Seasonal Simplicity

Mom's paper nativity set

Our Christmas decorations are stored in the crawl space and must be retrieved by someone with a young spine and good knees. We had boxes of seasonal decor that had not been touched for years and many of the collected items were sent to a thrift store this November. I am minimizing our belongings as much as possible while respecting the nostalgic feelings of each family member.

Christmases of my childhood were simple yet special. We moved often and Mom had only one box of seasonal lights and ornaments. She had a paper nativity set that was displayed every year in the living room. I still have it even though it has not been used for years. (my nostalgia!)

Christmas tree selection at Uncle Bill's farm- 1964

We always had a real tree, whether a decorated palm frond in South Africa or a freshly cut pine from Mom's brother's farm. The tree went up a few days before Christmas Eve and was taken down by New Year's Day. As children, we received one item of clothing, one book and one toy and I know that the gifts were subsidized by our grandmother. Christmas baking was also simple:- shortbread cutouts, sugar cookies, Graham squares, graham crumb rolls with coloured marshmallows, and fruitcake with thick marzipan topping for Dad. I was tasked with making place card decorations for the Christmas dinner table each year. Mom combed magazines and newspapers for ideas for inexpensive, disposable decorations. I remember assembling construction paper and popcorn garlands as well as glitter and glue stars and angels.

I am sure Christmas celebrations changed for my three younger brothers after my parents moved to Mexico in the mid-1970s. I married into a family with different traditions who celebrated Christmas on a much grander scale. Times change, people move, ideologies evolve and new traditions are formed by younger generations. My daughter told me her friends turn their noses up at the thought of a big turkey dinner. They prefer more informal pot-luck gatherings where one person is not stuck in the kitchen for hours (or days) making a multi-course meal. Grandma D. hosted many Christmas dinners and I now understand how she struggled to even put up a few decorations in later years. Family and friends are who make holidays special and as we get older our connections often thin out. 

Christmas 2012

Mom's last Christmas was spent with family that she loved. Sadly, not everyone in the family was able to get to Mexico at the same time but I am grateful to have pictures from that day. My brother from Canada and I visited a few weeks later in January so she got to spend time with all her children before her health worsened quickly.

Here are some of Grandma D's recipes, the first two in her own writing and the last one written out by Mom. The lemon square recipe is from Aunt Minnie and is at least 100 years old!

.

                                                                                                     

Darkness to Light

Night sky at Spectacle Lake taken with my iPhone

We spent a night in October at Spectacle Lake Lodge between Barry's Bay and Algonquin Park. Far from city lights in almost complete darkness, I admired the clear night sky with innumerable stars and the Milky Way. The gibbous moon had not risen yet and the electric lights around the lodge were too dim to illuminate the sky. My husband came looking for me at one point and didn't see me sitting in a Muskoka chair near the water's edge. I had to be careful not to fall into the lake as I walked around the property as sky and land merged indistinguishable in blackness. While thoroughly enjoying the night sky, I would not want to live in darkness for long. 

In 1908 Minnie Louise Haskins wrote a poem titled God Knows. It was known later as The Gate of the Year and was quoted by King George V1 in his 1939 Christmas Message to the Commonwealth. It is said that his 13-year-old daughter, Princess Elizabeth showed him the poem shortly after the start of World War 2. Here is the first stanza that was quoted by King George VI.

THE GATE OF THE YEAR

'God Knows'

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
"Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown".
And he replied:
"Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way".
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

During Advent, we observe the transition from darkness to light. Isaiah 9:2, 6-7 foretells the time when

The people walking in darkness

    have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

    a light has dawned...

For to us a child is born,

    to us a son is given,

    and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

7 

Of the greatness of his government and peace

    there will be no end...

In John 8:12, Jesus said of himself, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

This year I know too many people who are walking in very dark places, uncertain of what the future will hold. Whether it is physical illness, depression, job and financial stresses, family and social changes, world conflict, or even perpetual outrage at things we cannot control, the darkness can be all-engulfing leading to hopelessness and fear. 

The last three stanzas of Minnie Louise Haskins' poem outline how our imperfect vision is clear to God and how his provision is sufficient in dark places.

So heart be still:

What need our little life

Our human life to know,

If God hath comprehension?

In all the dizzy strife

Of things both high and low,

God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life's stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God's thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.

Each year I look for a new Advent devotional book. This year I am enjoying the writing of John Sentame. retired Archbishop of York in his book Wake Up to Advent. He came to England as an immigrant from Uganda at the time of President Idi Amin.  His personal experiences with darkness made him a strong advocate for social justice. His weekly Advent themes are refreshingly different;- Wake Up! Clean Up! Feed Up! Grow Up! instead of the traditional themes of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love. 

Light does wake us up. It guides us in our own challenges as well as waking us up to the needs of others around us.

November Blues

The thought of November at our latitude in the Northern Hemisphere conjures images of short and gloomy days, cold north winds, mixed precipitation with rain and snow, and a predominantly greyscale landscape. 

This year we have enjoyed many days of high pressure with blue skies and sunshine. The sun follows a low arc in the sky between dawn and dusk making long shadows and creating interesting light contrasts for photographs. 

My parents moved us from Toronto to this region in December 1969. At the time it was predominantly a manufacturing region with factories that made goods from buttons to tires. There were factories that produced shirts, towels, bedding, shoes, cookies and bread and manufacturers sold surplus items and seconds at outlet stores. 

Mom was always on the prowl for bargains and would buy fabric ends to make clothes for us. She shopped for discount food and shoes at the outlets.

The first picture is of a local manufacturing site that has been renovated into condominiums, office space and restaurants while maintaining an industrial look. The region is now a technology hub as well as a post-secondary education centre with many old factories being repurposed.

The pedestrian bridge on the left crosses the Grand River in the old town of Galt, not incorporated into the city of Cambridge. Galt has maintained its heritage buildings, many of them made of limestone. 

There was a severe flood of the Grand River in Galt in May of 1974.  I was a student in Hamilton at the time and took the intercity bus home on a Friday afternoon for the weekend. The bus had to turn back at Galt as the river had overflowed and the water was chest-deep around the bus terminal. Since then, flood control walls have been built along this section of the river and a new dam was built upstream to control seasonal flooding. This picture was taken from the pedestrian bridge.

Galt is very picturesque and has been used for movie sets including multiple episodes of the TV series Murdoch Mysteries. The series is set in Toronto in the early 20th century. It is one show Grandma D. would have loved as it features places she was familiar with as a young adult. 

We are taking the dog for walks in the woods again now that the colder weather has helped control the ticks that have become an increasing nuisance each summer in recent years. We have to be vigilant in natural areas now for ticks that attach to humans and animals. 

The fine weather has been perfect for me to continue commuting to work on my bicycle and I have exceeded my mileage goal for the season. The last picture is along the trail that leads to the hospital. The bare trees, blue skies and water look beautiful in the afternoon sun. The colour of the month is blue which is appreciated even more as we anticipate the inevitable arrival of grey and white winter weather.

Remembrance

Silence: A Sonnet for Remembrance Day

by Malcolm Guite*

November pierces with its bleak remembrance
Of all the bitterness and waste of war.

Our silence tries but fails to make a semblance
Of that lost peace they thought worth fighting for.
Our silence seethes instead with wraiths and whispers,
And all the restless rumour of new wars,
The shells are falling all around our vespers,
No moment is unscarred, there is no pause,
In every instant bloodied innocence
Falls to the weary earth, and whilst we stand
Quiescence ends again in acquiescence,
And Abel’s blood still cries in every land
One silence only might redeem that blood
Only the silence of a dying God.

A young, dedicated clinical aide who works in my unit at the hospital returned this week after a leave of absence.  I told them they had been missed and inquired how they were doing. 

"Not very well", they answered sadly.  "I cannot handle all the news of war and the images of death online."

I recognized a very empathetic person who was overwhelmed by the news cycle and I have ongoing concern about the burden they carry. I reminded them that each generation has lived in a time of war and social upheaval of some kind. My grandparents were young adults during World War 1 and the Great Depression. My parents were young teenagers at the end of World War 2. I grew up during the Cold War, and remember the Vietnam War and at least three wars in the Middle East in the 1960s and 1970s. There have been many other conflicts in the last three or four decades. While we remember those who died in military service today, we also see that war does not bring lasting peace.

My coworker is overwhelmed with the amount of bad news that is available. Previous generations did not have to deal with the 24-hour news cycle we have on the internet and cable news programming. There is much good in the world too but it does not make headlines. We must not abandon hope for the future and must work to become peacemakers in this world. We need to show younger generations how to make bridges between different groups of people and to be resilient in the face of adversity.

*Follow this link https://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog/ to Malcolm Guite's website and blog

All Hallows' Day

I could not look on Death, which being known,

Men led me to him, blindfold and alone.

Rudyard Kipling

I was talking to the young pharmacist on our unit at the hospital, a mother of three and five-year-old children. One of our physicians gave her a book of fairy stories her children had outgrown and the pharmacist described the gruesome illustrations. Red Riding Hood was pictured holding the bloodied head of the wolf as her grandmother, who had been eaten by the wolf was extracted. She asked the physician if the pictures bothered her children and the physician replied that they had not been an issue. (I have seen similarly gruesome illustrations of David holding the head of Goliath.)

Working at a hospital is to be surrounded by death and I have to be careful that I do not upset others when talking about things I see. Our Western society has become increasingly death-averse as medical science can identify and treat many deadly ailments. Death is hidden way in hospital and hospice corridors away from home where people used to be born and where they died. Too often older people, some with multiple comorbidities, avoid end-of-life conversations with their families and the medical team is forced to provide futile treatments in an effort to avoid death. Many churches avoid talking about death preferring to offer prayers for healing and resurrection promises rather than addressing the realities of human suffering. The church that we attend recognizes congregants who died in the past year in a special and moving service this week. 

I pulled the pictured selection of books from our home library. Writers and poets from past generations wrote much about death and suffering. Foxe's Book of Martyrs came from my father's mother and it is the most difficult book for me to read.  Life offers good and evil and we cannot ignore either.

The Peace Prayer or Prayer of St Francis describes the contrasts we experience as human beings. We must enter darkness in order to appreciate light. What good is a candle in a world that is always filled with sunlight? 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me bring love.

Where there is offence, let me bring pardon.

Where there is discord, let me bring union.

Where there is error, let me bring truth.

Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.

Where there is despair, let me bring hope.

Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.

Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.

Rudyard Kipling's epitaph at the beginning of this post is from his collection Epitaphs of War. We will face Death "blindfolded and alone" if we lack the courage to look at it in life.

Niagara Whirlpool: Memories and a novel

Panorama of the Niagara Whirlpool 2023 -courtesy of The Becka. Google Maps aerial view below.

 

I drove from Niagara-on-the-Lake to Niagara Falls last week for the first time since the pandemic. I had a strong childhood fear of waterfalls and still don't like walking the sidewalk along the brink of the Canadian Falls. But the Niagara Parkway from Lake Ontario, up the escarpment to Queenston Heights and along the Niagara Gorge is a lovely drive. Grandma D. used to take us on a day trip to the Niagara region with her favourite spot being the area around Brock's monument on Queenston Heights. She would pack a picnic lunch of sandwiches, vegetable sticks, lemon cake or butter tarts and orange Fanta for me, my older brothers and cousins. Grandma felt the town of Niagara Falls was "trashy" and we never visited the souvenir shops and museums on the main drag. She would stop briefly in the angle parking by the falls so we could see them before going home. I have never been on the Maid of the Mist nor have I walked behind the falls, and that is just fine with me!

Grandma grew up in the era of Niagara Daredevils. People have gone over the falls in a variety of containers trying to survive the drop for notoriety. There were no laws against these dangerous stunts until 1951. The Falls have a macabre history that has drawn curious gawkers for generations.

Canadian author Jane Urquhart's first novel is called The Whirlpool. It is set in Niagara in the summer of 1889, just before Grandma was born in 1896. Each summer the undertaker prepared extra coffins for the bodies of people who would die in the river while trying stunts or underestimating the power of the rapids and whirlpool. The book is lyrical and the lives of the four main characters move in a circular and sometimes intersecting manner just like the water in the river. Fleda, a woman who spends the summer in a tent by the whirlpool, studies the poems of Robert Browning jotting down thoughts in her notebook. She references this excerpt from Browning's poem, Amphibian.

But sometimes when the weather
Is blue and warm waves tempt
To free one's life from tether
And try a life exempt
From worldly noise and dust
In the sphere which overbrims
With passion and thought—why just
Unable to fly, one swims!
Emancipate through passion
And thought, with sea for sky
We substitute, in a fashion
For heaven—poetry.

I really enjoyed the book and wanted to stop by the whirlpool again to visualize the setting of the story. The Niagara River speeds through the rapids and gorge below the Falls and then makes an abrupt 90-degree turn. The turbulence and change of direction create a natural whirlpool. A cable car travels between two points of Canadian land but it crosses the USA border in the river twice in each direction across the whirlpool. 

I understood the obsession of another character who was determined to swim across the whirlpool basin while taking advantage of the swirling currents to assist him to the other side. (Did he succeed? The book will tell you.) The picture on the left shows Whirlpool Beach and the seemingly benign currents at the edges of the whirlpool as well as the gorgeous October colours.

I did a quick drive-by of the falls before going home. The town is still seedy with the same cheap souvenir shops and museums, with an option to waste your money in a casino. I doubt Grandma would feel differently about its character. But there is plenty to see in the area and perhaps I can attempt the trail that leads to Whirlpool Beach. It is rated only 2/5 in difficulty which is doable for me. You can be sure my feet will be staying on dry ground.

Autumn Notes

This autumn has been wet and overcast and the leaves have been slow to turn to fall hues. In the past week, we have enjoyed more colour but with little illumination from the sun as drizzly, wet weather has persisted. Every October I watch the sunrise over the Grand River Valley from a vantage point high on a sandy cliff in Homer Watson Park. The view is stunning most years but it was muted his year. We have missed the cold nights that create mist over the valley in the morning and fall colours are dull in cloudy weather. 

Last week I walked in this park at sunrise and then drove to another natural area close to Paris, Ontario. 

The trails here are beautiful and traverse wetlands, hills and small lakes and streams. Many birds make their home in the FWR Dickson Wilderness Area with a few species willing to approach humans for handouts. 

A Tufted Titmouse was spotted here for the first time last November. It mated successfully and there were four or five of them last week along the boardwalk. I love Chickadees for their friendly and cheerful dispositions, but the Tufted Titmouse takes the prize for cuteness! 

After lunch, I hopped on my bike and explored the Huron Natural area close to our home.

The sun peeked out from the clouds from time to time. This trail leads to a recently discovered archeological dig of a Neutral Nation settlement that was occupied 500 years ago. Our region is located on the Haldimand Tract, an area that extends six miles on either side of the Grand River from its source at Luther Marsh to its mouth at Lake Erie. It was granted to the Six Nations in 1784 following the American Revolution in recognition of the indigenous people fighting as Allies of Great Britain. Our city is built on land traditionally cared for by the Haudenosaunee, Anishnaabe and Neutral Peoples.

Today, Six Nations of the Grand River lands comprise of less than 5% of what was originally granted. I was thinking of these things as I walked the trails. I also thought about the current conflict between Israel and Palestine. I am reading a book called The Hundred Years' War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonialism and Resistance, 1917–2017 by Rashid Khalidi. There are parallels between the treatment of Indigenous people in North America and the experience of Palestinians in the Middle East. Our grandchildren are half Palestinian/Canadian and I owe them an understanding of their cultural history. 

It has been said that borders are drawn in blood and this is true in many areas of the world. I am increasingly grateful for the peace and security we enjoy in Canada. I recognize the privilege of being able to wander around our local countryside by myself in safety. I pray for a world that is not driven by vengeance, hatred or greed, where justice, truth and love are extended to people everywhere. 

Thornbury and Meaford Family Connections

 
My mother's father's family came to the Meaford and Thornbury area of Ontario from New York state in the late 1700s after the American War of Independence. My grandfather and grandmother moved to Aurora when they graduated from medical school at the University of Toronto in 1919 but Grandad never lost his love of farming. He planted apple and pine trees and kept bee hives and sheep on a property he bought near Stouffville. The farm had sandy soil like the soil along the shores of Georgian Bay. 

Thornbury is between Collingwood and Meaford on Highway 26. It is a picturesque village with a vibrant main street. The Beaver River enters Georgian Bay here and Chinook Salmon and Rainbow Trout move upstream to spawn in the spring and fall. There is a fish ladder beside the Thornbury Dam and the river below the dam was loaded with salmon and trout. We watched workers from the Ministry of Natural Resources as they netted fish at the ladder to weigh and measure them before releasing them again in the river. 

Meaford is about twelve kilometres northwest of Thornbury. The mascot of the town is a scarecrow called Shubird. The town was decorated with dozens of scarecrows which sat on benches, steps, and chairs and dangled from every lamppost in the downtown area. One lady I talked to said she made 25 scarecrows for the Scarecrow Invasion celebration. 

The Meaford area has many apple orchards but the trees today are all dwarf varieties that make picking much easier. Both towns have stunning vistas of Georgian Bay and have retained the architectural history of the past. We stopped at Goldsmith Orchards, a farm market between the two towns where an abundance of local produce was available. I bought a half bushel of Courtlands in memory of Grandad Devins' love of orchards and apples. 

The market sold a pie called the "Thornberry Pie", a play on the town's name. I looked online for a recipe and couldn't find one but found a list of the fruit ingredients on the market webpage. I bought one and baked it for Thanksgiving dinner and it was rich but delicious!! One pie could serve 10 to 12 as it is so full of fruit. It contains a fruit mix of strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and apples with a crumb crust. I must try to recreate it sometime. 

I like to think of the "what ifs" when I visit places like this. What if Grandad had returned to Thornbury or nearby Clarksburg to start his medical practice instead of Aurora? My parents met in Aurora so I assume I would not be here today.

Grandad was supposed to graduate in 1918 but was delayed a year due to his assignment with the Canadian armed forces during World War 1. He did graduate in 1919, a year after Grandma. 

This picture is from the University of Toronto yearbook from 1919 when he was 24 years old. His "main hobby, bees" helped pay for medical school.

DEVINS, CLIFFORD J.

"Steady, calm, and self-possessed, His hands, his feet, could never rest."

"First saw light on a cold 9th of Nov. day, 1895. Matriculated at Meaford 1911. Wielded the hickory*, and a drummer for two years. Started Medicine with '18, hope to finish with '19. Main hobby, bees."

Here is the link to a post I published a couple of years ago that contains more Devins' family history.

(* I assume that "wielded the hickory" refers to his 2-year stint as a teacher before he entered university)

Thanksgiving 2023

Looking West at Sunrise: Spectacle Lake, Madawaska ON

We drove to Ottawa one week ago and then slowly headed home over three days across central Ontario through Algonquin Park and toward Owen Sound. The weather was warm and sunny providing perfect conditions for a car trip. Fall colours are variable this year and we were surprised to find significant leaf fall had occurred in Algonquin Park by October 4th. But lower altitude areas east and west of the park were very colourful, particularly between Eganville and Barry's Bay. We spent a night at Spectacle Lake Lodge, a rustic but beautiful and peaceful location. I enjoyed the night sky without light pollution and a spectacular sunset and sunrise.

 

Looking East at Sunset: Spectacle Lake

The best way to appreciate fall foliage is with illumination from the setting or rising sun and water to reflect the light. Lighting is key to a good photograph!

Midmorning light over Bark Lake, Madawaska

I had time to sit quietly to read and meditate on scripture in the mornings and evenings. My gratitude list this Thanksgiving is very long. However, I am aware that many people are suffering from illness, loneliness, and economic and social insecurities. My cousin's husband is facing a new cancer diagnosis. Others in my family are dealing with chronic health issues and friends are grieving unexpected deaths in their families. 

I read through Jeremiah and Lamentations this week and was reminded of the struggles and sorrows of "the weeping prophet" as he was called to prophesy the coming destruction of Jerusalem. We all travel through valleys of tears and despair in our lives. Poems of lament in the Psalms and Prophets can bring comfort during difficult times. 

Chapter three in the Lamentations of Jeremiah is one of those meaningful passages and I read some verses from it every day. 

"But this I call to mind,

and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,

his mercies never come to an end;

 they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,

“therefore I will hope in him.”

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,

to the soul that seeks him.

 It is good that one should wait quietly

for the salvation of the Lord...

...For the Lord will not reject forever.

Although he causes grief, 

he will have compassion

according to the abundance of his steadfast love..."

National Day for Truth and Reconciliation 2023

We enjoyed a recent visit to the McMichael Gallery in Kleinburg ON. I was drawn to this painting by Lawrence Paul Yuxweluptun, a First Nations contemporary artist from British Columbia, Canada. The museum description is on the left and states that the artist, born in 1957, is a survivor of the Kamloops Indian Residential School where the unmarked graves of 215 indigenous children were discovered in 2021. Today is the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, a time to reflect on the legacy of residential schools across Canada.

This week I treated another First Nations patient born in the 1950's who was in the hospital with multiple medical comorbidities. A chaotic childhood and disconnection from family left them on the margins of society throughout life. This person had several children from various relationships but was estranged from them all. The pattern of unhealthy relationships can continue for generations and is not easily corrected. I recognize again my position of privilege in society as a person from a white middle-class background who grew up on the advantaged side of colonialism.

Last year I lamented the destruction of a new potted sunflower plant that was eaten within a couple of hours of placing it in the garden. A squirrel bit off the flowers just leaving them on the ground. I would not have been as upset if the squirrel needed the flowers for food. I put cactus leaves, cayenne pepper and dog hair on the soil to deter the squirrel but the toxic additions killed the plant. 

This year a single sunflower plant sprouted on its own where I had placed the pot last year. I did not hold any hope for its long-term survival but cared for it as it grew. It not only survived but grew tall and continues to bloom abundantly. One seed survived and within it was the potential for years of productive growth. In the same way, we must make sure the survivors of abusive systems realize their potential and thrive in spite of their broken histories. In talking about the past we shine the light on vulnerable children and adults who continue to be at risk for abuse today.

Fall Equinox and Seasonal Changes

I took this picture during my bike ride on September 23, the first day of autumn. The wind was brisk and perfect for kite flying. Goldenrod, white and purple Asters and Sumac dotted the landscape with texture and colour. A brilliant sunset finished the day precisely twelve hours after sunrise. The first quarter moon was high in the sky. These days are equatorial in length for a short period but soon the hours of darkness will exceed hours of light.

I love autumn, our harvests, brilliant tree colours, brisk air and dramatic skies. Seasonal changes are inspiring and invigorating. 

Nature illustrates that change is inevitable. Time brings change and on an individual level, we can embrace it and grow or resist it and become bitter. If I could hold on to spring forever, I would never know the abundance of harvest. 

Sumac is in the foreground. The moss-covered roof of the park pavilion is in the background

Wild Purple Asters and Sumac

Link

Our pastor mentioned today that it would be very unfortunate if we confessed our faith as adults in the same way we understood it as a young child. Doubt is not necessarily in conflict with faith. As we grow in knowledge, we must continue to ask questions and challenge our beliefs. 

I read these two books recently and identified with the experience of both authors. The authors did not abandon their faith in Christ during or after their departure from the church organizations they grew up in. Jon Ward is the chief national correspondent at Yahoo! News. He has covered American politics and culture for two decades giving him a well-informed perspective of their influence on religion. 

Russell Moore's refusal to align with the Southern Baptist Convention politically and regarding the handling of sexual abuse in churches led to his leaving the organization. He speaks with a strong prophetic voice and I underlined many passages in the book.

Link

The world has changed a lot since the springtime of my life. Much of the change has been good. Discussions about Indigenous abuses, #MeToo revelations, systemic racism, misogyny, and spiritual control and abuse are long overdue. Some people feel threatened by the winds of change causing them to dig their heels into the past. They refuse to look critically at their own belief system and attack anyone with a different perspective. 

I still have a long way to go in removing ingrained tendencies to pass quick judgments and to know all the answers. I am happier in a world that is not black and white and want to focus on people rather than issues. Compromising the truth and having a lukewarm attitude regarding faith and injustice is not the answer either. The centre of my worldview and faith in any season of life must be Christ and his teachings, a view based on love and inner change over law and outward appearances. 

Family Artists

"Spiders Hiding" by Asher, aged 3-1/2    August 2023

Our three-year-old grandson loves his toy cars and is seldom inclined to sit and draw or paint a picture. When he visited our home at the end of August he crossed the road with me to the neighbour's house and asked the lady of the house,

"Could I see your Fiat? I have one just like it at home!"

I did not realize the car in their driveway, the one I had seen daily for many years, was a Fiat. 

Later that week I set him up with some paper and watercolour paint on the picnic table. He mixed every colour with black and created his masterpiece in about five minutes. It looked very similar to the painting below which is in the National Art Gallery in Ottawa, Canada.

No. 29 by Jackson Pollock (1950)- Black enamel paint on glass

His sister is pictured admiring this painting when she visited the gallery at age two. Jackson Pollock was in a "drip painting" period when he completed No. 29. This abstract technique consists of pouring and dripping paint on a canvas. I must admit that I roll my eyes when I see abstract paintings in art galleries. Unlike many people in my immediate and extended family, I cannot create an image on canvas but could throw some paint on the floor in an interesting design. 

My grandchildren are confident and proud of their creations. At what age do we become self-conscious and lose the joy of creating unique masterpieces? We learn to colour within the lines and try to please our teachers. I was a good student but never achieved more than a "C' in art which did nothing for my creative confidence.

I will keep "Spiders Hiding" in my special art folder as a reminder to appreciate creativity, even in its most abstract forms. And here is a sidewalk chalk drawing by Miss P of various family members and the dog.  It won't fit in my art folder but is digitally immortalized. 

Remembering Dad

April 2013

Dad's suffering from his long final illness ended four years ago today on September 16, 2019. I took this picture of him in April 2013, the day Mom's ashes were buried in this cemetery in the village of Camichín de Jauja MX. His ashes are buried in the same plot which is now surrounded by many more graves and monuments. (Mexican cemeteries are built like miniature urban subdivisions with basic to elaborate structures around the graves.) 

My parents were twenty-two years old when I was born and had five children in the next nine and a half years. I feel like the age difference between us has diminished significantly now that I am older. I also think of how very young they were when we were children. 

Dad never imagined that he would ever live without Mom. The years after her death were difficult physically and emotionally both for Dad and his caregivers after he was diagnosed with Parkinson's plus syndrome in 2012. 

Texas, January 2016

The last time I had quality time with him was in January 2016 when the family went to an annual January missions convention in San Antonio, Texas. I flew there to help care for Dad during the day while my brother Philip cared for him at night. Dad had already lost a lot of independence, but his sense of direction was 100% and he guided me around the city with ease from the passenger seat. One afternoon we drove north of San Antonio through Texas hill country. Dad was at his best that day and we had a lovely time together. After that trip, he was hospitalized with a stroke and sepsis. His cognitive and functional abilities declined steadily until his death 3-1/2 years later. I believe Dad's time was up in 2016 but as we see too often now, medical interventions extend lifetimes past their expiry dates. He never had a good quality of life again.

January 27, 2017

I love this picture of Dad's great-grandson following him as he walked around his house with his walker. Adiel patiently pushed his scooter along at the same slow pace. Parents and grandparents have a big influence on their children and grandchildren. I am a mix of both my parents but am most similar to my father in temperament and interests. He shared his love of photography, computers, science and classical music with me as well as an introverted personality. Mom contributed an optimistic outlook that Dad lacked. Dad was methodical, highly organized and very, very private. He wanted control of any family information that was shared with others. He was very thrifty, but could also be very generous. Family was important to him, but he struggled to express his affection openly. I see him in each of my brothers, some more than others, and it is a rare day that I do not think of him. 

It is good to reflect on the past and people are more open to discussing family relationships now compared to past generations. I was reading 1 Corinthians 13 this week as part of my yearly journey through the Bible. This chapter on love is quoted so often, but the words were extra meaningful to me this time. The faith of Dad's youth was based on a lot of rules that were not clothed in grace and love. He inched toward the side of grace in later years but would tell me that his goal in this life was to be perfect. That was a great burden for him.  I know he would want these words to be true for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren as we remember him today.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered,

it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.