The Olympics - Tragedy or Euphoria

An athlete spends many years, 

And many hours daily

In preparation for a chance

To compete in trials

Hoping to be good enough

To gain a spot in their particular sport;

To make the national Olympic team.

What joy it brings to receive that call,

You are in; you have made it for the Olympics!

What euphoria; what excitement–but wait

This means the hours and hours of unrewarded 

Pain and  struggle will now continue,

For the major goal is still ahead–winning

An Olympic medal, preferably gold.

Now it's on to the Olympics!

This is the reason for all the hours of work.

Your event is soon before you

You nervously wonder, Will I be ready? Will I win a medal?

The race is on, you push until your legs and arms burn

Will you be first, last or somewhere in between?

You finish; you flop down and let the tears flow

All that pent up energy now is spent.

Your family and friends surround you;

They want you to feel their support.

Now the question remains,

Are the tears flowing because of tragedy and loss,

Or are the tears that of joyous euphoria?

PEOPLEWATCHING IN THE MALL

I sit quietly in the Mall’s food court

I wonder where each person

Is going, while I watch.

Some wander as though lost;

While some hold tightly to their kids.

Still others push a stroller,

Or maybe push a wheelchair,

Some stride with heavy purpose,

Looking for that special friend

With whom to chat while enjoying a snack.

Others meander aimlessly,

Helping an older adult find a place to rest,

Or maybe purchase some necessities

With help from that loved one pushing with joy.

Some try to navigate a walker amidst the crowd.

Friends meet friends

Joyously engaging in conversation.

Over a cup of coffee; or maybe an ice cream soda.

The chatter across the tables brings

A hum that fills the room with joyous vibes.

This is my inspiration for a mood 

That lifts me up and energizes me.

My cup of coffee is now cold,

But my heart is full and warm.

 

The New Year–2026

We open the puzzle box to check if this is an enigma.

Will we enjoy putting  the pieces together;

Or will we wish we had not started?

The box, besides the puzzle pieces, contains a picture;

A picture that should give us good directions, and

Make a difficult puzzle a straightforward task.

We work at the border first–we want to know 

The parameters within which to work.

Confidently, we work on the rest of the puzzle;

Looking at the picture as we forge ahead,

Confident that, if we follow the map 

We will accomplish the expected result.

As we move along, we begin to wonder,

What is happening, and why so many

Unexpected pieces that do not seem to fit!

Frustration sets in–we do not find any 

Matching pieces, but find a lot of others.

This really is a perplexity!

We realize that the picture shown,

Although revealing parts that are accurate,

Does not show us what we had visualized.

We stop for a period of peace and reflection.

What a conundrum;We want to finish the puzzle,

But the result will be different than expected.

This brings me to 2026.

How will the imagined picture develop,

And how different will the year end be?

Gratitude in the Midst of a Blue Christmas

Gratitude comes from the glad tidings brought by the Angels

But now the angels are long gone; now what?

I have been somewhat overwhelmed this Christmas by the many losses I have experienced in the past while. What do I say when friends ask if I’m going “home” for the Christmas season? Where is “Home”?

My parents are gone; my  siblings, except one in palliative care, are gone; my children have other places to be.  A number of years ago, my wife passed away, bringing more overwhelming loss. Nothing seems good, except the knowledge that this truly is a Blue Christmas.

When will the angels sing for me; when will they bring joy and peace to my heart?

But then, as I open myself to the love and gratitude brought by those around me, I realize that I have much to be thankful for. Not too long after Susan died, my daughter, SuAnn, suggested I have coffee with a dear friend of theirs who also was grieving a loss, that of her husband. Mary became a wonderful listener as she helped me process my grief. As love would have it, she helped me overcome my deep sorrow; and soon we expressed a deep love for each other. Now as my wife, she continues to bring cheer and joy into our lives. What a gift!  I am continually grateful for her and her influence on my life.              

My children show love by inviting us to their family dinner. They call; they text; they send emails just to make sure I am alright. How much more can a father ask? The grandchildren also chat to see how things are going; then they hug tightly, expressing a deep love for their grandfather. As I think of family I realize that children and grandchildren often go out of their way to bring joy into our relationship. Again, my heart is filled with gratitude.

My family and friends know how much I enjoy going out for a cup of coffee!  They call, or I call, and often the response is a resounding “yes” to a suggestion to head to a coffee shop nearby. Even Mary, who does not drink coffee, has made my day when she agrees to go to a Tims close at hand. What more can I ask? When I ponder these things, I cannot help but appreciate the fact that these friends and family are “angels” bringing joy and peace. 

I am truly grateful for these many expressions of love and closeness. My heart is full of gratitude; how can I not be moved by the love I feel from all around?

Yes, the angels are gone;

But their messages of glad tidings

Stay with us; with me,

As I meditate on what God has done.

The love expressed by God

As Christ came into this world

Not to redeem a select few, 

But to bring love and gratitude

Into our everyday lives.

The angels are gone 

But the glad tidings they brought

Are in us as we open our hearts

And accept with gratitude

The love shown by those around.

The family phone calls; the check-ups,

Questioning my physical and mental health.

These all make life a joyous feeling 

Of  glad tidings filled with overwhelming love.

The angels are gone, but we celebrate

The love they showered on the world.

I now know that angels are 

All around to lift our spirits.

The blue Christmas is swallowed up

By the overwhelming joy and love 

Of angels and people everywhere.

Thank you angels, for lifting our spirits.

And thank you friends and family for the lift you bring.

This is the Christmas season, a time when we exchange gifts, but more than that, we exchange joy and love and peace. Even if family is far away, or near at hand, the message of the angels still rings within our hearts and minds. The close ones give us hugs; the far ones send their love via Zoom or other electronic means. A feeling of gratitude and joy permeates the places where we live. The expressions of love warm our hearts. 

The feeling of joy far outweighs the feeling of being blue. Yes, the angels may not be here physically, but the words of the angels ring loudly as we celebrate the coming of God Incarnate. Thanks be to God for bringing this precious message of gladness and joy.

GilbertG  25-12-26/27

 My Dad's Personality and Our Interactions

My Dad did not show approval very easily. He was a rather somber man who expected the best from his students (he taught for over 30 years) and from anyone connected to him. He definitely expected the best from each of his children, and his approving smile or words were rare. There were a few occasions in which he could not control himself and allowed the circumstances to move him.

Let me describe one such incident. We had recently moved to Clearbook (now Abbotsford), BC to live with my grandfather (my mother’s dad) who was almost totally blind from diabetes. He was a wonderful man, but I digress.

A Wink Shows Humor

Because my grandfather did not have a car—I don’t think he ever had a car—there was no garage on the yard. Grandpa had built a nice shed for firewood, tools etc. but not for a car. We had a car and Dad thought we needed a garage. Soon we poured concrete, built walls and rafters. Then it was time to shingle the roof. Because Dad did not like to spend extra money, he purchased several asphalt rolls to cover the roof boards. Dad and I were up on the roof, my brother was on a small ladder seeking to push the roll onto the roof and also spread the roofing all at the same time. Bernie was having a horrible time because the roll kept slipping down.

The situation was actually quite humorous but our stoic dad would not crack a smile. Then, because the humor got to me, and my brother was getting more and more frustrated, my Dad could not resist—he turned to me and gave me the biggest wink anyone had ever seen. Nothing else, just a wink. I knew then that he had a sense of humor, no matter how far inside he had hidden it!  

 Using Dad’s Car

We moved to Clearbrook in the spring of 1957. Two things bothered me about that move. One: I had not been able to get my driver’s license before we moved, and two: I really wanted to finish my high school in Chilliwack, not elsewhere. But move we did, and I tried to make the best of it. I knew this move was to help my grandfather ijn his final years of life.

During the first year of living in Clearbrook, I managed to get my license. I did not have a car, but was able to use Dad’s. Dad thought that cars were utilitarian. His vehicles were often new cars, but with no features that might enhance any driving experience. To put it bluntly, Dad’s cars were the plainest on any lot! However, they got a person from point A to point B—an important reality for a teen!

The other thing that made my situation unique was that my Dad rarely used the currently owned car. In fact it got to the point where Dad would check with me to see if he could use the car. What a wonderful situation for me. Dad took care of all maintenance and kept the gas tank filled. We never really talked about this arrangement. It just sort of happened. I was privileged. Access to the vehicle meant that I could go out any time.

My Dad was not the most open person, but he did small things for his family without declaring himself a hero. This use of the car was a much bigger contribution than what we would have expected. I was the grateful recipient of this largesse from our Dad.

Music was Dad''s Forte and He Always had High Expectations

Dad taught music and directed choirs most of his life. Therefore Dad wanted his children to show the same perfection as he expected from all his music students and choir members. 

Many years after I left home and lived in the Los Angeles area. My wife and I felt good about our work and about our church involvements. I had even been chosen to lead the choir in our small church in San Fernando Valley. For Easter, we decided to work on a cantata. We knew it would mean hard work, but the choir members were excited at the possibilities. Because of our size, and because we really had few soloists, we carefully worked through the music and changed a number of solos to spoken words. Easter came and the choir felt ready to present this Easter cantata. 

It so happened that my parents came down for a visit at this time, and were ready to come to our church for the Easter service. After the service we talked about the church and the area  in which the church was situated. Dad seemed keenly interested in the area and how we might attract more people from the community. I wondered how he had felt about the music, and the choir's performance. Finally |I asked him what he had thought. For some reason he answered in Low German, "daut jinch" which when loosely translated meant, "It went."

This was one time when I wished Dad could have been more affirming. I knew I was not a polished director, but a positive comment would have made my day. Now, some sixty years later, I realize that Dad was giving me a compliment. He knew it had not been the best performance, but by saying what he did, Dad gave the highest praise that he could without going against his knowledge and experience. Yes, my Dad demanded the best from each of us, and when he thought the task had not been performed to his standards, he had a very difficult time giving a positive response. I realize this today. Unconsciously, I have always set up the standards of my Dad and wondered how he would grade my work. Dad had high standards; he wanted us to reach those high goals.

 

WHO WILL WRITE THE FAMILY STORY?

I recently realized that our family story has dropped into my lap. My family is large–I am the youngest of twelve!  Now I have only one sister still living, in a palliative care home, suffering from lung cancer. Thankfully she is still alert, but has little energy to work at family stories.Therefore, the burden,or joy, of our family story now rests in my court.

What does this mean? Do I now make sure the family genealogy and history is kept up to date? Or maybe I am the one various family members check with to gain advice? Or will I be included in the exciting news when the younger generation gets married, or when a newborn enters a family?   

What responsibility does the last surviving family member have as this relates to the many other children and/or grandchildren? Who else is able to keep the family history alive and of interest to the young? At this point, I am the only uncle on the Brandt side of things. How can I, as the youngster within my sibling brood, show others that I care about their lives and wish for them to enjoy other family members. I am not the proverbial “rich uncle” who flies in to aid in any family crisis. But, I am the “concerned” uncle who is interested in the joys, sorrows and pains of each member of our family. 

Not only am I concerned, but to whom do I go if further wisdom is sought? I might be able to ask some of my generation, but the siblings involved in a story, no longer are able to provide any wisdom on a subject of concern. I am left alone. The decisions are mine to make. Certainly, I have the wisdom of my siblings and previous generations to assist in telling the Brandt family story. However, I am no longer a young man, so  I need to make sure the next generation picks up the baton. If no one answers this call, our story will be lost.

However, in today’s individualistic society, would this be called interference? I hope not! Family stories and genealogies are often the domain of the older segment of society. I can accept that generalization, because I fit that as well. When I was younger, as a teen or as a middle-aged person, I was indifferent. But now, if I do not learn about  the generations that stem from the Brandts, who will capture this information once all of my generation are gone?

A niece has taken on much of this challenge. I am thankful for her interest and investigation. I am also grateful for a granddaughter that is showing some interest. As the last of my generation, I am thrilled if someone from a younger generation wishes to take the family story and continue its run. Stories from our past need to be told. My recollections may be skewed, but they are the  best we have, going forward.  My siblings have, over the years, written down some of the Brandt stories. I think my task is to collect these anecdotes so that these stories make sense to a younger generation. What a richness for us to read, and to experience vicariously the joys and frustrations of past generations. 

My own time may be short. How best do I relay our story to the generation below me? My own reading of snippets from siblings and seeking to piece these together to make a full story seems to be the way forward. May God give the wisdom to discern what may be discarded and what needs to be brought forward to the next generation.. 

I wonder, am I the only one who feels the burden of the family story? Do other families struggle with the same? A strong suggestion from me is that families need to gather their stories before most siblings are gone. Do not wait until grandchildren ask where is our family history, and no one is prepared to answer that call! 

 

THE BALANCE OF THE EQUINOX

The equinox comes twice a year

To balance light and dark.

We have the light for as long

As we have the dark.

How do we balance this

In our busy, scattered lives?

Strange, but the equinox 

Merely comes, without any rush

And without any fidgeting to make it happen.

The equinox is set to come

Twice a year—in spring and in fall–  

Without loud cymbals or trumpet blasts. 

Are we open and ready for what  changes  it may bring?

What would happen if we followed

The pattern set for us?

Could we, twice a year set our

Minds to openness that gives us hope?

To leave all rushing aside to let the equinox

Pour a quietness over us?

Like paint, without fanfare, is poured out

Until all is changed and made new,

The equinox brings equality to our universe;

It brings pause for thought and contemplation.

The dark and light; the grief and joy.

Are these emotional markers that push us 

To check the balance in our lives?

The Preacher of old saw this equilibrium 

And noted that there is a time for everything;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance.

A special time for bringing balance into our lives

GilbertG 2025-09-20