The lawn furniture is tucked away; the bird baths wiped dry and the rain barrels emptied and standing upside down.
The vegetable garden has been raked bare, the flowerbeds snipped back and the flowerboxes removed. The firewood is stacked; the hearth scrubbed with a basket of new unread books waiting upon it and the fruit cellar is full of sustenance.
Our winter sweaters, mittens, toques, scarves and jackets have been aired on the cloth line while our boots now line the back hall. It has been a busy week but never before have we been so ready for the arrival of winter!
On Sunday, we paused from all the busyness to take a leisurely hike down some familiar trails. As we crested a small hill the wind blew strong enough to loosen hundreds of leaves which rode the breeze in descent; they danced gracefully towards us. We stopped and reached upwards to receive. The leaves fell like confetti around us.
This awe-filled moment was so brief yet it refreshed us beyond measure; to be able to stop all the busyness and fill up on God’s presence is a divine gift indeed. These are “Selah” moments.
Selah is a Hebrew word with various meanings all relating to pausing long enough to venerate God’s holy presence and to reflect on these holy moments.
The author of Psalm 46 wrote of Selah, “When the mountains quake and the waters roar, the Lord is my refuge and strength….Selah. (I will pause and reflect on this)! God makes wars to cease and breaks the bow… the Lord of hosts is with us…Selah. (I will pause and reflect on this)! Be still, and know that I am God…Selah. (I will pause and reflect on this)!”
May you too have many Selah moments that amount to days enlightened by God’s quiet and beautiful presence.
It was a cool and rainy morning following a cool and rainy night. He arrived to the cemetery just as the birds were beginning their morning song. As he scanned the cemetery he noticed the lid on the wooden box behind the shed was a bit askew. This box is used in the winter to hold salt and in the summer it holds large bags of grass seed. He cautiously approached wondering what it was this time; a raccoon or a skunk that had slipped inside? What he found was far more shocking!
If it had been anyone else that opened the box they would have screamed, ran and dialed 9-1-1, but not this guy. This retired Funeral Home Director, Pete, had seen countless dead bodies over his career, what was one more?
Thing was, this body, although found in a wooden box in a cemetery, wasn’t dead. As Pete fully opened the box the shoe-less figure stirred a bit but didn’t wake until the one holding the lid said in a rather loud and booming voice, “Hey! What are you doing in there?”
Startled the young man tried to get to his feet but was jammed pretty good inside the box. Pete helped him to his socked feet then aided him in getting out of his cramped quarters. They quickly walked to Pete’s pickup truck where he turned the heat on full blast and began to ask questions, many questions.
Since retiring up to “cottage country” this Funeral Director had become active on a couple of country cemetery boards and had taken on the role as Grounds Keeper. It was in this role that he arrived early that morning prepared to cut some grass, trim some weeds and put down new grass seed, instead he retrieved a tired soul from inside a wooden box.
As the young man attempted to explain how he ended up inside that box Pete turned his truck around and headed for home to retrieve an old pair of shoes and a warm jacket for this wayward guest. Pete then drove this young man back into town all the while listening to his not so happy tale.
Apparently, he had been enjoying an evening at the local Pub when a group of guys suggested he join them for a bush party. Young, foolish and feeling a bit adventurous he agreed to join the group as they jumped into a car and headed out. Before he knew it he was down a country road he hadn’t ever seen before and after a few more drinks he couldn’t possibly find his way home. The same group of guys decided to head back into town but tired of his company so they took his shoes and dropped him off at a cross road. He managed to walk as far as the cemetery, found the box, crawled in and the rest, as they say, is history.
Pete dropped him off at a Tim Hortons while passing him a couple of bucks. The young man thanked Pete profusely before getting out.
Jesus tells us that when we feed the hungry, cloth the poor and visit the lonely we are feeding, clothing and visiting him. He assures us that when we serve the least among us we are serving him; what he doesn’t tell us is that these opportunities to serve will, at times, arrive rather unexpectedly.
That morning Pete may have done more than just cloth and feed this young man but may have also restored this young man’s confidence in humankind; and modeled a loving response to life.
I wonder, what would you do if you found a body in a wooden box in the cemetery?!
The wind whistles it, the leaves whisper it as they dance about, the creek babbles it, the red squirrels chattered it along with the chipmunks, the Canadian Geese honk it as they fly overhead and the birds sing it as they gather at the feeders.
It is the mantra of autumn, “The time of change has arrived.”
This time of change grants us permission to modify our life in ways that bring about more contentment and discover deeper peace of mind. We can reshape our days to create space for those things that make us happy; more time for longer walks, to read a good book or to finish some of the half-finished quilting or woodworking projects.
Autumn is a transformational time that asks, “Where is there room for change in my life and do I have the courage to make these changes?”
One change I have made is the baking of bread. I missed the routine and award of making bread so for the past few weeks I have been thrilled to fill the house with the aroma of bread baking. I also have reclaimed the old fashion task of hand written notes. We are a people of texting and emails so I have committed to two hand written notes each week.
What changes have you wanted to make? As Charles Darwin wrote, “It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.”
Now is the time to answer the call of autumn and have the courage to make some of those long desired changes.
Every year at Thanksgiving, whether there are only two around the table or twenty-two, each plate has 3 small kernels of un-popped colourful dried corn placed upon it. Before the meal is served we each take our place around the table and together share three things we are thankful for in the past year. Then we place the kernels in a glass bowl which is placed in the middle of the table. It is a thing of beauty to see the many different coloured kernels knowing each represents gratitude.
Tevye the Dairyman in the play Fiddler On the Roof sings a ‘tongue–in-cheek’ song about the importance of traditions and he concludes that without traditions life would be as shaky as a “fiddler on the roof.” I tend to agree with Tevye; traditions help to steady us in an otherwise unstable world.
It is important to me that my children witness traditions that tether them to faithful living and teach them to find hope in a difficult world. By demonstrating gratitude we are living what the Apostle Paul teaches, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (Thessalonians 5:16-18)
This year, as my family gathers for Thanksgiving we do so with three less family members; it has been a difficult year. And yet, we will keep the Thanksgiving tradition of ‘Counting the Kernels of Gratitude’ because each small kernel reminds us of God’s presence, providence and promises. As Henri Nouwen writes, “Gratitude goes beyond the ‘mine’ and ‘thine’ and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift.”
May everyone take time this Thanksgiving to pause and count enough blessings until you too are confident that life is pure gift!
There are angels among us; I know this to be true because I have seen them.
It wasn’t easy to make out their faces as they kept their identity well hidden behind protective glasses and face masks. Most of them had tucked their hair up in tight caps on their heads. These colourful caps had a large button sewn on each side and from what I could tell these buttons were used to hold up their glasses and face masks, a most ingenious design.
My mother had been taken by ambulance to the local hospital and was later admitted. She had been bravely battling cancer and due to some complications of her treatment was in need of some special care. Definitely the angels that surrounded her bed were offering a compassionate and dignified care.
One afternoon, as a couple of these angels were tending to my mother in her hospital room, I stood in the hallway with my back up against the wall. From this vantage point I witnessed as they swirled about pushing folks in wheel chairs, aiding others to walk steadily with their canes and in one case aiding a young man with his broken arm; they were in constant motion.
A few days later, after my mother had been moved to the local hospice I again witnessed the gentle yet strong energy of these otherworldly beings. They tended to my mother and in equal measure took time to care for our grieved and saddened souls. My dad, who was helplessly watching the love of his life fade away, was tended to by these angels in such a way it ministered to us all.
What I cannot understand is how can there be both atheists and angels among us? How can one witness the selfless care of nurses; their willingness to step fully into people’s pain, illness and messiness and not see the divinity of their presence? They step forward when most of us purposely run in the opposite direction. Only a great and loving God could create such beings as nurses; those both skilled and called to help others.
I cannot watch the care of a good nurse and not turn to God and say, “Thank you!”.
After my mother had taken her last breath and all the arrangements had been made one last nurse came to offer words of comfort and as she turned to leave the room I am almost 100% sure I heard the fluttering of wings.
Labour Day weekend is a hinge weekend; it starts in a summer frame of mind with thoughts of evening camp fires, afternoons spent at the beach and BBQ suppers. By the time Sunday evening arrives our thoughts have turned towards autumn. Over this long weekend we move from the space of bright and sunny summer days into the space of cozy yet busy days of autumn, hence why it is called a hinge weekend.
Change is in the air. As the days shorten and the evenings grow longer the Canadian Geese practice their flight formations overhead, fields of soybeans are turning into their rich autumn colours and migrating birds are gathering on the hydro wires. Teachers, school bus drivers and parents alike are strategizing the best ways possible to enter another COVID -19 school year. Meanwhile, others are plotting changes to their home décor gladly planning for cooler evenings spent by the fireplace and the donning of favorite autumn sweaters. For many it is time to turn over the vegetable garden and spend time pickling or freezing its produce.
This change cannot be stopped so it may as well be enjoyed. As Socrates wisely wrote, “The secret of change is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.” This new season guarantees to be full of God’s glory, beauty and joy if we decide to seek out all the newness and goodness being offered.
May this new season be full of hidden joys waiting for your discovery,
At first I didn’t notice the cause, only the effect. As I carefully folded each sheet from the clothesline, birds dove around me, dancing overhead. One little nuthatch stopped mid-air, made a 180-degree turn, then darted back into the treetops. There were robins, at least 3 blue jays, a couple of orioles, a cardinal, about half a dozen chickadees and a handful of nuthatches displaying a choreographed routine.
After all the laundry was folded, I sat down in a lawn chair enthralled by the show. It was remarkable! More than once a Blue Jay dove so close I could have reached out and touched him. And the best part: when the orioles joined the dance! Their orange plumage added much to the display.
I silently tip toed inside to get my son who, upon arrival, immediately assessed what was happening. A nest of flying ants must have hatched in the soil under our patio stones and were marching in a straight line across the stones, through the lattice and up to the top of the fence post, which is positioned directly under the clothesline. By bringing in the laundry I had startled them into flight, triggering the neighborhood birds into a feeding frenzy.
We sat back and watched with fascination as the seemingly thousands of flying ants marched up the post and took flight, only to be nabbed inches away. However, we soon realized that some were making it high into the great blue yonder because several sea gulls began to dip, dive and turn above the tree tops.
Later we reflected on the plight of the flying ants, having barely hatched and already were someone’s evening snack. However, I must admit, the blackened top of my fence post thick with flying ants disgusted me. I fought the urge to get the hose and wash them away! Thankfully nature once again amazed me with its balancing act.
My boring evening of house work and laundry turned into something exciting; life is such an adventure! One moment I was mindlessly folding laundry, and the next looking up in awe at God’s creation. As the Psalmists declare, “How many are your works, LORD! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.” (Psalm 104:24)
Her arrival was a bit unexpected. We found her in a sad situation, the runt of a rather poorly kept litter of pups in a wooden box kept in a dark and cold barn. We had gone just to take a look, but left with this wee bundle of fur in our arms. Her little ears stood straight up on a tiny head under which were two serious eyes that studied our every move. Once placed on the floor this bundle of fur would never wander far, always staying close encouraging pats of assurance. I should have been exhausted from the several “bathroom” breaks each night and the early morning play sessions, instead by day 3 I knew exactly what to name her, Abigail.
Abigail means “cause of joy” in Hebrew. In the Bible, Abigail, King David’s second wife, is described as a beautiful and intelligent woman. My canine sidekick has lived fully into her name.
Each morning as we sip our coffees and read over the difficult headlines our “Cause of Joy” lies between us having her ears massaged or her belly rubbed, as if reminding us not to despair. Each evening she brings her balls and toys dropping them at our feet as we watch the 6:00 news not allowing us time to wallow in the sadness of the world. By bedtime this “Cause of Joy” has had us out for an evening walk among the tall trees and along the babbling brook. She is our angel and I cannot imagine life without her.
Life isn’t easy these days. It never has been. There will always be difficult people, painful prognosis, frightening headlines and causes of grief. We must counter this with causes of joy.
I know one woman whose cause of joy is her house plants. Two hours each Saturday morning is dedicated to their care. Her love of plants has resulted in a degree in botany of which is the field she now works. She is blessed to have discovered a source of joy which fills her days.
Another woman tells me her joy comes from reading. She takes great delight in finding a new novel and before starting it she arranges herself in her favorite chair, with a cup of tea and a plate of cookies. Then the ceremony of meeting new characters and going on an adventure begins.
I have met several grandparents that have discovered great joy when time is spent with their grandchildren. Some even commit to babysit regularly so to fill up on that joy!
What is your cause of joy? What brings a spring to your step and a song to your heart? Fill up on this joy as often as possible; it is the antidote to all the sadness of life!
Before beginning the BLOG I would like to welcome all the new comers to the Stainglasslens; in the past two weeks there have been several new “Followers” and it has been exciting. I write weekly seeking to understand and/or celebrate God’s presence in the world, thank-you for joining me on the journey.
This Sunday we at the Kemble-Sarawak, Zion-Keppel Pastoral Charge will be meeting for in-person worship on the side lawn of the Kemble-Sarawak Church. The scripture passages we will be reflecting on are John 10:1-10 and Psalm 23. In both passages we are reminded of a Good Shepherd who cares and tends to us each.
This Good Shepherd image has been one that used to carry me through difficult times. It was comforting to think that I was a mere sheep and Jesus, as an extension of God, was my Good Shepherd who cared for and protected me from all evil. As it is written, “Who can be against me if God is for me?” (Romans 8:31)
But then life happened. There came cancer, sudden deaths, I watched 3 of my best friends die horribly agonizing deaths and then the pandemic arrived. Days of isolation, un-measurable pain, suffering, and a worldwide death toll in the millions.
Where is the Good Shepherd in all of this?
I learned that the bullies can win, with their lies and smear campaigns. I learned that the structure put in place by well-meaning and intelligent individuals to bring justice can be manipulated and used as a weapon. I learned that sometimes the truth is not believed while lies, gossip and posturing make the headlines.
Where is the Good Shepherd in all of this?
I once sat with a cancer patient who reasoned that all her troubles happened during the split second that God blinked. The idea that our Good Shepherd actually saw all these terrible things about to happen and did nothing to stop them was too much for her, so instead, she reasoned that God must sometimes blink and in that split second anything can happen.
Well, I know the Good Shepherd. I am convinced of God’s existence, I have experienced too much to deny God does exist and I know that there is a life beyond this life. As a Chaplain, a minister and just a fellow sojourner on this earth I have seen, felt and experienced enough to know with certainty there is more then we can imagine.
So, how does one reconcile the knowledge of the existence of the Good Shepherd with the occurrence of horribly cruel and destructive events?
For me it melts down to what is written in Isaiah 55:8-9,
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
Can a sheep ever possibly understand the ways of the Shepherd? No.
Can we ever possibly understand the ways of God? No.
That is why knowing the Shepherd makes all the difference. To trust in God’s plan, to lean into God presence, to give all the pain, all the hurt, all the misunderstandings, all the times we cannot defend ourselves back to God and instead live in a childlike dependency, an innocent trust is, in my opinion, the only way we can travel this life without despair. It is the only way we can be a kind, loving, and wise presence. It is counter cultural to say, “Despite all the evidence, I trust in the Good Shepherd.” This kind of faith and trust is a radical and life altering way to spend our days.
It is the only way, I have found to inner peace and ironically, with this faith I have found a part of me open up to experience God every day in small almost unnoticeable ways. But before I could experience this presence I first had to give into trusting this Good Shepherd when trusting was the least logical thing to do.
May the tests and trials of this life deepen your faith and bring you closer to the un-explainable love of the Good Shepherd.
As a rural minister, I have taken to carrying certain items in my little Subaru that otherwise I would not. Thanks to Mary Beth at Kemble-Sarawak United Church who, upon my arrival, met me saying, “Your GPS won’t always work on these backroads and if you are like most folks, you won’t have one of these.” And she handed me a folded roadmap which I gratefully placed in my glove box.
One afternoon at another rural church I served I received a phone call by a church member asking if I could come to their farm immediately. Leaving a meeting, I arrived promptly in a lovely floral dress, nylons and a pair of pretty flats. Imagine my surprise when told the pastoral emergency was in the barn! By the time I arrived to the dying animal, I was ankle deep in mud and manure. Turned out, one of their beloved sheep was dying and in need of prayer. This was kinda my own fault because the Sunday prior I had spent the Children’s Conversation explaining that all creatures belong to God- after all is that not the point of the Noah’s Ark story?
Since that day, I carry rubber boots!
Another pastoral visit resulted in me carrying dog treats because upon my arrival, three “friendly” dogs circled my van, barking loudly. I was assured they wouldn’t bite, but until the owner opened my door I was not taking any chances. This city girl doesn’t challenge three barking dogs!
I also learned that even with GPS, a cell phone and a paper map, I can still get lost. Sometimes country folks give unhelpful directions, such as “go down the third sideroad from the church, pass the red barn and turn left at the Scott’s place.” Only to discover the red barn was painted brown at least three years prior and the Scott’s sold the farm to someone named “Snider”! More than once I have pulled over to the side of the road, phoned the waiting parishioner and declared, “I am lost”.
At one church I served, the municipality had amalgamated with its neighbour resulting in the roads being renumbered, but the parishioners refused to use the new numbers! I learned that when they said ‘Road 24’, it was actually ‘124’ and ‘Sideroad 6’ was now ‘Sideroad 8’, and so on. I knew I had officially become a local when they would tell me to go to Joe’s place then turn left at the Smith’s farm and then turn right at the field of soy (even though it was January), and I knew exactly where they meant!
One other tool I have taken to carrying with me is my camera. While driving these back country roads I have caught some amazing scenes. One autumn day, I captured a gruesome shot of eleven Turkey Vultures sitting together on a wooden fence. Another time, I shot an eagle in full view as it soared overhead with outstretched wings. There have been amazing sunsets, incredible farming scenes of misty morning sunrises and, especially in Kemble, there are vistas of Georgian Bay from atop hilly terrain.
Most recently, my toolbox includes other tools of the trade. I have masks, hand sanitizer, sanitizing wipes, a lawn chair, a video camera (so to record the worship video for YouTube) and I am never without my cell phone.
The other day my husband was cleaning up the SUV and brought in my rubber boots, bag of dog treats and the folded paper map saying, “you don’t need these!” I quickly gathered them up and said, “Oh yes I do!”. As well as the little pair of slippers I wear when entering folks’ homes, an umbrella, the portable CD player, the Bible, Church directory, bottles of grape juice for communion, my wide brimmed sun hat and an assortment of greeting cards.
Certainly, the tools of my trade as a Rural Minister are different then taught at Seminary, but when I view this basket of goodies, I smile at the oddity and the joy of my calling!
Stain Glass Lens of the 21st Century 