Merry Christmas!

Nan, I love you - You're the best!

This whole 'rant' began to take form after my recent 3 a.m. TV viewing of 'It's a Wonderful Life'.  Through my bleary eyes, I watched and blubbered as the message of the tremendous ripples created by every life, unfolded and enfolded me:

I have two notes that I carry in my pocket;  one is a list with my children's names on it, the other is a little note from one of my granddaughters that reads, 'Nan, your the best'.  There is no greater compliment and nothing that warms the heart and says thank-you like those simple words - Honest words of love that come straight from an innocent heart.

 When I think that I have screwed up and wasted my time - that the efforts that I have made to try and contribute something positive to the world have been small and insignificant, I put my hand into my pocket and feel the love that emanates from those two well-worn notes, and I am reminded of what our bottom line in life should always be: growing love, in whatever directions our lives takes us.

The Advent calendar is running out, together with those yummy daily chocolates!  May I suggest that we make up a special 'pocket box' for the remainder of the season: In the days left before the celebration of the birth of Christ, let us place notes in His 'pocket' - notes that say, 'I love you - You're the best!'  and sign our names to them.  On Christmas morning, we can be sure that He will reach into His pocket, and feel those notes - notes well-worn by the love of His hands, as he has taken them out and read them every day - Better than chocolate!

 

Merry Christmas!

Welcome Christmas!

Christmas has spread its wings and is soaring towards us - How wonderful!  It is wearing its finest garments - feathers of magnificent colours and textures; in its voice, a multitude of songs - of every note and nationality.  Love adorns its eyes as it sings in flight to meet us.   Hope fills its heart and bursts forth in hymns of peace on earth.  Let us welcome this beautiful, fragile guest with care; prepare our homes generously - put aside our dingy garbs of doubt and skepticism and dress ourselves in the beautiful love that is within us. 

 We all know the wonderful feeling of watching others opening gifts that we have given them, chosen with love; of seeing them benefiting from and using those gifts with joy and excitement!    Let us take a close look at how we have used our own gifts - those that the spirit of Christmas has given us and waits expectantly for us to open, time and again.  Have we recognized the great love that went into choosing them, or will Christmas arrive and find its gifts unopened and unappreciated, when the world is so much in need of our sharing? 

As Christmas draws close to us, it is a confidant to all of our hearts' true desires.  Let us open our hearts and trust that the unique gifts that Christmas brings to each of us are the most fantastic gifts that we have ever been given.  Let us take great joy in opening them and recognizing those riches: building blocks for hope, love and peace.   Then let us open our arms and truly welcome Christmas.

Drop That Rock!

Drop That Rock!

Why are you hanging on to that hard old rock? 

Why not jump into my beautiful canoe!

To be fear-bound is like being stranded on a hard, unforgiving, cold and dismal rock, in the middle of a beautiful sea.  Fish and birds are dipping and diving and singing all around, but you cannot join their voices or play because you are afraid to fall off of the rock.   Your fingers are cracked and bleeding from hanging on so tightly, your eyes are closed shut against the light, and your voice is non-existent - it has been crying out for help for so long that it no longer has any sound. 

So why not loosen your grip, one finger at a time, and let those fingers feel the water - The water is healing and warm, and hope begins to dawn.   There is a beautiful canoe a few feet from the rock - complete with paddles!  Hope grows a little stronger; the wind calms, and a light current pushes the canoe closer and closer - You step into the water and feel its energy surround you; the canoe is at your side - hope wins - as you step in.

In my little meditation, the rock and canoe represent our spirit's struggle to stay locked up or to go, to give up or to flow.
I love the following quote from one of my little 'Friendship' books (a very helpful paddle),   "It is true that there is an ebb and flow, but the sea remains the sea."(Vincent Van Gogh) 'You might have good days and bad but, just like the sea, you will always be you.  And that is wonderful.'

'Be brave, Humphrey!'  It's time to let go of that stress-o-matic clump of woe!  Grab your paddle, whether it's in the form of a good friend, a pen, dancing shoes, guitar, something that represents hope to you, and watch your ripples start to flow - step away from the rock and find your song! 

 

'Lest We Remember'.....

'Lest We Remember........

Forgive me for this turn of phrase on words that have echoed all around us at this time of year...'Lest We Forget'. 

Those words are living:  They hold all of us to account; They ask that we truly do not forget, but put real effort into  remembering - to cherish the freedoms won for us,  to take responsibility for ensuring that we pay our debt in full with the contribution of our actions to help build on those freedoms.

To those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice, we owe our respect and gratitude, just as we owe it to all those who have not forgotten, but have built our lives up and gave of themselves from the time we were born to the present: our parents, grandparents, neighbours and dear friends.  The loss of each one is worthy of remembering, in ways that would make them proud of us and of the part that they played in our lives. 

Two minutes, two roses - As we left the cenotaph ceremony in our community, we were grateful to take something with us:  the two minutes of silence that were enriched with our respect and tears, and the mental image of wreaths that were laid and of  two roses that were placed to honour the most recent heroes in mankind's struggle to protect and preserve the best in our humanity.

Those two moments were a gift from young men and women who gave up their lives for our freedoms; They would never get any more minutes with their families.  Let our promise be to never forget, and in our remembering, to build each other up, giving the very best that is in us, every precious minute of our lives.

Little Building

 

When you die, "You can only take with you that which you give away."  This quote from the Catholic saint, St. Lawrence, popped into my head this week and gave me pause to reflect.  It seemed to strike a stronger chord as recent life events have taken loved ones from us, some prematurely, some beautifully fulfilled, and others violently. Giving takes courage; It is not always easy to put our loving intentions out there, and to risk being rejected by another - 'Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.' - or of being fed on by another.  It is much easier to put money into a donation box and then disappear into anonymity than to challenge our fears and commit to a face to face interaction with a fellow traveller in this life, who has fallen on hard times.

If I only have a little

But, I offer you a little

Of my little, then it’s bigger by one.

If we each take a little

Of the little that we have,

And share it with another who has none,

We would each have a little,

And that little would get bigger

Each time that it helps someone,

And little by little, we would all grow bigger,

Till our little building work is done.

 

The above poem that I wrote is entitled, 'Little Building' - one of a group of poems that will eventually make up my fourth children's book, "How To Patch A Puddle" .

Life is lived in little moments:  What a long, love-filled life this would be If we gave until we had nothing left to give, for the giver always receives something back in return.   I am not talking about material giving - that is certainly valuable, but it is not the best of what we have to offer;  Our most valuable resources are contained within our individual, private treasure chests - chests that hold our smiles, our kind words, our encouragement, the gifts of our precious moments. These are resources that we have in abundance and that have the potential to give us all a return of the true wealth that comes from building understanding and hope. 

 The instruction manual for opening that 'hope chest' reads:

1.  Click on the 'Courage' icon.

2.  Smile!

3.  Encourage others.

Best Before Date:  NOW!

 

You are the only 'you' there will ever be:

May you give as long as you live, and may love be in all of your giving,

May you feel great joy in your living, joy that will grow with each giving;

Don't  dwell on the size of the gift, just one little smile aids forgiving,

And may your bags weigh a great loving ton,

When your 'little building' work is done!

Counting To Ten!

 

So, there I was, holding up a bank this morning - ?

Actually, what I was holding up was a repository - of countless prayers, my mother's prayers, as I picked up her rosary this morning.  Prayer beads have been used in many religions for centuries - the word being derived from the old English noun 'bede' meaning prayer, and while there is no power in the beads themselves, they can be a valuable tool in meditative prayer.  It is what the beads absorbed from my mom's hands that gave them their value - the warmth of her love and simple faith as she hung onto those beads and poured her heart out.  Holding onto the rosary was like holding onto a lifeline for mom - a rope of beads strung together in groups of ten that helped to keep her life in order - counting to ten can be not only a mom's powerful threat, but also her private salvation.

Her prayer beads were an instrument  that she had learned to play very well.  I can remember her taking out her rosary, closing her eyes, and softly beginning to pray as soon as she heard of someone in the family needing help.  If you were present, you automatically added your voice, your prayer, your 'bede' to her sincere faith-filled ones.

 She could be depended on to hang that rosary out on the clothesline for each wedding or special outdoors event; an outward sign and challenge to the weatherman to dare defy the work that she put into making sure that the beads were fully charged with fresh prayers.  And although we inwardly smiled and joked about this, I can't remember a time that her challenge was met with anything more than a few sprinkles of rain - not all of the drops had gotten the memo! 

 Perhaps it is the same way with other mementos that our loved ones have worn or used countless times - we hold on, with respect, to favourite pieces of clothing or jewellery, dishes or cups, but what is special about a mother's instrument of prayer, whether it is a well-worn rosary, a set of knitting needles, or a daily journal, is that it has been a confidant, sharing her innermost struggles, hopes, fears, and a whole pile of her concentrated love.  So, I will continue to pick up those beads as I pray for all who are in my heart;  

Don't make me count to ten - because I will!  That's not a threat - It's a promise!

This Old House

This Old House

 

"This old house once knew my children
This old house once knew my wife
This old house was home and shelter as we fought the storms of life
This old house once rang with laughter
This old house heard many shouts
Now she trembles in the darkness when the lightnin' walks about"

                                                ...Stuart Hamblen, 1954

 

These nostalgic lyrics have been going around in my head for a long time now, and have become more poignant with the recent sale of our family home on the Rideau River.  It is the inevitable decision that more and more of us boomers are having to make: Our old house had certainly held on as long as it could, thanks to the heroic efforts of my sister and brother, and as it packed its bags to say goodbye, it delayed its departure for more year to give our family time to pick out some mementos and take a few more looks at the beautiful view down the river.  

Memories come flooding back of games of hide-and-seek out of doors until it was too dark to see anymore; of late night swims in the heat of summer to cool us off so we could sleep, of endless sing-a-longs and parties and sharing; of heading to the garden with Dad - a slice of bread in hand for a fresh green onion sandwich, of walks down the road to the one-room schoolhouse, to Rideau Valley Inn, Margaret Kelly's raspberry patch, and to all of the childhood haunts that remain engraved in my heart.

If houses absorb spirits, then that old house was certainly spirit filled.  It was the great Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy secret keeper, guardian of the many whispers of untold prayers from Mom & Dad and all  of us children alike, and the forbearing audience for all of our crazy antics and play acting.  I'm sure it must have closed its eyes and grimaced as it silently endured the graffiti and the countless blows that we kids in our exuberance, inflicted on its walls and  floors. 

As I reflect on all of the love that is our parents legacy, and of the house that contained so much of it, I am reminded of Aunt Mamie's words of wisdom: "Make beautiful memories" - They form a foundation that will last forever - like the one that held up our old house.

Finding Holy Ground

Finding Holy Ground

 I walked by the Odd Fellows Hall on Henry street yesterday, and I found myself thinking: ‘I wonder where the Even Fellows get together, and whether they’d be at odds with the Odd Fellows or whether they’d all actually be striving for the same things?’

Here in Prescott, there are so many beautiful buildings that house faith and community groups, and I watch sincere people going in and out – their purpose being to find God and to get some direction and support amidst all of the turmoil that life throws at us; and to share with others the joy that fills us when happy and exciting things come into our lives.  Each of these institutions is striving to contribute hope and help to the people that congregate there - and to reach out to help the broader community in need.

Further along on my walk, I looked around and there was my creative muse reaching for my arm.  She had been paying attention to the view as well, and as I welcomed her to speak up, the following was her take – or give, on my thoughts:

 

I’ve paused on a roadside

            In the absence of sound,
            And felt God’s presence,
            Perfect, profound;
            In that moment of peace,
            Respect, Holy ground.           
            Whether we worship
            ‘Neath steeple or dome,
            A star-studded sky,
            Or a space all our own,
            Love is the mortar
            That builds up God’s home.

On life’s walk, we take baby steps toward a Father who is absolutely in love with us: He puts out His arms and beckons us to take our first steps, then another and another as he encourages us, picks us up when we falter, and praises our efforts, until at the end of our journey, we reach holy ground  – We let go and jump into His embrace.
 

“This is what God asks of you:  To act justly, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with your God.”  Micah 6:8

Off With Her Hat!

 

Life is a highway,

Crossing hills and streams,

But it’s often on a detour

That we realize our dreams.

 

On the highway, there is loud noise, fast decisions to be made, and frustration at slow or reckless drivers - so much impatience for the sake of a one-to-five minute interval of time, saved or lost.  We are all fellow travelers on life's highway, each in need of and deserving of, a hearty dose of  B.O.D. (benefit of the doubt).

Lately, my head has been longing for quiet drives down beautiful country roads and lanes, where nothing is asked but just to let go, throw off the hat and to slow down and breathe. 

 ‘Take me home, country roads, to the place I belong'.   John Denver has been gone 15 years but I find myself right back where I belong every time I turn on his music and listen to his thoughtful lyrics.  Many times it's the stereo in my head playing, and that amazing sound system doesn't drain any power source; it just seems to replace negatives and add positive charges - How good is that?!  (love this 'Jane expression'!)

So, when one of  life's detours off of its busy highway comes along, the delay  may initially be frustrating but, given time, we may hear its voice speaking or singing in a calm reassuring manner:  ‘Why not have a look around since we’re now committed to each other?’

A highway is not always the surest, and certainly not the most peaceful way to a destination - and we occasionally need to follow our heart's GPS: perhaps a trip down a beautiful old side road is actually the route we were looking for all along.  As I fly (make that flutter) along on life’s bi-ways, letting my hat fly off,  that cool, peaceful breeze of tolerance feels wonderfully refreshing!

Be Not Afraid - You Are A Masterpiecer!

 

What is a masterpiece?  It takes a healthy mix of humility and courage to walk towards your life's fulfillment; to go where you have yet to go, to create your own unique, imperfect masterpieces.

Perhaps we need to pay more attention to the example that the lowly weed sets:  Weeds are actually unique, and when closely looked at, very intricate masterpieces.  There is no way that any of us can create that same piece of outstanding artistry.   The problem is that they dare to pop up in spaces that do not welcome or encourage them.

  If they had a society for abused weeds -  ‘unwanted’ plants - what would their complaints be?  “Help – We’re being stepped on, our feet chopped off, pulled by the hair, and spoken to quite rudely!  We thought our contribution would be appreciated but, clearly, grass is the only genus welcome."  In our finite human wisdom, we condescendingly insist on helping Mother Nature to correct her obvious errors.

The weeds know better - They are trying to tell us that our soil is actually ideal for them, that poor ‘monsieur grass’ is the one struggling to grow in the wrong spot.   Perhaps I'll stop stressing about not having perfect green carpeting everywhere out there; The patch of wild strawberries that showed up last summer in our back yard, together with bits of moss, are confirming the fact that the soil in that area is acidic – not the best soil for growing a lush lawn, but perfect for wild strawberries, and sorrel (tart but yummy on a cheese sandwich!), in other words, an edible lawn! That is just fine with me; I’m in no hurry to correct that mistake. 

In this larger garden that makes up my life, I'll try to nourish my soil with plenty of that healthy humility-courage mix, and I'll keep the phone number for the Master Gardener handy for those times when my garden becomes muddled, when  my confidence becomes choked out by fear.  I'll try to picture successes as I’m making my inevitable mistakes, and I hope that some day I will look back and, lo and behold, there will be a long lineup of sparkling efforts - an imperfect but beautiful path that others may follow,  learn from, and  improve on. 

I’ll just make sure I sprinkle lots of smile seeds as I go, that I speak kindly to the plants, and that I  try not to correct all of my mistakes too quickly - I may be overlooking some real masterpieces! 

 Oh look - There's another dandelion, and another, and another, and an......  Peace!