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| My parents on their wedding day, December 28, 1953 |
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Family Stories
It's been well over 50 years since my dad died. I was only 3 years old; my brother 17 months. My dad and mom had been married for less than five years. She died 25 years later. My three children never knew their grandfather--or their grandmother--except for the few stories I was able to share.
But last week my youngest daughter called home, and with the kind of excitement only Naomi can convey, she recounted for me several stories about my dad, and his days as a teacher and principal! Naomi is a funeral director in a small Ontario town about 5 hours away from the community where my dad lived and worked. But when she was helping a family who come from the same area as me (and with the same last name), and asked if they were related in any way to us, she got far more than she bargained for.
"Yes," they told her, "somehow we are distantly related."
But even better than that, a family member had been a student at the school where my dad taught, and sixty years later she remembered him well, as well as her time with him in the classroom, and was able to share those memories with my daughter.
"He was firm but kind," she told Naomi, "and he was pretty religious." (Now I'm not too sure about THAT part, but it's probably not totally incorrect either!) And then she went on to tell some stories of students' antics and my dad's reactions.
I'm excited about finding out more about this family connection--and more about my dad. I have only a few vague memories of him, and even all these years after his death, would love to get to know him better.
And, I wonder: is this something of what we talk about when we talk about resurrection? Is this my dad coming back to life in ways we could never have imagined? Are the memories of him and his life bringing new life to us?
We will never fully understand death, and life beyond death, until we are there to experience it. But maybe--just maybe--we get a glance at it in the excitement and new vitality we find in a young woman, invigorated by time spent with someone who knew our loved-one. Maybe--like the green shoots in the hard, cold soil--new life comes with warmth; the warmth of stories told and a loved-one remembered. After all, isn't what has happened with Jesus, and his millions of faithful followers over the centuries?
But last week my youngest daughter called home, and with the kind of excitement only Naomi can convey, she recounted for me several stories about my dad, and his days as a teacher and principal! Naomi is a funeral director in a small Ontario town about 5 hours away from the community where my dad lived and worked. But when she was helping a family who come from the same area as me (and with the same last name), and asked if they were related in any way to us, she got far more than she bargained for.
"Yes," they told her, "somehow we are distantly related."
But even better than that, a family member had been a student at the school where my dad taught, and sixty years later she remembered him well, as well as her time with him in the classroom, and was able to share those memories with my daughter.
"He was firm but kind," she told Naomi, "and he was pretty religious." (Now I'm not too sure about THAT part, but it's probably not totally incorrect either!) And then she went on to tell some stories of students' antics and my dad's reactions.
I'm excited about finding out more about this family connection--and more about my dad. I have only a few vague memories of him, and even all these years after his death, would love to get to know him better.
And, I wonder: is this something of what we talk about when we talk about resurrection? Is this my dad coming back to life in ways we could never have imagined? Are the memories of him and his life bringing new life to us?
We will never fully understand death, and life beyond death, until we are there to experience it. But maybe--just maybe--we get a glance at it in the excitement and new vitality we find in a young woman, invigorated by time spent with someone who knew our loved-one. Maybe--like the green shoots in the hard, cold soil--new life comes with warmth; the warmth of stories told and a loved-one remembered. After all, isn't what has happened with Jesus, and his millions of faithful followers over the centuries?
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Where would I be without my friends? It's hard to tell, really--probably in the loonie bin! My friends are the people who calm me down; cheer me up; and help me keep a steady pace, even in the midst of the craziest life-storms I ride out.
I was reminded of that last week as I gathered with a group of friends--some I've known for almost 20 years, and others for just a couple of years--to pray before a meal. Gathered in a circle, the 12 to 15 of us joined hands, bowed our heads and closed our eyes. The words that were offered in that time have been completely forgotten, but what I do remember so distinctly is the feeling. And I mean literally, the feeling: the feeling of my hand in the hands of those on either side of me.
Now, some of us are 'palms up' people, and some are 'palms down' people. Personally, I prefer palms-up, but, for some reason, on this day it didn't matter. We just joined hands. And suddenly I was aware of the feeling of those hands meeting. The pulsing of my neighbours' hands was real and strong and alive. The pulsing of my hands was no different. Not exactly in time with each other, but certainly in concert with each other, our hands were creating a symphony of strong and weak pulses: BOOM, boom; boom, boom; BOOM, BOOM; boom, boom, boom, boom, boom.
I don't think I have ever been quite so aware of another person as I was in that circle. Here were two lives, each lived in very different spheres, yet yoked together by the pulsing of our hands. How profound that moment was for me--sacred, even. It was a moment that spoke to me of the way we are constantly in relationship with others. It reminded me of the life that comes to me through my friends. It reminded me that we are always in relationship with other beings around this planet, as well as with God. But most of all, it reminded me that whatever I do or don't do in this life has an impact--and sometimes a profound impact--on the life of others, even when I am not aware of it.
It's really a matter of community, and grasping the reality that in this life, we live in community with others--around the corner and around the world. There is nothing I can do that will not affect someone, somewhere. For good and for bad, I am not alone in this life. Wherever I go, there will always be heartbeats of others, pulsing in concert with mine; creating a life of community.
And, thank God for that.
I was reminded of that last week as I gathered with a group of friends--some I've known for almost 20 years, and others for just a couple of years--to pray before a meal. Gathered in a circle, the 12 to 15 of us joined hands, bowed our heads and closed our eyes. The words that were offered in that time have been completely forgotten, but what I do remember so distinctly is the feeling. And I mean literally, the feeling: the feeling of my hand in the hands of those on either side of me.
Now, some of us are 'palms up' people, and some are 'palms down' people. Personally, I prefer palms-up, but, for some reason, on this day it didn't matter. We just joined hands. And suddenly I was aware of the feeling of those hands meeting. The pulsing of my neighbours' hands was real and strong and alive. The pulsing of my hands was no different. Not exactly in time with each other, but certainly in concert with each other, our hands were creating a symphony of strong and weak pulses: BOOM, boom; boom, boom; BOOM, BOOM; boom, boom, boom, boom, boom.
I don't think I have ever been quite so aware of another person as I was in that circle. Here were two lives, each lived in very different spheres, yet yoked together by the pulsing of our hands. How profound that moment was for me--sacred, even. It was a moment that spoke to me of the way we are constantly in relationship with others. It reminded me of the life that comes to me through my friends. It reminded me that we are always in relationship with other beings around this planet, as well as with God. But most of all, it reminded me that whatever I do or don't do in this life has an impact--and sometimes a profound impact--on the life of others, even when I am not aware of it.
It's really a matter of community, and grasping the reality that in this life, we live in community with others--around the corner and around the world. There is nothing I can do that will not affect someone, somewhere. For good and for bad, I am not alone in this life. Wherever I go, there will always be heartbeats of others, pulsing in concert with mine; creating a life of community.
And, thank God for that.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Unity??
"Why can't everyone just think like I do?" I sometimes wonder. "It would make things so much easier!" Sometimes I'm so convinced that I'm right: I have worked out the situation ever-so logically and methodically, and I know the best answer to a question; the best way to do this or that; the belief that makes the most sense. But, others either disagree, or ignore me. Imagine!! (This is particularly notable with my 20-something children. Why can't they just see it/do it like I do???)
But one of my great learnings over the past 20 or 30 years has been that, indeed, many people don't think the way I do. In fact, their brains operate completely differently, and often their conclusions are different from mine, but make no less sense to them. (THIS is particularly notable with my husband, who--quite unbelievably--thinks and acts VERY differently from me!!)
For most of my teen and early-20 years, I assumed that everyone thinks the way I think. I could never quite understand, then, how they could come to a different conclusion. There is a right--and there is a wrong--and anyone with a vastly different understanding or belief from mine is wrong. My way is right. Period. End of story.
Except, it wasn't the end of the story.
Thankfully I have had a number of people move in and out of my life who have taught me differently. They have gently led me to new understandings and beliefs--even complete turnarounds. They have questioned me and discussed with me, and ever-so kindly led me across the floor, from disbelief to acceptance. They have never devalued me; always respected me; and continued to love me through our differences. WOW! What an amazing life-lesson!
Aging has its downsides, but it also has a whole host of upsides. Always learning from others; always being open to growth and change--and doing so gracefully; never hardening one's heart to those who think differently is one of those beautiful upsides. For it leads to greater respect and love--and eventually to greater peace. And isn't that what we all want for our lives, and for this world??
My only question is: why did no one tell me this when I was younger??
Or, maybe they did, and I knew better!!
For most of my teen and early-20 years, I assumed that everyone thinks the way I think. I could never quite understand, then, how they could come to a different conclusion. There is a right--and there is a wrong--and anyone with a vastly different understanding or belief from mine is wrong. My way is right. Period. End of story.
Except, it wasn't the end of the story.
Thankfully I have had a number of people move in and out of my life who have taught me differently. They have gently led me to new understandings and beliefs--even complete turnarounds. They have questioned me and discussed with me, and ever-so kindly led me across the floor, from disbelief to acceptance. They have never devalued me; always respected me; and continued to love me through our differences. WOW! What an amazing life-lesson!
Aging has its downsides, but it also has a whole host of upsides. Always learning from others; always being open to growth and change--and doing so gracefully; never hardening one's heart to those who think differently is one of those beautiful upsides. For it leads to greater respect and love--and eventually to greater peace. And isn't that what we all want for our lives, and for this world??
My only question is: why did no one tell me this when I was younger??
Or, maybe they did, and I knew better!!
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
All is Calm . . .
Just 4 more days, and the BIG day is here: December 25--CHRISTMAS. Christmas preparations at our house have been different this year. We won't be celebrating Christmas at our home (going to our daughter's later in the week), so why go to all the work of putting up and taking down a tree, or getting out all of the decorations? We didn't have complete agreement on that matter, so there are a few decorations scattered around, and a small tree (that will easily slide back in its box when we're done with it) perched on a table in the corner. With little entertaining planned, we did very little baking. And, with decreased gift-giving, I have been able to create more and buy less. All in all, it's been a calm and peaceful time!
And I wonder: With fewer and simpler preparations, will Christmas be any less enjoyable when it comes? Only time will tell, but I do know that the preparation for Christmas has been far more enjoyable, and I am much less stressed.
The Christian church observes this time of preparation as a time of waiting and expecting: Advent. While the world around us bustles with busyness, we are encouraged to be still; to wait and watch and listen. I think I get that just a little bit better this year.
I'm not very good at waiting. Patience is not a strength I lay claim to. But, I am learning. Likely it will be a lifelong lesson. This year I have learned that waiting does not mean being impassive. Even while I am waiting, I am doing. Evenings find me sewing or making fudge. Daytime finds me contemplating, and thinking about others. Because I am less invested in myself and my preparations, I find I am more aware of others.
And maybe, just maybe, that's one of the lessons of Christmas: get out of yourself, and get into others. After all, that's what God did for us at that first Christmas time. God came to us--to be with us, as one of us--to show us how much we are loved. I'm not saying I do a great job of this, but I've at least become a little more aware.
So friends, as I close, I wish you all a peaceful and calm Christmas, and at least a few moments in the midst of your celebrations to remember: remember that, above all else, Christmas is a gift of love--from God to you, and to me; to our Muslim brothers and our Baha'i sisters; to the homeless teen and the atheist neighbour. God's love is for all. THAT is cause to celebrate!
Merry, Merry Christmas!!
And I wonder: With fewer and simpler preparations, will Christmas be any less enjoyable when it comes? Only time will tell, but I do know that the preparation for Christmas has been far more enjoyable, and I am much less stressed.
The Christian church observes this time of preparation as a time of waiting and expecting: Advent. While the world around us bustles with busyness, we are encouraged to be still; to wait and watch and listen. I think I get that just a little bit better this year.
I'm not very good at waiting. Patience is not a strength I lay claim to. But, I am learning. Likely it will be a lifelong lesson. This year I have learned that waiting does not mean being impassive. Even while I am waiting, I am doing. Evenings find me sewing or making fudge. Daytime finds me contemplating, and thinking about others. Because I am less invested in myself and my preparations, I find I am more aware of others.
And maybe, just maybe, that's one of the lessons of Christmas: get out of yourself, and get into others. After all, that's what God did for us at that first Christmas time. God came to us--to be with us, as one of us--to show us how much we are loved. I'm not saying I do a great job of this, but I've at least become a little more aware.
So friends, as I close, I wish you all a peaceful and calm Christmas, and at least a few moments in the midst of your celebrations to remember: remember that, above all else, Christmas is a gift of love--from God to you, and to me; to our Muslim brothers and our Baha'i sisters; to the homeless teen and the atheist neighbour. God's love is for all. THAT is cause to celebrate!
Merry, Merry Christmas!!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
In the good old summer time . . .
It's summer time in southern Ontario, and for a few seemingly brief months the world changes, and "the living is easy." Life is not like we know it during the rest of the year. It's laid-back, relaxed and somehow freer. There aren't too many of us who don't enjoy summer or at least pieces of it. Yes, sometimes the heat and humidity are overpowering; and sometimes the neighbours' parties are a little louder than we'd like; but overall, summer is--as the kids would say--"a pretty sweet deal."
There is something powerful in the creation that surrounds us: the serenity that comes with sitting beside a lake and listening to the eternal 'whoosh-whoosh' of the waves on the shore; the peace that comes while watching the fluffy clouds drift across the azure sky; the calm of the breeze in the trees; and all of it soothing the ravaged soul, battered heart and bruised mind. Surely all of this, indeed all of creation, have been created and given to us as a gift--a gift given out of the deep, deep love of the Creator.
I have heard folks moaning about the lack of church attendance in the summer. I have heard complaints about how few people there are in worship spaces all across this land on summer weekends. But surely if we have been given this creation, is it not right that we spend what time we can enjoying it? Should we not be at the lake fishing or swimming or just communing with the sun? Should we not be enjoying the outdoors while playing or watching baseball or soccer? A trip to the cottage or campground means a chance to get just one step closer to our creation.
So, what DOES our God require of us? To do justice; love kindness; and walk humbly with our God. For some of us, that means faithful, weekly attendance at worship. For others it means a trip to the cottage; a walk in the forest; a canoe trip up the river. And above all else, it means caring about and caring for our brothers and sisters in any and every way we can. It means whether we worship our Creator on Sunday morning in a worship space; or on the hiking trail in the local forest, we WILL do justice and love kindness, caring for God and neighbours just as we care for ourselves.
Oh, and BTW: that's for all time, not just summer time!
There is something powerful in the creation that surrounds us: the serenity that comes with sitting beside a lake and listening to the eternal 'whoosh-whoosh' of the waves on the shore; the peace that comes while watching the fluffy clouds drift across the azure sky; the calm of the breeze in the trees; and all of it soothing the ravaged soul, battered heart and bruised mind. Surely all of this, indeed all of creation, have been created and given to us as a gift--a gift given out of the deep, deep love of the Creator.
I have heard folks moaning about the lack of church attendance in the summer. I have heard complaints about how few people there are in worship spaces all across this land on summer weekends. But surely if we have been given this creation, is it not right that we spend what time we can enjoying it? Should we not be at the lake fishing or swimming or just communing with the sun? Should we not be enjoying the outdoors while playing or watching baseball or soccer? A trip to the cottage or campground means a chance to get just one step closer to our creation.
So, what DOES our God require of us? To do justice; love kindness; and walk humbly with our God. For some of us, that means faithful, weekly attendance at worship. For others it means a trip to the cottage; a walk in the forest; a canoe trip up the river. And above all else, it means caring about and caring for our brothers and sisters in any and every way we can. It means whether we worship our Creator on Sunday morning in a worship space; or on the hiking trail in the local forest, we WILL do justice and love kindness, caring for God and neighbours just as we care for ourselves.
Oh, and BTW: that's for all time, not just summer time!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Here's Hopin'
My friends Sarah and Ian became first-time parents recently. Gwyneth Maude Rowan Campbell was born on May 26, 2011, 10:52 a.m. at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto. Now, the birth of a baby is nothing new--or spectacular. Babies are born every day--to first-time parents and to long-time parents.
But the birth of Gwyneth was particularly notable. She was born 3 months early; delivered by cesarean section to save her mother's life. She weighed in at an amazing 1 pound 7 ounces, and was 11.5 inches long. Yesterday, July 26th--two months later--Gwyneth's mom, posted this on her facebook page: "Well, Miss Gwyn is now 1895g! Almost 3x her birth weight - I can hardly believe it!"
For those of you who are "metric-challenged" (as I am), 1895 grams translates to just a hair over 4 pounds! Amazing, really, isn't it? Three months premature, and the will to live; the hopes and prayers of family and friends far and wide; and the amazing medical team at Mt. Sinai have brought Gwyneth to this miraculous place that two months ago few dared to hope for.
But here's the thing: if there was ever anything or anyone that spelled hope for me, it is Miss Gwyn--Gwyneth Maude Rowan Campbell, and her amazing resilience and will to live. In her short two months of life there is a monumental story of hope for life; hope for health; hope for wholeness and happiness, even in the face of what appear to be insurmountable odds.
Hope is a peculiar commodity. We can't see hope. We can't touch hope. We can't smell it, or hear it, or taste it. Yet, we know it exists, because each of us carries it within us. God created us with hope in our hearts. We can feel hope. We can express it in words and dance and music; in writing and in living. Hope shapes who we are. It guides our decision-making and our parenting. It lifts us from the 'valley of the shadow of death', even as it carries us through times of joy and times of despair. Yet, without hope; without even a whisper of hope lingering somewhere in our lives, we are pretty much nothing.
Yes, we were created to be people of hope and health and wholeness. And yet daily we find all around us selfishness and greed; violence and aggression. Nation battles nation; religion battles religion. People plot and strategize how they can have things their own way; how they can care for their own needs first. 'Looking out for number one!' we call it. This isn't about hope. It is about darkness and despair and hopelessness. And it's certainly not what our Creator intended, me thinks!!
A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to get some cheap tickets for tonight's performance of the play Camelot at the Stratford Festival. What a powerful piece of entertainment!! Camelot is a play about selfish desires, and about hope. It is about the nature of true love and companionship in a world that is more interested in war and enemies. During the play, King Arthur says this, ". . . violence is not strength and compassion is not weakness."
Violence is not strength and compassion is not weakness.
Indeed, if it were not for compassion, where would we be? Created to be people of compassion, our Creator places in us her hopes and dreams for life and living. Without compassion, would there be any hope in this world, and in this life, or would it simply be an eternity of darkness and pain?
Compassion IS the only hope of this world, and of each one of us. Funny, isn't it, that it is only in giving up our selfishness and taking on compassion for others that we find our true selves. Only in caring about others before I look after myself do I truly become the person I was created to be.
Funny . . . maybe. Fulfilling . . . for sure.
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