THERE’S A WILD HOPE IN EACH OF US!

When a person is in their twenties, the whole world feels within their grasp. Anyone over forty is considered old. Then, when that person turns forty, they still believe the world is theirs to grasp. The forty-year-old usually has the power/influence to support this lifestyle. The forty-year-old never expects to be an “old person” in the sixties. However, life moves along and before one realizes, retirement and leisure time become the norm. Sometimes, the sixty-year-old feels “put on the shelf” by those much younger. However, the sixty-year-old thinks there is still much that one can contribute.

Without really realizing what has happened, a person reaches the eighties. The mind may still be active and alert, but the body does not, or can not, respond as expected. What was easy and normative, somehow has become difficult and even frightening. One's legs no longer do as one wishes, and walking has become much slower. Then one realizes that a cane is a handy tool to help with balance. Stumbling along, seeking to avoid a fall, one becomes aware that a walker will need to replace the cane! The mind says, “You are capable of many things”; the body says, “I cannot do this anymore, I need assistance.” Frustration sets in, and a person becomes irritable. Do others want to be with the frustrated individual? Life becomes difficult. Some may be able to walk, but have a very severe hearing problem. Some may be near total blindness. How can one help in this? Some may then isolate themselves because they have difficulty seeing or hearing. 

Walking with a four-wheeled walker may be great, but for how long?  What is the next phase–using a wheelchair. Another step spiralling downwards, as one becomes more and more dependent on the help of others. The doctor may state that a wheelchair will be a must someday.That ‘someday’ hopefully is a long way off. A wheelchair, as a form of transportation, frequently requires a friend’s help to push it. To ward off dependence on others, a motorized wheelchair or scooter may be the next item to obtain. However, for some, the cost may be prohibitive.

Each time one stumbles, the question comes, “Is this the time to change my walker for a wheelchair?”And once in a wheelchair, what comes next? We dare not let the mind go there, and dream up scenarios in which one ends up in bed, no longer able to walk at all. Once there, what is left in life? 

All of these issues, although not limited to older persons, are more prevalent in seniors. How does one then express joy? How can others help the one facing issues of mobility, of hearing, of seeing? Most individuals in these situations want and need social interactions. 

In all of this, we are encouraged to love and care for each other. Some may need help in getting places, whether by vehicle or by walker/wheelchair. Some may need help in hearing or in seeing. In a world where independence is valued above all else, where we are fortunate if we are part of a community open to helping others, then all will grow together.

Lora Braun wrote, ”There’s a Wild Hope in the Wind”. In the chorus of this song, she declares, “The future is dim, but we want to live into a wild, wild hope.” I firmly believe that this expresses the feeling of each of us with some form of handicap that keeps one from having a full life of excitement and joy.

We are able to use the parts of our body, mind and spirit that still function well. Even with disabilities, we are able to have this wild hope that we are of use in this world. Now all we need to do is utilize the gifts and energies given to us. May God give us wisdom and strength for each day we have left on earth.

Working at Brotherly Reconciliation

A Story of Loving Forgiveness / Working at Reconciliation

Let me tell you a story about what I once did when I got very angry with my brother. I was about 11 and my brother was 13. We sort of got along most of the time, but too often we would argue and get into a tussle. One day, after our Mom had told us to go outside, we decided to play croquet. Do you know what that game is about? The game is played outside, has softball sized wooden balls which are hit by a wooden mallet. The idea is to hit the ball through some hoops in the lawn and finally hit a post to win the game.

This particular afternoon my brother was winning and I did not like to lose. At various times we argued about where the ball should be put. I felt that my brother was always putting his ball too close to the finish line. I was getting angrier and angrier. Finally I could not take it anymore. I yelled at him but he seemed to ignore me.

I was really angry by now. Without thinking I took my wooden mallet and threw it at my brother. He ducked just in time. That mallet could have really hurt, but he was safe. But because he had ducked, the mallet flew past him right into the large window on our sun porch. Crash, tinkle, tinkle! The window was smashed.

Now what? Mom came running to see what had happened. The broken window was my fault even though I tried to put some blame on my brother—after all he had ducked!

When Dad came home from work, my parents came up with a cost for replacement which I would then have to pay.  I also was told to ask forgiveness from my brother. I said it, but I really did not mean it. We needed to get along—we shared a bedroom.

My brother and I continued to fight as we shared a room, did our chores and tried to play together. I felt terrible and knew I needed to ask for forgiveness, really ask. Finally, when we were both in high school, I made a genuine effort to ask forgiveness. My brother seemed hardly to remember the incident with the croquet mallet. He willingly forgave me. Things were good. From then on, we worked hard to stay friends. 

By the time my brother got married, we were best of friends. We travelled together as families; we enjoyed and respected each other. He died a number of years ago, but I still miss him a lot. His birthday was April 1, a day I use to reflect on our relationship.                               

Originally published March. 2015

THOUGHTS AS I JOYOUSLY CELEBRATE

I wrote this brief poem shortly after coming home from the family Thanksgiving dinner. We thoroughly enjoyed the time spent together, but as I was driving home, I realized how tremendously fortunate we are in our country. The following is what I wrote as soon as I came home

Thanksgiving

A day of joyous celebration and

A day of family dinners;

A day of laughter and good conversation;

A day of hugs and times of sharing

All that we are thankful for.

But

That is my thanksgiving

Because I am one of the privileged.

I live in a place of peace,

A place where neighbours still help neighbours;

In a home free from the ravages of war. 

But

The news tells a different story.

A story of inflicted pain and suffering.

A time of hatred and of war;

How would I celebrate if my family

Were starving and attacked?

Thanksgiving

A time to remember what we have,

And a time to pause as we celebrate

And think of the many so less fortunate.

What will it take to bring peace to all,

And security for the many downtrodden?

Thanksgiving

May it be so for all around the world.

What must we, must I, do to make

This happen beyond my measured safety?

Will peace and secure satisfaction

Ever happen for the many beyond my world?

A Feminist with Limits

 Years ago I used to travel as a representative for a variety of publishers, including Kindred Productions, the Mennonite Brethren publisher. My travels often took me to the Fraser Valley in BC. This was great because I had some siblings there and also my mother. Mother had lived alone for many years until she finally moved into Tabor Home in Abbotsford.

I tried to spend some time with her, especially at mealtimes because I knew she loved to go out to a restaurant. She had her favourites! We would visit while enjoying a meal.

Mother was a strong woman; in fact, her grandchildren often referred to her as a feminist, as she quietly went about her daily life. However, she did have a few solidly ingrained thoughts about men’s and women’s roles. She always insisted on paying for our meals. But she did not want the wait staff to know this. Mom would pull out her purse, and get the cash ready (no credit/debit cards for her!) and hand it to me, under the table! This was the regular routine. I took the money, paid the wait staff, and all would be great.typical

Mom had many traits that helped bring about change in her world. For instance, at her church, typical of most Mennonite churches in the eighties, the men sat on the right and women on the left. The middle section was reserved for younger couples, or those with children who wanted to be in church or visitors from out of town..

My dad was usually the choir director and so left Mom to fend for herself. Frequently she would sit in one of the mid-section pews. She managed to convince several other friends to join her. However, her greater feat came when Dad retired from conducting the choir. She let him know that now they could sit together in the middle of the church. She managed to accomplish this without much opposition. From then on, the two sat together, regardless of the situation, or even which church they were in.

This is why I think she set limits for herself.

Sitting together in church was ok, but paying for a meal when with a man (even if it was her son) seemed to be too bold!

A Disturbing Teenage Memory

 When I turned eighteen, my mother had baked a wonderful birthday cake which she served with ice cream. Not every year was celebrated, but my mom always believed that eighteen was a significant marker and needed a special meal with cake for dessert. She had done this for a number of my siblings; I was now the last to reach that marker. I don’t really remember the menu, but knowing my mom’s desire to please, I am sure we had mashed potatoes with meat loaf and corn–a favourite meal of mine.

My sister and brother and I, (often referred to as the Three Musketeers by our older siblings) were all home and were enjoying our dinner time conversation. My grandpa sat at one end of our table and my dad sat opposite him. As soon as the main dishes were cleared, Mom brought out the cake and asked me to serve the cake and  ice cream. 

I blew out the candles on the cake and then helped serve the dessert. Grandpa sat next to me. When I offered the dessert, he immediately said, “None for me!” 

I knew he suffered from diabetes and tried to control his sugar intake. However, this was my birthday! Surely he could make an exception. I so wanted him to have a piece of my cake and ice cream. I begged him to take a piece, even a very small piece. Finally he agreed and I served him what I considered a very tiny piece. I was happy!

We chatted for a while, then cleared the dishes and went about our normal evening activities. As per usual, Grandpa went up to his bedroom about 9:30 p.m. My brother and I continued playing some games, then went to our bedrooms downstairs. I was especially happy that we all had  been home to celebrate a significant milestone. 

The next morning, we heard some rather hurried steps upstairs, then some outbursts from my parents. I could not understand what was being said, so my brother and I rushed upstairs to check. Mom met us in the kitchen and told us that Grandpa had passed away during the night. What? He seemed fine in the evening. All of us soon gathered in the kitchen as Dad called the funeral home. We were uncertain as to what we should do. The funeral director soon came. He was a family friend and gave us clear instructions on what to do next. 

My grandpa’s death was a shock for all of us, but maybe particularly for me. I had spent many hours chatting with him as we shared his red bench outside. Now he was gone! Then, as I began to analyze the past twenty-four hours, I suddenly was overwhelmed with the disturbing thought, “The cake I gave him must have contributed to his death. How could I have insisted that he eat a piece? I knew he had diabetes, and should not have sugary desserts?”

For many years I have suffered guilt about this incident. I know it's unrealistic, but it still niggles at me. What could I have done differently? I know now that I should not have pushed my grandpa to accept the cake. I think I have overcome my guilt, although I try not to force someone else to eat something if they have said “No.” Maybe that is the lesson for me.

AUTUMN LEAVES

 A few days ago Mary and I travelled about an hour east of Winnipeg. Our destination was a small community, River Hills, close to Whiteshell Provincial Park. We travelled through many groves of trees, resplendent in the beauty of the colours displayed all around. Our conversation soon went from the beauty all around to the beauty in people, regardless of their season of life. The following is my attempt to capture some of this conversation.

Autumn leaves a myriad of colours

Seems the splash of colour is the last hurrah,

The attempt to show its worth;

To show that autumn is a vital part of life.

We wonder,  therefore, what came before,

And what comes after the colour is gone?

We enjoy this time of year, but realize

That this season falls away into the cold,

Bare trees of winter. The leaves have fallen,

And been scooped up into graves of leaves.

So much is hidden underneath these mounds,

The colours are now only brown, an unsightly mess.

Sometimes small sprouts come up in spring,

To brighten our days with the newness all around;

With the joyous green we soon see everywhere.

We gently watch those tender plants,

And hope that they survive the gusts 

Of hot summer winds that swirl around.

Before we realize it, our summer turned into fall,

And soon the joyous colours again are on display.

The seasons come and go; I wonder do we too

Recognize the seasons of our lives?

If we are joyously engaged with the colours in our lives,

What happens when the colours fade and fall?

JOY IN THE ORDINARY

 

Sometimes we want to have the “big” things in our lives.

A major event or special vacation, or even visits from

Special friends or relatives. These are all good and

Usually very enjoyable. But do we have to wait for

That big event to keep us filled with joy?

Recently the concept of joy in the ordinary has 

Filled my thoughts and made my life more fulfilled.

The little, everyday, ordinary events have brought joy;

Not the joy that overwhelms me, but rather a joy of living .

What do I mean when I say that I have contentment?

I think of all the ways my life is filled with joyous contentment..

The hug from Mary while I am sitting at the computer;

The cheery comment, telling me all is well;

The hugs from daughters and granddaughters;

The greetings from grandsons to hesitant to hug!

The daily calls from my oldest child, just to check in;

The emails from our children far away and the

Loving questions from a daughter close at hand,

Asking how I am doing, or if I need encouragement.

How can I not say, “All is well, I have all I need.”

Children are such a wondrous blessing,

I am privileged to have them in my daily life.

My contentment touches me in many other ways.

The birds that sing just outside our door;

The squirrels scampering across our parking lot;

The flowers blooming so brightly on our yard,

And the various blooms that make our balcony sparkle.

The sun shining brightly through our windows,

The moon at night brings special joy.

The smile from a stranger as we pass each other;

Friendly, helpful clerks at our local store;

The gas attendant who cheerfully fills my car’s tank;

 Our friends who call us, just to chat,

Or maybe suggest a time to meet for coffee.

The greeting from the person next to me

As we sit together at our church.

My joy in the ordinary parts of life include the 

Mundane actions that fill my days.

To sit at my computer writing what my mind suggests;

To have Mary sewing or quilting right next to me.

To chat as we make meals together,

Or also as we plan the meals for the week.

We sit together and check our calendars for any 

Special events or meetings that we cannot miss.

Such actions may seem very ordinary and mundane,

And duplicated in may homes across our land.

They bring much joy because my joy is shared.

With someone who loves me and seeks to make

My life much better than it was alone.

To have a loved one to walk alongside life’s pathway,

Is truly what makes a life fulfilled and worth the living..