I LOVE THE LOCAL CHURCH

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t attend the local church. I’m sure my parents brought me in their arms when I was only a few weeks old. My earliest memories of our great big family at church is sitting together near the front - me usually next to my dad or mom - their hand on my knee - to give a wee squeeze should I get a wee bit unruly.

My Mom often told the story of their earliest years of marriage. Dad and Mom were both raised in wonderful Christian families who attended church regularly and were in the practice of attending. But - apparently after my eldest sister was born, the young couple was somewhat sporadic in their church attendance - so much so , that they received a visit from their pastor. He gently encouraged and advised them that it would never get easier to attend and should they continue to attend irregularly, there would be more and more reasons and excuses to do other things on Sunday mornings. And so it was. Stan and Alice Castle and their babies……all 9 of them….from 1940 through 1958….attended First Baptist Church - Cornwall, Ontario. We took up a whole row. It brings a smile to my face even now.

My parents taught us to love the local church. They taught us to love the pastor and his family. They taught us to get involved. They taught us to love the people who attended with us. They taught us to support missionaries. They taught us to tithe. Speaking of tithing….there was a roll top desk in the hallway of our home with little slots in the top of it. Dad would divide up his pay cheque and into each slot was put the right amount of cash to pay for the various bills that would have to be paid that week. Included in that roll top desk was the slot for the church tithe. On Saturday nights - my dad would roll down the top of the desk - get the church envelope out and reach into the tithe slot and slip the tithe money into the envelope. That image is ever sharp in my mind.

“EACH ONE MUST GIVE AS HE HAS DECIDED IN HIS HEART, NOT RELUCTANTLY OR UNDER COMPULSION, FOR GOD LOVES A CHEERFUL GIVER.”

“BRING THE FULL TITHE INTO THE STOREHOUSE, THAT THERE MAY BE FOOD IN MY HOUSE. AND THEREBY PUT ME TO THE TEST, SAYS THE LORD OF HOSTS, IF I WILL NOT OPEN THE WINDOWS OF HEAVEN FOR YOU AND POUR DOWN FOR YOU A BLESSING UNTIL THERE IS NO MORE NEED.”

I was blessed as a little child to observe my parents faithfulness to the local church and it is a practice we have committed to all our life as well.

Church is where I learned to sing, starting in Sunday School and church and then in the choirs - first in the junior choir and then the senior choir. I was given the opportunity to sing solos and in small groups. I was given the opportunity to use my piano playing, even as a child, playing the piano in Sunday School and during the services. I still remember being a part of the Christmas and Easter cantatas. I still remember so many of the words. But it was more than just singing songs. I learned great theology in those old hymns. I learned that “Jesus loved me, this I know - for the Bible tells me so.” I learned that “the old rugged cross, was despised by the world - but it was our dear Lamb of God Who left His glory above, to pardon and sanctify me.” I learned that “there is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.” I learned that “I have a friend in Jesus - who bears all my sins and griefs.”

When we were making the long drive home from my brother, Tim’s, funeral, in 1994, there were 8 of us in my brother Phil’s van. As we drove those hundreds of kilometres, we sang, through our tears but with hope, the hymns we had learned as children. One of us would start a hymn and the others would all join in. We knew most of the words by heart but if one of us forgot, the others would fill in. We sang for hours. How grateful we were that our parents took us to church so we could learn these dear hymns of our faith - they continue to bring comfort and joy - to this day.

When I was 17, I attended a youth conference and as I listened to the various speakers - I was moved to commit my life to serving the God I loved - ANYWHERE, ANYTHING, ANYTIME. Even as a young child I felt the calling of God in my life - I had committed my life to Him when I was 8, I was baptized at 15 and then at 17 - I felt ready to make a lifetime commitment. (It was the following year that I would meet Randy.) I had imagined that this commitment would lead me across the world to help the poor and hungry - perhaps I would be a nurse and help bring healing to the sick - and I might even speak at conferences - to women and encourage them in their own journey of faith. I never imagined that this calling would have me meet a guy - who would go to seminary (as I did) and together - we would pastor in small churches across Ontario for the next 35 years. I never did become a nurse but I did help to bring healing to some who were suffering. I never did speak to the masses but I did meet one on one with women over the years to help bring hope to hopeless situations. I never did go overseas to feed the poor and hungry but I sure baked and cooked and delivered countless meals to some who needed the comfort of home cooking.

Yes, Randy and I served the local church for 35 years - starting in Orillia - then Listowel, then Cambridge and finally, Alliston. I could say that it was all bliss and happiness but that wouldn’t be right. I could say it was all difficult and dark but that wouldn’t be right either. What I can say is that we were faithful to our people - to love them - to preach the whole truth of God - to encourage and help draw them closer to God. At one point, around the 30 year mark of our ministry, I wanted to pull out - to do something different - to not pastor anymore. I wanted to see what it was like to work “out there”! BUT - at that time - Randy - (bless his heart) said to me that in 1974 when he was a student at BLTS in Calgary, he had made his own commitment to the Lord. Randy promised the Lord that - God - being his strength - would serve Him as a pastor in the local church until his dying breath. He did just that. When Randy collapsed on Saturday, June 28, 2014, his sermon was sitting on his desk - ready to go for the next day. He fulfilled that commitment and God called him home.

So, why do I go to church? Good question.

There are many reasons but I picked my top 5!

#1. To hear the preaching of the Word of God. (For the word of God is living and active. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man and woman of God may be complete, equipped for every good work).

Each Sunday - Harv and I - listen at 9 am to our church in Florida online and then head out the door for our 10:30 church service here in Kincardine.

If we’re not listening to our Florida church - we wouldn’t have heard Pastor Aaron speaking truth about “God’s Plan for the Family.” He read from Genesis 1 and then explained those scriptures to us. He confirmed that God is the architect of the family - that He designed men and women in His image - equal and yet, different - and yet again - interdependent on each other. He reminded us that it was God who knit us in our mother’s womb to be the man or woman we were meant to be.

If we weren’t in our church in Kincardine, we wouldn’t have heard Pastor Steve preach about the prophet Daniel - a brave man who was second in command in the Babylonian empire - an empire that did not worship the Hebrew God. In spite of this culture, Daniel remained faithful to his Hebrew God - his God who he had loved and served since he was a child. Daniel was known in the courts of the world but more importantly was known in the courts of heaven. Daniel was set up to fail by other government officials and yet he remained faithful. A law was passed that everyone was to petition only to the King of Babylonia. Daniel - when he heard of this law - continued with his regular, daily practice - he prayed three times a day to His God. The King had to follow through with the punishment that had been decreed - Daniel would be thrown into the den of lions. When he was thrown into the den with very hungry lions - an angel appeared to Daniel and told him not to fear - that he had company. And then, God shut the mouths of those lions and Daniel was not harmed.

If Harv and I are not there and not listening - we don’t hear these truths. Preaching affects our hearts and draws us closer to God - it inspires us to love others and gives us guidance to live in a culture similar to that of Babylonia - a culture that is counter to God’s Word.

#2. To worship together (Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth. Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into His presence with singing! Know that the Lord, He is God! Enter His gates with thanksgiving. For the Lord is good - His steadfast love endures forever and His faithfulness to all generations.

My only response is to sing and pray and offer gratitude and honour to Him and for Him.

#3. To encourage my pastor (I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you, because of your partnership in the gospel…)

What a joy it was for us as we pastored for all those years to see our people gather with us on Sunday morning and for special events at various times throughout the year. Preacher and people - people and preacher - it’s a relationship.

#4. To teach my kids and grandkids to love the local church.

Big lessons are caught not taught. What’s good for the goose is also good for the gander and all their chicks. My family will learn more about faith from watching me live out my own journey……than simply by me telling them. Am I perfect? Not even close. Will I stumble? Absolutely. Do I get frustrated and impatient. Sadly - yes! But - I will always confess my shortcomings - pick myself up and keep going.

#5. Because God says so. (And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.)

That’s really enough for me.

BIRTHDAYS

Psalm 139:13-16 “For You formed my inward parts; You knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are Your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them - the days that were formed for me - when as yet there was none of them.”

Birthdays! I’ve had a few! I’m in the middle of completing my 66th trip around the sun.

I’m told that I was born on a Sunday afternoon around teatime - January 26, 1958 - the 9th child of Stan and Alice Castle - 13 Elm Street, Cornwall, Ontario. After eight babies, my Mom knew I would be coming soon, so she had prepared the house to run smoothly for the week she would be in the hospital.

They say that when I arrived home about 7 days after my birth, my older siblings were waiting with excitement. My Gramma Castle was “holding down the fort” and gave instructions “not to get too close to the new baby and breathe germs on her!” I followed 5 brothers and 3 sisters! There was a buzz about the house that winter. From the earliest of ages - I knew I was loved and yes - a wee bit spoiled. My Mom used to tell me that my big brother - Bob - who was 15 at the time - used to come home from school and pick me up out of the cradle or carriage, lean his face into my peach fuzz head and proclaim - “she smells so good!”

I don’t remember my first birthday but I’ve seen a picture or two of that day. Everyone was around the table - all my siblings - my parents - and probably a few others! My Mom always made the same kind of double layer birthday cake with special boiled icing - and always - always - put coins in the cake. The picture of my first birthday has me in my high chair with icing all over my face! I’m sure I thoroughly enjoyed it.

While I don’t remember that first birthday celebration - I do remember my 16th. It was a Saturday. Unbeknownst to me, my friends from church were planning a surprise party for me that evening as part of our youth group get-together. Let me backtrack a few days. My Mom was having some physical issues at that time so she had gone to Kingston to have those issues checked out - it would involve minor surgery. The results were in and she called Dad and I on that Saturday afternoon - to say happy birthday to me - but also to tell Dad that her results were not what they were hoping for. Mom had cancer and was scheduled for surgery on the Monday morning. I was terrified. A cancer diagnosis is terrifying - and it was certainly terrifying - on that 16th birthday Saturday in 1974. I didn’t want to go to youth group that night and my dad had to tell me that my friends were having a birthday celebration for me. My parents really encouraged me to go - which I did! My friends had presents and a cake and really blessed my heart that night and in spite of the circumstances, I had a great evening. As we all know - my Mom had the surgery - and was a cancer survivor - for the next 46 years. Mom lived past her 100th birthday and passed away in our home 15 minutes to midnight - January 25th - however, she was pronounced “passed away” on January 26th (my birthday). Her longing for Heaven and her faith made sight - was the best birthday gift ever.

The years passed by! All of a sudden I was 21 and a young bride. I turned 24 - eleven days after Zac was born - I was 25 when Ben was born and 26 - when Pete was born. My twenties were spent caring for our young family. I had birthdays but just celebrated with Randy and the boys. All of a sudden I turned thirty and those years continued to be busy with all the boys in school and me - teaching piano and voice lessons - and helping Randy in our ministry in Listowel. My thirties were mostly full of life and joy.

But in July of 1994 our family was shocked by the sudden death of my brother, Tim. He was 39 and drowned in a canoeing accident near Red Lake, Ontario. We got the call late on a Sunday night. Randy answered the phone and I knew right away something dreadful had happened. We learned that Tim had been on a weekend trip with his son, our nephew, and they decided to have a bit of fun by shooting some small rapids before heading home. They emptied their canoe and were maneuvering through the rapids when the white water tipped them out. They both had their life jackets on and our nephew swam to shore. Tim decided to guide the canoe through the rocks so it wouldn’t get damaged. The canoe got caught on some rocks, turned upside-down and somehow Tim was pinned underneath. The canoe wouldn’t give way and Tim’s faith became sight that very afternoon. He was safe in the arms of His Saviour. Our nephew told us later that on the Saturday night as they lay under the velvety northern sky - filled with stars - Tim talked to him about heaven and being ready to meet God at any time. Little did they realize it would happen for Tim the very next day.
Psalm 90:12 “Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” It is thirty years this summer that Tim went Home to be with His Lord and Saviour.

My fortieth birthday was memorable and a lot of fun. My friends arranged with Randy to arrive at our house at 6:45 - in the morning. They woke me up and all of us - in our pj’s - went to the restaurant for breakfast. They had gifts and flowers for me. Dad took us all out for supper to cap off a great day.

I didn’t mind turning 40! We were in a great place. The boys were well into their teenage years - busy at school, sports, youth group, going to camp, and part time jobs. Our home was always buzzing with teenagers. So many trips to the grocery store. So many games’ nights! So many jam sessions in the basement with drums and guitars. Cheering at basketball, football, rugby, soccer, ultimate frisbee and any other games that were going on. Many trips were made down the 401 to Camp Iawah. One summer I drove that 401 trip - there and back - at least 7 times. My heart was full. Each birthday was marked by good food, good times and good friends.

As was my fiftieth birthday - memorable. It was the year that Pete and Heather were teaching in South Korea. Randy had arranged for Zac and Tracy and Ben and Jen and Ken and Bren and my Mom to be with us for a special dinner at a restaurant. (I thought it was lovely but maybe a bit disappointed he didn’t throw a big party for me! I didn’t say a word though.) After dinner was over - Randy said we would have dessert at home. We were living in the condo then and I didn’t even think twice when he dropped us at the front door. While we had been dining - my friends from church came over to the condo - decorated it - brought desserts of every kind - presents and flowers and the celebrations continued. I felt loved and appreciated by my family and friends that night.

Fun fact! I used to send my mom flowers on my birthday - to thank her for having me, raising me and loving me.

Although, I turned 65 last year, I will mark that milestone by walking part of the Camino trail in Spain this summer - with my sons.

My birthdays continue to come and go. I love getting phone calls from the kids and my sisters and brothers and friends. I’m not sure I’ll live to 100 as my Mom did - but if I do - I will live wisely and well - enjoy my family and friends - love Christ and serve Him until I close my eyes in this life and open them in the next - safe in His arms.

THREE SIGNIFICANT ATTRACTIONS - THREE IMPORTANT LESSONS

The past few years Harv and I have been blessed to spend most of the winter in the far south. While in Florida we enjoyed living down the street from my brothers and sisters-in-laws. We loved attending Indian Rocks Baptist church and the sweet fellowship we had on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. It was always amazing to wake up in warm, sunny weather and decide if we wanted to golf, play pickle ball, walk the beach, cycle, swim or read by the pool.

This year we didn’t go.

Instead we enjoyed a lovely vacation to the Caribbean - we flew up to Timmins to watch our grandchildren play hockey in the Mush Cup tournament - we spent most of March Break in Ottawa with children and grandchildren and the rest of the time at home. Before Spring arrives in Kincardine - we decided to take a quick trip down to the Carolinas with a stop in Kentucky for a day - visit a friend in Charlotte - and tour beautiful Charleston.

I can’t help but connect three significant stops at three attractions with the upcoming Easter weekend and its’ significance in my life.

Every year when we head south from Detroit and head south on I75 - we usually say “let’s stop in Kentucky and take a tour of the Ark” and each year we’d drive right by as we were in a hurry to get to the warmth and sunshine. This year - the ARK - was the first attraction on our agenda.

What’s the buzz all about? Why would anyone build an ark - in the middle of a field? Why go to all that trouble?

Well - a very long time ago - another man built an Ark and he was asked the same questions - he was ridiculed - made fun of - scoffed at - and it took him many, many more years to build the original ark than the one that is built in Kentucky. In fact it took Noah and his sons closer to 75 or 80 years to build the ark.

After all the years building, finally Noah, at the age of 600 and his wife and three sons and three daughters-in-laws entered the ark. Their time in the ark is yet another example of what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. Once they entered (along with all the animals that God brought to the ark) - it was God Himself who shut the door. Once they were all tucked neatly inside - the rains began - coming up from the earth below and for the first time ever - down from the heavens above. After hearing the sound of rain consecutively for forty days, the waters increased and the ark floated on the water. The waters prevailed on the earth for 5 months and it wasn’t until the 7th month before the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. Finally, around the tenth month - the tops of the mountains could be seen. Noah and his family were totally invested into the ark with no clear idea of when the rain would stop and what would happen afterwards. 

As a righteous man – who found grace in God’s eyes – it can be assumed that he didn’t wait idly. Noah most likely continued to give thanks and praise to God for sparing him, and bringing him thus far. There’s no mention of Noah complaining or cursing at having to be in the ark for all that time. It seemed he trusted even when he didn’t see beyond the rain.

 In other words, even when your prayers aren’t answered in the way you want them to be – God is still working.

I was reminded last week five truths that I have learned from Noah when I am in the storms of my own life - Obedience to God in and through the storm - Trust His plan (even when I can’t see the outcome) - Continue to live right in the middle of a changing, wicked world - Hope even when life is uncertain - Give thanks.

Our second significant stop took us to the BILLY GRAHAM LIBRARY AND HOMESTEAD in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was totally unprepared how the impact of this visit would affect my heart.

Billy Graham was born and raised on a dairy farm near Charlotte, North Carolina, on November 7th, 1918 and passed away in his beloved mountain home on February 21, 2018. Billy was called to be an evangelist and preached the gospel to millions of people around the world - in person, on the radio, on television, film, through his books and then the internet. He once said - “someday you will read that Billy Graham is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it! I shall be more alive then, than I am now. I will have gone into the presence of God.”

As we meandered through the Centre - we watched clips of him preaching at various crusades - I was reminded of the one I attended in Toronto in 1995. When I saw the picture of the SkyDome and the thousands of people who attended that night - I remembered driving to Toronto with Randy and Zac and Ben and Pete, to be part of this great event - one of Billy Graham’s last crusades. Unbeknownst to me, my parents were also in attendance that night and on our way to the bus after the event - we ran into them. (They had come by bus from Westport with their church. It was Youth Night!) Just that week I had mentioned to a friend that I hadn’t seen my folks for several months and how much I missed them. I said to her - “If only I could see them - even for a few minutes - to hug them and kiss them and tell them I love them!” It happened the night of the Billy Graham crusade in Toronto.

We saw pictures of Billy with royalty and presidents - with children and celebrities - with athletes and farmers. He was a man who was loyal to his wife and family - and to his God.

Billy and his wife, Ruth, are both buried right beside the family homestead.

I was emotional last Saturday. I found myself welling up with tears at times. I found myself humming the hymns as I heard them on the recordings. I found myself responding to the sound of Billy’s voice as he pleaded with people to come to grips about eternity and Jesus. It felt so good to be in that place. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to linger for awhile longer.

I was reminded of these lessons that I gained from Billy Grahams life - STAY TRUE TO YOUR CALLING - BE FOCUSED - BE LOVING EVEN WHILE MAINTAINING YOUR CONVICTIONS - PURSUE INTEGRITY (THE MODESTO MANIFESTO).

The manifesto listed practices ranging from not driving/dining alone with a member of the opposite sex to making sure the numbers they reported from their evangelistic outreaches were accurate to rigorous financial accounting practices for the offerings they took at their events. These types of accountability practices enabled Billy Graham and his team to remain scandal free and above reproach during their decades of ministry on the road together.

John Maxwell once said that even the shyest of people will impact at least 10,000 others during their lifetime. Think about it. Everyone will fill an arena with the number of people they will impact over the course of their lives. In that sense, all of us are evangelists. Over the course of decades thousands upon thousands will see our lives and hear our message. 

The third attraction was the CHAPEL at DUKE university. We were invited to attend the Sunday morning service with our friend - who we were visiting. It had been on her bucket list to attend a service there and she asked us to accompany her. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect but I think deep down - I knew.

Standing at 210 feet in the center of campus, of the original buildings at Duke University, the Chapel was planned first and built last. The architectural style of the Chapel is English Gothic, but it is modeled upon no particular cathedral, college chapel, or parish church. The architects of the Chapel were Horace Trumbauer of Philadelphia and his chief designer, Julian Abele. The cornerstone was laid October 22, 1930, and construction of the Chapel required more than two years. It was first used at commencement in 1932 and was formally dedicated June 2, 1935. It seats 1800 people.

The service began at 11:00 and ended exactly an hour later. There was much pomp and circumstance as the choir, deacons and minister processed down the long aisle to the front. The choir sang but the words weren’t recognizable without reading the bulletin. The minister spoke - but his words were frivolous and fluttery. The building - while being an amazing feat of architecture, was cold and unfeeling. The service left me wanting.

I remember Randy used to say about these kind of services - “It’s not what they say - it’s what they don’t say. And that’s exactly the lesson I was reminded of on Sunday. There were songs - there were prayers - there was a sermon - but they were empty. They didn’t proclaim Jesus. The words only tickled the ears of those who listened. As I looked around at the people near me - their eyes were dull - their responses perfunctuary.

I’m reminded of a quote from C.S. Lewis - in his book Prince Caspian. Aslan says to Caspian - “go and wake the others and tell them to follow….if they will not, then you at least must follow me alone.”

Noah was called to follow His God and he did - he and his family of 8.

Billy Graham was called to follow His God and he did - he and Ruth and their children and thousands, maybe millions more - people, who, Billy challenged to follow too.

The minister at the Duke chapel didn’t call anyone to do anything so they won’t.

He called me to follow Him when I was a young child. I said “yes - I’ll follow - wherever, whatever, whenever!” It’s a decision I’ve never regretted.

MAGGIE

My first recollection of having a pet as a little girl was our boxer named “General”! I barely remember it happening but I’ve been told that I dropped the pup just after he came home from the vet from having his tale snipped. I remember him yelping and staying far from me for a very long time. He didn’t have a long life and I don’t remember why.

Our next dog belonged to my brother Harry and he was a black lab - also named General. I’m not sure why Harry called it the same name as our last dog but he did. General got himself into all kinds of mischief but we all loved him. One Sunday - my Dad took some steaks out of the freezer to thaw while we were at church. General was blocked in the back hallway by a large gate to keep him out of the kitchen. He must have worked very hard because by the time we got home from church - General had managed to move the gate enough to wiggle through - into the kitchen - jump on the counter and eat the steaks. I thought my Dad would blow a gasket. Another time, Harry had been lying in the hammock in the backyard and General was tied to the frame. Harry went in the house and left General tied. Big mistake. General didn’t like the mailman and out of the corner of his eye - he saw the mailman walking down the street. General took of like a shot and chased the mailman down the street - dragging the hammock frame behind him. It was quite a sight. When Harry moved out of the house at the age of 19 - General went with him and that was the end of pets in our house.

After Randy and I got married we talked about getting a dog but it never seemed to be the right time. I took matters into my own hands and one Father’s Day - we gave Randy a pup we named Max. Max was a mutt - from a local farmer and grew to be a rather big dog. We had him for a couple of years but for various reasons, we gave him back to the farmer we got him from. Max lived happily on the farm for many - many years and that farmer said that Max was the best farm dog he ever had. That brought joy to my heart.

For many years I wanted another dog but once again it never seemed to be the right time - until………I received the best Christmas present I ever.

Christmas Eve day - 2005 - was a busy day. We always hosted a Christmas Eve party for friends and family and church folks after the Christmas Eve service - so I was in the kitchen that morning preparing the last minute appetizers and goodies that I planned to serve that evening. Ben’s girlfriend, Jen (who later became his wife) was visiting and planning to head to her own home around noon time. Pete was home too and Zac was arriving home from a trip to the Dominican Republic later that evening. I was surprised that Ben and Jen and Pete had headed out early to do “some last minute Christmas shopping”. I thought they’d all sleep in after finishing up another semester of university and work. I was busy cleaning and cooking when Jen came in the house after their shopping expedition and said that “my car was making a strange noise and I should come outside to check it out!” All I could think of was that it was Christmas Eve and I hoped the car didn’t need to go to get serviced! I told Jen to tell the guys I’d be right out.

Now that Christmas was a mild one - no snow - green grass - rather warm, really. I grabbed a sweater and headed out the front door to see what was wrong with my car. Ben was still sitting in the driver’s seat and Pete, seeing me come outside, opened the passenger door, put something on the ground, and the cutest ball of yellow fluff ran towards me. A beautiful, golden retriever puppy. I was astounded. The pup ran into my arms, four legs wriggling, little pink tongue licking my face, and puppy noises coming out of her. Randy had come out of the garage by then, and all four of them said at once - “she’s yours - Merry Christmas!” Her name came to my mind instantly - Maggie.

Maggie was with me for the next ten and a half years. What a special girl she was. Maggie was blond and grew into her adult weight - around 90 pounds. We always said she was “big boned”. Even though the Magster was a big dog, she considered herself a lap dog! She loved to cuddle. She loved attention. She loved her stuffed animals. She loved to play fetch, although, she rarely gave up the ball or stick. She was best friends with Zac’s black lab, Willis. They were like brother and sister because they spent so much time together.

Maggie was so good at reading my thoughts and feelings. When my dad died in 2007, I immediately drove to Westport to be with my Mom and of course, Maggie came with me. Maggie knew that Mom and I were both sad and constantly rubbed her nose in our laps and faces to comfort us. When my Mom would lie down on her bed, Maggie would climb up beside her to provide warmth and love for Mom’s grief. My parents were married for 69 years and dated for four years before that - they were together for most of their lives.

Maggie went everywhere with Randy and I but when she was at home by herself for a few hours - she always met us at the door with one of her stuffies and greeted us with her welcome home whines, tail wagging and kisses. She slept with Randy and me and he used to say - “Not too many men get to sleep with two blondes!”

Mag was terrified of thunder storms. Even when the rumbling was far off - she would come to us - trembling - whimpering - terrified - and it seemed no amount of our reassurance comforted her. The best we could do was stroke her head and neck and speak soothing words to her.

Maggie got really sick for a few days when she was two or three years old - like, really sick. She wouldn’t eat or drink and lay listlessly on the floor. I called my Mom and told her what was going on and she suggested a few “old wives remedies” to see if that would help. Nothing worked and I was scared. I called her back and she said she would pray that Maggie would get better. She said it was the only animal she ever prayed for. Sure enough, after those long three days, Maggie returned to her impish, loveable, golden retriever self.

When Randy collapsed and we were all coming and going during the week he was in the hospital, Maggie was certainly out of sorts. She didn’t know what had happened but she knew something had. I wish she could have talked to me during those hard days. She couldn’t talk but she understood when I talked to her. She stayed with friends during the days but I brought her home to be with me for night time. She slept near me and cuddled me and licked my tears away.

Once - on one of our road trips to Cornwall - after Randy passed away - we stopped in Westport at his grave. It was a cold, autumn, grey day. Just Maggie and me in the cemetery. I sat beside the grave. The mound was still dirt - no grass yet - and no stone marker yet. I was crying and Maggie did the strangest thing. She wouldn’t come near the mound of ground. She lay down several feet away from me and howled. She knew. Her grief was evident. After awhile we both made our way to the car - got in - and I said to her - “just you and me girl”. She barked as if to affirm my statement.

As Maggie aged - her hips began to give her trouble. I could tell that she hurt. Some days when I would grab her leash - it seemed she was eager to go for her walk but when we would get to the end of the driveway, she would stop and sit down. No amount of coaxing would make her move. She was in too much pain. I took her to the Vet and he said x-rays showed incredible arthritis in both of her hips. He gave some medicine that helped for a few months. He suggested stronger medicine that I couldn’t afford. I asked him if there were any other options. He said the gracious thing would be to eventually “let her go”. I asked when. He said “when I couldn’t stand watching her in pain - that dogs will continue to endure great amounts of pain just to be with their humans.”

“That time” came several months later. It was after Harv and I were married and Maggie could hardly get up to go outside to do her business. She longed to walk the beach and the odd time we went - she could hardly get up the hill to get home and then she’d be spent for the rest of the day. She cried in her sleep. I told Harv to make the phone call. And then, the strangest thing happened after Harv got off the phone. (He called from the front step as I couldn’t even listen to his discussion with our vet.) Maggie got up from her bed and limped over to where Harvey was sitting - looked him straight in the eyes - and then put her head on his knee. She was saying thank you for doing the hard thing and I do believe she was affirming our difficult decision. She needed to be released from this life and allowed to run free in the next.

Two days later we took Mag for her last car ride. I put the car windows down so she could feel the breeze. I had brushed her coat that morning and she was beautiful. I gave her her favourite treats for breakfast.

I sat on the floor in the vet’s room and Maggie lay across my knees. She looked me in the eye and I didn’t take my eyes off of her. I rubbed her head. I spoke words of love to her. She trusted me implicitly. The needle went in and my heart was broken for a second time in those few years. Two precious souls had left me. I stayed with Maggie for several minutes after she was gone. I thanked God for her life and the good years we had together. She was precious to me and I’ll never forget her. The best Christmas gift ever. Thanks - boys - for your gift to me.

Proverbs 12:10 “The righteous care for the needs of their animals.”

HOW I WANT TO BE REMEMBERED

In no particular order…….

That the dash between the dates is the most important thing.

That speaking life to people is better than speaking death.

That I tried to spread more joy rather than sadness.

That I loved my mother-in-law and was proud to be the next Mrs. Jolliffe.

That I tried to be kind. 

That I told the truth rather than lied.

That I cheered louder than I jeered.

That I gave more than I received.

That I could overlook an offence.

That I was a good daughter to my parents and made them proud.

That I was grateful for my mom and dad’s teaching in our home.

That I was president of the St. Lawrence High school student council when I was in Grade 13.

That I was a faithful wife.

That I was a fair and fun mom.

That I loved all my siblings and enjoyed their company.

That I blessed my grandchildren and was blessed by them and really enjoyed hanging out with them. 

That I was game to try new things.

That I went to OFFSA for singles badminton when I was in Grade 11 and placed in the top 8.

That I was a good cook.

That even if I didn’t begin an argument - I tried to be the first one to finish it.

That I enjoyed good books.

That I loved to dress up as much as slouching around in my jeans.

That I didn’t take myself seriously when I golfed.

That I once scored a hole-in-one.

That I cried when my dog Maggie died. 

That I washed the stinky feet of teenagers at Camp Iawah.

That I wasn’t afraid to drive alone on road trips after Randy died.

That I went skinny-dipping with my sisters.

That I took my role as a pastor’s wife seriously.

That I believed in praying about everything and waited for God’s answers.

That I took piano lessons from the age of 7 and practiced every morning from 6:45 - 7:15. (It drove my brothers crazy). 

That I sang my first vocal solo when I was 8 years old.

That I was in love with Bobby Orr and wanted to marry him. (My boys used to tell people that I could have married Bobby Orr but married their Dad instead!)

That I was baptized when I was 15 years old.

That I ran 9 half marathons in my 50’s.

That I started praying for my daughters-in-laws when they were babies, although I would not meet them for at least twenty -three years. 

That I met Charles Swindoll - face to face.

That I directed my school choir at Saint Joseph’s Oratory of Mount Royal in Montreal.

That I walked to Kindergarten - up the paper mill hill - by the strip joint - all by myself! 

That I was valedictorian at my Grade 13 graduation.

That I loved cooking Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.

That I said “yes” twice!

That I cried easily.

That I loved to knit.

That I loved camping - especially when the boys were little. 

That I worked at Fair Havens Bible Conference when I was 16 and 17 - as a waitress in the Dining Room - and a family that I served -  named their daughter after me. 

That I had the best three sons in the world.

ADVICE I HAVE FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS IN MY FAMILY

When I was a little girl - people would ask me what I wanted to do when I grew up. I would reply - “be a wife and a mom”. Both of those desires were granted to me and it was a privilege to be both - first the wife - and then the mom to my three little boys. Now it’s my privilege to be grammie to ten Jolliffe grandchildren and to five Lootsma step-grandchildren. These are the truths and advice I want to impart to these fifteen young ones and I trust they will pass this on to their children someday - my great grandchildren.

Susanna Wesley said this about raising children - “Tis no small honour to be entrusted with the care of these souls…..it will be certainly no little accession to the future glory to stand forth at the last day and say - ‘Lord, here are the children which Thou hast given me, of whom I have lost none by my ill example, nor by neglecting to install in their minds, in the early years, the principles of Thy true religion and virtue’”.

I’m so grateful that the Lord entrusted me with children and now our grandchildren - these dear - precious souls - who are forever “mine”. Raising children is hard . To varying degrees, they gobble up our time, energy, money, sleep, space, patience and sometimes our sanity, but they are and always will be our greatest accomplishments. So - like Solomon we say - “behold children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward” and it is our responsibility to teach them.

In no particular order………………my top ten pieces of advice.

#1. Learn to be content in any circumstance.

Contentment is peace of mind and has absolutely nothing to do with external pleasure or condition but rather with your attitude. Jeremiah 17:7-8 says - “Blessed is the person who trusts in the Lord - whose trust is the Lord. She is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream and does not fear when heart comes, for its leaves remain green. It is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” I want my grandchildren to be content knowing that their heavenly situation is secure - that nothing happens to them except that is ultimately for their good - that God is for them - that their relationship with Jesus will never fail. It is always possible to be grateful for what is given rather than resentful over what is withheld. One or the other will become a way of life.

#2. The devil is a liar.

Satan prowls around looking for people to devour. When Satan speaks, he lies, because that is his character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. Recognize this truth when you are young - dear ones. Randy used to preach this fact - that Satan doesn’t play fair. His darts are ever at us and against us. He is working to steal hearts and marriages and children and morals. Satan takes eyes off of Jesus and causes them to be distracted. DON’T GET DISTRACTED. Satan is a deceiver. He is a discourager. He is negative. WATCH OUT! KEEP YOUR GUARD UP!

How do you avoid Satan’s counterfeit life? Give thanks! Rejoice! Pray! Think on things that are true, honourable, pure, right, lovely, admirable and excellent. Be careful what you think because thoughts will run your life! ABOVE ALL - GUARD YOUR HEART

#3. Read biographies of great heroes of the faith!

Here are a few of my favourites! Jim Elliot - Amy Carmichael - Charles Spurgeon - David Livingstone - Billy Graham - Corrie Ten Boom - Fanny Crosby - Watchman Nee - John Bunyan - DL Moody - Elisabeth Elliot - to name a few. Reading biographies allows you to be mentored by saints throughout the centuries. You will get a front row seat to their lives - their joys, hardships, losses and victories. You will see they were spiritually strong but also as human as you are. They had to walk through the same seasons of life just as you will but when the Lord captured their hearts for Him, they followed Him faithfully (just as I trust you always will too). You will also read how they lived for Jesus to the end of their lives. You will read their story from the beginning to the end - and when you read about the end of these heroes lives, you will be reminded that your life will end one day. You will be encouraged to live faithfully to the end of your life too.

#4. Learn hymns and memorize them.

The truth and theology written into hymns is right out of Scripture. When you memorize hymns - you are memorizing Scripture. When you learn hymns - you will learn the truths of our faith - you will learn to focus on God and His attributes and you will learn a great, big vocabulary.

Before supper on Sunday afternoons when I was a little girl, we would gather around the piano and sing together as a family. In those early days, my mom would play the piano and we would call out numbers in the hymnbook of our favourites. I have vivid memories of those singing times. These were some of the hymns we sang each Sunday.

HOW GREAT THOU ART (VS. 3)

AND WHEN I THINK THAT GOD HIS SON NOT SPARING - SENT HIM TO DIE - I SCARCE CAN TAKE IT IN. THAT ON THE CROSS - MY BURDEN GLADLY BEARING - HE BLED AND DIED TO TAKE AWAY MY SIN. THEN SINGS MY SOUL - MY SAVIOUR GOD TO THEE - HOW GREAT THOU ART - HOW GREAT THOU ART.

HIDING IN THEE (VERSE 3)

HOW OFTEN IN CONFLICT, WHEN PRESSED BY THE FOE - I HAVE FLED TO MY REFUGE AND BREATHED OUT MY WOE. HOW OFTEN, WHEN TRIALS LIKE SEA-BILLOWS ROLL - HAVE IS HIDDEN IN THEE, O THOU ROCK OF MY SOUL.

DAY BY DAY (WE SANG THIS SONG AT MY BROTHER TIM’S FUNERAL)

DAY BY DAY AND WITH EACH PASSING MOMENT. STRENGTH I FIND TO MEET MY TRIALS HERE. TRUSTING IN MY FATHER’S WISE BESTOWMENT - I’VE NO CAUSE FOR WORRY OR FOR FEAR. HE WHOSE HEART IS KIND BEYOND ALL MEASURE - GIVES UNTO EACH DAY WHAT HE DEEMS BEST. LOVINGLY, ITS PART OF PAIN AND PLEASURE - MINGLING TOIL WITH PEACE AND REST.

A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD (MARTIN LUTHER)

A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD - A BULWARK NEVER FAILING. OUR HELPER HE AMID THE FLOOD - OF MORTAL ILLS PREVAILING. FOR STILL OUR ANCIENT FOE - DOTH SEEK TO WORK US WOE - HIS CRAFT AND POWER ARE GREAT - AND ARMED WITH CRUEL HATE - ON EARTH IS NOT HIS EQUAL.

When my Mom was close to entering Heaven - we had her bedroom set up in the den - where she could look across the road at beautiful Lake Huron. Near the end she spent 24 hours lying in bed but as she lay in bed - we played these great hymns of the faith for her - all day long. I will never lose the image in my mind of my Mom - lying in her bed - eyes closed - lips moving - foot tapping. Even to the end - my Mom - clung to the truths of these hymns that she had learned as a child and sang all her life. Hymns that she taught to her children as well. What a gift.

#5. God created man. God created woman.

Genesis 1 says: God created man in His own image - male and female He created them! Jesus reaffirmed these truths in Matthew 19.

I love my grandsons and my grand-daughters. I pray that they will cling to this truth in a world that may tell them something different. My desire is that each of them will know who they are in Jesus. I pray they won’t ever strive to be someone they are not created to be. I pray they will always be the boy or girl they are supposed to be. I pray each grandchild will know and understand these truths as they grow to be adults.

I say to them - “Don’t ever compare yourselves to others.” Be yourself.

This truth also - God created man for woman and woman for man. One day I look forward to attending the weddings of each of my grandchildren. One man/one woman/together for life.

#6. Randy - used to say - “Some may but you may not!!”

This concept is found in John 21:15 - 25. It records the conversation between Jesus and his disciple, Peter. At one point during the conversation Jesus asks Peter to follow Him - and Peter, seeing the disciple John nearby says - “what about him?” Jesus reminds Peter that this conversation is between the two of them and doesn’t involve John. “Some may but you may not!”

Some children may rebel and dishonour their parents but you may not.

Some children may desire to marry a person who doesn’t share their faith but you may not.

Some children may believe that heaven is a myth but not you.

Some may believe that it’s fine to take revenge but you may not.

Some children may think we evolved by chance but you may not.

Some may believe that the Bible doesn’t mean anything anymore but you may not.

Some may grumble but not you.

#7.Think about Heaven.

At the end of life, what really matters is not what we bought but what we built - not what we got but what we shared - not our competence but our character - not our success but our significance. Live a life that matters.

C.H.Spurgeon “We wept when we were born though all around us smiled! So shall we smile when we die while all around us will weep.”

John 1:1-3 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

There are some things about heaven that we just don’t know but one thing we do - it’s the promised location after we die for everyone who loves Jesus and believes in Him.

I have lived my life as best I can for Jesus and I know without a shadow of a doubt that when I close my eyes for the last time in this life, I will open my eyes in Heaven.

#8. Be that one!

That one who forgives when deep offence has been committed. That one who loves when no one else does. That one who offers kindness to those who are mean. That one who looks past the insult.

Instead - see the pain that motivated it.

Be that one who shines light upon those who sit in utter darkness.

Because the impact of being that one runs far and wide. It brings healing to the wounded - joy to the sad - and hope to those in despair.

Be that one.

Prayer of Saint Francis (1181-1226)

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred - let me sow love.

Where there is injury - pardon. Where there is doubt - faith.

Where there is despair - hope. Where there is darkness - light.

Where there is sadness - joy. O divine Master, grant that I - may not so much seek to be consoled as to console. To be understood as to understand. To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

It is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.”

#9. When you are grown up and leave home - call home regularly. Also call your grandparents.

#10. Remember that you are not walking solo!

You are part of a great big family.

At the present time - the Castle family - numbers 166 people - directly from my Dad and Mom. That’s a lot of people. At last count - 7 - of the 166 have gone Home to Glory. There are 20 TEACHERS, 15 BUSINESS OWNERS, 9 NURSES, 7 OFFICE ASSOCIATES, 11 BLUE COLLAR WORKERS, 8 PASTORS OR MINISTRY WORKERS, 6 STAY AT HOME MOMS, 1 LAWYER, 3 DOCTORS, 5 MEDICAL WORKERS, 2 POLICEMEN and a whack of STUDENTS in pre-school, elementary school - high school - and college/university.

My grandchildren are part of this great big family. They don’t ever need to think they have to face anything on their own. They can always reach out to their parents, their grandparents or aunts or uncles or cousins - should a need arise in their lives that overwhelms them. I trust they will never - ever forget that.

To my precious grandchildren - I can’t promise to be here for the rest of your life but I can promise to love you for the rest of mine.

THE GOD OF TIME

It’s Leap Year today! February 29th.

Leap Year was introduced to the world in ancient Rome around 45 BC but was only added to the Gregorian Calendar in 1582. It exists to keep the months in sync with annual events, including equinoxes and solstices.

There are some pretty crazy and interesting folk traditions that are associated with Leap Year. In Ireland and Britain women may propose marriage on February 29 and a 1288 law requires that fines be levied if a marriage proposal is refused - such a a pair of leather gloves, a single rose or a kiss. Don’t say no!

Here’s a good one - WOMEN MAY WEAR BRITCHES ON THIS DAY OR A SCARLET PETTICOAT! Good to know.

Since 1980, in France, a satirical newspaper titled “La Bougie du Sapeur” is published only on this day.

If you are born on February 29 you are called a “leapling” or a “leaper" with most birthdays being celebrated on March 1st instead. A leapling will have fewer birthday anniversaries than their age in years. Gilbert and Sullivan’s 1879 play - Pirates of Penzance, displays this fact clearly. Frederic (the pirate apprentice) discovers he is bound to serve the pirates until his 21st birthday but that is when he turns 88! Clever!

Without leap years, after a few hundred years, we would have summer in November.

While I find all these wonderful, ancient Leap Year traditions interesting and cute - this year - I’m more intrigued by the concept of the passing of time and the concept of getting an extra day this year. Perhaps it’s because I’ve just sailed around the sun one more year - perhaps it’s the aging process - perhaps it’s realizing that each passing year is a gift - or perhaps I just didn’t give it that much thought over the years. For three years in a row we get 365 days - but - every four years we get this extra day to laugh, cry, praise, holler, pray, eat, sleep, work, reflect, play, love, rest, dance and so much more.

When we were pastoring in Cambridge - we lived next door to a guy named Tom. Tom smoked like a chimney, started his diesel truck up at all hours of the day or night - talked a blue streak about growing up in the south - was a master at all things when it came to building or fixing and we loved him. He spent many hours sitting at our kitchen table or leaning over the fence having a chat. He built our front deck. He built our pool house. He put the sky light in our screened in porch. He fixed our dryer more times than not. He ate our table. He sipped coffee on that porch he built. Tom always said “measure twice - cut once!” Tom got lung cancer and asked Randy to do his funeral.

Randy chose a passage from the Old Testament for Tom. It’s very familiar - it’s often quoted - and there have been songs written using the words.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-7 - For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to break down and a time to build up; a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to cast away; a time to tear and a time to sew; a time to keep silence and a time to speak; a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace!

That passage of verses sums up what the wisest King who ever lived knew about life and time. King Solomon. He knew that our God is the God of time and space and life and death - the God of our comings and our goings - that God is sovereign and in control of our lives. Every blessing - every trial - every day and year - every leap year - everything is designed so we would have comfort and enjoyment in Him and in our lives. Even in the difficulties - even in the diseases - even in the divorces - even in the deaths - even in the struggles - our comfort is this - God is the One we can go to. “In the shadows of Your wing I will take refuge - until the storms of destruction pass by!”

On this Leap Day/Leap Year - I ask myself this question - “What am I going to do with this extra 24 hours?” Probably do what I do everyday! I’ll get up and make the coffee and share it with Harv. (Or if he’s up first - he’ll make it). Harv will read the local news and let me know what’s going on in Kincardine. We’ll pray for our grandkids at 8:15 as they head out the door to school. I’ll go to the gym for 9. I’ll message my sisters and check in to see how they are doing. I’ll answer messages from friends. It’s Thursday so there is no Pickle ball so I’ll go for a long walk to get my 10,000 steps in. I may wear britches or a scarlet petticoat. I’ll decide what we’re having for supper and get things ready. I’ll do some writing. Maybe I’ll read. I’ll work on the jigsaw puzzle we’ve had going since before Christmas. In the evening, we’ll watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy and then either the Leafs or Raptors. It’s not extraordinary and it won’t make the 6 o’clock news, but it’s our life and we do it well. It’s an extra day to be a blessing and encouragement to those in my tribe.

Here’s a Leap Year Prayer for us all today!

Dear God.

Thank You for today. Thank You for this extra day to live and love - to work and play - to laugh and cry - to share life with family and friends. Help us to remember that as this day is meant to realign the universe to keep time, I will remember to continue to realign my own life to You.

Thank You for Your guidance through my life - Your timing in my life - the seasons of blessings and the seasons of want - the waiting and the answers to those waits. You are always good.

Show me where I’ve hesitated to trust You. Show me when I barge into things too quickly. Open the eyes of my heart so I’ll know how to love my family and my friends better.

Thank You for all Your mercies, Your love and blessings in my life. Amen.

SOMETHING I'M EXTREMELY PROUD OF

The obvious answer to this question is my three sons. When Randy and I decided to marry - we had hoped to have five children some day. We married between our third and fourth year of seminary and upon graduation (1980) - we spent the summer directing a children’s camp near Midland Ontario. It was an absolutely super summer. We began our full-time ministry at First Baptist Church in Orillia in September of 1980. Randy was the co-pastor at the church - a fairly large church - with a booming ministry. We rented a cute little house from Christian friends and we were so happy. I didn’t work outside of our home - instead helped Randy in his ministry. We wanted to start our family and have our children when we were young - grow up with them - so to speak. It was so exciting to find out in the spring of 1981 that our first born was expected in late December or early January. Zac was born January 15, 1982. When Zac was 7 months old we found out we were expecting baby number two the next April. Ben was born April 6, 1983. Fast forward 8 months to Christmas time and the very familiar fatigue set in and baby #3 was due the next summer - Pete - August 20, 1984. My three sons! We had all three babies by C-section and our doctors advised us to call it quits as far as anymore children went.

Raising our three boys was our greatest joy and delight. We loved being parents and especially being the parents of our three young sons. How grateful we were (and are) that God gave us the gift of our boys. Each stage was busy and exciting. Randy and I always said to each other that we’d rather raise three great humans than have all the money or prestige or status in the world. That happened!

Before I write about the “thing” that I’m especially proud of - here are some of the other projects I’ve made and activities I’ve done over the years. They bring back pretty great memories.

My Mom taught me to knit when I was just a little girl. I’m so glad that I’ve already passed that tradition on to some of my own grandkids. When Randy and I were dating, I decided to knit him a sweater. During the summers while attending seminary, I lived in Cornwall and Randy lived in Burlington. My sister and brother-in-law - Brenda and Ken - owned property at Devil Lake - near Westport - and we spent many - most weekends there in the summer. My parents and I would drive up to the lake from Cornwall and Randy would drive from Burlington. I remember one weekend my Dad had worked nights on the Friday night and we were driving to the lake on Saturday morning. My Mom was driving - I was riding shotgun (and knitting - working on Randy’s sweater) and my Dad was sound asleep in the backseat. I ran into trouble with my knitting project and my Mom explained what I should do but I still couldn’t figure it out - so she pulled over and proceeded to rip out rows of stitches - and fix my knitting mistake. I can still see the place where we pulled off to the side of the road. My Dad woke up when the car stopped and couldn’t figure out why we would stop and fix a knitting thing! We had a good laugh over that. That brown sweater lives on. After Randy passed away - Zac took the sweater home and I love it when I see him wear it. It’s stretched and has balls all over it and it’s almost 50 years old now but each stitch was knit with love for the one who would wear it.

There was a time when I thought I’d sew my own clothes. My mom taught me to sew (as well as knit) and I also took home economics in grade 7 and 8. Remember Home Economics - such a fun, useful subject. I decided to sew a bathing suit! This was such a bad idea in so many ways. I got the pattern and the material and sewed away. It was blue. It was a two piece - the top was like a blouse and closed at the back. I finished the bathing suit in time to wear it to our youth group’s swimming party at the beach - to celebrate the end of the school year. I still remember going into the Lake with all my friends - and then realizing my blousy bathing suit top was stretching - stretching - stretching. When I came out of the water, the top was hanging down below my knees. I was mortified! I changed immediately and rarely sewed anything for a very long time.

And then there was the year our family decided to “make” our Christmas presents. I made pj’s for all the kids and grandkids and promptly - cut the material upside down. I couldn’t believe it. I cried and then I laughed. At least when everyone looked down when they put them on - the penguins and snowmen and reindeer were looking up at them.

Sewing was not my strong suit.

I’ve knitted baby sweaters and hats and blankets - of which I’m super proud. I’ve knitted sweaters for all of my sons - including the Icelandic sweater I knit for Pete last year - that one was an amazing project.

Sports - I’ve always loved playing and watching - having five older brothers certainly helped. I played most sports when I was a teenager in high school - volleyball - basketball - badminton - track (not flag football or hockey though -I wasn’t allowed!) I played a lot of volleyball and squash and tennis in my 30’s when we lived in Listowel. It was in my 40’s and 50’s that I got into some serious running. I trained with the Cambridge Harriers for a time and learned a lot. I also trained with my brother Bob for a bit as he had been running quite seriously at the time as well. He taught me that if I trained my body to run one kilometre at a certain time, I could train it to run 5 or 10 kms or more - each kilometre run at the same pace. I trained accordingly. I ran 10 half marathons in my 50’s - one each year. My best time for a half was just under two hours - 1 hour and 58 minutes and 30 seconds. I also had a personal best at the age of 52 in a 5 km - 22:38. I’m thankful that a few years ago I ran the Ottawa 2 km “marathon” with Luke and Ben. Three generations running the same race. We even made the CTV 6 o’clock news! I also swam/cycled/ran several triathlons - after Pete and Randy did the Guelph lake triathlon, I decided to start training. I participated in several triathlons over the years and often placed in the top five in my age group! Now I play pickle ball and you know how much I love the game. I try to play at least 3 times a week. I still go the gym 4 or 5 times a week and love it. I love training. The highlight for this year will be walking part of the Camino Trail in Spain - 125 kms in 5 days or so.

Now - the “thing” -

I think it was in either 2006 or 2007 that I decided I wanted to learn how to make a quilt. My Mom had quilted all her life and had made at least 50 quilts through the years. Quite an incredible feat. If I was going to learn, I would learn from the best. (By the way - cool fact - there is an article and pictures of my Mom and the quilts she made in the magazine - Our Canada - when she celebrated her 90th birthday!)

After my Dad died in February of 2007, my Mom came to stay with Randy and I over the winter of 2007/2008. That’s when my Mom and I would begin the quilt. I decided on a very simple patchwork quilt. I would cut out 4 1/2 inch squares and I would cut out hundreds of them. I used odds and sods of material that my Mom had - I don’t think I had to buy any material at all. When Mom asked me if I wanted to make a “table runner” - I told her I was thinking more along the lines of a quilt to fit our queen size bed. I cut squares and the pile grew and grew and grew. I cut out 529 squares.

Some people like to use their sewing machines to sew their quilts together but I wanted to do it the old fashioned way and sew it by hand. Mom showed me how to mark the squares for 4 and 1/4 inches so I would have a 1/4 inch seam. She showed me how to sew the seams together with even stitches. In the evenings while Randy and I watched the Leafs - I sewed. Mom went home in the spring and I was still sewing those squares together. Finally the squares were sewed together and then I had to iron each seam flat. Once the squares were sewed together in strips and pressed - I sewed the strips together and then pressed those seams.

By now - all three of my sons were married and it wasn’t too long before the 2011 babies were on the way. I set aside the quilt and started making baby blankets and “spit” rags and knitting baby sweaters and bonnets. The babies were born and it was time to resume the quilt.

The next step was to connect the quilt top with the batting (middle) and bottom piece of material. In the olden days, the quilt would be set up in someone’s living room and women would gather for quilting bees. That would have been so fun. I didn’t have that opportunity nor did I know any women who still quilted. I bought a round quilting frame - about 18 inches in diameter. I drew a heart on each of the plain squares and Mom showed me how to make the tiniest of stitches. On the coloured squares - I quilted inside the “ditches” and quilted an X across those squares. It was a long process to quilt all those 529 squares but eventually in 2012 0r 2013 - I put the last stitch in that quilt.

Now you can’t leave the quilt with all those unfinished edges. I needed help to learn how to bind the edges. There was a lady at our church - Carol J - who was a wonderful seamstress and she said she’d come out to our house in Everett and spend the day with me to teach me how to make the binding and finish the quilt. That was a special day. We chatted as we worked and finally after several hours - the quilt was finished. That very night, Randy and I slept under the quilt - and slept under it until he passed away. It’s especially meaningful that my friend, Carol, helped me put the binding on the quilt because she passed away suddenly, shortly after Randy went Home to Glory.

I’m proud of that quilt. I’m thankful that I learned from my Mom. Will I ever make another one! Not likely. It took me 6 years to make it, yet I’m thankful for the hundreds of nights that I quilted and Randy sat with me, watching the Leafs and the Jays and the Raptors. He was so proud of me.

When I was a child my parents reminded us quite frequently of this great Bible Verse - “Whatever you do - do it all to the glory of God.” This has to be one of my favorite Bible verses. It speaks to the all-encompassing nature of my relationship with God.

Whatever you do – whatever it might be – do it ALL to His glory. When you eat, do it to His glory. When you walk, when you speak, when you work, when you play… do it all to His glory. There is nothing in our lives that should not come under the umbrella of giving glory to our God.

When we truly step back to think about it, I think we can all be at least a little wowed. Everything to God’s glory? Even the mundane stuff? Every single nitty-gritty detail?

When I was raising our children - changing diapers - making meal after meal - loads and loads of washing - pushing the swings at the park - reading bedtime stories night after night - cheering them on at their activities - supervising homework - I did my best to do these things to Glory of God. (Not always did I have the best attitude - but I tried).

When I was sewing and knitting, it was to the Glory of God, trying not to fret and worry when countless stitches had to be ripped out and projects started over. Even in the mistakes, showing God’s Glory.

In my driving and someone cuts me off - show God’s Glory. (I still struggle).

In the sports I’ve played and continue to play - show God’s Glory.

I read this quote a few weeks ago and it sums up today’s thoughts!

“You can’t skip chapters - that’s not how life works. You have to read every line, meet every character. You won’t enjoy every line - nor meet every character. You won’t enjoy all of it. Some chapters will make you cry for weeks. You will read things you don’t want to read - but you will have moments when who don’t want the pages to end. Keep going. Stories keep the world revolving. Keep creating. Continue to bless others. Live fully. Don’t miss out!”

LOVE THE UNLOVELY

When we were on the lovely island of Barbados for three weeks in January/February - most mornings I hit the beach early (around 8:15) for my morning walk and my morning prayer time. I pray for our grandkids each morning at 8:15 as they are heading out the door to school. I pray for my kids going to their jobs. I pray for my brothers and sisters. I pray for things my friends have asked me to pray for.

I started the practice of starting the day with prayer when my boys were in elementary school because of a story I heard. Apparently a young American soldier was sent off to war during WW2 and his momma told him that she would pray especially for him at 4 pm each day. He knew whatever time zone he was in - at 4 pm - she was praying specifically for him. One day his commanding officer asked him to do to a hard job. It would take courage. It would take strength. It would take nerve and resolve. He said he would but it had to be at 4 pm because that’s when he knew his momma would be on her knees praying for him. I thought how cool it was that this young man counted on his momma’s prayers. I wanted to be like that momma. 8:15 am is my specific time.

That morning as I was walking the beautiful beach - at 8:15 - I was indeed praying. I was listening to the sounds around me. Birds. A boat going by. Two people swimming in the sea. I was mesmerized by the movement of the waves on the ocean. I took the opportunity to gaze up at the sky and was super surprised to see a cloud that spelled out the word LOVE. I’m not kidding you. And I wondered out loud to my self - love who? The answer to my heart came quickly - “Love the Unlovely! Love those who are hard to love!”

This is not easy. It’s way more fun to love those who are nice to you - treat you kindly - speak words of affirmation - hug tightly - share life together. Who wants to hang around people who are negative - grumpy - grouchy - disagreeable - argumentative - and just plain mean.

A few years ago - I facilitated a Bible study on the book of Matthew - the first book in the New Testament. Part of this book includes what has been traditionally called THE BEATITUDES. I wrote this in the introduction to the study - “Welcome to the upside down kingdom where those who are the greatest are the ones who lower themselves to serve. A kingdom where the poor and the oppressed are the most important. A kingdom where weakness is strength - where our dependence on God is power. A kingdom where all of us - the righteous and the cheats and the liars and the religious - are all equally dependent on God’s grace. Those who thrive in the Kingdom of God are not those with unlimited power or determination, or impressive CV’s or resources - instead, they are those who experience loss and hardship and humiliation and still respond with grace and humility and forgiveness”.

Loving the unlovely is counter culture. Our culture teaches us - “me-first” and “retaliate”. We don’t want to be peacemakers - we want to continue in the squabble unless we get our own way! We don’t want to hunger and thirst for righteousness - we want to continue lusting after things that satisfy imperfectly and momentarily.

What does it mean to live in this upside down Kingdom of God? How do we go about loving those who are hard to love? How do we respond to those who hurt you with their harsh words? Matthew 5:43-47 says “You’re familiar with the old written law - love your friends - and its companion - hate those who hurt you - I’m (Jesus) challenging that! I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best of you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with energies of prayer. If all you do is love the loveable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that! If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Anybody can do that!!! In a word - grow up! You are kingdom subjects so live up to your God-centered identity. Live generously and graciously toward others - just as God does to you.”

A very long time ago when I was a young pastor’s wife, someone at our church thought it was their responsibility to tell me what was wrong with me. They were critical and unkind. They would blatantly suggest to me that my dress was either too long or too short - that my piano playing was either too loud or too soft - that I was too this or too that! It wasn’t easy being around him. Randy and I went to them privately to chat about their comments - used it as an opportunity to offer grace. It was often awkward when we spoke with each other at church but years later - we met up at an event and this person apologized and asked my forgiveness for the way they had treated me all those years ago.

We offer generosity and grace in a world that doesn’t. We love others in order to confound the world with God’s incredible love. Christian love is an act of the will. God never asks us to do something He has not already done. In the upside down Kingdom, self interest does not rule. It isn’t about being fair (my mom always said things in this world are not fair anyway) - it’s about being different from what our culture teaches.

There was a time when Randy was fired from one of the churches we were leading. It came out of nowhere - at least it seemed that way. We hadn’t done anything wrong, committed any crimes, been immoral. The leadership wanted to go with someone younger! (This is the very short version of what unfolded). We took a sabbatical year to regain our verve. I wanted to move on to a ministry outside of the local church but Randy’s commitment was to preach and pastor. It was his calling. He told me “I want to preach and pastor until the day I die!” He did just that. At his funeral - most of the leadership (from the church that had fired us) - were there. God gave great grace to me. I could look each one of them in the eye and thank them for coming. No grudges. No retaliation.

Loving those who are hard to love is like trying to plant a garden in a patch of hard, course soil. And yet we are called to love these miserable, unhappy and unkind people.

Lest you think I’ve only been wronged - think again. I’ve done my fair share of being that unkind, critical, smug, disagreeable, nasty, mean woman. It’s been the charitable forgiveness I’ve received from those who I was insensitive and uncaring to - they graciously showed me the importance of moving on - to forgive and forget - instead of retaliating and holding grudges.

How much more pleasant it is to enjoy and find joy in each other.

Here’s something I learned a long time ago - “But to you who are listening - love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” (God)

More great advice - “Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse….do not repay evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. It it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends.” (God)

Can I be super practical?

TREAT OTHERS THE WAY YOU WANT TO BE TREATED. PRACTICE PATIENCE.

GIVE EXTRAVAGANTLY. LOVE UNEXPECTEDLY.

PURSUE UNITY AND PEACE. FIND COMMON GROUND.

FORGIVE. PRAY FOR HEALING FROM BROKENNESS AND BITTERNESS.

PUT YOURSELF IN THEIR SHOES.

Tim Keller said - “If you do not give up, but continue to love the unlovely in a sustained way, they will eventually become lovely to you.”

WEDDINGS - I'VE HAD TWO

Weddings. I’ve had two.

My mom used to say - “a wedding lasts for a day but a marriage lasts for a lifetime!” Truth.

My first wedding - to Randy - was on Saturday, June 2, 1979. We got engaged on November 7, 1978. We started dating in 1976.

Before I tell you about our wedding day, I must tell you about our engagement. The weekend before our engagement, Randy was playing hockey north of Toronto in the little town of Keswick, Ontario. We spent each weekend there - staying with the pastor and his family - doing what the seminary called - “Christian service.” We spent the weekend leading kids and youth groups, bus ministry, teaching Sunday School etc. and for Randy- playing hockey on Friday nights. They played late and sometimes I went and sometimes I didn’t. That particular Friday night, I didn’t go. On Saturday morning, Mrs. J - the pastor’s wife, told me that Randy had had an accident at hockey the night before. Apparently he and another player went down at the same time and the other players’ skate ran across Randy’s chin, cheek and would have hit his eye except that Randy had a face protector on. He had about 10 or 12 stitches in his face. You can imagine how he felt - knowing that in 5 days he was going to take me out for supper and propose! He had already made reservations and borrowed a car. Five days later, though, we drove over to Burlington to the El Picador restaurant! Randy’s lip was swollen, his cheek and eye black and blue - he looked like he had gone 12 rounds in a boxing match!!!! But propose he did! He asked. I said yes! After dinner we drove over to his parent’s place and Mom J was so concerned about his face that she didn’t notice - for the longest time - me dangling my left hand 4th finger in front of her nose. Dad and Mom J were delighted - my parents already knew it was happening as Randy had called them to ask their permission.

We set the date seven months later - June 2, 1979.

I had 3 bridesmaids - my sister-in-law Carol, my roommate - Karen, and a good friend, Kathy and my matron of honour was my sister, Brenda. Randy chose three friends as well as my brother, Tim, to stand with him as his groomsmen.

Our wedding was set for 11 am. I remember driving to the church with my dad and thinking of all the brides I had seen over the years and now I was a bride. I was 21 years old. Excited. Nervous.

I walked down the aisle to “Praise My Soul the King of Heaven”. I clung to my Dad’s arm. Dad’s smile was huge as he walked me down the aisle. (Perhaps he was thinking that finally the 9th of 9 children was getting married and he and mom would finally be empty nesters). I looked ahead to the man standing at the front of the church - more than ready to commit my life to being his wife and partner. I really can’t recall what the minister talked about - what the soloist sang - but it was a moving ceremony. We were committing our lives together for life and also for a life of ministry in the local church together. The hymn - Living For Jesus - was our theme.

After the wedding and reception the custom was for the bride to change into her “going away outfit”. My Mom and sister helped me change and I remember that I had a yellow dress to wear. It was super cute. Randy and I stood on the steps of the church and we were showered with confetti as we raced to his car. It was so fun.

We headed out for Belleville where Randy had booked a hotel for one night as he had to be back to work on Monday. As we were leaving Kingston I asked him to pull over to make sure my suitcase was in the trunk. (My brother Tim was supposed to put it in that morning). Randy got out - got back in - he said “it’s not there! Do you want me to go back to your parent’s house and get it?” Are you kidding me? There was no way I was going back and having all my family have a good laugh at our expense. We headed to the hotel - walked in as a newly married couple - with Randy’s backpack. That’s it. I was mortified. All my beautiful clothes for the weekend were in Kingston and I was in Belleville. I didn’t laugh that night but we had lots of laughs about it later on!

I used to put my wedding dress on every anniversary. Even after 35 years I could still fit in my dress. I gave it away to a friend’s daughter’s and it was worn again.

I never expected to have a second wedding. I never expected that I would have two husbands. I did expect to grow old with Randy. God had other plans for me.

After Randy died - I grieved. Hard. Tears and more tears. I was 56 years old. Young. Not old. My parents were married for almost 69 years and we had just passed our 35th wedding anniversary. The year following Randy’s passing was a year of trusting my heavenly Father that His ways were perfect - a year of faith stretching - a year of learning to live alone - a year of learning to grandparent alone - a year of finding joy every day in the ordinary and extraordinary.

After that first year past, I knew that God had something for me to do. I didn’t know what but I knew it was time to begin searching for it - being more active in the looking. I applied for a couple of ministry positions that didn’t come to anything. I pursued buying a B&B in Westport but after seeing the property with family and friends, discussing the financing with Zac (who told me that financially it wasn’t a sound investment) and the possibility with my Mom - (who told me that even though she knew I could do it, she didn’t want me to be alone in a 7 bedroom inn and that God must have something else for me). Wait. On. The. Lord.

Waiting - not exactly my strong suit - but I’ve waited for a lot of things in my life and this was just one more opportunity to trust my God.

I didn’t know any single men. I didn’t go looking. I didn’t sign up on a dating site. I didn’t do anything but a few of my friends and family were praying I would meet someone. They didn’t want me to be alone.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a man in Kincardine, whose wife had passed away a couple of years before Randy. He was alone. I was alone. We had mutual friends who thought it would be nice if we met. My neighbour in Everett, K, was the daughter of P and G, who lived in Kincardine. P and G knew me from visiting K in Everett and they knew Harv from Kincardine (P and Harv played golf and hockey together). It was these wonderful folks who introduced us.

Harv and I began emailing each other in October and very quickly the letters started going back and forth - daily - and sometimes more often. We wrote to each other about our families - our faith - our spouses - the Blue Jays and the Leafs - living life alone. I asked Harv if he’d like to meet for coffee. (I wanted to know what he looked like). We agreed on the date November 1st. We met in Mount Forest for coffee. That coffee lasted for two hours. That coffee was the beginning.

After that first coffee date, we started having lunches together and moved on from emails to phone conversations. We hit it off so great. It surprised us both.

In December Harv asked me to marry him. It was an ordinary day - but it would be extraordinary - after a whirlwind courtship. We called my Mom and she gave us her blessing. I suppose the thing that was the hardest was not having my kids know Harv - and his kids - not know me. I’m thankful our children trusted us through that transition time.

Harv and I were married on Saturday, April 2, 2016 at Mrs. Mitchell’s - Mulmur, Ontario - the location of many of our early dates. All of our children and grandchildren and sisters and brothers were there. My Mom was too frail to travel to our wedding but my sister-in-law, Irene arranged with Mom’s Retirement Home to FaceTime with her during the wedding. What a blessing that was to me.

Harv and I shared our story of loss - and then finding love again. Our wedding verse was - Psalm 30:5 “Weeping may tarry for the night but joy comes in the morning.” It was exactly that. Both Harv and I were married a long time (34 and 35 years) - both of us had lost our spouses relatively fast (Rose was sick with cancer for 7 months and Dad’s passing in just one week) - both of us were not looking to marry again - but then, experiencing such joy in having a second opportunity. I sang a song from Les Mis - “Suddenly”. My son, Ben, married us - that was something. At my son’s weddings - Randy married them to their beautiful brides - the role was reversed!

The reception was fun - Harv’s best man - T - gave a funny speech about Harv. My matron of honour, Blaire, was gracious and loving in her comments to me and about me. The food was delicious. We left the next day for a honeymoon in Jamaica.

My second beautiful wedding dress hangs in my closet - perhaps one day - another bride will wear it.

When we get married, we say vows. We vow to love each other through sickness and health - through ups and downs - through thick and thin - ‘til death parts us. When the first wedding occurred - Adam and Eve - God said “it was very good.” God said “it’s not good for a man to be alone and that He would make a helper suitable”. What grace. What amazing love our heavenly Father has bestowed upon us - the gift of marriage.

SONGS EVOKE MEMORIES

Music! Songs! Melodies! I’ve always loved to sing. Just like the ABBA song - “I was a dancer before I could walk - MOM SAYS I BEGAN TO SING LONG BEFORE I COULD TALK!” I started taking piano lessons when I was seven years old and it feels like I’ve always played. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t play. God gifted me with a natural singing voice. I started singing solos at school (I once played the part of Mrs. Santa and the next year played the part of Mary) and at church (I always sang in the junior choir and then the senior choir). Even before worship teams were a thing - in the 70’s, a few of us led the singing at the services - in our jean overalls!

My Mom said that when I grew up and went away to college - music left our home! That was a nice compliment.

Songs always evoke memories in me.

Favourite memories involving songs………

I must begin with a song from the musical The Sound of Music (which is my most favourite movie of all time) - MY FAVOURITE THINGS!

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Brown paper packages tied up with strings - These are a few of my favourite things.

(Are you singing it with me?)

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles.

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings - These are a few of my favourite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes.

Silver white winters that melt into springs - These are a few of my favourite things.

WHEN THE DOG BITES, WHEN THE BEE STINGS - WHEN I’M FEELING SAD!

I SIMPLY REMEMBER MY FAVOURITE THINGS -

AND THEN I DON’T FEEL - SO BAD!

When I was 6 or 7, my big brother, Bob - married Lynn - in Fort Erie. Phil and Tim and I drove from Cornwall to Fort Erie with my oldest sister, Marilyn and her husband Bill. My Mom and Dad couldn’t come to the wedding because my Dad had had serious surgery just weeks before and hadn’t fully recovered. It was a pretty big deal to drive so far away. The furthest I had ever travelled was Cornwall to Montreal or Cornwall to New York state camping. On the way home from the wedding (it was the May long weekend and hot) we had all the windows down in the car and a great big bee flew in and stung me. Perhaps because I was homesick for my Mom and Dad and because it really hurt, I couldn’t stop crying. So of course, my big brothers, Phil and Tim, started singing - “when the dog bites - when the bee stings!” I want to believe they were really trying to cheer me up. In reality - I think they were teasing me. Quite frankly though, it’s a song that comes to mind quite often. I channel my inner Julie Andrews and sing it loud and proud and I always always feel better.

Christmas Eve services have been special to me ever since I was a child. I love the Christmas carols so much. I love the magic of Christmas Eve. The story of Silent Night has always intrigued me. It was Christmas Eve, 1818, when the now-famous carol was first performed as Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. Joseph Mohr, the young priest who wrote the lyrics, played the guitar and sang along with Franz Xaver Gruber, the choir director who had written the melody. The legend says that a mouse chewed through the organ so it wouldn’t work and that’s why they had to use the guitar!!! We always closed the Christmas Eve service with the singing of Silent Night, Holy Night - holding candles in a darkened church. It was magical, although, one year it wasn’t too magical when someone from the balcony dropped wax on someone’s suit down below nor the year someone let out a large and loud fart to break the magic of the moment was broken. My boys and many others couldn’t stop laughing.

But I’m thinking of another time - another carol - during another Christmas Eve service . We were living in Listowel and Randy was at the front leading the readings and carols - I was sitting with our three boys and probably Gramma and Grampa Jolliffe were there. My in-laws spent most Christmases with us as our boys were their only grandchildren.To being the service we sang - JOY TO THE WORLD - and I was belting out the words at full volume. I noticed Zac had his hands over his ears. I leaned over to him and asked him what was wrong? He said - “you’re singing too loud!” Every Christmas as we sing that carol I remember that night. That memory always brings a smile to my face.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King;

Let every heart prepare Him room. And heav’n and nature sing.

Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns! Let men their songs employ;

While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains -Repeat the sounding joy,

He rules the world with truth and grace, And makes the nations prove

The glories of His righteousness And wonders of His love,

The song - Never Once - was particularly meaningful to me during a stretching, growing, painful time in our lives but it applies to many more times than the events of 2010. Even now when this song comes across my playlist or on Christian radio - I’m reminded of God’s faithfulness to me and to my family. Sometimes the memories squeak out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

NEVER ONCE

Standing on this mountaintop - Looking just how far we’ve come

Knowing that for every step - You were with us

Kneeling on this battle ground - Seeing just how much You’ve done

Knowing every victory - Was Your power in us

Scars and struggles on the way - But with joy our hearts can say

NEVER ONCE DID WE EVER WALK ALONE

NEVER ONCE DID YOU LEAVE US ON OUR OWN

YOU ARE FAITHFUL, GOD, YOU ARE FAITHFUL.

Scars and struggles on the way - But with joy our hearts can say

Never once did we ever walk alone - Carried by Your constant grace

Held within Your perfect peace - Never once, no, we never walk alone

Every step we are breathing in Your grace - Evermore we’ll be breathing out Your praise

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

Your are, You are faithful, God, You are faithful

All my life - since the time that I can remember - I have known that God is with me. In my comings and my goings. In my ups and downs. In my highs and my lows. I’m ever so grateful.

In 1974 - on my 16th birthday - January 26 - I found out my mom had cancer. Being the youngest, I was the only one at home - the older siblings were all married or away at college. I can still see Dad on the phone - standing in the hallway - hearing the diagnosis - and then calling me out of my bedroom - to tell me what was going on. Back in those days - I couldn’t imagine my mom surviving the diagnosis and I thought she was going to die. She lived for 46 more years. We didn’t walk alone through those uncertain days.

In 1984 - August 20th - the day Pete was born - the anesthesiologist was preparing me for my epidural before my C-section - and he put the needle in the wrong place and then promptly left the Operating Room. I was left alone and felt the anesthetic go from my belly to my toes and then up to my neck. I was in trouble and I knew it. I wasn’t breathing. I prayed instantly. I prayed constantly as my life flashed before my eyes. I was paralyzed from my neck to my toes. My baby and I would die unless help arrived pronto. God sent help - in the form of Dr. C - who came into the room and immediately I was put on a respirator. I woke up hours later in the Recovery Room and thought I was in heaven. The lights were so bright. Nope - Pete and I were both fine and healthy. Once again we didn’t walk alone. I was held within God’s perfect peace. Every moment I was breathing out His grace.

In 1994 - July - we received a phone - late at night from my brother Ted that our brother Tim had drowned in a canoeing accident up near McKenzie Island. Shock. Pain. Unbelief. Tim was just 39. I remember getting out of bed and my legs were like jelly. The first thing we did was to kneel by our beds and pray for Lorraine and Scott and Jillian. I made the long journey north with family members for Tim’s heartbreaking funeral. Our family didn’t walk alone through that painful time. We weren’t left on our own. God was faithful. God is always faithful.

2009 - Dismissal from pastoring our church. Pain. Loss. Loneliness. We didn’t walk alone. We were held within God’s perfect peace.

2014 - July 4 - Randy’s passing to Glory. More shock. More pain. More grasping what it means to be carried in Christ’s constant grace. We sang this song at Randy’s funeral. Every step we were breathing in God’s grace and peace. He was and is faithful.

Always - when we look back - we see it. We see God’s grace and mercy. There is always opportunity to pour out our praise.

These events and more point me to a faithful Saviour. Never once, did I ever walk alone.

I’ll finish with Randy’s favourite hymn - MY JESUS - I LOVE THEE. When we sing this song at church, memories squeak out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I sing it as his testimony. I sing it because even way back when we were in seminary, Randy quoted this hymn at the Baccalaureate Service as he shared his testimony. It’s wonderful and the words are special. He always sang it with gusto and joy.

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine; For Thee all the follies of sin I resign;

My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou hast first loved me, And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;

I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death, And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;

And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow, If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight, I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;

I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Music is a gift. I never take it for granted. Even this morning as I was heading out for my beach walk - I said good morning to John, the gardener, at the apartment we’ve rented in Barbados. Last week he showed me a video of himself singing karaoke and this morning he asked me if I sang. I started singing “Oh, what a beautiful morning” from the musical Oklahoma. John joined in and we sang it together. It was a moment in time and you know - the next time I hear that song - even twenty years from now, I’ll think of this moment - this morning - when John and and I sang it together.

WHO WERE MY GRANDPARENTS?

I was born MARTHA ELLEN CASTLE. That’s me but where did I come from?

I had to call my sister, Marilyn, to find out details on our grandparents. I grew up knowing only one out of four of them. You’ll find out why.

Grandmother - Winnifred Hollister (1898 - 1922)

Grandfather - Pliny John Fetterly (1897 - 1970)

Grandmother - Margaret Ellen Pattendon (1891 - 1977)

Grandfather - Stanley Charles Castle (1889 - 1964)

I’ll begin with my mom’s side of the family. As I’ve stated before, my mom’s mom died when she was but two years old. My aunt was eight months old. My grandfather was shell shocked. He had returned from the first world war in 1918. He married my grandmother in 1919. Their first child was born in 1920. Their second child was born in 1921. His wife would die from complications from a miscarriage in 1922.

I don’t know much about Winnifred but I do know more about her parents, because they were the ones who raised my Mom. Harry Lindsay Hollister (May 23, 1875 - January 3, 1941) worked at the paper mill. My Mom fondly recalls that on Saturday afternoons - when she was a child - Harry would walk downtown with a girl on each side - and they would enjoy a treat at Woolworths. Mom remembers putting her hand in her grandfather’s hand - and feeling warm and secure and loved. Harry died of TB.

Lula Maude Wilbur (August 27, 1876 - July 1954) was my mother’s grandmother. Lula and Harry had three children - Winnifred (my grandmother), Frank and Emma. Winnifred - as you have learned - died in 1922 and Frank died in 1924 from TB. Only Emma lived into her later adult years. How heartbreaking for my great grandmother.

Lula’s father and mother - Frank Wilbur and Eva Washburn - built the homestead at 13 Elm Street in 1880. Elm Street would house several generations over the years. It had 7 bedrooms, a huge kitchen, a dining room, “parlour” and den and 2 apartments on the back of the house. Lula lived at 13 Elm all her life. It is from the Wilbur/Hollister side of the family where our Christian heritage comes from. Some members of the family were the charter members of First Baptist church - Cornwall.

An interesting side note about 13 Elm. The spool bed. This beautiful bed was also built by Frank Wilbur. It had spools in each corner of the bed and they were four or five feet high. It was a three quarter size bed and many generations of the family slept in that bed. I inherited it when I was about seven years old. By then, the spools were chopped down to only 6 - 8 inches high. I could only imagine the grandeur of the bed with 5 foot spools. Such intricate carving. When I was a young girl I would twist those spools and loved the squeaky noises they made. My grand daughter, Tali, has the bed now. She is the 6th generation to sleep in that bed. Amazing.

Still on my mother’s side - this is a fascinating fact that I learned from my sister. We can date our family history back to the early to mid 1700’s. Mom always said she was part of the United Empire Loyalists and she was right. This is what I found out.

William Morgan (1752-1836) was the husband of Anne Wadsworth Morgan (1755 - 1824). Anne’s father was Lord John Wadsworth (1730 -1776). (I always knew I came from royalty!) Back to William! William was high up in the 5th Royal Irish Dragoons of the British Army and he volunteered to come to America to fight the war of 1776/77. Anne and their firstborn, a son, accompanied him, first to Canada, and then he would go to America to lead his men in the fight for the United Empire. William was injured and taken prisoner before he was returned to Quebec in 1784. The British government gave them land to settle in along the St. Lawrence, first - near Sorrel, Quebec and later near Osnabrook. In 1816 he was awarded membership into the United Empire Loyalists - for himself and his descendants - that includes me. History also tells us that he was the Justice of the Peace in Osnabrook, Ontario. William and Anne were the parents of at least 8 sons and 2 daughters. Perhaps that’s where Gramma Alice got the gene to have a large family herself! Anne died on September 9, 1824, in Osnabrook, and was buried at Upper Canada Village. So there you go. Next time I go to Upper Canada Village, I intend to look up her grave.

More about Pliny. Pliny John Fetterly was born in Chesterville, Ontario and was the son of Adam C Fetterly (a teacher) and Mary Ann Casselman. Grandpa Pliny was a veteran of the first world war, regimental no. 410946, a private of the 59th Battalion. He landed in France on August 13, 1916 and he was wounded on or about September 2, 1918. After Winnifred died in 1922, Pliny signed his two girls over to their maternal grandparents and left Cornwall. He went on to marry a woman named Gladys and have a second family with her. I only remember meeting him once before he died in 1970.

Stanley Charles Castle (October 13, 1889 - April 7, 1964). Grandpa Castle was born in a very poor part of London, England - Claphan Junction. He came to Canada in 1908 and his first job was a chef on the railroad. Some say he was the black sheep of his family. It would take a certain woman (Margaret Ellen Pattendon) to settle him down. Grandpa became quite a renowned chef through his life and even cooked for Queen Elizabeth at the opening of the Seaway in 1958, the year I was born. I wonder if there was a food tester. They had their own restaurant in Cornwall and it was on Second Street - Castle’s Family Restaurant. I was only six when Grandpa died. My only memories of him are that he was a small, quiet man. I don’t ever remember having any conversations with him - playing any games with him - nothing. That makes me sad!

About Margaret. Grandma Castle is the only one of the four I ever really knew. I loved her. She was loud. She was boisterous. She was outgoing. She played the piano and organ with gusto. She sang with a great vibrato - loud. She still had her English accent. Gramma was born at 62 Thrush Street in London England on December 6, 1891. I don’t know when her family came to Canada. I don’t know how and when she met Grandpa but they went on to have five sons and two daughters. Because I was a singer and a piano player, Gramma and I had a lot in common and we spent a lot of time, singing and playing together. She sang hymns and British songs and I loved it. When I was around ten years old, I was at her apartment and her wall clocked chimed out the hour. She looked at me very seriously and said - “we’re one hour closer to eternity!” Gramma was concerned about spiritual things. When I was in Junior high school (grade 7 and 8) - I often went and had lunch with her - about once every two weeks. I remember talking about her favourite scripture passages and her favourite hymns. When I was 13, Gramma had a stroke and spent the last 6 years of her life being cared for in a Senior’s Home. I visited her often. I was home from college in the summer of 1977 and was sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast with my Dad when he got the call that she had passed away. It was July 12, 1977 - Gramma was 86 years old. I loved her. I felt close to her. My middle name is Ellen - the same as hers. I knew she loved me. I was 19.

Perhaps the reason I love being a grandmother so much, the reason I love spending time with my grandchildren, the reason I love sending parcels in the mail, having them come for overnight visits, taking them on special outings, is because that wasn’t ever my experience. Someday, when I’m gone I hope and pray, my grandchildren, when asked this question - describe your Grammie - they’ll know exactly what to say.

WHO INSPIRES ME?

For 66 years one woman has been my inspiration. She was strong. She was a hard worker. She loved fiercely. She was ambitious. She was creative. She could create something out of nothing. She was a healer. She was a reader. She was a doer. She was not perfect. She sometimes had a sharp tongue. She was my mother.

I have had others throughout my life who I have admired. CORRIE TEN BOOM is one. Cornelia “Corrie” ten Boom was a Dutch watchmaker who, along with her family, harbored hundreds of Jews amid the Nazi Holocaust to protect them from arrest during World War II. It’s believed their efforts saved nearly 800 lives. Eventually betrayed by a fellow Dutch citizen, the entire family was imprisoned. However, Corrie survived and told her story in an autobiographical 1971 memoir The Hiding Place. Having grown up in a Christian family, ten Boom also started a worldwide ministry and traveled around the world as a public speaker. She died in April 1983 on her 91st birthday. I read the Hiding Place when I was in college and remember being amazed and humbled by her faith and strength. She tells the story of being imprisoned in a nazi prison camp, along with her sister and other women. Many women were raped and beaten by the guards but none in their bunk house were. Why? Corrie prayed for protection over these women and the answer to her prayer was evident! The women became infested with fleas and lice. None of the guards wanted to “catch” these bugs so left the bunkhouse of women alone. I only wonder if I could have been so brave? I consider whether my prayers would have been so bold? When we visited the Netherlands a few years ago I had hoped to visit her childhood home but it didn’t work out.

I am also inspired by the life of ERIC LIDDELL. The son of Scottish missionaries, Eric was born in China. His family returned to Scotland when he was five years old. Eric was a gifted athlete and he excelled at rugby as well as running. He gained national recognition by winning the 100- and 200-metre runs at the Amateur Athletic Association championships in 1923. At the 1924 Olympics, Liddell, a devout Christian, dropped out of the 100-metre run—his strongest event—because the final was scheduled for a Sunday. Instead, he trained for the 200- and 400-metre runs. At the Games, he finished third in the 200-metre run and turned in a remarkable performance to win the 400 metres. A year after the Olympic Games, Liddell returned to China to do missionary work with his father. He died of a brain tumour while interred in a Japanese camp during World War II, five months before it was liberated. I have long admired his convictions to keep the Sabbath a holy day. I have long admired his commitment to training and honing the craft of running - fast. When we visited Scotland a few years ago - I ran on the same beach Eric ran on - almost 100 years before me.

Now, back to my very best inspiration.

My Mom (Alice Lula Fetterly) was born on July 10, 1920. Her father came back from the first world war in 1918 and her parents were married the next year. After my mom’s birth in 1920, my aunt was born in 1921. My grandmother died the next year at the age of 24. My mom said she had the scrap of paper for many, many years, where her father signed over his children to their grandparents to be adopted. I’m often amazed and so thankful that my maternal grandparents stepped in to raise those two babies. My great grandparents gave up their years of “empty nesters” when my grandfather wasn’t able to care for his own children.

My parents went to the same church growing up - First Baptist church - Cornwall. My father took an interest in my mom when she was just 12 and he, 16. (I think he thought she was older because she was already in high school). When Mom was 14 and Dad, 18, he asked her to the movies. My mom said that even though she had seen the movie in the afternoon with a girlfriend, she begged her mother to go with Dad. From then on they had a date every Friday night.

Dad and Mom married on August 27, 1938. My parents were married for almost 69 years. That inspires me. Mom taught me that marriage was for keeps - through thick and thin. Mom told us to choose our spouse wisely - that it would be for a long time. She loved the mates of her children too. She loved Randy and was devastated for me when he passed away. Her pain was evident to me. Mom grieved for me and my boys and their families. Mom was so happy when I told her I had met someone and that we would be getting married. She gave us her blessing and told us that she could now die in peace. She told me that ever since Randy had passed away she had been praying for a new husband for me so I wouldn’t grow old alone.

Dad and Mom had 9 children in 18 years - 5 sons and 4 daughters. Mom cooked and baked and cleaned and sewed and washed and dried and folded and vacuumed and countless other household chores for all those years. I can’t imagine making meals for 11 people - day after day - year after year. Mom was creative and I’ve long admired her organized preparations and desired to be like her. I have so many of her recipes and some even in her handwriting.

Saturdays were her baking days and on those days - she would fill the cookie cans and bake bread for the week - to feed her large family. My own love for baking began when I was a little girl. Mom taught me to measure and mix and use the oven and from the time I was 8 or 9, I took over a lot of the Saturday morning baking. (Of course, many of my older brothers and sisters had already moved out of the house and were on their own.)

When Mom lived with Harv and I before she died - she would often ask “what day is today?” Whatever day of the week it was, she would recall her daily schedule as a young mom on Elm Street. On Monday Mom would say - “wash day”. Tuesday was “ironing day”. Wednesday was “dusting day”. Thursday was vacuuming and washing the floors. Friday was “shopping”. Saturday was “baking” and Sunday was “church day!” Many nights Mom would sew and mend long after us kids were in bed. “Grass didn’t grow under her feet”, she’d say.

I learned the fine art of caring for my family and home from my Mom.

My Mom was a nurturer to many in our community as well. For many years she drove people to their cancer treatments in Ottawa and Kingston. She volunteered for many groups at the church. For a very long time she led the “mission circle” group and kept in contact with missionaries from all over the world. Mom taught the kindergarten Sunday School class for as long as I can remember. She also sang in the church choir. She kept a beautiful perennial garden that was the talk of the neighbourhood!!!

Most of all - she loved Dad and us kids. We all knew it. It was her love for us that was the cement in our family.

Oscar Wilde said - “to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people just exist!”

Mom lived her 100 years to the fullest. Her name never made the top 100 most beautiful women in the world. She never won a gold medal at the Olympics. She was not known by any prime ministers or presidents. She never even went to college. She wasn’t a CEO of a major company. She was ordinary. She was extraordinary.

Mom is my inspiration and every day I long to be like her.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAVE IF YOUR HOUSE WAS ON FIRE?

Well, I must say this question has been on my mind all week and I’ve given it much thought and contemplation.

I remember when I was a little girl - probably 4 or 5 - that there was a fire in our neighbourhood - it was Christmas Eve. My parents told us the family escaped only wearing their pyjamas. All their possessions were burned. I remember my parents asking us kids to share our new toys with the family. I remember my mom going through my dresser drawer and closet, gathering clothes to give to the little girl who was about my age. I hope I was kind to share my new toys and gifts with that little girl. I hope I wasn’t grumpy and mean.

I also remember early in our ministry in Orillia when Randy was a young, inexperienced pastor and he was asked to officiate at the funeral of two little children. They died of smoke inhalation in a house fire. I remember looking at those two little coffins and two perfect little bodies - looking like they were asleep. There was not a mark on them. There were no signs of trauma. What do you say to parents who experience such devastation and loss. What words bring comfort? I don’t even remember what Randy said at their funerals. I wept silent tears for that family. I wept as I tucked my own little boys in their beds that night and for several nights after that.

As I think about this answer - my obvious thought - would be to make sure any living creatures under my roof - whether man or beast - get out safely. That’s it.

If it’s just me and I have two minutes (because the fire department says that’s all the time you have) - I wondered how long two minutes was. I sat with my timer and two minutes seemed to tick by very slowly just waiting for it to be done. It also seems a long time when holding a squat. It also seems long when you are waiting for a phone call. It doesn’t seem long if you are running through a burning house.

I thought I might grab my photo albums. But how do I grab 15 albums and carry them up the stairs? Which of those albums are the most important? It occurred to me that those photos are imprinted on my brain and in my heart. I can tell you exactly what each of my babies looked like the moment I laid my eyes on them. I feel their newborn fuzzy heads as if it was yesterday. I know their facial expressions - what brought joy to their wee hearts and what broke them. I see them on that first day of kindergarten - tentatively letting go of my hand and putting it in the hand of their teacher. I see them on the basketball court, the volleyball court, the football field, the rugby pitch, the tennis court. I see them leading their charges at summer camp. I see them leading worship at church. My heart carries the conversations about future wives. I recall each of their wedding days - standing tall and proud at the front - with their brothers as witnesses - and their dad as officiant - gazing with love at their brides - dressed in the finest of gowns! I know the moment I met each of my grandchildren - it’s all in my heart. It’s all in my mind. So - no - I wouldn’t grab the photo albums.

Would I grab my wallet? Not a chance.

Would I grab my phone? Not even that!

Here it is. If I had time - I would grab my Bible - I would try to get all 5 or 6 of the bibles I’ve used in my life. When I was a teenager, my sister gave me the “new, living translation”. I used that Bible all through my teen years. Tali has it now. When I was at Ontario Bible College - I used the New American Standard version. It has so many notes written on the edges. Quotes from my professors. My Bibles lasted about ten years before they fell apart and I would get a new one. Each decade of underlined verses - of promises written by the prophets of old - promises that I put into practice. Some of the pages with tear drop stains on them as I poured my heart out to the Father who loves me. Some pages with names written beside certain verses as I trusted God to answer prayers for loved ones. I love God’s Word. It’s been my guidance since I was 8 years old. I promised my Sunday School teacher that I would read a little bit each day of my life. I have missed a few days I know, but it’s a promise I’ve tried to keep.

What would you grab?

JOURNEY

This coming summer I’m anticipating walking part of the Camino de Santiago Trail (the Way of Saint James) in Spain with my sons. It will be an epic journey for me. I will carry on my back all my belongings that I will need for the time we are on the trail. I will sleep in an Albergue each night with my sons and strangers. I will walk twenty or twenty-five kms each day for close to a week. (The whole trail would be amazing to conquer but we only have a week or a little more). I will eat different food. I will meet people from all over the world, each walking the Camino, for their own reasons.

Mystery and legend surround the Camino. According to the pilgrimage’s official history, the body of James is buried in Santiago’s cathedral. His body was discovered buried in a field in Galicia by a shepherd in the 9th century and then ordered to be transported to Santiago by King Alfonso. Since that time millions have walked The Way.

It’s long been something I’ve wanted to do.

For too long I’ve noticed how people rush to get to their destinations rather than enjoying their journey. When children are young, they can’t wait to be teenagers. The cycle continues with the desire to get away from under the care and protection of parents and go to university. Then they can’t wait to finish university, get a job, find a spouse, have children, raise those kids and get to retirement so they travel and live a life of leisure. Meanwhile forty or fifty years pass by in a flash and they have missed life.

I think of the epic journey that my grandfather Castle took as a young man - crossing the Atlantic at the turn of the century - coming to a new country - probably penniless - getting a job eventually on the CN/CP railway and cooking for the train crew.

I think of Harvey’s parents coming to Canada in the early 50’s from the Netherlands, only a month or two after they were married - his mom leaving her family behind - travelling with her new husband - and settling on a farm east of Toronto - to work as kitchen and farm help.

Those were incredible and brave decisions.

Pete and Heather gave me a sweet gift for Christmas. It’s called Storyworth. Each week a question will arrive and I will answer it. At the end of the year, 52 individual stories will be written and a book will be the result. The first question has a lot to do with journeys - WHAT’S A SMALL DECISION YOU MADE THAT ENDED UP HAVING A HUGE IMPACT ON YOUR LIFE? Here is my answer.

The year was 1976! I was working at Zeller’s in the card department - sorting cards - putting them on the shelves - finding envelopes that had gone astray, helping someone choose just the right card for a certain person and a certain situation.

Before I tell you the small decision that changed my life - I must go back to Thanksgiving of 1975. Every Thanksgiving the youth in our church association would have a conference/retreat and we would meet for the weekend. I was on the planning committee in 1975 and the event would be at my home church, First Baptist Church, Cornwall, Ontario. As everyone registered for the event, host families would be given names of those who would bunk at their homes for the weekend. The weekend involved worship, Bible teaching, sports, food, games, basically, all the things high schoolers liked to do.

The worship leader and Bible teacher for the weekend was the youth pastor from the Brockville Baptist church. He was supposed to stay at our house - boys downstairs in the rec room and girls upstairs in the living room. At the last moment another girl in our youth group asked for the youth pastor to stay at her house. No problem.

I met the speaker on the Friday afternoon - under a basketball hoop. There are two different versions to the story. If you were to ask him he would have said - “I stole the ball and dribbled down the court and did an amazing dunk! The crowd went wild!” If you were to ask me, I would have said, “This guy grabbed the ball from me, dribbled down the court and missed an easy lay-up!”

The weekend was amazing! The youth pastor did an amazing job at leading the worship and speaking the Word. All too soon, it was over and everyone headed home.

Fast forward two months until Christmas. The youth Christmas banquet was planned for a Saturday night in December. It was the opportunity for all the girls to get dressed up - the boys to wear their suits - enjoy a wonderful meal - sing Christmas songs and carols and listen to speaker. You guessed it. The speaker was the youth pastor from the Brockville Baptist church.

Moving on to a Wednesday night in late January. I was at home doing homework, after playing volleyball after school, working for a few hours at Zellers and then home. Grampa and Gramma Castle came in the door from Prayer meeting at the church and the first words out of their mouths was “there was a nice young man at prayer meeting - it would have been nice if you had come too!” I’m sure you already know who it was! Exactly. The youth pastor from the Brockville Baptist church had moved to Cornwall and was boarding at one of the widows in our church.

Somehow that youth pastor managed to arrive at our house on Saturday nights, shortly before 7 pm - to watch the Leafs and eat snacks with my parents and myself. He did this for several weeks.

On a Tuesday night in late February, I was working at Zeller’s and this young man showed up - in the card department!! He asked me, (after humming and hawing a bit) to go out for dinner Friday night.

Here it is! The small decision that changed my life.

I said, “I’M WORKING FRIDAY BUT CAN GO ON THURSDAY!”

There you have it. It was our first date - Pete - your dad and I. We went to The Hayloft in Ottawa! It was a magical evening. Over the next several months we spent countless hours together - watching the Leafs - hanging out with Grampa and Gramma - playing board games - going out for coffee and meals.

On a sunny Saturday in June, Randy and I were visiting my Gramma at the nursing home where she was living. She asked me this question - “Is this your young man?” (Randy hadn’t asked me to “go steady” yet). So I said to him - “are you my young man”? He said he was and that’s when our relationship moved to the next level.

We dated for almost three years and were married June 2nd, 1979.

There have been countless journeys since those days in 1975/76, some epic, most ordinary. Through all those journeys - I have stayed close to my journey Handbook.

These are road maps I’ve used in my journey.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make straight your paths.”

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil….for You are with me, Your rod and staff, they comfort me.”

“Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

I’m walking the Camino this summer to commemorate my 65th birthday - the 40th birthdays of my three sons (Pete’s turning 40 in August) and to mark the tenth anniversary of Randy’s Homegoing. It will be epic. It will be meaningful. It will be a blessing to spend those hours with my adult sons. You can be sure I will enjoy every step of The Way.

HE HAD ME AT THE SNOW TIRES

Eight years ago I met Harv, my second husband, for the first time. face to face, in a coffee shop, halfway between our two homes. Eight years ago, we sat, drinking coffee, twirling our serviettes, nervously, then more easily, sharing the stories of our lives.

Both Harv and I were married when we were in our early twenties. Both of us were happily married for 35 years (me) and 34 years (Harv) - both of us lost our spouse suddenly - both of us entered into widowhood/widowerhood earlier than we ever imagined - both of us had children and grandchildren - both of us loved the Leafs and Blue Jays and Raptors - both of us liked to golf (Harv - way more than me at the time) - both of us loved good food (maybe me more than Harv - Harv kept Boston Pizza going while he was alone) - both of us on the same page spiritually - both of us not ever thinking that God would have a second spouse for us to enjoy the second half of life with.

Harv and I met each other through friends in Kincardine. Their daughter was my neighbour in Everett and in late September of that year - my friend came over to my house and announced that her parents had someone I should meet.

“I’m not getting married again!” (me)

“Just have coffee!” (her)

“Here is the email of a lady you should meet!” (friends to Harv)

“Not interested!” (Harv)

Regardless of us both thinking we were not interested, the emails began to go back and forth between Kincardine and Everett in early October. It was like the movie “You’ve Got Mail!” I would send an email and eagerly await the ding of my computer to alert me that Harv had answered. He would do the same. We wrote about the weather, children, grandchildren, our faith and the like. Later in the month I asked Harv if he’d like to meet for coffee.

And so it began. That coffee meeting stretched into two hours. Harv says it was the hug and quick kiss on the cheek that grabbed his attention. For me, it was Harv’s sweet nervousness but attentiveness to my words that initially caught my attention and as I said to my bestie when I phoned her “he’s pretty easy on the eyes!”

Unbeknownst to me - my mom (who was 95 at the time) had been praying that I would meet a man who would become my second husband. My parents were married for 69 years - mom’s heart for me was pained and grieved when Randy died so suddenly and I was left a widow. When I called her several weeks later to say Harv and I were getting married her joy was evident - “now I can die in peace - my baby girl will have a husband to care for and be cared for!” I also didn’t know that my bestie was praying the same prayer. We met weekly for chats and to share prayer requests for each other and she would often say “when you meet someone and get married again!” I would say - “I’m not getting married again!”

Harv and I spent most of November having late night conversations (9 pm - 2 am) - meeting for lunches and suppers - writing endless emails - very quickly we were falling in love.

In mid November I had been in Kitchener visiting my son and his family. I left early Saturday evening for the two hour drive home. The weather was fine when I left but as I drove north - the flurries began - and then a full blown snowstorm was upon me. I was driving my Honda Civic with no snow tires. Somehow I found myself leading a very long line of cars - going ever so slowly. I couldn’t see any of the lines on the road and it was ever so slippery. I was terrified. I played worship music to comfort me. I prayed. I phoned my bestie and she and her husband talked with me and prayed with me. At one point I pulled off the road into a parking lot and cried. After I calmed down, I pulled back on to the highway and proceeded to creep slowly home. About 10 kms further down the road, I came upon that long line of cars smashed into each other - cars everywhere - in the ditches and turned in the wrong direction. I was waved to keep going and eventually I got home.

Later that evening I phoned Harv to tell him of my treacherous journey home and the first words out his mouth were - “On Monday we’re getting snow tires on your car. I don’t want to worry that every time you are on the road, your car will be slip sliding all over the place.” HE HAD ME AT THE SNOW TIRES. Here was a man who cared deeply.

I would learn (and continue to learn) that Harv is a man who is faithful to me, our families and to God. Harv loves deeply and sometimes finds it difficult to express his feelings but when he hears a song that expresses what’s in his heart, he sends it to me. Harv is a provider. It’s in his nature to take care of me. Harv worked hard all his life to care for his family and meet their needs and that continues to this day. Harv is generous and helpful to those in need. Harv forgives easily and doesn’t hold grudges. I would learn that Harv is practical and I am more of a dreamer - these two characteristics sometimes clash and would take some time to jive but jive we did!!!!

We married 6 months after we met. Everything fell into place - my house sold and I moved to Kincardine. Our wedding verse was - Psalm 30:5 “Weeping may tarry for the night but joy comes in the morning.”

We spent the first year doing everything together. There is a Bible verse in the Old Testament book of Deuteronomy - verse 24:5 - that says - “when a man takes a new wife, he shall not go out (to fight) with the army nor be charged with any duty; he shall be free at home for one year and shall bring happiness to his wife whom he has taken.” That’s right! For one full year - we spent pretty much every waking hour together. It was an amazing year and we learned much about each other.

We don’t take it lightly that we were given a second chance at love and marriage. We’re grateful to God for bringing us together at just the right time. We’re grateful for our children and grandchildren. We’re grateful for our friends. We’re grateful for that special couple who saw something in both of us - way back eight years ago - who saw two people on their own - who, given the opportunity to meet, might just might, come together and become a couple. That’s exactly what happened.

GRIEF AND HOPE

Grief comes in many forms. It can present itself with the death of a loved one - with divorce - with disease - with a fractured friendship - with what might have been - with what ifs or should haves.

My first real experience of grief was the death of my beloved grandmother. I grew up with only one grandparent in my life - Grandma Castle - my dad’s mom. My grandfather - Grandpa Castle - passed away when I was a young child and I don’t remember him. My momma’s mother passed away when my mom was only two and her father remarried and moved away, so he wasn’t even present in my mom’s life - let alone - our lives. So Grandma Castle it was. We had one main thing in common - music. We spent a lot of time at the piano, playing and singing together. She loved the great hymns of our faith and we sang them together. She lived life large. I loved that about her. I spent many a lunch time at her apartment when I was in junior high school - she didn’t mince her words with guidance and advice! Grandma had a stroke when I was in grade 8 and moved to a nursing home to be cared for. I visited her regularly and would sing to her until her passing when I was 18.

Almost twenty years later, we would get a phone call very late in the evening - with the news that my brother Tim had passed away in a canoeing accident. He was just 39. I was 36. The news was shocking. My brain couldn’t fathom life without Tim. We had grown up together - a shared childhood of family love and joy.

My Dad passed away at the age of 91 and although his life was long and good - although his death was expected, it came suddenly. My parents had been married for almost 69 years and my mom felt his loss acutely.

A few more years would pass when grief would present itself once again, this time, closer than any previous loss. Randy, my husband of 35 years, collapsed with a heart attack, while out for a run and never regained consciousness, even though the wonderful doctors and nurses worked hard so hard. My sons and I would make the difficult decision to remove life support. I remember the moment Randy’s heart stopped - my legs became as weak as a newborn kitten’s. I remember thinking “these legs that can run 21.2 km can’t even walk across the room!” So much pain. So much heart break. So many tears.

I’ve watched dear friends and family walk through painful divorces. The end of a marriage is different than the death of a loved one but no less painful. Broken promises. Broken vows. Shattered children. Weddings that turned sour. Homes divided - cut in half. So much pain. So much anger. A tremendous amount of bitterness and regret.

I’ve also observed fractured relationships - not marriages - but friendships. Jealousy. Pride. Hurtful words spoken that couldn’t be taken back.

When Randy died suddenly in July of 2014, may daughter-in-law gave me a journal and on the front cover it read - I CAN BE CHANGED BY WHAT HAPPENS TO ME BUT I AM NOT REDUCED BY IT! In ways that I can’t fathom, that statement resonated with me. I would learn in ways that I had not ever experienced before that I could and I would not stay in perpetual grief. I would look to the future - I would Hope. Hope doesn’t mean you forget. Just the opposite.

HOPE - according to the dictionary - means - “a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen - (or) - feeling of trust”.

So we watch and wait. But watching and waiting isn’t passive. While we wait - we live. We live out our calling in our families and in our communities, with friends and in our churches. We repair and restore others. We rebuild and desire to be life givers. We say “I’m sorry” and “I love you”. We live sweeter and more noble. Hope does not rise from the backward glance that life used to good. It rises from looking forward.

Philip Yancy said - “Believe in advance what only makes sense in reverse!” Forever I am grateful that my parents took us to Sunday school, church, youth group etc - where I would learn the great truths of the Bible - where I would memorize Scripture and hymns and songs - where these truths and hymns would be held tight in my mind and heart - where they would remind my very sad heart to hope. I knew that holding tight to these truths took precedence over every other obligation, over every priority, over every commitment or personal need. I knew that if my mind continued to realize these truths I had learned thus far in my life, my heart eventually would feel them too. Had I trusted only my heart, I know the path forward would have been much more prolonged and difficult.

HOPE presents itself in so many hymns and songs and hymns. How fortunate we are to have music and lyrics to encourage us on the path to our futures.! A few of the hymns that spoke life to me…….Jesus is all the world to me - my life - my joy - my all. He is my strength from day to day - without Him I would fall……How oft in the conflict, when pressed by the foe, I have fled to my Refuge and breathed out my woe. How often, when trials like sea billows too, Have I hidden in Thee, O Thou Rock of my soul……In fellowship sweet, I will sit at His feet. Or I’ll walk by His side in the way. What He says I will do, where He sends I will go. Never fear, only trust and obey……Soldiers of Christ arise and put your armour on. Strong in the strength which God supplies through His eternal Son…….Crown Him the Son of God, before the worlds began. And you who tread where He has trod, crown Him the Son of Man. Who every grief has known that wrings the human breast, and takes and bears them for His own, that all in Him may rest. THE WORDS OF THESE GREAT HYMNS CAN AND WILL RESONATE HOPE - WE DON’T HAVE TO CARRY THE PAIN ALL BY OURSELVES.

Several weeks after I was a widow, Maggie (my golden retriever) and I took a road trip and visited family and friends in eastern Ontario. At every stop, tears were shed, the story of Randy’s collapse was told and retold, prayers were whispered, hugs were given, kindness shown, encouragement extended, food offered, HOPE extended by those who loved me and hope received! I wrote this prayer on August 29th - on this trip - just weeks after I was a widow-

“My Lord God. I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. But I believe, even in these days of pain and suffering, I desire to please You and lean into You and draw strength from my family and friends. I pray that I will never do anything apart from that desire. I trust that You are leading me even though I can’t see it clearly yet. I trust You always even though I walk in the shadow of death. I will not fear for You are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my sadness alone. You, Heavenly Father, are my hope and stay.”

I can’t speak personally from having gone through a divorce - but the other things have happened throughout my lifetime so far - illnesses - fractured relationships - what ifs - might haves…..in all those things - faith and trust must be prevalent and pride and anger put to death. When grief presses in - worship there for the season - embrace the difficulty but know that eventually that season of heaviness will pass.

C. S. Lewis in his great series - The Chronicles of Narnia - sums it up best. Various forms of grief will assault us while we live on this earth - but always, always, always cling to the Hope of Glory.

“But, first, remember, remember, remember the signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night. And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the signs. And secondly, I give you a warning. Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters.”

“Courage, dear heart.”

“You are my Refuge and my Shield - Your Word is my source of hope!” Psalm 119:14

TO BE KIND IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN BEING RIGHT

I didn’t coin that phrase but I wish I would have. F. SCOTT FITZGERALD said it this way - “TO BE KIND IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN BEING RIGHT. MANY TIMES, WHAT PEOPLE NEED IS NOT A BRILLIANT MIND THAT SPEAKS, BUT A SPECIAL HEART THAT LISTENS.”

The dictionary definition for kindness is “the quality of being friendly, generous and considerate”. Definitely easier when family and friends are nice to you - not so much when you’ve been slighted, picked on, demeaned, rejected or ignored.

A very long time ago - it seems a lifetime ago - I met the great preacher, Charles Swindoll, on a trip with Randy and the boys to California. Randy and I and our boys went to his church and after the service we made our way down to the front of the auditorium to shake hands with him. We introduced ourselves to him and at that point Pastor Swindoll took my face in his hands and said, “I’m looking for the scars that every pastor’s wives carry! Interesting comment for a young pastor’s wife to hear! At that time I didn’t have any scars - they would come later.

Indeed they did come. Years later we would receive a phone call from our church board to inform us we were fired! Fired from pastoring our church. We were to be let go! Not needed! Not a fit for the new reconfinement of the church. Pack up the office. Don’t talk to any church members. Don’t come to church on Sunday. Leave. You are not welcome here.

Needless to say we were in shock. We cried. We prayed. We clung to each other. It’s too long of a story to go into the details of the weeks that ensued so I’ll get to the best part.

After we tied up a few loose ends in our community we had the opportunity to move to the little village of Westport - in eastern Ontario - where we would live for one year. It was a year of recovery, of growing, of trusting, of waiting, of ministry, of faith and of joy. We moved to Westport in May and each Sunday throughout that spring, we would spend time with our siblings and my Mom. Each week I would eagerly await Sunday, long to hear the Word of God preached and sing the hymns and songs of praise. But each week as the service time drew near, the tears would start. My heart was so broken. We had lost so much. Our church. Our friends. Our ministry. Our home. Our reputation.

One Sunday we were in Kingston and my sweet young niece who was about 4 at the time said to me - “Auntie, I will ask Jesus to make your heart happy again”. God answered that little girl’s prayer one week later.

The next Sunday found us in Brockville at my brother’s church - The Pier. It was at the Pier where God healed my heart and gave me freedom from seeking revenge on those who had hurt us. My sister-in-law stood with me during the worship - holding my hand - while the tears continued to flow down my cheeks. During that time of singing, the pastor called any of us who needed to be prayed over to come to the front. I practically ran. There were many who prayed over us that day and I know that’s when my heart was freed from the bitterness and the gall and the angst and the desire for revenge against those who had hurt us.

Freedom!

There is a Proverb that says “Out of the heart, the mouth speaks.” What is in our heart eventually - all the time - comes out. When we cultivate love, joy, peace, patience, forgiveness etc. in our hearts - those characteristics will come out. Contrarily, if we cultivate hate, bitterness, pride, unforgiveness, etc. - that’s what we’ll blurt out. That means thinking before speaking - not rushing before ripping off a text - taking the time before grabbing the phone to give whoever a piece of your mind - that means forgiving before seeking revenge - that means thinking long term relationships rather than short term pride.

Here are some words that are synonyms for kindness!

Benevolence - Compassion - Courtesy - Gentleness - Grace - Helpfulness - Hospitality - Neighbourly - Sweetness - Sympathy - Tenderness - Thoughtfulness - Understanding - Unselfishness!

I recognize that Fitzgerald’s quote is counter cultural. Our culture is all about being right no matter what. It’s all about - whatever you do to me, I’m going to give it right back to you. It’s all about - if you cut me off in traffic, I’m going to lay on my horn and let you know exactly what I think of you. It’s all about appeasing ourselves - if we can hurt the ones who hurt us - well we’ll come out on top.

Another way to say counter-cultural is “upside down Kingdom” - a kingdom where those who are the greatest are the ones who lower themselves to serve. A kingdom where weakness is strength - where dependance on God is power - where all of us - the religious, the cheats, the liars and the righteous are equally dependent on God’s grace.

Jesus said that anger is like murder. Anger (malice that is nursed inwardly) makes people destroyers instead of builders. Anger robs us of our freedom and makes us prisoners.

Jesus said “don’t retaliate”. He told us to give to our offender by serving them - to shock others with generosity and grace. He told us to confound the world with God’s incredible and gracious love shown through you.

Jesus said to “love your enemies”. Christian love is an act of the will. Jesus never asks us to do something He has not done first. In His kingdom, self-interest does not rule. He isn’t so much concerned about being fair - (life isn’t fair) than for us to live up to our commitment of being different from our culture.

Kindness encompasses these teachings.

So what if you’re right but you’ve hurt anybody who was in your way!

Read that again.

People won’t remember that you were right - only that you were unkind.

Now - here’s the rest of the story - from the time we were fired! We moved to Westport - lived there for a year - we were called to a church in Alliston, who loved on us - Randy was pastor for four memorable years there. In 2014 - Randy collapsed while running and never recovered. He passed away 7 days after his heart attack.

That summer I wrote these words -

“God is not as much concerned about our plans as He is our hearts. He doesn’t ask - ‘do you want to go through the loss of a loved one, this difficulty or this defeat?’ No - He allows these things for His own purpose. The things we go through either make us sweeter, better and nobler men and women or they make us more critical and fault-finding and more insistent on our own way. The things that happen either make us hate more or love Christ more. I know God is working according to His own wisdom, accomplishing what is best for me. When I understand God’s purpose, I will not become small minded and cynical.”

Each day - sometimes many times during the day - I’m reminded that - indeed - it is better to be kind than to be right.

Right?

ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS!

LAKE HURON SUMMER.

Endless beach days! Sand castles! Laughter! Finding that special piece of beach glass! Body surfing! S’mores! Ice cream cones! Go-karting! Mini golf! Rainy day monopoly games! Croquet on the lawn! Hot tubbing when it’s dark! Hot tubbing when the lake is freezing! Hungry kids - all day long! Reading one more chapter before the lights are turned off! Late nights! Sleeping in! Camp fires! Snacks!

But suddenly it’s LABOUR DAY!

School begins tomorrow for most students - whether they are four or fourteen or forty. Some are heading to kindergarten - some to junior high school - some to high school and some to college.

New beginnings for parents and kids.

I remember when Pete (our last to leave the nest) was leaving for his first year at Queen’s university in Kingston. That Labour Day Saturday morning - the van was packed full - friends and family gathered to say their good byes - and Randy and Pete were almost ready to go (no room for Mom). Pete put his arms around me to hug good bye and he said “are you okay - Mom?” I quickly said - “yes” and then burst into tears and sobbed - “No! No, I’m not okay!”

Oh, how I loved the years of elementary and high school when our boys were home. How I missed them when they left.

This week - the empty halls of the schools my grandchildren will attend - will fill up - with boys and girls who are excited, joyful, fearful, timid, shy, hungry, full, talented, kind, mischievous, gentle, late, early, rule followers, rule breakers, patient, good, faithful and so much more.

Every September brings the opportunity to begin again - a redo - or the opportunity to start something completely new. As the grandkids begin this new season - here are my wishes and prayers for them.

#1. BE WISE AND DISCERNING

I love the book of Proverbs - written by King Solomon. He said things like - “Above all and before all, do this: get wisdom. write this at the top of your list. Throw your arms around wisdom - never let it go - wisdom will make your life glorious.

Don’t hang out with angry people - don’t keep company of hotheads - bad temper is contagious, don’t get infected.

Listen with respect to the father who is raising you. Make your mother proud by being quick to obey.

Don’t ever lie. Keep your word.

Fools are headstrong and do what they like. Wise people take advice.

But because my grandchildren are young - I realize their childishness will sometimes - maybe often - interfere with them being wise and discerning. So - each morning - my alarm buzzes at 8:15 and I am reminded to pray for them - by name - as they head out the door to walk to their schools. I pray on their behalf that during the day they will have understanding in class and on the playground. I pray that they will be kept from doing foolish things so they don’t have to suffer the consequences that await the fool. I pray they’ll be wise to discern what is clean and what is not, what is truth and what are lies, what is real and what is false. I pray they’ll determine the true character of the people around them.

Wisdom is more valuable than all the greatest treasure on earth, because it brings a long, pleasant, peaceful and happy life.

#2. CHOOSE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY

A long time ago I made “mother’s memories for my son” books for my boys and gave them to them when they turned 21. There was one page dedicated to the Dad to write his thoughts down! Randy’s words to Pete went like this - Petey - “the Rock”. We knew as soon as we saw you this was your name. What a name to live up to! You’ve always been such a happy, well adjusted, easy going guy. I’m pretty sure we didn’t need to raise you - you were so amazing. Remember the times we went to Mr. C’s in Listowel while your brothers were in School? We had coffee and donuts and you played PacMan. How much I have enjoyed watching your athletic career. Basketball, volleyball, rugby, football - you did it all. I still feel bad the time you broke your arm in football. I was very sure it wasn’t broken - but it was - oops - sorry about that. To this day you never complain or say a bad word about anyone. You are amazing! You’ve learned guitar and that’s a special joy to see. You will make the most amazing husband and dad one day. What a joy you are to Mom and I and how we thank God that we’re your mom and dad. We are truly blessed. “Be strong in the Lord. Eph 6:10. What an amazing thing to do - run a triathlon with me. Thanks. Love you always, Dad”

Do you not agree that every time Pete reads these words, he is affirmed and so desires to live up to his father’s pondering!

I remember the scene from the stage production “Anne of Green Gables” when Anne’s beloved Matthew dies. Anne was heartbroken. She knew how much Matthew cared for her. She knew from that first moment when Matthew picked her up from the train station, that even though, they had asked for a boy, and the orphanage sent a girl, she was loved by Matthew. It was Matthew who bought the dress with puffed sleeves. It was Matthew who helped Anne make her famous apology to Mrs. Lynde. Matthew and Anne said the important things to each other. Sadly, it was Marilla, who couldn't communicate her love for either Matthew or Anne. In the song “The Words” from the musical, Marilla sings her regrets that she never told Matthew how she felt about him. Her own brother. She had opportunities but never told him. Lost opportunities. Too late.

Your words have the power to build up or tear down. Use your words to speak grace and love.

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweet and delightful to the soul and healing to the body. Each and every day - the words we speak will either bring life or death. Even in hard conversations our words can be spoken kindly. Choose to speak life.

#3 DO THE HARD THINGS

A few years ago I joined a cross-fit gym. I love the challenge of lifting heavier, rowing longer, pushing harder. Last week I accomplished something I’ve never done before. I climbed the rope and my fingers brushed the ceiling. I never thought in one hundred years that I’d ever be able to do such a thing. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done physically.

My grandchildren will more than likely face some hard things this year. My advice for them is - “get ‘er done!”

Practicing a new piano piece - regularly - daily - be ready for your next lesson.

Consistency in your school work. Work hard in the classroom. Play after school.

Get your chores done first. Don’t procrastinate. Play later.

Always be kind - especially to the ones who don’t deserve it. Nobody likes a meanie.

Don’t be a quitter. When you begin a project, finish it.

Realize that life isn’t fair. There will always be someone smarter, or faster. Don’t compare yourself to others. Don’t compare your life to others. Don’t whine.

Practice gratitude. (You’d think this is the easiest thing in the world)! Learn to rejoice in the simple things in life. Learn to be thankful. Learn to be grateful. Learn to thank God for all the gifts He has given you. Thank your parents. Thank your teachers.

And so begins fall for me too. I am doing a new thing! I’ve signed up for voice lessons! I’ll be even more ready for the 1st soprano parts in Handel’s Messiah when rehearsals begin in late October. I’ll continue visiting my kids and grandkids - my siblings and friends! I’ll go the gym, play pickle ball, and cook yummy meals!

As the long, hot summer days turn - just like the maple leaves will turn from green to red - I’m ready to embrace all that lies ahead.

TO MY SWEET GRANDS - SUMMER DAYS ARE A MEMORY NOW AND ALL THAT FALL HOLDS IS IN FRONT OF YOU.

Don’t be afraid - dear ones.

Don’t be intimidated - little ones.

Embrace all that is in front of you and you’ll come out stronger.

You know it - I love you with all my heart.

STRONG BACKS

I find myself with some time on my hands - unexpectantly. My days are generally filled with activities I enjoy doing now that I am in the “older” years. An ordinary cold and cough decided to move south into my lungs and after a visit to the doctor, he diagnosed me with pneumonia. No wonder I felt like a truck was sitting on my chest for the past few days. No wonder I can hardly walk upstairs without gasping for air. He said - “take the antibiotics and rest!” Taking the antibiotics is not a problem for me - resting doesn’t come as easily. But I have put everything on hold to do just that. Rest and let the antibiotics rid my lungs of the nasties that have taken residence there in the past few days.

During this imposed rest period I decided to watch one of my favourite tv families (from the last few years) - the Pearsons - from This Is Us - Jack and Rebecca are the parents - Kevin, Kate and Randall - are the kids - triplets.

Season 1. Episode 1. I started right at the beginning.

Jack and Rebecca had their kids just about the same time we did. Early 80’s. I relate to this family, and although, I didn’t have triplets, I had my boys in very close succession. It felt like triplets. (I digress.) Rebecca was expecting triplets - Kevin was born first and then Kate. Sadly their 3rd little guy (Kyle) died during the birth. I wept along with Rebecca when Jack told her one of their babies had died. But, only in Hollywood - on the same day that the triplets were born - does a father drop off his child at a fire station because he can’t care for his newborn son and the fire station captain then drops that baby off at the same hospital where Rebecca has just given birth and that little baby becomes their son. (Did you catch all that!)

So I’m binging on this series while I rest. During one of the episodes - while watching - it came to me once again - how parents no matter their age - carry the joys and griefs of their kids on their backs. It happened this way!

Randall is the adopted son and he is black. Around the age of 9 he asks Jack and Rebecca about his birth parents. He is desperate to identify with someone who looks like him. Jack signs Randall up for a Judo class where the instructor and all the kids are black. Many of the other children’s fathers are at the class. Because it is Randall’s first class the instructor asks Jack to lie on the floor in a push up position. He asks Randall to climb on his dad’s back and for Jack to begin doing push ups. The instructor asks Jack as he pushes up and down, with sweat dripping off his forehead, with Randall on his back, if he is prepared to carry the burdens and joys, the heartbreaks and heartaches, the blessings and successes - of his son throughout his life? Is Jack’s back strong enough to do this - he asks again? “YES - SAYS JACK. YES - I WILL.” At that point, the instructor says to Jack that he can stop. Jack says ‘I WON’T EVER STOP!”

Okay - you know at this point, I’m crying my eyes out. Because it’s true. From the moment, the doctor places our sweet babies in our arms, we consciously or unconsciously decide that we will carry our kids - take a bullet for them, no matter what. Sometimes our backs carry tremendous sadness and we are hunched over in incredible pain for them and with them - and at other times, our backs stand straight and tall - our shoulders are squared with tremendous joy with the accomplishments achieved by our kids.

When our boys were little, we lived about a 5 hour drive away from my parent’s house. We often left after supper/work and arrived late - long after the boys had fallen asleep in the car. When we arrived - no matter the season of the year - Randy would carry the boys - one by one - into Mom and Dad’s - into their warm beds at the Lake - most times - they didn’t even stir. They knew they were in the strong arms of their dad. They felt safe, loved and cared for.

There was a time when one of our sons developed severe asthma. He was so little and when the grip of that horrible condition grabbed hold of him, it was heartbreaking. He spent many days in the hospital and never complained. He learned to live with his lungs compromised. I remember one particular winter day (before we were given the name of a wonderful specialist who helped us to better care for our son) when the school bus arrived to drop the boys off after their day at school. I could tell that our son was struggling with his breathing. His lips were tinged with blue. His breathing was rapid and ragged. My heart was broken for him. There was no way that he could trudge through the snow to walk the three or four blocks home. I pulled him on my back and carried him home. Yes, it was difficult. Yes, it was even painful. But it’s what we do. We carry our kids - sometimes literally on our backs.

When our boys had the odd bout of bronchitis or croup - a tradition began. In the old days when your kids had one of these things - you ran the shower hot - shut the bathroom door and let the steam work its way into their lungs. Then you bundled them up and took them outside into the chill, cold air where once again you prayed their air waves would open up and they could breathe properly. Many times Randy carried our boys or pulled them in a toboggan around the block on a cold, January night. Thus, the tradition of “hunting for the snow leopard” began. Randy would tell them the story of the snow leopard and it would take their mind off their coughing. To this day, the legend of the snow leopard lives on in our family.

As the teen years rolled around into early adulthood - we carried our boys in different ways - bearing their burdens - of a relationship that had ended - of waiting to hear news of acceptances into university and the disappointments that came with a small, white envelope instead of the big, brown package - of sports teams that lost championships - of grandparents dying of cancer and heart disease and one grandparent getting dementia and forgetting who their family are.

But also - carrying their joys and accomplishments - of them meeting their future life partners - of their choice of jobs - of their wedding days - of the births of their children. We shared these great accomplishments with them.

It seemed easier back then to carry the kids.

OR MAYBE, NOW IT’S NOT HARDER, JUST DIFFERENT.

THIS IS HOW I SEE THINGS NOW………….

It’s being available to be their loudest cheerleader.

It’s having the grandkids over for a night or two to give the parents time to regroup.

It’s sending a care package in the mail.

It’s driving 14 hours to run an 11 minute - 2 km race with the grandchildren.

It’s popping a card in the mail.

It’s crying when disappointment comes.

It’s taking their burdens and heartaches to the Lord on their behalf.

It’s cooking and baking and having everyone’s favourite food available.

It’s dropping a gift in their bank account for a date night.

It’s listening.

It’s hugging and not being the first one to let go.

It’s being available to drop and go!

It’s those things and a whole lot more. But for now - that’s how I see it.

Maybe - just maybe - that’s how we can continue to use our strong backs to bless our families and love on them.

AND JACK - I loved your pushups with Randall on your back.