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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!!
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