning this week in numerous ways.

It's been a week where I've been deeply reflecting on my life. An ocean's depths of emotions have swelled in my spirit. The life I physically live is very different than how it used to be; there are some physical circumstances in my life I would never choose if given the choice.  And yet, God has seen fit to order my days right now in this exact way.

A few days ago I came across an anonymous quote online that has both taught me much and quieted my soul:
    "Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to look like and celebrating it for everything that it is." 

I'm learning to trust God that the way my life is unfolding is part of the plan for my life.  That in the quietness Truth speaks.  That, regardless of one's circumstances, peace and deep meaning and calm and creativity and most of all thankfulness are always our choice to live.

 That joy comes in the morning.

Angels in the night

I know pain intimately. I wish I didn't, but it's one of the realities of having lived for many years with a condition that causes severe chronic pain.

However, fortunately even the most cutting sword can also carry a gentle edge.  I think perhaps because  I know what it is to struggle deeply, my heart has also gained an attenuated sense of joy and my eyes have often been opened to the great natural beauty in the world all around me.  I discovered a long time ago that if I wanted my experience on this earth to be more than just the pain and darkness that can come easily to me, I needed to allow my spirit to open receptively to the goodness of this world, to allow my soul to flourish despite the pain.

However it is not always easy.

A few weeks ago I had a terrible night. My body was horribly pain-wracked as I huddled in the darkness.

Yearning for comfort, my mind brought forward a story I'd read just that day written by a woman who described being visited by angels at various difficult points in her life.  I'm usually pretty skeptical of such stories, but I respect this person, and if she says it happened, I believe her.

  Why couldn't that happen for me?

In the darkness I began to pray, begging God for relief. To not be alone in my pain.

But....nothing happened.  No hint of comfort in the blackness, just the pain enveloping like a shroud.  Seemingly God or angels were nowhere to be found. Somehow that hurt more than anything.


 Giving up on thoughts of angels appearing in the night, I began to distract my mind.  Distraction sometimes helps reduce my pain, helps me to refocus.

           


I began envisioning in my mind my 100 year old Granda Horne's former house,  where she lived for 50 years before dementia ravaged her mind (but never ever has stolen her spirit or spunk or sparkle).  That home was such a safe, wonderful place for me to visit all through my childhood. Inch by inch, I mentally walked up her sidewalk, opened her door, and began going room by room                                                           through her home.



My mind began to fill with happy memories,  every one pushing away my focus on my body's pain and filling my spirit instead with the deepest of comfort.  There were memories of her hugs and love and homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the yellow curtains with green and blue flowers that billowed next to her mint green walls.  There was her old fashioned kitchen table, her ever-present knitting projects, and the funny little tv set across from her gaudy brown couch. 


.





There was the softness of her strong arms around me and the heartiness of her laughter that chortled through the years, all the way to now when she is 100 years old and so very frail...but still laughs easily


And suddenly in that instant everything changed for me.

Lying in the darkness I realized... an unearthly supernatural angel I did not need. A sudden voice speaking comfort into the darkness.... I didn't need that either.

I didn't need that because all my life, day after day, God has surrounded me with true "angels" in human form. People who have invested in my life and poured so much love into my spirit that on a difficult night great comfort was only a memory away. People who I will forever be thankful for.

God has blessed my life with my husband and child; two special grandmothers and grandfathers; my parents, other family members and friends.  I love them all so deeply it hurts.

I'm sure I'm not alone: we all have had human angels in our lives, be it parents or our children or our childhood teachers or friends or the stranger who smiled at us as we walk down the street just when we most needed a smile..  Love is what makes our world so special, so beautiful, such a joy to be part of. True beauty is found in the relationships we form with those around us.



I realized, during that dark night, that the pain and darkness barely mattered.  I have been loved, and I love.  If I can share the love I've been so generously given, then my life will have been worthwhile.

 Comforted, on that dark night, I thanked God for his provision of so much love in my life. Then I pulled the blankets tightly around me, closed my eyes, and fell into the deepest of peaceful sleep.

Angels in the night

I know pain intimately. I wish I didn't, but it's one of the realities of having lived for many years with a condition that causes severe chronic pain.

However, fortunately it's a double-edge sword.  I think perhaps because  I know what it is to struggle deeply, my heart has also gained an attenuated sense of joy and my eyes have often been opened to the great natural beauty in the world all around me.  I discovered a long time ago that if I wanted my experience on this earth to be more than just the pain and darkness that can come easily to me, I needed to allow my spirit to open receptively to the goodness of this world, to allow my soul to flourish despite the pain.

However it is not always easy.

A few weeks ago I had a terrible night. My body was terribly pain-wracked as I huddled in the darkness.

Yearning for comfort, my mind brought forward a story I'd read just that day written by a woman who described being visited by angels at various difficult points in her life.  I'm usually pretty skeptical of such stories, but I respect this person, and if she says it happened, I believe her.

  Why couldn't that happen for me?

In the darkness I began to pray, begging God for relief. To not be alone in my pain.

But....nothing happened.  No hint of comfort in the blackness, just the pain enveloping like a shroud.  Seemingly God or angels were nowhere to be found. Somehow that hurt more than anything.

 Giving up on thoughts of angels, I began to distract my mind.          Distraction sometimes helps reduce my pain, helps me to refocus.

           


I began envisioning in my mind my 100 year old Granda Horne's former house,  where she lived for 50 years before dementia ravaged her mind (but never ever has stolen her spirit or spunk or sparkle).  That home was such a safe, wonderful place for me to visit all through my childhood. Inch by inch, I mentally walked up her sidewalk, opened her door, and began going room by room                                                           through her home.



My mind began to fill with happy memories,  every one pushing away my focus on my body's pain and filling my spirit instead with the deepest of comfort.  There were memories of her hugs and love and homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the yellow curtains with green and blue flowers that billowed next to her mint green walls.  There was her old fashioned kitchen table, her ever-present knitting projects, and the funny little tv set across from her gaudy brown couch. 


.





There was the softness of her strong arms around me and the heartiness of her laughter that chortled through the years, all the way to now when she is 100 years old and so very frail...but still laughs easily


And suddenly in that instant everything changed for me.

Lying in the darkness I realized... an angel I did not need. A sudden voice speaking comfort into the darkness.... I didn't need that either.
I didn't need that because all my life, day after day, God surrounded me with true "angels" in human form. People who have invested in my life and poured so much love into my spirit that on a difficult night great comfort was only a memory away.

God has blessed my life with my husband and child; two special grandmothers and grandfathers; my parents, other family members and friends.  I love them all so deeply it hurts.  

I'm sure I'm not alone: we all have had human angels in our lives, be it parents or teachers or friends of the stranger who smiled at us as we walk down the street.  Love is what makes our world so special, so beautiful, such a joy to be part of. True beauty is found in the relationships we form with those around us.


I realized, during that dark night, that the pain and darkness barely mattered.  I have been loved, and I love.  If I can share the love I've been so generously given, then my life will have been worthwhile.

 Comforted, I pulled the blankets tightly around me, closed my eyes, and fell into the deepest of sleep.

His name is Wild

Wild, Deep Wild, he approached me. Timid; Frightened; Afraid- oh so very afraid.  

Directly, he came, yet slowly so as to not bring fright to my Spirit. Came to me in my Funny Chair as I sat in the River Park.  My heart sad and hope-filled, both.  

He, with eyes of deepest night, black and guarded. Oh so guarded. 

I held my breath and stilled my spirit: he looked directly in my eyes and for one infinitesimally small and yet eternal Glimmer,  his eyes spoke. A Story was told.  His story.

Even if I could have leaped from my chair and ran away (or at least screeched to frighten him), as many would say to do when a wild coyote is within 7 inches, I could not.  I would not. In that instant, I would have guarded him with my Very Life.  All the Life still in my battle scarred body and pain-bathed spirit.

In that moment I was of His Tribe and He of mine.

And so, stilling even my breath, I looked into His eyes. And He returned the look. Our eyes holding fast, my spirit Listened.


His name was Wild. Deep Wild.   A knower of rejection, of confusion,  of sticks thrown at him by humans.  Of being chased away for being who he is. His only Crime to have been born into our modern world.  A world changed by us- not him.

His Spirit, so very battle scared, he lives in a cataclysm of worlds.  This little River Spot was his birthright of Millenia.  Maybe longer.

The spot was  Not Mine.   Never mine, and yet here I was.  Here we all are really, all of us humans who believe that our wishes and needs and dreams and desires are paramount- our giant buildings and smoking exhaust pipes, our racing cars and loud music. Our garbage strewn about. The city, large, grown all around his little River Spot. Encroaching.

All have forgotten, all but perhaps him- or maybe even him- that this spot belonged to the thousands of generations of Wild gone before him.  It was His, yet he was reduced to surrendering to human whims.  To swallowing his Deepest Hunger, to scavenging for food to sustain his needs. To timidly hiding in the shadows of the trees in the Valley.  Hiding in his very home.

But, that was not all his Story.  Because it is out of our deepest pain and struggles that Courage grows.  Spirit develops in the hardships- and who is more a Survivor than a Wild One in a little River Park in the midst of a Giant City? One reviled for his very Wildness.

And in that Glimmer, as our eyes met, our Spirits met too, To both of our surprise we had a great deal in common.

Then, he was gone.  Wild gone.  But not really gone.  Shadow- hidden.  He'll return when He is ready.  On his terms.  Because that is really what it is all about.

We can bustle through our lives. Build our glass office towers and ever giant homes.  Have park picnics, leaving his Space littered with our one-use coffee chain cups.  We can strew about our burger wrappers. littering the park.  But we can never ever change that this is his birthright home. That, rejected creature, he belongs.


 That he has a story. That he matters.

His name is Wild.  Deep Wild.


Please note: Photos in park taken by my husband Eric Hoff.  Eric had gone on a walk, and from a far distance saw this event taking place and quickly snapped some photos.  It happened in a very quick time span; by the time Eric reached me, within a minute or two, the coyote was gone. Also, I do not advocate approaching wild animals who can be potentially dangerous and also who for their/ our safety need to not become comfortable around humans. However, the coyote approached me and with my mobility issues it would not have been an option for me to run away even had I wanted to.  At no point did I feel I was in danger- he was much more afraid of me than I of him. Thanks for reading :).


Ps....many have told me they have been unable to leave a comment.  If you would like to contact me please email me at jenna.c.hoff@gmail.com or send me a Facebook message (jenna schentag hoff )

His name is Wild

Wild, Deep Wild, he approached me. Timid; Frightened; Afraid- oh so very afraid.  

Directly, he came, yet slowly so as to not bring fright to my Spirit. Came to me in my Funny Chair as I sat in the River Park.  My heart sad and hope-filled, both.  

He, with eyes of deepest night, black and guarded. Oh so guarded. 

I held my breath and stilled my spirit: he looked directly in my eyes and for one infinitesimally small and yet eternal Glimmer,  his eyes spoke. A Story was told.  His story.

Even if I could have leaped from my chair and ran away (or at least screeched to frighten him), as many would say to do when a wild coyote is within 7 inches, I could not.  I would not. In that instant, I would have guarded him with my Very Life.  All the Life still in my battle scarred body and pain-bathed spirit.

In that moment I was of His Tribe and He of mine.

And so, stilling even my breath, I looked into His eyes. And He returned the look. Our eyes holding fast, my spirit Listened.


His name was Wild. Deep Wild.   A knower of rejection, of confusion,  of sticks thrown at him by humans.  Of being chased away for being who he is. His only Crime to have been born into our modern world.  A world changed by us- not him.

His Spirit, so very battle scared, he lives in a cataclysm of worlds.  This little River Spot was his birthright of Millenia.  Maybe longer.

The spot was  Not Mine.   Never mine, and yet here I was.  Here we all are really, all of us humans who believe that our wishes and needs and dreams and desires are paramount- our giant buildings and smoking exhaust pipes, our racing cars and loud music. Our garbage strewn about. The city, large, grown all around his little River Spot. Encroaching.

All have forgotten, all but perhaps him- or maybe even him- that this spot belonged to the thousands of generations of Wild gone before him.  It was His, yet he was reduced to surrendering to human whims.  To swallowing his Deepest Hunger, to scavenging for food to sustain his needs. To timidly hiding in the shadows of the trees in the Valley.  Hiding in his very home.

But, that was not all his Story.  Because it is out of our deepest pain and struggles that Courage grows.  Spirit develops in the hardships- and who is more a Survivor than a Wild One in a little River Park in the midst of a Giant City? One reviled for his very Wildness.

And in that Glimmer, as our eyes met, our Spirits met too, To both of our surprise we had a great deal in common.

Then, he was gone.  Wild gone.  But not really gone.  Shadow- hidden.  He'll return when He is ready.  On his terms.  Because that is really what it is all about.

We can bustle through our lives. Build our glass office towers and ever giant homes.  Have park picnics, leaving his Space littered with our one-use coffee chain cups.  We can strew about our burger wrappers. littering the park.  But we can never ever change that this is his birthright home. That, rejected creature, he belongs.


 That he has a story. That he matters.

His name is Wild.  Deep Wild.




Please note: Photos in park taken by my husband Eric Hoff.  Eric had gone on a walk, and from a far distance saw this event taking place and quickly snapped some photos.  It happened in a very quick time span; by the time Eric reached me, within a minute or two, the coyote was gone. Also, I do not advocate approaching wild animals who can be potentially dangerous and also who for their/ our safety need to not become comfortable around humans. However, the coyote approached me and with my mobility issues it would not have been an option for me to run away even had I wanted to.  At no point did I feel I was in danger- he was much more afraid of me than I of him. Thanks for reading :).