Cultivating Grace

Reflecting on Pastor Pernell’s message today.  Show kindness; every time.  Show kindness, every time, until it becomes the norm.  Show kindness, every time, until it becomes the norm; so that you do not even have to think about it.  That’s grace; God’s grace.  

Surely this is true of Jesus:

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us

And we beheld His glory,

Glory as of the only begotten from the Father

Full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)

May I cultivate this grace – an undeserved gift - so that it would be the best fruit from my garden, given as an offering to all.

“As each one has received a gift, employ it in serving one another,

as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.” (1 Peter 4:10)

Merry Christmas

A Burden Shared

Maman

I didn’t realize that I had actually been putting on a brave face these past few weeks.  Two friends, on the same day, asked if I was okay, as my face looked tired.  Only then did I actually share about a difficult day; that day a few weeks ago. 

No one really saw it coming.  No one had ever seen my Mom have a major panic attack.  But, as the Lord would have it, I was there; that day, a few weeks ago. 

It’s a strange thing.  Mom was never one to be obsessively worried.  She always had that ‘can-do,’ keep-moving-forward’ kind of attitude.  Putting her and panic attack in the same sentence seems to make no sense.  But that is how dementia has wormed its way into her life. 

Perhaps it is something you have observed or maybe you deal with it yourself.  In Mom’s case, it starts with some burping and then belching and then she swallows a lot of air and saliva keeps building up in her mouth and down her throat and she starts to panic and gets confused and tries to spit but can’t because she feels trapped and gets confused and people around her are panicking and she gets more confused and it is very.   difficult.  to.  slow.  things.  down.

Oh, how she needed to spit!  All that swallowed air and phlegm.  It took us over half an hour; speaking slowly, in measured tones, Kleenex in hand, coaxing her to keep spitting.  Finally, she was free of it, and oh, so very very tired.  But it wasn’t over yet.  I had to convince her to drink a cold, cold glass of water.  We’ve discovered that this helps to slow.  things.  down.  Otherwise, it could start all over again. 

We don’t really know what triggers such an attack.  We do know it is exhausting.  If someone observes Mom starting to burp and belch, they can give her cold water to drink; they can find ways to distract her and keep her busy with tasks.  For the next few days, the staff at The Home monitored her vital signs and she did a lot of sleeping; and I mean, a lot.  Up for breakfast, then sleeping ‘til noon.  Up for lunch, then sleeping ‘til supper and then back to bed.

I am glad I was there; that day, a few weeks ago.  I am sad that Mom has gone through this.  I am torn between a desire to maintain my Mom’s dignity and a need to share what is happening.  To share so that others might find a way out of such a difficult situation and to share so that church family can know how to pray.  I could wish I had spoken sooner.  The burden would have been lighter. 

For someone who encourages other people to share so we can truly know how to pray, I was reluctant to do so, and I paid the price.  It weighed heavier on my heart than I had realized. 

I was reminded of Mary, the mother of Jesus, as I sifted through my thoughts during these past two weeks (See Luke 1:26-38).  The Lord knew she would need someone who could relate to her unique circumstances.  Who to share the news with; who to entrust with her remarkable story of an angel announcing this unplanned, supernatural pregnancy?  Leave it to God to have a plan.  The angel Gabriel told Mary about Elizabeth, her cousin.  She was barren and past her child-bearing years, but she also was with child; an unplanned, supernatural pregnancy, in her old age.  So, Mary spent her first trimester with Elizabeth.  How God provides! 

And Lord provided two sisters-in-Christ, so that my burden would be much lighter. 

Mom is back to her usual, happy self, albeit more tired.  At the age of 95, most of us would slow down too; I know, I know!  But, I am praying for more precious time with her.

 “Bear one another’s burdens, and thus fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).

Released

G.R.A.C.E   ̴ Released

God keep our land,

Redeemed by the soldier’s hand.

Affording us a hard-won peace

Courage in battle, never at ease.

Ever-remembered, let them be released.

            Released from the burden of carrying the torch

            Released from wretched memories; mind scorched.

            Flying the banner of a people set free

            Flying the banner for you and for me.

            God keep our land.

Giving up home, hearth and heart,

Ready to fight, from the start.

Awaiting the call to protect and keep

Comrades-at-arms, loyalty runs deep.

Ever-remembered, let them be released.

Released from the burden of carrying the torch

            Released from wretched memories; mind scorched.

            Flying the banner of a people set free

            Flying the banner for you and for me.

            God keep our land.

Gaining freedom at such great cost,

Running the gauntlet, so many lives lost.

Awakening hope, liberty gained

Calling for armistice; mercy reigns.

Ever-remembered, let them be released.

Released from the burden of carrying the torch

            Released from wretched memories; mind scorched.

            Flying the banner of a people set free

            Flying the banner for you and for me.

            God keep our land.

~ Francine Chiasson ~

A Mother's Heart

Summertime in Clare, Nova Scotia means family comes to visit; literally from around the world.  So, when Theo and Cecilé were here, along with other family members, off we went to La Cuisine Robichaud for a meal.  Mom was very happy to be with people; she was not altogether sure who all the people were.

Sitting on her left was Theo- her youngest son.  I said: “Mom, that young man is your son, Theo,” pointing to him.

Mom: “Oh, really?”  Looking at me, she asked: “Is he married?”

I replied: “Yes, the lady across the table is his wife, Cecilé.”

Mom: “I see.”

And that was that; sort of like reading an interesting news article.  I felt like a door had begun to open and then got slammed shut.  Mom had forgotten her youngest son and even with him sitting right next to her, she didn’t ‘see’ him.  Ach!  ‘Twas a sad moment in time.  Hard as it was to enjoy this family gathering, I admired the courage it took for Theo and Cecilé to embrace this moment, even though all of us had eyes that betrayed our grief; pools of tears remained bottled-up for the time being.

Fast-forward three months later.  Chatting with Mom, I mentioned that Theo and Cecilé were now living close to Carmenne, my youngest sister, and Jared, her son.

Mom: “Oh, he is my youngest son, you know!”

Me: “Yes he is, Mom.”

Mom: “Is he married?”

Me: “Yes.”

Mom: “Is he happy?

Tears welled up in me as I smiled and said: “Yes, he is very happily married to Cecilé.”

Upon hearing this Mom clapped her hands with a child-like delight and said: “That is wonderful!  I am so glad!”  And then, unexpectedly, Mom burst into tears.  Happy tears, thankful tears, and without a doubt I believe they were tears of relief, as she no doubt was remembering some of the difficult years she spent with Dad.  Needless to say, a dam broke within me and my own tears mingled with hers as we embraced each other.

Who can fathom the depths of a mother’s love?

Who can draw back the grey curtain of dementia?

Only God.  “We love because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19).  Sitting there, I was so thankful for God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.  This triune God is a communicating and loving God- planting love deep within a mother’s heart; a love that will not let us go.

A Child

It has been a despicable act of evil for the president of the United States to execute an order whereby children of illegal immigrants have been placed in cages, shipped off to ‘centres,’ and/or sent into foster care; their parents having no idea where they have gone. 

Is there no sense of the dignity of human life?  Are these children expendable; being used as weapons of war in the fight against illegal entry?  Have they committed some crime?  Why are they having to pay for their parents’ decision to escape a life of grinding poverty and drug wars?  While I do not begrudge America’s desire to manage their borders, the least they could do would be to keep families together. 

It is a tragedy that has happened before.  And here, in Canada, we need only look back to recall the tragic years of Indigenous children being shipped off to residential schools, or Indigenous children taken away from their families and placed for adoption or foster care, with everyone turning a blind eye.

God, have mercy on us! 

I am glad the president has rescinded his order, and they are working to restore these children to their parents.  I am thankful for those who have fought against such an injustice.  I am grateful for an entire nation rising up in outrage.

But, I see a paradox.  Many of the same people who have been rightly outraged at such a despicable law are the same people who willingly allow a baby to be ripped from her mother’s womb, at any stage of her development.  Separated forever.  No turning back.  No being reunited with mom or dad.  A child, paying with her life.

God, have mercy on us!  Have we completely lost our minds?

One Little Item

I’ve been looking, by times quite diligently, for a pinky ring. It all started with my friend, Gladys. This dear lady, who is now in her nineties, has worn one since I have known her; well over twenty years. Strange how one little item can affect someone.

Gladys was, and is, a missionary. She served in The Chad, a central African nation, for over twenty years, beginning in the 1940’s. Upon returning to Canada, she continued to serve in her local church forty more years and to this day, she carries on. I grew up with brothers - 4, to be exact. There were always boys at our farm so I would just trot along with them and became quite the tomboy.

Years later, I yearned for some simple reminder of my femininity as I sought to get past some of that tomboy/tough lady stance; I saw my answer in Gladys’ ring. Not only this, I also saw in Gladys a selfless, servant’s heart and I wanted to emulate her. She is the lady who would heat up our coffee mugs in the microwave for exactly 4 minutes, pouring in wonderful coffee that would stay hot for a long period of time. She was the one who would always lay out a clean, checkered tablecloth upon which to eat our simple lunches while working at the church. She was the one who always had a handful of wrapped chocolates in her purse- dessert for all. She was the one who concerned herself with praying for others. She was the one who was willing to patiently teach a young missionary, (me), how to persevere in all kinds of trials and how to tell great stories about missionary life; for her- in the jungles of Africa, and for me- in the concrete jungles of Toronto.

On a trip to Edmonton, some 14 years ago, I found a sweet little pinky ring with a small garnet stone. I loved it and wore it all the time, until it went missing one evening. Participating in a sporting event, I had taken it off and foolishly put it in my pocket. Oh, how I mourned its loss. Funny, isn’t it, how a small thing can give us such grief.

Happily, I found another one this week on a local online yard sale. I am so thankful for this little keepsake. Placing it on my finger, I was reminded of Gladys and I am determined to follow in her footsteps; serving others, loving my Lord Jesus Christ, and revelling in the joy of being a woman made in the image of God. Gladys always, and I mean always, was ready to give an answer for her hope in Christ. This little piece of jewelry will remind me of her and it will remind me that little things can carry great value.

“One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much” (Luke 16:10) 

Little is Much When God is In It 

In the harvest field now ripened 

There’s a work for all to do; 

Hark! the voice of God is calling, 

To the harvest calling you. 

Refrain: 

Little is much when God is in it! 

Labor not for wealth or fame; 

There’s a crown, and you can win it, 

If you go in Jesus’ name. 

In the mad rush of the broad way, 

In the hurry and the strife, 

Tell of Jesus’ love and mercy, 

Give to them the Word of Life. 

Does the place you’re called to labor 

Seem so small and little known? 

It is great if God is in it, 

And He’ll not forget His own. 

Are you laid aside from service, 

Body worn from toil and care? 

You can still be in the battle, 

In the sacred place of prayer. 

When the conflict here is ended 

And our race on earth is run, 

He will say, if we are faithful, 

“Welcome home, My child—well done!” 

Thank you, Gladys.

A Pair of Suspenders

I was walking down Dundas St. W., going about my day in the city of Toronto. Seeing a man step out onto the sidewalk, I was stymied. With his back to me, a pair of suspenders crisscrossed on his back, I burst into tears. Yes. Right there. Behind a complete stranger. Muttering under my breath, I took stock of the situation. He had reminded me of my Dad; tall, broad-shouldered and wearing suspenders.

I didn’t know grief would just show up like that, ten years after Dad’s death. It took my breath away. For a brief moment, I felt ashamed. Yes, ashamed. Looking around, I wondered if anyone saw me; heard me. Would I be misunderstood? My soul cried out to the One who would completely understand. “Lord, hold my heart. I remember: “You have kept count of my wanderings. Put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book” (Psalm 56:8)? I let the grief wash over me. Embracing sorrow seems counter-intuitive, but it is an intrinsic element of being human. Comforted by the nearness of my Saviour, I met the rest of my day with a sweetened sense of His very near and dear presence.

The Lord Jesus understands death and grief. He continues to carry the scars and will do so for eternity. His grief, over humanity’s sin, will forever be expressed by the nail-prints in His hands and feet, and by the hole still in His side.


Thomas, in John 20:25, famously said: “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” Sure enough, “A week later his(Jesus) disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe. Thomas said to Him: ‘My Lord and my God’’ (John 20: 26-28).

It is incredible to me. Not only did Jesus identify with us in becoming a baby, growing up into manhood and then dying on a cross. You would think He would have gone back to heaven, no longer needing His humanity, having completed His work of salvation by dying for our sin and rising again. But no, He has retained His humanity.

Forty days after His resurrection: “And while they were gazing into heaven as he went, behold, two men stood by them in white robes, and said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven” (Acts 1:10,11). "In the same way."  Jesus still identifies with us; with me. He is still the man of sorrows, acquainted with my grief. His forever incarnation is a great comfort to me.

No religion in the history of man has brought God so close to humanity. No other faith portrays God, in the flesh, identifying with us completely. “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). I have mourned many deaths since that day, over seventeen years ago. I am always saddened. But, for those who are in Christ, I sorrow yet as one having hope. I will see my Dad again. And that is a great comfort. But first, I will see Jesus. There is no one else worthy of praise; there is no one else who comforts like Him.

The Jacket

My sister, Lise,  and Mom

What to wear?  A chilly day with a strong breeze off the water; a windbreaker would be needed.  With chagrin, I realized that I didn’t really own one.  What to do?  I spotted the jacket, hanging in a corner of the closet, hidden by winter coats and, well, just plain old clothes draping off the hangars.  No wonder I had not seen it lately.

It is a reversible windbreaker.  Bright pink on one side and light blue on the other.  Perfect.  I could wear blue today and pink tomorrow.  But, I had mixed feelings as I put it on.  It was Mom’s go-to jacket for when she worked out in the yard.  If there was one thing my Mom both loved and hated about Springtime, it was those troublesome dandelions.  She considered them as Public Enemy Number One.  Nothing delighted her more than to don her blue-pink jacket, shove her hands into a pair of old garden gloves and whip out a dull knife which she manipulated with great agility as she hauled out those poor defenseless yellow flowers, (read: weeds).  Mind you, chopping off their heads was never her agenda.  Oh no, she would root around for the root and haul each one out with a great deal of satisfaction.  Neither rain nor wind would stop her, even though she absolutely hated the wind. Hence, she had found the perfect jacket- colourful and with a hood.

My mind was whirling as I put on this memorable piece of clothing.  Out for my 5-kilometre walk, I prayed about my Mom; thanking God for such a trooper, such a hard worker, such a sweet woman.  And I prayed for Mom; praying that she would carry sweeter memories than the ones Dementia seems to have stolen.  She has taught me so much.  

For some reason, I went all the way back to my childhood.  In my first 10 years at school, I was subjected to a lot of ridicule and bullying.  Earlier on, I would arrive home in tears.  While Mom would comfort me and hear out my story, she would always finish with these words: “Forgive them, Francine.  They are children who don’t really understand what they are doing.  You are better than their words.”

Walking down the road, I could barely see where I was going as tears filled my eyes.  Mom was right.  It’s not that she agreed with bullying, nor was she afraid to stand up for someone, but she wanted me to understand that there would be more important battles to fight in years to come.

The 5 kilometres went by quickly; forty-five minutes at 9 minutes per kilometre.  The wind was indeed brisk and cold, but my heart was warmed.  And the blue-pink jacket kept me warm, as warm as my Mom’s smile and encouraging words.  I had forgiven those children, so long ago. 

At the age of twenty-eight, I came to know Christ as my Lord and Saviour, the One who has forgiven me.  Blaming my childhood hurts, one would think, could have absolved me from at least some of my sins- the ones that were a reaction to childhood difficulties.  But, I will stand before God on my own.  And I understood that I needed forgiveness as well.  I read Jesus’ words from the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:41).  To whom was Jesus referring?  To the soldiers, the religious leaders, all the people who cried out for His execution?  He most certainly was quoting from Isaiah 53:12: “He made intercession for the transgressors.”   Perhaps He was referring to me.   While His prayer may have been for all of the above-named groups of people, it shows His overwhelming compassion, even as He was dying, and His extended mercy for all who will admit both their ignorance and their great need for a Saviour.  He extended that mercy to me, for which I am eternally grateful.

I intend to wear this special windbreaker on my next visit with Mom, and I can’t wait to tell her this story; to remind her of her past and to encourage her about the Hope in Christ that carries us into the future.

A Hope to be Shared

The Humboldt Broncos will never be the same. I don't personally know the young hockey players, their coaches, or the bus driver- the fifteen men who lost their lives in the crash. I don't know the other team members who survived this horrific accident. But, I sorrow with them. Death is such a thief, and this loss goes deep. I am convinced, consoled and comforted by the reality that Christ, Immanuel-God with us- not only understands our sorrows but walks with us through it.
No, I cannot completely explain why such a tragic event as the death of these 15 men from western Canada would have happened, but I can look to God for solace and I can pray to the One who died and rose again. I can pray, not only for the families, but for the entire nation of Canada that has embraced this tragedy as one affecting us all.

Without the presence of "Christ in you, the hope of glory"(Colossians 1:27), I would only have myself to rely on and I am certain that I need a God who understands sorrow and death. God knows what it is like to "lose a son," and I am grateful that I can speak to Him, knowing He understands.

I have been especially moved by the pictures of hockey sticks- on doorsteps, patios and decks, and at the Canadian Army Base in Iraq. Such a simple gesture, but fraught with meaning.

May we hold our families closer. May each of their family members find comfort in this deepest and darkest of valleys.  May the words of the team Chaplain touch the hearts of all those directly impacted- his words were of Christ, of the Shepherd who walks with us:  

 https://globalnews.ca/news/4132117/valley-of-darkness-humboldt-broncos-crash-sean-brandow/

Praying.

A Few Words

 

A few words can go a long way, as in all the way from Louisiana to Nova Scotia.  A special friend of ours gave us these monogrammed t-shirts a while ago.  She loved Mom from the moment she met her and I am thankful for this kind lady’s sweet thoughtfulness.  While studying at Université Ste Anne, here in Nova Scotia, she adopted Clare’s Community Church as her own and we have all been the better for it.  Blue is Mom’s favourite colour.  Even though, because of dementia, she cannot quite comprehend how the initials work, she is just plain happy with the gift and recognizes that someone loves her.  Add to this our Easter outing, and her day was as special as it could be. 

Somehow, we think we need to do some grandiose gesture to show our love of Christ and for Christ; to demonstrate grace and mercy to those around us.  Not so.  Our world is full of the lonely, the heartbroken and the disillusioned.  Being made in the image of God, we have the imprint of intimacy on our hearts; we are made for fellowship, reflecting the perfect companionship of our triune God: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. 

Some time ago, I had the privilege of caring for a special 98 year-old senior citizen, in the city of Toronto.  She had a Companion who came to spend time with her every day.  After having lived in Long Term Care for one year, her doctor stated: “If this lady did not have a Companion, she would have died some time ago.  She would have died from loneliness.”

I am not surprised that loneliness is now considered one of the greatest health hazards of our generation.  http://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/2017/08/lonely-die.aspx We are lonesome, first of all, for fellowship with God, caused by our sin and rejection of Him.  And, by virtue of this, we are also prone to loneliness even in the midst of a crowd- we were made for more than that; we were made for true companionship.   The Gospel transcends these divides and brings us into fellowship with God through the work of Christ’s death and resurrection, paying for our sins so that we will not be forever lost; so that we will know what true friendship is, forever found in Christ. 

Let’s show our world the power of the gospel, by loving and serving others; by breaking through the fog of loneliness where so many people are lost and hurting; by introducing them to Christ.  No doubt you can think of someone right now who could use a visit, a phone call or even a wee gift.  And it could very well be someone next door, let alone someone who lives thousands of miles away.

Ecclesiastes 4:9,10

“Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labour.  For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion.  

But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up.”

No Trivial Matter

“For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received,

that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures,

and that He was buried,

and that He was raised on the third day

according to the scriptures.” (1 Corinthians 15:3,4)

A few words from 1 Corinthians 15:4 have often arrested me in my contemplation about Jesus’ death and resurrection.  Paul inserts the short phrase:  “and that He was buried…”  These words are as important as “…that Christ died for our sins…” and “…that He was raised on the third day…”  For those who have questioned whether Jesus actually died, these words should pretty well clarify any misunderstanding. 

Jesus was buried.  We do not bury people who are still alive. All four gospels relate the account of Jesus’ burial.  Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimithea took Jesus’ body down from the cross, embalmed Him with a mixture of myrrh and aloes, and bound His body in linen wrappings, as is the burial custom of the Jews. (John 19:38-40).  These two men were willing to defile themselves, by touching a dead body, which meant they would not be able to even celebrate the Passover. And they laid Jesus in a nearby tomb (John 19: 42).  These are not incidental details.  Amongst many reasons why Jesus’ burial is included in the gospels, I remain caught up with the imagery that burial brings to mind- the reality of someone’s death. 

If He had not been buried, His body would have been thrown into Gehenna, the Valley of the Sons of Hinnom; the place where they heaved common criminals’ bodies, over the edge, down into the valley and burned along with the garbage from the city of Jerusalem.  If He had not been buried, then why bother setting a Roman guard at His tomb, and setting a seal on the stone, as requested by the chief priests and the Pharisees (Matthew 27:62-66)?  They were afraid Jesus’ disciples would come and steal His body.  Apparently, these religious leaders were certain that Jesus was dead.  If He had not been buried, then why would some of the women have gone to watch Joseph & Nicodemus? “Now the women who had come with Him out of Galilee followed after, and saw the tomb and how His body was laid” (Luke 23:55).

Perhaps most telling of all are Jesus’ words, a few days before the Passover; a few days before His crucifixion.  He was in Bethany at Simon the leper’s house, and a woman poured a vial of pure nard over His head.  Some at the table were indignant, remarking to one another that the ointment should have been sold and the money given to the poor.  Jesus replied: “She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for the burial” (Mark 14:8).  Who talks like this, unless they know their burial is looming; their death is imminent?

Jesus’ burial is no trivial matter.  It is the confirmation of His actual, real, death; a death that had been  prophesied thousands of years beforehand.  And it sets the stage for the most climatic event in all of history- His resurrection. 

One more glorious thought, found in Romans 6:4, “Therefore we have been buried with Him through baptism into death, in order that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life,” and in Colossians 2:12, “having been buried with Him in baptism…”  

Baptism is a picture of our sins being buried with Christ.  It is no trivial matter.  And we have risen to a new way of life.  Oh my, it doesn’t get any sweeter than that. 

Happy Easter

Spa Day

Mom was pampered during Spa Day.  She and her peers had facials, foot massages and manicures; fancy drinks and fancy sandwiches; they were spoiled rotten for a day.  I visited with her later on and she was glowing.  Hearing her laughter and clear speech brought tears to my eyes; happy tears.  She was so animated; so articulate.  She asked how I was feeling and then mentioned Angel-Kitty, whom she never speaks of unless I bring up our cat's antics.  While I understand that there is no point in trying to recapture the way Mom was, it is lovely when her sweet, funny self shows up, with the reminder that she never actually left herself behind; there are just some pathways in her mind that have put her on a new journey.

And part of this new journey has meant that, for some time now, I have advocated for her to move into Special Care; an area of The Home more suited to those who are living with Dementia.  It is not clear that she is aware of the change, especially since she had been a “Day Visitor” on a number of occasions.  What is clear is that she is settling in well, for which I am very thankful. 

Facing the blank walls in her new room, I realized I was about to recreate her past, but it came to me with palpable emotions: Mom’s present days are just as valuable.  As I hung some of her oil paintings and precious photographs of family, I found myself singing: “Jesus Loves me, This I Know.”  The words re-formed in mind: “Jesus loves Mom, this I know.” 

Now, if I could just wheedle my way into the next Spa Day, that would be awesome.  I even have a name picked out: “Beautiful Mothers-Beautiful Daughters.”

Oh-So-Ordinary

It was more painful than I would have thought- seeing my Mom in isolation, because of precautionary measures at The Home where she is living.  She was so weary, that she often refused or just could not open her eyes.  From eating independently, she went to needing someone to feed her, regularly.  To enter her room, I had to “gown up,” put on protective gloves and wear a surgical mask.  I do know that a number of things conspired against her during this past difficult week.

She got the flu vaccine.  (I am not interested in having an argument about whether or not this is helpful.  I am just stating it as a fact).  She started on a new medication that we hoped would work well with Aricept, in at least slowing down the progressive nature of the Dementia.  Some residents had gotten the flu, so Tamiflu was administered.  Mom had a head cold, which worried me as I was concerned that it would go down into her chest.  This is the week that was.

Visiting her today, I was so relieved to find her smiling, chatty, and witty.  I told her that her youngest son would soon be 5o years old, and that I was already 60.  She gave me that: “You’re kidding me,” kind of look, out of the corner of her eye.  Then I asked her: “And how old are you, Mom?”  Her answer: “I don’t really know.”  So I started counting: “70, 80, 90.”  “That’s far enough,” she said, and laughed out loud.  Music to my ears, was this bubbling-over joy.  I told her she was 94 years young.

I reminded Mom that we had made a deal, a few years back.  She still gets her hair coloured and she had asked me: “If I stop colouring my hair, will it be silver like yours or will it be a boring grey?”  I had to tell her the truth: “More than likely, it will be mousy-grey, Mom.”  We agreed that she would keep colouring her hair until she turned 95.  Her grin told me that she was delighted not to have yet reached that age.

Our lives are really made up of oh-so-ordinary days.  For Mom, it is now oh-so-ordinary moments.  Transforming one of those moments into a sweet and touching event is one my greatest of joys.  When I had been in to see Mom while she was sleeping, I simply held her hand and sang hymns.  Tears flowed- bittersweet tears.  A grief almost too painful to bear, mixed with the sublime realization that in Christ, all things have been made new, even here and even now.  And, this worthwhile life will soon be transformed to a much higher plane.

In Christ alone, my hope is found.  He is my light, my strength, my song.

This Cornerstone.  This solid ground.  Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love.  What depths pf peace.
When fears are stilled.  When strivings cease.

My Comforter.  My all in all.  Here in the love of Christ I stand.

~ Stuart Townend ~

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCeSOY5tisI

Enough Love

Je suis si bienvenue; si connue. 

Dans la royaume de Jésus.

Aimée d’un amour éternel.

Si bienvenue.  Si connue.

So welcomed; so well- known.

Part of His kingdom; Jesus on His throne.

Loved with everlasting love

I am so welcomed; so well-known.

Abundant Love

Today, our pastor spoke about God SO LOVING THE WORLD, that He gave His only begotten Son, (Jesus).  We’ve often heard that if we just loved God more, we would be automatically serving others, giving generously and worship extravagantly.  But this morning’s message turned that on its head.  The bottom line: If you could only grasp HOW MUCH God loves you, it will then lead to all of the above.  I especially appreciated the 5 instances where Pastor Pernell pointed out how John the Apostle preferred to call himself: “The one whom Jesus loved.”   Hence, John’s love, service and worship were based on Jesus’ love for him, not John’s worked-for, works-based love for God.  John got it right and so can we. 

Serving a vulnerable population means putting yourself out there; loving people because I know that God loves them; advocating for others, because of their intrinsic worth in Christ- who loves us and gave Himself for us.  Honestly, it means I have nothing to lose if someone does not love me back; just like Jesus!  And, quite frankly, those living in The Home, (in long-term care), may not always be able to show gratitude or love in some grandiose way, but they sure know how to hug and smile and hold on to your hand so tightly that you can’t possibly leave.  That’s the mindset I want, as I visit in The Home.  That’s the kind of abundant love and life that Jesus speaks of when He said: “I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly” (John 10:10).  That’s the Saviour who I want to know more and more- meeting with Him in prayer and learning more of him through His word, the Bible.

Given that our prime motivation can be solidly based on God’s great love for us, how can we apply this to being a volunteer at The Home?  I’ve been thinking that a partial list may help you to consider spending some of your time volunteering there.  Looking at 5 domains, we’ll see that many modified programs provide opportunities for residents to enjoy and give exciting prospects for your participation.  We’ll look at a separate “Community Outings” list in our next post.  

The categories can be somewhat interchangeable, and my Mom has been pretty much game for anything.  Even though it has been difficult to see her change, because of Dementia, she can still participate in so many ways.  Her favourite activities – dancing and organizing items.

Physical:  Fitness classes, bowling, floor hockey, darts, pool noodle volleyball, giant Kerplunk, parachute, kickball, dancing, recycling, decorating, wheelchair rides, chores, walking group

Spiritual:  Church programs, Bible studies, choirs, meditation, yoga

Social:  Kitchen helpers, cooking, movies and popcorn, bingo, lunch groups, Spa days, Happy Hour, dance groups, painting, quilting, knitting, monthly birthday parties, special meals where family members   join their loved one: Christmas, Easter, Valentines, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day.  Lip Syncs.  Yes, The Home where Mom is living has had a Christmas Lip Sync for the past few years!

Emotional:  Music therapy, pet visits, singing, live music, manicures, Day-Care visitors, meal-time, holding someone’s hand, singing one-on-one, reading old stories, showing old pictures, campfires

Intellectual:  Reading group, puzzles, crosswords, writing letters, trivia, scrapbooking, arts and crafts, painting, Pictionary, card games, organizing, sorting, newspaper discussions

It is hard to imagine that you could not find some way to help!  You would be part of a team and soon enough, you would feel that both the residents and the staff are your extended family. 

Will you find out just how much God Loves You? 

And will you invest His love, by visiting at The Home?