Monday, June 25, 2012


“How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are” I John 3:1
Meditating on the Father’s great love for us, this picture comes to mind. A.J. missed his Daddy so much while he was away for a week serving in Mexico, that he ran quickly into his arms as soon as he saw his Dad return.  “Daddy! Daddy!” I was able to click my cell phone camera in time, because the strong embrace lasted so long. How great is the love of this father and son.
I have been a little wound-up lately.  My heart is racing as though I have consumed a tank of caffeine. It has been a difficult “Special Needs Month” as we deal with battles and situations beyond our control. The aching in my heart pulls me to crawl under the covers and sink into my sadness. But the Lord keeps giving me this picture of my child running into the arms of his father.
Is that the kind of love You have for me, Lord? Is that the kind of love You have for my child?
I choose not to hide under my covers in despair. Instead, the love of the Father draws me to His embrace with these comforting words from Psalm 121:
“I look up to the mountains—
does my help come from there?
 My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth!
He will not let you stumble;
the one who watches over you will not slumber” NLT
It isn’t easy being vulnerable, but I have finally learned to allow the body of Christ to bear with me in my burdens. I am entrusting my special requests to trustworthy friends who pray on our behalf.
This is when I cry, when I let the walls of self-preservation drop and allow others to come along side us. Augh, this isn’t fun.
As anxiety rises up within me, my mind plays certain ugly scenarios over and over. The Lord interrupts my anxious thoughts, “Be still”  He says, “And know that I am God”.
I ignore Him, “Wait a minute Lord, I need to finish this thought”.
“Be Still” my Father interrupts me again, “And know that I am God.”
I took my thoughts captive and rested in the God who knows all, who loves my son and who will tend to His needs as the Loving Shepherd He is.
Today I choose to rest in the arms of our Father. How great is the love the Father has lavished on us!
“You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
It is high; I cannot attain to it
If I ride the wings of the morning,
if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me,
and your strength will support me.”  Psalm 139:5 & 10


Monday, June 18, 2012


For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to dance. We didn’t have a lot of money as a family, so I wasn’t given options about extracurricular activities. I was slotted into piano year after year after year. In fact, I don’t ever remember being asked if I wanted to do it – it was just a foregone conclusion that I would play an instrument and my brother would play sports.
But I dreamt – literally and figuratively – about dancing. I was enthralled by dance shows. I was envious of my friends who danced. My heart would start to race and I could feel a rush of adrenaline when I saw a performance. Footloose was epic for me.
However, once I passed the age of ten, I thought that it was too late for me to learn. By that age, I was already a hard-core perfectionist and consequently was terrified of doing anything poorly. As an adult, I continued to buy into the fallacy that dance lessons are just for little kids. I put Riley in dance and watched from the sidelines.
A few years ago, a friend invited me to a hip-hop class. When I observed the class, I felt that old, familiar stirring within me. I enrolled in the class, but it was a dud for me. The class was large and so I struggled to get one-on-one time with the instructor. I joined the group halfway through the year and so I had to catch up to women who had been practicing the routine for months. But the death knell came when an important conference was scheduled for the same weekend of the recital. The whole experience was kind of like a firecracker that promises to be spectacularly impressive and just fizzles out before it even starts. But the class was significant in one respect – I had finally realized that a thirty-something-year-old mom could take dance.
So despite that first false start, I found an adult hip-hop class when we moved to Toronto. Then I recruited my friend Judy to go with me so it wouldn’t be so scary. This time, though, I was in for a radically different experience. I was privileged to have two amazing instructors – Lucy and Monique – who nudged me out of my comfort zone. They demonstrated the basic moves, of course, but they did so much more. They took the time to work with each of us, drawing out and honing our unique styles. They pushed us when we didn’t have the personal courage to push ourselves. They laughed with us when we messed up and cheered when we finally got the move. They created a safe place to be less than perfect. They invested in us. Because of them, the year was transformational.
In my professional life, I encourage people to pursue the passions deep within. I teach about learning to be comfortable with the uncomfortable. I highlight the pitfalls of perfectionism. I coach people to press through the awkward learning phase so that a new skill set has the chance to emerge. I demystify body image issues. I know all these things intellectually and I see the benefits in the lives of my clients. But I had the opportunity to practice what I preach on the dance floor all year long.
Yesterday, I did a dance recital in front of hundreds of people. I looked nothing like the competitors on So You Think You Can Dance, but that wasn’t the point. I had worked hard so I could earn a spot on that stage. I wasn’t in the audience anymore. My husband and daughter got to witness me practicing courage. I modeled “out of my comfort zone” in living colour. I faced down the gremlins that told me I was too old and too uncoordinated to perform. Best of all, I had so much fun. It was an amazing way to fulfill a life-long dream.
And next year, I’m going back for more.

ERYN-FAYE, FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach ®

Sunday, June 10, 2012


It’s a question I’ve asked many times. I ask people who garden, people who decorate their homes, people who floss… How do you find the time?

It’s also the most frequent question I get about blogging. How do you find the time? The answer is simple.

You don’t.

Time does not spontaneously appear when you say the magic words.(Unless they happen to be “we-don’t-really-need-TSN-in-our-house”, because I’m sure my husband’s free time would grow exponentially at that point.)

Time is a limited resource, and often one that feels out of our control. I’ve always admired those buttoned up, disciplined souls who manage their time with military precision. I’m an orderly person, but trying to emulate them leaves me exhausted, cranky and desperately unhappy. Usually I find myself somewhere in the middle – enough routine to keep life moving, but margins for the unexpected (and the occasional hour of blissful uselessness).
Whether you wing it from one moment to the next, or plan your day down to the minute, we are all subject to the same limitations.

86,400 seconds
1,440 minutes
24 hours
Each day, everyday, it’s all we’ve got.

I’ve said it before and it bears repeating. In this day and age, we can do almost anything, but we can’t do everything!

When I choose to make something a priority, then I am going to have to sacrifice somewhere else. The older I get, the more comfortable I am with this necessity. No one has it all together – even if they look the part. Look at Martha Stewart. She has a large, talented staff and a bazillion dollars to help her get things done. But even she drops the occasional ball along the way. Her foray into white collar crime wasn’t terribly successful.
This is why my backyard looks like the set of Jurrasic Park. Who decided grass was the superior weed anyway? Dandelions are cheerful and prolific, plus my kids love them. This is also why I have boxes of pictures in the garage, not from our most recent move, but from the one before that nine years ago. I’m honestly working on the flossing thing. My brother-in-law is training to be a dentist and I don’t want him to know that I’ve had five cavities in the last year. Shhhhhh.

You don’t find time for the things that matter to you, you make it. In my busy life stage, this tends to be in bite-sized pieces scattered throughout the day. We pray in the van on the way to school. While driving, I’ve also found time to discuss important issues with my kids – like sex, work ethic, the value of money and whether American Idol is better with or without Simon Cowell. I talk on the phone while I fold laundry. I write my blog posts anytime, anywhere… there are notebooks all over my house, in my purse, in the car. I have written entire posts in blue crayon, because that was all I had at the time.

This is my very first blog post.
Written in my daughter's My Little Pony colouring book.

Right now:

Mount Clean Laundry is mocking me from atop my bed.

Life-Span in Human Development is taunting me from the kitchen table.

I can hear echoes of crucial sibling posturing in the hallway.

So here’s me, quite happily blogging away. THIS is how I find the time.

How do you find the time to do what matters to you? What are you willing to sacrifice?