A Time for Change

For years... literally, more years than I can remember, I have had this set of flannel sheets. They started off being a royal blue with little yellow stars and cute little sheep as the print; however, after all this time, the blue is now a blue-grey hue, the stars are essentially white (occasionally a yellow one pops up) and the sheep are now replaced with holes of worn fabric.

I know that I need to change the sheets and put my summer ones on, which is normally a happy thing. But today... today there is the realization that when I take the sheep off the bed this season, that will mark the end of their reign as my sole set of comfy flannel. It is like the end of an era.

"...now I lay my sheep to sleep, I pray the Lord their soul to keep..." Well, not quite, but... kinda.

I have fought this life transition so hard and so stubbornly, it is starting to reach the point where my sheets almost have their own aromatic odor. Let me state that I have washed them through the winter, but up until now, I just have not had the inner strength I need in order to change them... one. more. time.

But something changed inside of me this week and I cannot quite put my finger on what that is. I can identify the turning point as being a chat with a friend on our break at an exam... but I cannot put my finger on that "one" thing that changed in order to make this level of inner peace possible.

It was kind of cool actually - it was like a turning point in our friendship. There she was, all wise and crap, being all logical and continually saying, "... but I don't understand your resistance". And for those of you who know this stray little sheep well, know that this would normally make me turtle. My "usual" response to a phrase like this would be, "yea, you're right. Should just get 'er done" and then make a mental note not to share my inner turmoil with that particular friend in the future. But this time... this time, something was different. Maybe it was her patience in waiting out the awkward silence as I tried to find the words to articulate my puking-in-my-mouth fear of the change. And lo and behold, I did!

So together, we sat for no longer than 30 minutes, but we managed to come up with a workable solution: going to talk with someone who would know more of how to help me face this transition... this upcoming hill. And no joke, I slept better that night than I have in weeks.

This week, I found myself sitting in the office of a most superb health professional - you know, that kind that (unlike the majority of their colleagues) goes above and beyond the call of duty. And by the shear grace and "rah-rah-rah" strength of distant friends, I was able to share with her why I could not face the sheet-change era of my journey.

SHE THANKED ME! I am still in shock. This health professional actually thanked me for sharing this piece of my journey with her... she said that she was humbled... and thanked me some more. We chatted briefly about what my two options were - she wrote a note essentially giving me and the higher ups permission to delay the sheet change and then she gave me a list of options that were available for support should I feel called to take the plunge and change the sheets.

It blows my mind... a month ago, I would still be fighting the higher ups, the health professional and the friends... I would fight until I was blue in the face that I needed these sheets to cling to every night for safety... for security... for peace of mind... and for the ability to remember to BREATHE. But this morning, I find myself thinking about actually changing the sheets.

The weather outside is gorgeous - so I could wash my summer sheets and hang them outside for "to die for" summer smell and I could cut these sheep up so that I had a new saxophone-polishing rag, piano dusting rag, and maybe even a square or two for the quilt I am working on (there are some decent patches left on these sheets).

I don't feel like I have the strength or courage to conquer the world yet... but I feel... okay. at peace. rested. I have finally been given the keys that I need to unlock doors which were previously bolted, boarded, and blockaded.

Then again, maybe I am just finally maturing.

Hope... better deemed... Expectation.

It would seem that Advent would be an odd time for a lost and wandering sheep to offer thoughts on this Advent journey through the desert, but whatevs... I'm all about oddness.

Can you believe that for 20-odd years, I lived my life not realizing there were "themes" to each one of the Advent weeks? It's sad, yet entirely true. I clearly was not paying enough attention during Sunday morning homilies to recognize and distinguish one week from the next. However, I must admit, I am a convert. I kind of like having a bit of direction... a bit of a theme to live that week within.

Hope.

A few years ago, our Diocese was fortunate enough to have a Brother from the Taize community in France come and lead a youth retreat. His theme for the weekend was none other than "hope" and for some reason, I got volunteered to give a testament of how I personally experienced and lived out "hope" in a tangible way. I'm pretty sure I blabbed on about something completely removed from what I should/could have said because in all honesty, I was not really the right person for the job and frankly, had nothing positive to contribute to the concept.

However, years later, I had a child teach me what it meant to hope in something... to place expectations in something and that is the story I feel compelled to share.

It was a cold and snowy December night in the final days before Christmas; the roads were icy, the temperature in the low 30's (C), and anyone in their sane mind would have been spending the Friday evening at home with the fireplace going and Christmas music playing. It was the night that the local "inner city parish" was hosting a musical/narrated production of "Touched by a Child" as a fundraiser for a local charity that works to find affordable housing for low income families. The show was sold out, the choir had met every Sunday afternoon for months to practice their four part harmonies, and people with "stories" to share had practiced their dramatic reading numerous times with the local clergy person who wrote the whole production.

The concept was that we, as a music/narrator team, were to tell the story of the Christ child from various perspectives. There was a story from the Inn Keeper, from the Dove, from one shepherd who saw a star in the night sky and followed it to the manger. A total of 5 "stories" were intertwined with music and congregation-inclusive Christmas carols.

Originally, I was to be part of the choir. My untrained alto voice, with enough rehearsals, had almost become acceptable to listen to. However, days before the 'big night', the writer approached me and asked if I might consider reading/sharing the story of the Shepherd because she felt that I could fit the part. It also meant that because I wasn't feeling very well, I could sit with the readers in the congregation rather than being up in the choir roster staring out at the crowd.

I spent that Friday running around to various appointments and late in the afternoon, laid down for a nap. Unfortunately, the nap went longer than expected and I found myself rushing to get out the door in time to battle the road conditions and frigid temperatures. Doing my hair took seconds, I threw on a decent looking outfit, and bolted. I probably sped the whole way, but I literally had to be there. I couldn't bring myself to call the clergy person and say, "sorry, I'm exhausted and it's a no-go".

Arriving at the neatly decorated church, I ran in, dropped my coat, stood in line with the other readers when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

There was one of the choir members I had grown to know over the practices and her 4-5 yr old grandson I had met once (because he was required to sit through a rehearsal). From behind his back, he pulled out a stuffed bear. His words were minimal, but the impact, lasting.

"This will make you better"... and off he ran. His grandmother, my fellow choir member, began to try and explain why I had received the bear. Apparently the funds from the bear were designated to the local children's hospital and when Connor saw the bear and knew that I wasn't feeling well, he insisted that they buy me a bear because his teddy bear always made him feel better.

The tears rolled my cheeks, because it all finally made sense. Conner had placed all of his hopes and expectations in that little stuffed bear... his hopes that it would make me feel better, the expectation that I would be better. He had no understanding of what was going on in my life, but he didn't need to. Because for him, none of the details mattered. All I would need... was in that little bear.

And, just as Conner had placed all of his hope for me in that little stuffed animal, I knew that I in turn, had to place all of my hopes and expectations in the Christ Child that would laying in that manger Christmas Eve... and that if I did that, I would allow myself to be Touched by a Child... Touched by a King.

It seems so stupid that I would need a tangible example of hope before I could physically and spiritually live in it and through it. But truth be told, there is not a Christmas that goes by where I don't pick up that little stuffed bear, give it a hug, and give thanks for a little guy named Connor... who taught what it means to hope and just how I can place all that hope in the birth of that Child, that Saviour, that King.

May we all, this hope-filled Advent week, find that tangible source of hope we seek.

And the winner today... Dr. J

"How is the medication working?" (Dr. J)
"Yes, I think so, but... it seems to leave me with a really dry mouth" (YS)
"Does this bother you?"
"Well, yes. You see, I was playing saxophone the one morning in church and there were a subsequent number of squeaks that are not normally part of my music because I couldn't gather up enough saliva to keep my reed damp enough..."
"Oh, you play the saxophone?"
"Yup!"
"Where are you going to church?"
"Well, I don't really refer to it as 'going to church' because I am really and truly only there for the music"
"You aren't there for God?"
"Nope"
"Are you mad at God? Because as a Christian (pointing to themselves at this point), just know that you are never alone in that journey"
"Ok"
"I once had a patient call God a very, very, very, very, very, very, very bad name - one that would never come out of my lips... are you afraid of God?"
"Uhhh... (voice quivering slightly)..."
"We should work on that. Find someone that we can talk to about that. We can both do that and we will compare notes next time."

I no longer felt completely alone on this journey where judgment seems to come before acceptance and more importantly, really respect a health care professional who is up front with me and calls it like it is - even if it threw me for a loop initially.

Tonight, I give thanks for the gentle way in which the truth was sought about a touchy subject and the reassurance that was shared, reminding me that I am not alone, not an alien, and not forgotten.

Rosalind A.

So, as per the previous post, the first person I wish to speak about is Ms. Rosalind A.

I started work at 8am this morning at a nearby college and in order to get there the required 15 minutes early, meant that I got there with exactly... 42 minutes to spare. Picking up a requisite steeped tea and a free copy of the newspaper, I checked in early and sat. And waited. At half past nine, the program organizer came in to inform the four of us that toddled in that due to a booking error, we were actually no longer needed. Yup, spent the paid three hours of work reading the paper, drinking tea, and attempting the two crossword puzzles in the paper.

On the ride from the local college to the University, we were at the last stop the bus makes before it crosses the river, and on got Ms. Rosalind A. Wearing pressed black slacks, black pointy shoes with lace up the front, and a red sweater zipped up to the level of the tucked in scarf, she was gorgeous. Not gorgeous in the "I wish she was 40 years younger", but more so in the, "silver hair, cut in a stylish manner, back sitting straight, leather gloves holding onto a leather folder, embossed with her name in gold in the bottom right hand corner" gorgeous.

When she got off the bus, she walked as someone in their 70's would walk: stiff legged, slightly bent at the waist, and with small steps. But, walking mannerisms aside, there was something about her that one couldn't help but be drawn to.

It wasn't her impecable sense of fashion, nor the hair perfectly styled with a small clip holding her bangs back, but rather - it was the way she carried herself. It was evident to anyone on that bus that she was flooded with both grace and self-confidence, neither one out of check. Her gently formed wrinkles and bent knuckles told a story of lived experience in which her hands were always very much a part of her work and her face, quick to show the emotion that sat underneath it.

We didn't speak, just acknowledged one another by that simple-stranger sort of smile one gives another as if to say, "I see you, have a nice day, thanks for holding the door".

So today, on this trying-to-be-spring like day, I give thanks for the quiet, graceful, aged lady on the bus... better known to the rest of the world as Rosalind A. ---------.

Let your Light Shine

Well, Advent 4 has come and already gone and the self-assigned "advent reflection" seems to have fallen by the way-side in the blogging world. After reading a comment left on my previous post drawing attention to the fact that there is more to the Advent season than simply allowing the Christ child to come to us, broken, lost and wandering really got me thinking. I do not mean to lessen the importance of our journey to the creche as Christian people and solemnly believe that it should be a time of reflecting as well as genuflecting; a time of looking back on where we have come in light of where we are going as well as taking the time to pause upon the truly incredible gift that we are seeking out on this somewhat dark night.

Perhaps I understated Fr. A's sermon notes, but do not think so. For you see, I am a firm believer that not unlike the Magi, the journey should not be perilous. Challenging, yes, but not difficult.

For the past three months, I have been working with various individuals who have varying disabilities. Some are battling through the teenage years of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Disorder, some are Manic, Bipolar, Fragile X Syndrome and some do not necessarily fit within a boxed category but cannot read, write, or function as a "normal" individual (as much as I hate the word normal). Two of the handful that have entered my life are, for lack of better description, non-verbal. Although they can tell you what they want to eat, when they are hungry, tell jokes, repeat phrases, answer short questions, and have a wicked sense of humor... they will never sit down and write a novel or be able to describe in any length, how they are feeling.

But the truly incredible thing about these two individuals, is that in speaking almost no words, are the Gabriel's of the 21st Century, heralding the coming of the Christ child.

I was awake all night on Friday, sitting in the shadows of Kristy's (name changed) living room as she paced, stomped, stormed up and down the hallway, around the dining room table and back to her room. The bedroom door must have slammed 102 times throughout the night and the bathroom door, 101. There was screaming, yelling, water-cup throwing and puzzle destroying. Although my urge was to jump up and gently guide her back to bed, I sat there. Did not speak, but just let her be. She is stressed and the only way her body can work it out of her system is through manic behaviour. Needless to say, when she finally fell asleep at 6:30 Saturday morning, I dashed off to bed to catch an hour or two before the other two ladies in the house were up and needed my attention.

There I am Saturday morning, essentially drooling. I do not function well with little sleep. The second staff showed up and took the other two ladies to finish Christmas shopping as I sat with Kristy and had a cup of tea. It's hard to not let feelings of shear exhaustion get in the way of compassionate care. It's hard not to say, "hmm - too bad. We're not doing anything or going anywhere today because I couldn't sleep last night", believe me! Kristy went off and came back with her winter boots, a fancy pair of tights, a long skirt and her winter parka.

"Shopping?"

"For what?"

"Mom and Dad and Kristy"

"You want to go shopping for mom and dad?"

"Yes please"

"Why?"

"Santa Claus is coming to town"

So, bundling up, we stopped off at the bank, grabbed some lunch and tackled the mall. At each stop, she sang the one line, "Santa Claus is coming to town" to everyone we passed. Some smiled, others ignored. The day would have been a write off if we hadn't sat and rested a while and grabbed a bite to eat. There we are, in an over crowded food court, eating the mall's sad excuse for lunch, when four carolers stood 15 feet away. They started singing "Silent Night" and two lines in, my lunch date put her burger down, and started singing.

She didn't care what others thought, I don't think she even acknowledged that there were other people there. But there was... singing loudly and beautifully. As soon as they finished, she stood up and bolted in their direction. Approaching the man on the end, she slowly put her hand out towards his. He did not even hesitate. He turned his page and took her hand in his. There she stood... swaying her hips to their singing voices, holding his hand and singing right along with them.

Standing a few feet away, my eyes began to overflow. Kristy may not talk a lot, but at the end of the day... she "gets" it. She understands what the true meaning of Christmas is and how special that little baby really is for bringing joy and love and peace and happiness into the world. And as I sit in the glowing light of these four candles, the song that comes to mind is,

"Let your light shine, for all the world to see

The brightness of your light within, the joy that sets you free

Let your light shine, to fill your nights and days

And all will see the deeds you do and give your Father praise"

Yes, at the conclusion of this Advent season, almost on the Eve of the Christmas feast... this little heart is singing The Beatitudes as loud as I possibly can. And giving thanks to a Father who has once again, reminded me what it is like when I open myself to the possibility of being touched by a child, touched by a king.

I Once Knew

I once knew a very intelligent individual who had the personal ability to move mountains, change minds, and influence the hundreds by a single sermon. Although I haven't spoken with her in quite some time, she continues to cross my mind, invade my thoughts, and speak directly to my heart from afar. I think that after all was said and done, it was a tie whether I learned more from her powerful sermons each Sunday morning or the simple and seemingly innocent car rides each morning and evening.

I like to think of this individual as my wise shepherd, no pun intended nor does it bear much relation to her current role within the wider church.

Almost a year today, I found myself in the basement of a tiny, country, Anglican parish on the outskirts of the seminary town I was still residing in (although no longer studying). A friend was preaching there on the Sunday morning prior, and when an older lady stood up at the announcement time and invited the congregation to join her on this particular evening of mediated healing, I was overcome with that combo platter of guilt, heart tears, and a slight pull. There I was. The youngest of the crowd by at least a decade, maybe even two.

She asked us to close our eyes and spoke in this incredibly serene fashion about a journey that we were on. She took us down a winding path, through the trees that were taller than any house we had ever seen in our lives. She walked us past a babbling brook, where we stopped for water, up a long and meandering hillside, through a green and flush meadow, and through an old gate that was barely on its hinges. She walked with us into a quiet cove with vines, birds, trees, and a large rock. With the birds and the water in the distance, she sat with us in the warm sun as we waited for our special visitor to arrive. After not too long, our wise friend came around the corner and our hearts filled with emotions. While I can't speak for anyone else, my heart was overflowing with tears for I had not expected this wise friend to show up - in a dream or real life.

But there was more. My friend was bearing a box, wrapped with a bow. And it was for me. Opening it carefully, I pulled out a key. It was one of the old fashioned keys and in the end, was an engraved heart. Although my friend did not verbalize anything, her message was clear and articulate...

So, five days later, I was packing up my room, loading my car and preparing to drive across the country once again... all the way back home. I had no idea what I would do when I got here, or how things would look. And, although I am living in a basement somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in a house, I am not yet home. On one of our many car rides, this wise friend said something that has stuck with me through thick and thin. "If God is really and truly calling, he has not told my heart yet". She was referring to a turning point in her own journey and how everyone else seemed to vision her taking on a new role, but for whatever reason, she remained tentative.

It's been more than year and I think I speak for my entire being when I say, "Dotto, I just wanna go home, we aren't in Kansas anymore."

Last night, on my late night drive to the arena, I was listening the "All Christmas, All the Time" station on the radio, responsible for playing Christmas music 24/7 from now until Boxing Day when none other than Josh Groban's, "Believe" (from the Polar Express) was played. I had to pull over on the freeway, turn my hazards on, and go... "Ok. I get it. That is my heart you're talking to."

Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe

Trains move quickly to their journey's end
Destinations are where we begin again
Ships go sailing far across the sea
Trusting starlight to get where they need to be
When it seems that we have lost our way
We find ourselves again on Christmas day

Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe

Thank you Wayne

Following my volunteer experience with the Provincial Summer Olympics, there was a lot going on, including a 25th wedding anniversary, a 70th birthday, and some much (much!) needed time off before summer session started to truly reflect on a number of things. While growing is often painful at the time, here are some of the reflections that came out of the time away.

1) If someone tells you that what you say is held in confidence, don't believe them. If they have to say this to reassure you, it means that they probably are not the person you should trust your heavy heart with.

2) Open your heart enough to receive a hug from a stranger. These are often the most healing hugs in which there are no expectations.

3) Listen carefully to the people that others would ignore at first glance: a Downs Syndrome first baseman can teach you more about love, life, and laughter than any book in the Bible. Listen to the words they speak as much as the words they don't.

4) Write something everyday. Whether it be a card, a song lyric, a word... write down anything that strikes you in some way. If it strikes you, it is meant to be expressed. Express it. You can always reflect on it later... but write it down somewhere before you forget it.

5) Understand that as hard as they try, family and friends will undoubtably let you down. Regardless of how good they are at cards or eating ice cream on a rainy day, the day will come when they forget, don't follow through, or spend too long staring at their own reflection in the mirror. They are human. Accept it because acceptance mellows the pain for when it happens.

6) Trust that you will cause the tears of another person, hopefully unintentionally. You will forget to call or write, be too busy to stop in for tea, or say something that should have remained inside your head. When this happens, and it will, recognize their pain and their need for reconciliation and healing. Respect it. Work on making this a rare occurance.

7) Spending a day in bed in a pool of built up tears is okay. Two days is alright, but three days might be one too many.

8) Give all you've got to everything you do; this includes personal time and rest. If you give 'er everything you've got to everyone you who 'needs' you, you will burn out. Ensure adequate oxygen to that flame. If someone you love is in a state of crisis, God will watch over them until you are rested enough to save them.

9) Make at least one person laugh every single day of your life. If they don't laugh, at least make them smile; hopefully you'll understand the importance of this when the flood is a comin' in your life and laughter is the only lifeboat you can see for miles. Invest in the laughter of others and when the time comes, pray that they will invest the same in you.

10) When it's raining outside, hop in your car or take your umbrella and leave. Drive (or walk) somewhere in the middle of nowhere... no cars, no streetlights, no tires splashing water everywhere. And sit. Just roll down your window and sit. No radio, no talking, no distractions. Just. Listen. Experience. One rain shower is enough to save a farmer's field from grasshoppers and drought, enough to fill a pond with water and give the fish back reassurance that everything will be okay. A rain shower is enough to save a tiny canola plant or stalk of wheat... I guarentee it is enough for you.

Matthew 25

The parable of the land owner is one that has been floating around my head recently because of a sermon that I was once blessed to hear about this passage.  Summed up in two words, the take home message was "Just Enough".  In reference to how many talents each worker had received at the end of a long day in the fields, the answer always should be, "just enough".  

I am pretty lucky that way.  You see, I have a job in which I work to train to various professions of medical students (nurses, doctors, respiratory techs, pharmacists, etc) how to interact with patients, what the 'accepted practice here in Canada is' and give them a chance to have patient interaction before they get out into the real world of grumpy people, people who will always have something wrong with them, and people who want to have their meds and take them too.  The pay ranges from minimum wage upwards to 19-20 dollars an hour and while it is not steady enough work to live off of, it is still, "just enough". 

It pays for the gas and supper to be picked up and delivered on the doorstep of a mourning family nearly two hours away; I make just enough to throw a make-shift party with balloons, cake, decorations, and "kids-wine" for a special anniversary celebration for someone who often goes unnoticed.  The pay is just enough to put two baseball tickets into a card signed, "your loyal bus-rider" to be passed off to a bus driver who has driven numerous (and thankless) routes to the university and back - battling traffic, and let's face it, annoying and somewhat disrespectful riders; it is just enough to buy a bouquet of flowers for a sibling who went through a disgusting break up, giving her hope for a sunnier tomorrow and some inflatable blow-up toys for the pool for a sibling who is sick and tired of being judged on someone else's mistakes in life.  

...And, today - the pay is just enough to fill a large birthday bag with tissue-wrapped gifts and individual notes to help someone get through an absolutely, downright, shit-tay week.  Literally, in a matter of 10 tens, the band this person was a part of = split.  A mother-in-law was moved into a long term care facility, and one of their best friends committed suicide.  No one should have to live through 10 days like that.  And so, in a bag labelled, "S.L.S. Survivor Kit (sometimes life stinks)", there are a few things to hopefully bring a smile to her face, and let her know that she is being thought of in this challenging time.  Some Sourpatch Kids candy to remind her not to allow the experiences to make her sour, a little frog in a poncho holding a sign that reads, "rain brings flowers" as a reminder that sometimes storms are healthy, a box of chicken noodle soup (with a note that says, not sure if it works, but my momma always said this would make anyone feel better), a disguise kit (in case she wants to hide from reality for a little while), a bright, smily face bouncy ball to throw at those people who seem disgustingly chipper, and among others things, a box of Mr. Clean's Magic Erasers with a note that says, "if I were the handsome, bald man and I had the power to erase the shit-tay-ness of this past week, I would... but... since I am not a man, I am not bald, and I am not magic, perhaps this might be more useful in cleaning?"  The package is topped off with a home-made card and verse and will hopefully be dropped off tonight.  If I can find my camera before drop-off time, I will include a picture, but... not something to hold your breath for!

I'm not sure how this co-worker will react as it's been a stressful time, but hopefully the point gets across that she is thought of and cared about - and that sometimes, a laugh is 100x better than a wilting bouquet of flowers.  And if not, then hopefully this messenger will keep from getting discouraged and continue working with the just enough salary, to make just enough of a difference in the world in which we live, move and have our being.