A Breath of Fresh Air

My monthly blog post did not happen in February and March is well on its way! We are in the season of Lent, beginning with Ash Wednesday on February 18 and ending April 2nd. The first Sunday in Lent I delivered a sermon on the raising of Lazarus. The week before that, I attended the memorial service of a dear friend. The news daily reported the atrocities of war, the killing and maiming of children, the grief stricken wailing of their parents...These were weeks of once more visiting the island of grief...I reminded myself that lent is all about remembering and grieving and that spring would come soon. But it didn't want to come soon enough... 

Then came a lovely reprieve. My daughter and I attended an intercultural art exhibit at Canadian Mennonite University. Four artists, from four different cultures displayed their work together. It was so refreshing to see different people from different cultures sharing their work. Ray Dirks(on the right of the photo below)and his wife, Katy, spent several years in Congo when we were there, and Ray has travelled to several other places since, meeting and appreciating artists of various cultures.

Four artists, from four different cultures

 

         Tibba: Three Pillars of Sikhism

 Lodha: Prayer for Saving the Environment          

Ray Dirks

The painting by Ray Dirks, above, was not part of the exhibit. My daughter was thrilled to find it in one of the Thrift stores in Ontario! I told Ray about it and he chuckled as he said, "my art work turns up in the strangest places!"

Gareth Brandt combines art and history in this wonderful book. The foreword is written by John E. Sharp, whose son, Michael, spent the last years of his life in the forests of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He was abducted and killed at age 34, while working in the Congo. My heart ached when I read this. 

Two modern Anabaptists on a wild ride!

When our grandchildren were younger they thought their grandparents were quite courageous to do this! 

At times our life resembled such a plunge!

This year marks 25 years since I received my PhD from the University of Waterloo, another reason to celebrate!

My daughter looked up her father's name on ChatGPT and I was surprised at how accurate the information was! My favorite lines:

Schroeder's work is characterized by a "quiet tenacity" and a deep commitment to bridging cultural and linguistic divides through religious and historical texts.

I end with a quote by Paul J Wadell from his book Becoming Friends:

"Human beings are inherently and inescapably social beings who need to live in deep, intimate, enriching relationship with others...Through such relationships we grow as human beings and are drawn out of ourselves..."

"Ring Out, Wild Bells"

 The title of this blog post is from the poem "In Memoriam", written nearly 150 years ago by English poet Alfred Lord Tennyson. He began the poem at a time of personal grief, having lost his best friend, Arthur Hallam, very suddenly and unexpectedly. The crisis, experienced in his young adulthood became a test of his faith and forced him to come to terms with it. Tennyson's life spanned a time of social and political upheaval and he spent a lifetime  writing the poem. Plagued by doubts, Tennyson focused on the reality of human love as evidence of a higher reality.

It seems we are living at a time of social and political upheaval as well. The Liberty Bell has a crack. 

The Philadelphia Public Ledger carried the following story on February 26, 1846:

"The old Independence Bell rang its last clear note on Monday last in honor of the birthday of Washington and now hangs in the great city steeple irreparably cracked and dumb. It had been cracked before but was set in order that day...It gave out clear notes and loud, and appeared to be in excellent condition until noon, when it received a sort of compound fracture ...which put it completely out of tune  and left it a mere wreck of what it was."

To me, that liberty bell is symbolic. I am reminded of a quote from Leonard Cohen's song "Anthem":

"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." I am praying for the light to get in there!

In a recent article in the Winnipeg Free Press entitled "Truth and trust: necessary but elusive"" John R. Wiens writes that "truth is essential for trust, and both are critical to democracy....it seems to me that real trust between people is impossible without a commitment to mutual respect and reciprocal truthfulness." 

That is the ideal I hope for. We are humans and we are flawed and all of us have difficulty living up to the "ideals of truth and trust" but let us not be like the Liberty Bell, giving in to what is happening and remaining silent bystanders.

Celebrating Change

 

The snow in Manitoba came late this year, but it came with a vengeance! I was reminded of the lines in one of Christina Rosetti's poems:

In the bleak mid-winter/ Frosty wind made moan

Earth stood hard as iron/water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow.

Before the big snowstorm I was still able to do my lake walk. Someone had decorated a little shrub and made it into a Christmas tree. 

It seems to me that this poor little tree represents more of the reality of what we are celebrating than the lovely tree in my living room...Jesus, born in a stable, in the small town of Bethlehem, to insignificant people. There was no snow, but there was discomfort. The only warmth would have been the heat of a lantern and the warm breath of the animals sharing their stable with the young couple.

Henri Nouwen writes: "Our hope is hidden not in the possession of power but in the confession of weakness."  As I light my third Advent candle I ponder this statement. 

Whether I like it or not, my age has made me weaker. The experience of loss can be overwhelming...the loss of a life partner...the diminishing of physical and mental strength...but there is also time to look back and be amazed at what has all taken place since that mid January so many years ago when I made life changing commitments that took me to astonishing places.... 

There is a new realization of the importance of community--family, neighbours, church... Neighbours who show me they care by grabbing my arm as I struggle to walk up  my icy driveway, then getting salt from their own supply to diminish the danger; the young boy who shows up to shovel my drive way;  the stranger offering me a ride home from the grocery store; someone from my church community putting a railing along my front steps...

  

daughters who call, text, visit and bring me joy

Sisters that take me to appointments, take me shopping, craft beautiful quilts, plan an annual family Christmas gathering, listen to my phone calls when I need to talk ...

From a Mennonite Central Committee newsletter:

It can be easy to find change overwhelming. yet, it is particularly that idea that change happens, that something new is right around the corner waiting to break through, that is the heart of the Christmas story. For Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and wise men, the rulers of the time and even the innkeeper, the  Christmas narrative is a marking of profound, life altering change. In many ways, when we celebrate Christmas, we are celebrating change. 

Change happens. Love holds.

These warm mittens crafted and purchased at an MCC craft sale will warm someone's hands this Christmas.

I Light A Candle

It's November, and the air is getting chillier, but I've kept up with my daily walks along the lake close to my house. Recently as I was walking I noticed a clump of feathers lying in the grass. I thought at first it might be a dead bird but on taking a closer look I saw that it was part of a wing, that of a goose. I didn't see any other parts of a goose to indicate it had died. The geese were staging to begin their long journey south. I wondered if a goose with a broken wing would be able to fly. Would the other geese be able to assist it? Probably not.

This broken wing reminded me of someone I knew when we were refugees  in South Germany.  I was a three years old and my little sister was one. Wanda Kellermann was in her early teens and volunteered to help by babysitting my sister and me. We have no memory of that time but our mom often talked about this young girl and how she had enjoyed taking care of us. Although she was only a teen, she suffered from rickets, brought on by lack of proper food. When our family left for Paraguay Wanda was heartbroken and couldn't stop crying. She and her mother and sister stayed on at the camp until they were able to find refuge in Canada. For many years we lost contact with Wanda.

Two bosom pals: Wanda and my sister, Imy.

Years later after I was married and living in Ontario we were visiting with friends. My friend, Helen, received a phone call. When she returned she told me that she had been chatting with someone from Manitoba by the name of Wanda Kellermann. She told me that they had been close friends while at the refugee camp and had kept in contact all these years. My ears perked up. Could it be the same person who loved us and took care of us at the refugee camp? It was! And we had a common friend in Helen, whom I met much later in life. Both of them had that same loving cheerfulness about them and I felt blessed to have known them!

When I moved to Manitoba my sister and I visited Wanda in her apartment. Her arthritis was giving her a lot of pain, but she was cheerful, and so happy to see us! Often we chatted on the phone. She told me that her father had been sent to Siberia by the Communists and she, her sister and her mother had to manage on their own. They made a life for themselves in Canada.

A few days ago I opened the paper to read the obituaries, and to my shock, Wanda's picture was there. She had reached the age of 92 and lived a full and happy life in spite of the daily pain she dealt with. She flew with a broken wing, right into heaven where she had longed to be for some time. Her dear friend, Helen passed away a few years before she did. I hope their spirits have a joyful reunion! I light a candle for the love these two friends had for each other and for the joy they have brought into my life!

We all deal with brokenness and pain, but we can help each other fly! The love we show to even those who are too little to remember is not lost.

A painting by Faith Love-Robertson entitled "Gran & Me"

This little granddaughter is now a teenager. I hope she will fly!

 

Being Human--Being Kind

 Looking out to the back yard this morning as I ate my breakfast, I saw that it was a beautiful October day, so welcome after a couple of rainy days! I decided I would walk to the nearby mall, get some groceries and my flu and Covid immunizations. I have a lovely cart that I take along and every time I go shopping the groceries fit into it perfectly. Unfortunately, the last time I used it, one of the wheels fell off, and I was at a loss as to how to fix it. I couldn't possibly do without it as I sold my car to my grandson. I went to my kind neighbour with it and the next morning it was sitting on my doorstep, ready to be used again!

I went to the drugstore first, as the most important  item was the immunization. I was hoping they would take me as a walk-in. I was told that the pharmacist had several other clients and I might have to make an appointment. However, they would check. The pharmacist kindly agreed to squeeze me in between other appointments. She was  friendly and accommodating and took her time to explain everything to me. In ten minutes everything was done! I bought myself some Lindor chocolates (the dark ones are my favorite) as a treat and went on to the grocery store. 

The grocery  store was really busy, but the clerk, even though she had a lineup, took time to pack my grocery cart for me (the one my neighbour fixed ) and off I went. 

At home, after I put everything away, I thought about the difference kindness makes in my life. These small acts I experienced today show me that people care. I picked up my daily newspaper and read an article about what I had just experienced in my own life. The article was called "being human--by choice." and discussed the children's television host, Fred Rogers:

Mr. Rogers knew that how we treat each other matters, not because it's polite or proper, but because it's how we create the kind of world we actually want to live in. His genius wasn't in the specific lessons he taught, but in how he made kindness, patience, honesty, and gentleness feel like the most essential ways to be human...I see people giving back even when they're struggling themselves. I watch neighbours show up for each other in ways that no one will write articles about. I notice the thoughtful gestures, the way people offer presence and understanding when someone needs it most. These aren't heroic acts. They're the everyday choices  that shape how we experience living together. ..What I find myself wondering is whether we'll choose to make it a priority, whether we'll decide human decency is worth wanting. Carina Blumgrund.

 

I have experienced many other acts of kindness from strangers, from my own family and from my church family: A sister who lets me know whenever she goes to Costco, daughters who call me daily, people who give me rides to church, my pastor who just mentioned a book by one of my favorite authors, and had it in my mail box the next Sunday... it's causing serious sleep deprivation!

Mourning and Dancing

 

The month of September has been so lovely with the milder temperatures, the stunning sunsets, the geese staging on the lake, birds at the feeder, etc. There is also a whiff of melancholy, the knowledge that these days are fleeting and winter will greet us before we know it. It has its own beauty of course, but can we hang on to these lovely autumn days, just a bit longer, please?

Bois d'esprit, a park close to my house

I decided (with some trepidation) to participate in our church retreat at a church camp. I'm still learning how to navigate the social activities without my partner of 55 years. It has been a learning curve...However, I need not have worried, I felt loved and accepted, and enjoyed every minute! 

Back at home, reminiscing about the event, I realized that I was the second oldest person there! That was also the spot I occupied in my biological family consisting of eight of us siblings! I had an older brother who mostly absented himself from family responsibilities; two younger brothers who made some outrageous claims just for the shock effect--didn't work, as I caught on to their games quickly; four younger sisters who loved my stories and listened for a while, then got busy making or imagining their own stories. Hmmm...Much like  my church family, actually...so I felt quite at home.

I hope I have gained some wisdom over the years! Mostly I have learned from the children, who in their innocence have so much to teach us.  

What are they looking at?

,

 

Faith in the Future

It has been a beautiful summer filled with family time at my home and at a cottage we rent every summer for a week, celebrating several August birthdays, visiting a couple of Folklorama pavilions,  time at the beach, and sharing my story with a seniors day club.  Perhaps my reluctance to write my August blog post has to do with the fact that summer is on its way out and I want it to last longer.  

My daughter and I recently spent a day at The Leaf, a spectacular indoor horticultural attraction at Assiniboine Park, here in Winnipeg. I was especially looking forward to the Butterfly Garden which had been closed for a while. I was not disappointed! The sign at the entrance (below) seemed particularly appropriate for my mood of not looking forward to change--the seasonal kind, but also the personal!

 

I was reminded of a time at the cottage when I watched a butterfly work its way through a chrysalis. It was awesome! I was captivated by the beauty of its transformation. It did not occur to me that this butterfly might live for a year at the most, its main focus being that of finding a mate and laying eggs.  Since  becoming an octogenarian I have been more aware of the brevity of life.

 

Winnipeg Free Press Columnist, Rebecca Chambers asks the question: "What would it mean to speak our fears out loud? What is the role of people with a megaphone or microphone, people with ink and printing presses and web domains, when the dread creeps up on us and the voices of the past reach our ears with whispered and urgent warnings of how fragile we are, how quickly things can change, and how persistent the evil and neglect of this world is?"