It's A Wonderful Life*

In light of all the grad ceremonies taking place I thought it might be a good time to repost this entry from the summer of my High School 30 Year Reunion. You never know how one small kindness will be remembered.

I used to think classmates.com was a little cheesy, maybe even a little scary. But Friday I received an email through a brother from one of my former classmates asking me to get in touch with her. After going on classmates.com and making sure I had the right name and looking her up in the yearbook from high school to ensure I was thinking about the right person, I replied to her email. She wrote back today and shared a couple fun memories. I’ve paraphrased a bit for brevity and privacy.

We attended different elementary schools. In sixth grade, our two schools joined in a playday at our future Junior High school to get to know each other. She remembers: “We played a game of softball. I remember you slugged the ball way out in the field, I think it was a home run.”

I had seven older brothers. Softball was my game. I was terribly competitive and wanted to be the best hitter EVER. Too bad my fielding wasn’t as good as my hitting. Ha.

Then she confesses: “In high school another friend and I were papering you one night. One of your neighbors stuck a .22 rifle in my back and we had to quickly explain to him that papering was something teenagers did to show they really liked each other and they were good friends. He didn't buy it and we quickly left your house!”

I never knew who toilet papered the yard. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t done a better job. Now this explains it. I also never knew my neighbour had a gun.

And then she continues: “The hardest day of high school was when I thought I hadn’t made the cut to be in (the prestigious drum and bugle corps). I remember getting on the bus in despair and on the back of that bus you sang the whole song 'Why do the birds keep on singing........ Don't they know it's the end of the world'. I'll never forget that. When I got home I found out that I had simply missed seeing my name at the very bottom of the list and had made it after all - the rest is history.”

She ended up being bagpipe captain her senior year. Song credit to The Carpenters.
I guess all my prayers for God to "please help me be nice" did get answered at least once.

And then a compliment for my oldest brother: “Your brother was one of my favorite teachers all through school. He not only taught us sixth grade English, Math, etc., but taught us how to respect God, our country, and our fellow classmates."

That’s my bro!

I can’t believe how touching the roots from your past can help you clarify your significance in someone’s life. Small stuff, but important enough that this sweet woman remembers something silly I did over 30 years ago. Wow. Life matters.

*If you've never watched the movie - you have missed out on a lot of life!

How to Know God

excerpted from a daily devotional by Elisabeth Elliot*

The order of the Christian's assignment is: hear, do, know. If we hear the commandments and obey them, the Father will make Himself known to us. It is no use trying to know Him without doing what He says. To listen to one word and go out and obey it is better than having the most exalted "religious experience," for it puts us in touch with God Himself--it is a willed response.

"If you really love me you will keep the commandments I have given you." It is perilously easy to imagine that we love God because we like the idea of God, or because we feel drawn to Him. The only valid test of love is obedience. Take one thing commanded and start doing it. Take one thing forbidden and stop doing it. Then we are on the sure road to knowing God. There is no other.

"You are my friends, if you do what I command you" (Jn 15:14 NEB).

"The man who has received my commands and obeys them--he it is who loves me: and he who loves me will be loved by my Father; and I will love him and disclose myself to him" (Jn 14:21). There is the order: hear, do, know.


*Available as an email subscription

Building Brands

Today I got an invitation to blog at a particular website. It touted their site as one that would help you “build your brand.”

I think back to days watching rancher brand their cattle. It’s a pretty painful thing for the animal, done solely for the purpose of identifying ownership.

What kind of identifying marks to I carry that would tell others my ownership? Who do I belong to? Is that my personal brand? Does the way I live, act, walk, dress, speak, identify me as belonging to a country, a family, a Saviour?

The old gospel song said, “Now I belong to Jesus, Jesus belongs to me. Not for the years of time alone, but for eternity.”

As I make my life plan, my branding plan, or any plan, I think about what the strategic planning gurus say. We must begin with the end in mind. If the end is that there is no end, only eternity, should I not make my life plan accordingly?

What am I doing, saying, buying, disposing, writing? Would any of these actions matter 100 years from now? A thousand years from now?

In light of what is eternally valuable, how do I build my brand?

God and Country vs. the Sixth Commandment

*Content warning: this blog may trouble those who hold blindly to nationalistic loyalties*

A blog I occasionally read took note today of this U.S. holiday to remember those who have died in military service.

Do we honor the dead? Certainly we honor their memory. My favorite brother was a decorated Marine. He was killed in a car accident. Technically, he wouldn't qualify for remembrance today because he did not die in the line of duty.

Do we honor the military? Certainly history shows where military intervention has stopped grievous acts of aggression and ruthless tyranny, restoring democracy and preserving freedom. Yet recent history seems to reflect a drift away from the tenets of Just War. This is not honorable.

National boundaries are drawn by human hands, dividing up our natural world into geographic fiefdoms, each territorial and protective, some grander than others, some nobler than others, but each jealously guarding the borders.

I think my pacifist father must have spent a great deal of time thinking about this as he penned a song about our citizenship being in heaven. As followers of Jesus Christ, we must never lose sight of the fact that national boundaries, governments and military must all take a back seat in our loyalty to the overarching principles God has laid out for us in His Word.

Why else would he prepare us to be persecuted for righteousness sake? If we truly stand for what is right (not just what our nation of birth espouses) we will be going against the tide of society. The sixth commandment pales in comparison to the interpretation Jesus gave when he said hatred was the same as murder.

So rather than entering great philosophical debate about military might or lack thereof, today I honor the memory of all those who have gone before who fought the good fight and kept the faith in their life, service and conduct. May they rest in the arms of the only wise God, the one who has already won the battle and who is the last Word.

Interesting Twist

This morning I checked my Twitter inbox and someone who has 23,000+ followers said "I'm thinking about leaving Facebook."

It made me uncomfortable and slightly irritated.

And then I wondered why I would have such an out-of-proportion response to an innocent statement.

Here's a link to one woman's reasons for leaving. It gives me pause.

And it could apply to almost anything I do on the internet.

Facebook

It truly is social networking. I connect with high school and college friends, current acquaintances morph into good friends through interactions online. I can have conversations into the wee hours that make me laugh, cry, heal and grow. I wipe spit off my monitor as my witty friends keep the banter of life on the upside and I give virtual hugs to the friends who just need a shoulder. It's one on one via messaging and chat, it's one to 300+ on your wall, or more depending on your friend count.

But don't ever make the mistake of thinking Facebook is the friendship. Like the poem my mom used to quote: "It's easy to be kind and sweet to people whom we seldom meet..." Same with Facebook. It takes no commitment, it requires no sacrifice. True friendship will eventually cost something or it's worth nothing.

Don't confuse the tool with reality. Facebook is a tool. A very fancy one. But to maintain a friendship, you don't need Facebook for that.

Life Story from college grad to now (repost)

After I graduated from Grace, Brent and I married Aug. 81 and moved to Lloydminster - a town that straddles the border between Alberta and Saskatchewan. To put it mildly, it was culture shock. I left everything and everyone I knew and worked to find my place in Brent’s circle of family and friends. We were there five years; we led youth and young married couples’ activities and a singing group. I worked administrative and retail jobs before landing a government position with Social Services (Welfare). It was administrative but introduced me to computers. I attained certification as a social worker but never pursued employment in that field.

In 1986, Brent transferred to Calgary, Alberta with Husky Energy and Husky hired me for their I.T. department as a computer security programmer/analyst. Five years later, I transferred to NOVA Corporation as Administrative Supervisor. My job was to hire, train and supervise staff to provide admin. support for 150 engineers.

We were active in First Alliance Church, the largest one in the city. In 1990, a smaller CMA church invited me to direct their choir, which I did on a volunteer basis for six years. We put on mega musicals, organized another singing group (that took several regional tours) and it was a crazy wonderful insane ministry. I also coordinated two interdenominational choir trips to Europe in 1990 and 1995, got to sing "The Lords Prayer" as a soloist in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris (1990) and direct choir and solo in front of 3000 people at one of the official 50th Anniversary Liberation Festivities in the Netherlands (1995).

In 1991, we bought a ridiculously expensive house and I felt like we had sold our souls because the mortgage would require both our incomes and I wouldn't be able to stay home if we had children. After some negotiations with Brent, he agreed we would have one child if I would work part time. We had Andrew in November 1992 and my life exploded exponentially in my understanding and concept of love. Andrew is such a gift. He was a typical boy and challenged us often, but he's become an amazing young man.

When I returned to work after maternity leave, I had a difficult time finding appropriate care for our son. While NOVA gave lip service to supporting “part time” working mothers, my department of engineers still expected the same results. Since I was working half time, I explained it would either take twice as long or would be half as good. Eventually the company and I agreed to a mutual parting of ways. They gave me a severance package including six months pay and career retraining. That particular experience led me to avoid working with engineers. We don't speak the same language.

Not long after, Brent accepted a position in the Middle East, Qatar, but we never left Canada. His work circumstances at Husky changed, so he decided to stay in his current job. In August 2010, he celebrated 30 years as an employee of Husky Energy.

It was a good thing we stayed in North America as my mother developed colon cancer. It spread to her liver and she died on Mother's Day in 1996. I spent five weeks in Missouri caring for her before her death and organizing my father after the fact. Brent then accepted a transfer to northern Alberta, in a remote village located where the road ends, literally. This was also a good thing, financially. They paid well to keep people in this remote place so we were able to sock away some significant savings. We attended a very small evangelical church, I helped find a new pastor and led Sunday school and music on occasion, served as school council chairperson and got a part time job with a regional airline. The flight privileges saved my sanity. I flew to Edmonton or Calgary at least once a month to connect with friends and restock necessities. I also discovered online Scrabble and (safe) chat rooms on the Internet and that kept me connected to the outside world.

We spent almost five years in Rainbow Lake. It was truly a wilder-ness experience. Being less distracted in the northern tundra, I had many wrestling matches with God under the spectacular northern lights, arguing about the lot he had given me in life. God didn't cripple the socket of my hip like he did with Jacob but I left my gall bladder at the hospital the week of my son's 7th birthday. I home-schooled Andrew for grade three, the year we knew we would move back to the big city and one day during Math lesson I had the privilege of praying with him as he accepted Christ.

Returning to Calgary in 2001, we purchased our "dream house" and I felt like I had come home. We returned to First Alliance Church, both of us got involved in music and drama. Brent had a couple lead roles in productions. I didn't look for a job right then because of homeschooling Andrew. However, I spiraled into depression and didn't surface for a couple years. Eventually, I got an administrative job in education and really excelled, first with a public elementary school and then with a Christian private school where Andrew attended for two years. I quit this job when Andrew enrolled in a hockey-based sport school. My wrestling continued with God.

I stayed off work again but this time, I was ready to beat the depression and get healthy. I had been significantly overweight for more than a decade. I found a weight reduction program and fitness routine that worked for me and dropped to my recommended body weight. After 18 months, in the fall of 2007, a friend suggested I should take my writing to the next level and I started taking classes with a writers’ society. In addition, God opened the door for me to work in our large church. After six months as an administrator, they asked if I’d take on the role of Communications Manager, being paid to write!

From July 2007 to October 2008, we lived in a pressure cooker at home. Andrew had been a goaltender at youth hockey’s elite level but this became a black year and a bad season, bookended by two murders that touched the team. Since he loved skiing, he also joined a competitive freestyle ski team (moguls, flips, spins, big air jumps). Two sports meant he was out almost every night and both weekend days. School suffered. We also relocated to a different house – one with a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains. That was the only reason I agreed to move. However, getting our house ready to sell, finding a new place and getting it ready for occupancy took a toll. We took a 21 day Best of Europe tour in July 2007 and then celebrated my 50th birthday and my in-law’s 50th anniversary by taking them with us on a cruise of the Hawaiian islands over Christmas. The trips were great, but they added to the stress level. You know how it is, you need a vacation to recover from your vacation sometimes.

I had to undergo surgery in June 2008 (female problems) and after a slow summer of recovery, realized I could not keep up with everything and maintain my health as well, so I resigned my position at the church in October. It was my goal to take better care of myself, my home, my family and to write for publication. I started hiking, swimming and working out at the YMCA. However, I also volunteered as a group leader in Alpha (a weekly study for women), took on leadership of a Bible study for couples, started taking writing classes, formed a writer's group, started submitting work for publication, joined the board of a Christian writers’ fellowship and planned a writers’ workshop for 60 people… perhaps I needed to remind myself of goal #1 – take better care of myself…

In June 2009, I needed a second surgery (required to repair what did not succeed from the previous surgery). Due to a longer recovery period, I was unable to do the active things that kept my spirits up and my weight down, so my health deteriorated again.

My husband is a decent guy, pulls more than his weight around here, works his tail off in a corporate middle management career. Yet he and I are total opposites, both controlling and opinionated. Either one of us could have easily walked away from this marriage on any given day, but for the grace of God and the restraint of the Spirit. Or perhaps underneath it all we really do kind of like each other. :-)

My spiritual health continues to be one of wrestling with God, struggling to believe that he loves me unabashedly, unreservedly, profoundly, deeply, totally, unconditionally. I've stopped trying to tell Him what my life should look like because he simply says, “Be still and know that I am God.”

I’ve appreciated the input of author Brennan Manning. The Furious Longing of God, Abba’s Child, Ragamuffin Gospel and The Importance of Being Foolish. I’ve also been working through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (Creativity as a Spiritual Discipline) and God keeps pushing me towards Philippians (having the mind of Christ), and totally immersing me in the book of John (“Lord, to whom shall we go? Only You have the words of eternal life”). In the past couple of years, my writing has won awards and been published in several places. It brings it a little cash but not enough to even cover my writing expenses.

Our son entered university last fall 2010 on partial scholarship and is studying Psychology with a specialization in Sociology. He hopes to teach, counsel and/or work in prisons. He matured significantly between grade 12 and Christmas. Astonishing, really. We are grateful he's there, as it's one of the top universities in the country, even though it is private and Christian. However, due to the expense of tuition, I am going back to work. I'm just at the stage where they are checking my references and if all goes well, I'll be working soon with the public school board again in a senior administrative role.

Short story long. A work in progress. Rebel. Daughter. Fiend. Friend. Beloved of God. Abba’s child.

Whew. That’s WAY more than you asked for. But that’s it.

Modern Media Pleasures and Their Role in Pastor Approval Ratings

I am a self-professed techno-geek mediaphile. I like multi-media gadgets (iTouch, personal digital recorder, negative/slide scanner, DSLR camera, smallest hard drive video camera), love using software tools that connect me to this and that (iTunes, youtube, Twitter, Skype, Facebook, Blogger). I’m no programmer (though I was once hired as one and managed to masquerade my way through for several years on the foundational skill of being able to read and follow instructions). I do not write applications, I just like dabbling in the most current, intuitive trends I can afford. Shucks, I even have the entire Bible in five different translations installed on my Palm (compact, handy, full of wisdom). I find as many free downloads of clever tools as time allows and enjoy the synapse-firing learning rush as I keep my post-50 mind engaged during my “I’m Not Working, I’m a Writer” phase.

The benefit and practical advantage of many of these items is how it connects me with others. Photos and videos are memory snapshots of my relationships and celebrations with others and with Nature (thus, my Creator). Time spent communicating via social networking apps is building on past friendships and cultivating new ones, most of whom I also meet in person on a semi-regular basis.

In an increasingly self-contained and disaffected society, each aspect of my techno-geek world is a support mechanism for a pseudo-healthy exertion of my ultra-extrovert and incurably curious personality.

Apparently I’m also a hyphen-addictive (and brackets) personality.

I was musing this morning about how these tools have shaped our paradigm of the world. We have a new Lead Pastor coming to our church. From the moment I heard his name, I have been “following” him. Using Google (the Heaven for the Curiosity-Driven), I locate his previous church, his email address, read his bio, and friend him on Facebook. He accepts. (Okay, he gets brownie points for being on Facebook, extra points for being active, bonus points for taking a chance on me.) He has 500+ FB friends. (Must be a likeable guy.)


I write a blog post about “what an AmeriCanadian like me wants an incoming southern pastor to know about living in Canada” and send him the link via email. He replies. Very gracious. Very loving. He liked it. (Mega points.) When they are candidating (“trying out”) for the position, I introduce myself and get rewarded with a big hug and a jovial drawl, “There’s my Facebook friend.” Later in the week, we even chat live on Facebook. (Okay, jackpot!) As he and his wife prepare to leave Florida and move to Canada, I check his Facebook status every day to get updates on their progress. Yesterday they were at Little Big Horn (“sad”), the day before, Mount Rushmore (“Wow!”), before that, Alabama… you get the idea.

Now if you don’t know me, that sounds a little more stalker-esque than what might be comfortable, but for me it’s simply all about “Knowledge is power.” Mwahahahah.

(Just kidding). Relax already.

It’s about relationships. I’m all about that. Always have been, always will be. I think relationships are the most important thing in the world, and ultimately, in eternity. People last forever, so I’d better spend my time investing in them. Whatever media it takes to make that happen, bring it on!

And that is definitely “My pleasure!”

A Brief Book Review: The Furious Longing of God

David C. Cook, 2009. 131 pages.

The back cover says "A love story for the broken hearted." Truly Brennan Manning is a voice for all disaffected Christians, for all ragamuffin seekers, for Pharisees run amuck in the mess of ritual and regulation.

The core of this book drew me in: I am my beloved's. It kept me reading all day and yet could keep me reading and absorbing and mediating for weeks and months to come. I regret that I did not buy the book so that I could underline and dog ear the pages.

God loves me just as I am, not as I should be.

This is the thought that draws me. His heart is full of longing to see my face turned to his, to hear my voice, to embrace me with complete acceptance.

Abba, I belong to you.

Can I believe this? Can I accept this?

I finished the book in one afternoon. I, who never read. I found something worth reading.

And I am in love with One who loves me with a furious longing.

Yes.

I believe.


UPDATE May 27: Have bought my own copy and organized a summer book discussion group to go deeper into the truths presented in each chapter. Am also halfway through Abba's Child and have Ragamuffin Gospel and Ruthless Trust on deck.


a more detailed review can be viewed here.

Do You Believe?

Waiting

"Wait on the LORD, and keep his way, and he shall exalt thee to inherit the land: when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it." (Psalm 37:34)

In spite of the occasional successes of the wicked, we are to "wait on the LORD." The Hebrew word used in this passage for "wait" is unusual. The term quvahdescribes the "binding together" of strings to make a cord. The same word was used to "collect" the water and dry land into separate areas on the third day of creation.

It carries the idea of anticipation toward useful results and does not mean to "hang around and wait." It does not imply useless boredom, waiting for something to happen. The essence of the term is to be alert, watching the events and activities of the Lord and reacting to His timing and direction. Indeed, the word is translated "look" as often as any other term.

excerpted from Institute for Creation Research, May 13, 2009, written by Henry Morris III

Snail's Pace

Recovery from surgery is slow and painful. I think about those who are seriously injured in a car accident and shudder. All the ways to hurt. All the ways to heal. So many intricate body parts designed to work together. Way worse than my 4 inch incision. I worry about seemingly unrelated pains and my aging body. I wonder if the warmth I feel is a fever that could indicate another problem? Wow. Let it go already...

I just have to behave. Take care of me carefully. Pray for patience. And peace.

None Calls on Thee In Vain*

The clock says 4:00 a.m. The pain in my neck extends up over my skull like a vice. I've taken Tylenol, shouldn't it be lessening by now? My mind flits through all the reasons for pain - a head cold, the recent surgery, brain tumor...

Okay that's taking it a bit too far, but one never knows. :-)

and my one friend that never lets me get away with being too negative is sure to call me on that little paranoia...

I change position and lay my head on a different pillow, massage the base of my skull and quietly call on the name of Jesus to deliver me from this excruciating pain. I think of those who live with chronic pain. My pain pales in comparison. What endurance they must exhibit. I feel a great deal of sympathy rise, knowing if I have to endure this pain for much longer ...

The clock says 10:50 a.m. Wow. My head doesn't hurt. A little rest, a little sleep, a little deliverance...

Clement of Alexandria c. 200 penned these words: "While in our mortal pain, none calls on thee in vain; help thou dost not disdain, help from above."

The help we receive is not always for immediate relief from our mortal pain. Sometimes, though, I believe God allows pain in order to turn our hearts to himself; to remind us that he is our shepherd, the all subduing word, healer of strife: "Thou didst thyself abase that from sin's deep disgrace thou mightest save our race and give us life."

Life means more than just living free from mortal pain. It means knowing that he is our guide, our pride, our song, the Christ of God, who by his eternal word will lead us where he has trod and will make our faith strong.

Perhaps a little headache is a good thing - and a God thing.

*most of these thoughts are taken from "Shepherd of Eager Youth" translated by Henry M. Dexter

Set Aside

Quietly I sit, take Tylenol every four hours. Try to find a comfortable position. Walk carefully to refill my water glass. Drink 6 glasses through the day. Try not to cough, get sabotaged by sneezes.

Ouch.

Recovery from abdominal surgery will take some time. Nothing strenuous for at least four weeks. Even then, i think I'll feel skittish about pushing myself too far.

I'm starting to feel old. Way before I am. Discipline and endurance in exercise and diet will make a long term difference but my emotions dictate too much. It would be so much more peaceful if I simply did what I know is right. Not that I intentionally do things wrong, but I indulge. Some foods are simply delicious.

And the exercise I love - hiking and swimming - are both prohibited until I recover. So I shall walk.

Pray for patience.

The Fallen

It was their faces I’ll remember. Row after row of young men and women march past in Red Serge and High Browns. Other regiments followed in Review Order or their particular red or navy dress uniform, bearing themselves with dignity and honor. RCMP, City Police, Sherriffs, Correctional Officers, EMTs, Firefighters and more, here to salute their fallen comrade, represent their own force.

Their faces – so serious, so young. Yes, there are chiseled and sharp featured ones, and more mature officers in command. They file in silently, fill row after row of chairs in the arena. A brilliant mosaic of colour, pageantry and loyalty.

I sit in the front row and study the portrait of James Lundblad. Serious and passionate, he persevered relentlessly until he realized his dream of becoming an RCMP officer. He served for seven years until a tragic auto accident in the line of duty. Now we sit with 700 others to pay tribute to his legacy of service. We share stories and we also hear of the laughter he shared with his colleagues.

My brother Jack met a similar fate. An outstanding Marine, preparing to depart for officer candidate school after finishing boot camp with top honors. He was killed in a car accident at age 26. We buried him on his birthday.

So many similarities I consider as I look at the overload of flowers surrounding the casket, listen to the music, the eulogy, the tributes. It’s my father-in-law’s unplanned comments that make me sit up straighter.

“One word comes to mind about James: loyalty.”

That is exactly how I have described my son. Loyalty to his friends is his watchword. His relationships are paramount. He has already begun preparing himself for a career in law enforcement. Only 16, he takes legal studies in high school and physical education to keep himself actively fit.

He will soon be part of this rank, these peace officers. I try not to dwell on the thought that he could one day join the brotherhood of the fallen as well. I muse about how he would like the uniform, the short cropped hair, the headdress, the marching, the discipline.

Even in the midst of their grief, I believe James’ parents were never more proud. And I would be too.

As we shared over refreshments in the Memorial Hall, I see the faces again. All dignified, but now more relaxed, sharing stories and laughing together to release the tension that had not yet vented itself in tears. Closer up I see each one looks like my son, my son's friends. He would like these men and women. I wish he could have been here.

I make a mental note to help prepare him in every way possible to be the best he can be, physically, mentally, morally and spiritually. So that if I ever again must attend a memorial for a fallen officer, my son’s face will be among the serious, young faces I see marching in row by row. And he will be laughing with them afterwards as they share refreshments in the Memorial Hall.

He’ll take care of the loyalty and duty. I will salute his passion and leave the rest to God. And I am proud of him, no matter what.

She Loves

I've never seen her in bed like this. Not in illness. Only in sleep.

This is not my mother! Grief intrudes, denies reality. This is an old woman. I recognize her from the nursing home. Every room there, the beds contain this woman. But this is Momma’s bed, in her own home, and there she lies.

For the first time ever. Old.

Ah, but then she opens those watery blue eyes and her flicker of joyful recognition mirrors mine. The agape of my life. My first sense, in utero, of “unconditional.” The lifelong living declaration of devotion.

Before her time, cancer etches the abyss of pain across her furrowed brow. She fights well. She strains for the finish. She keeps faith.

Gaunt, jaundiced; the distended torso--a juxtaposition of the womb’s purpose to nurture and release--now gathers and retains toxic fluid.

Hospice women do God’s work: come and go, quiet, reverent, bathe, assess, support. I watch in a blur and learn, lend my heart.

It is only right that the only daughter sit here hand in hand with Momma during her dying days. I treasure each of the slow motion moments; wheel together down the sidewalk, swing on the porch, share a favorite frozen yogurt after an unpalatable supper. She’s weary, she endures for me but prays to go back and rest. We lay side by side, discuss disappointments and delights. I chisel her dignity into my memory, then while she sleeps I scavenge bookshops for self-help books on surviving the death of love.

Her decline is more rapid than the time it formerly took her to fill a table with refreshments for unexpected visitors. Her last mothering words, as she rests in the recliner, raises her hands toward heaven: “Just give it all to Jesus.”

We said goodbye on Mother’s Day, May 12, 1996. Rest in the Father’s arms, dear one.

In Memory: Const. James Lundblad

May 5, 2009: 41 year old RCMP Const. James Lundblad died when his police cruiser was struck by a grain truck on an Alberta highway. Const. Lundblad was pursuing a speeding vehicle.

James was the son of Lloyd and Noella Lundblad of Valleyview, Alberta, nephew to Lila Harback (my mother in law) and first cousin to my husband.

Funeral services will be held Monday, May 11. Pray for the family. It is a sad way to spend Mother's Day weekend, preparing to bury your only son.

Next time you're tempted to speed, think about this, and don't.

Pointed Writing

Thesis, example, example, example, concluding statement...

Why didn't I ever learn that simple five-paragraph essay formula in Grade 10 English? For almost four years I have been burbling along in this blog, happily ruminating on whatever transpired that still clings to my thoughts at the end of the day.

You get to know who I am and a little bit about how my mind works. If you want that. Now that I'm learning to hone, pare and tighten, I'm a little embarrassed by the early work. Yet that work got me here, to this point. All that has come before has prepared us for this moment.

The developing lives of our families is also very similar. They start out simply, deepen over time, learn to communicate more succinctly, make their point graciously.

I hope I can read my family like a good book. Savouring every page of their life, every nuance of their bearing, pouring over the details of their story so I can know how it ends. Think about it.