Stain Glass Lens of the 21st Century

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  • These Are a Few of My Favorite Things…

    These Are a Few of My Favorite Things…

    Photo by Magda Ehlers/Pexels

    On the wooden shelf in my dining room sits a metal tin box that is painted blue with multi coloured flowers on it.  Over 50 years ago I received this as a gift; it has held many treasures over the years. 

    During Advent this box was put away as the shelf was covered with Santa Clauses and Christmas Candles. Last week, I got it out again and before putting it back up on the shelf I opened it to see what treasures it held.

    There were ribbons, a couple of recipes, a beaded necklace, an old house key, and a small note pad.  On the note pad I had written the title, ‘My Favorite Things: June 1976’ and the list starts with rainbows, dandelion wishes, cotton candy, going to the beach, puppy dogs, watermelon, hot chocolate, tobogganing, my kitten named Peanut and the cartoon Scooby Doo.

    I vaguely remember making this list.  It was after I had watched the movie The Sound of Music and heard Maria (played by Julie Andrews) singing the song, These Are a Few of My Favorite Things. She was comforting the van Trap children during a thunderstorm. Maria cheerfully sang, “I simply remember my favorite things. And then I don’t feel so bad.” 

    As I put the tin box back on the shelf, I thought that perhaps it was providence that made me look inside that box.  This latest lock down has been very discouraging; signs of the weariness can be found everywhere from those losing their temper to those simply refusing to follow the rules.  My one friend shared that she witnessed three people ahead of her at the post office lose their temper with the postal worker who was simply trying to do her job.  We all need to pause and remember our favorite things, so we don’t feel so bad.

    As I sat down on a dining room chair, I began to list my favourite things wondering if they had changed in the last 45 years.  In that moment my list consisted of fresh fallen show, birdsong, the smell of bread baking, puppy dogs, used bookstores, wool sweaters, lilac bushes in full bloom, the laughter of children, flowers that grow in sidewalk cracks, and sunsets over Lake Huron.  Then two days later, while nodding off to sleep I again listed my 10 favorite things and the list had changed and even now, the list forming in my thoughts has changed yet again. 

    Since opening that tin box I have spent many moments redoing the list and it has been wonderful filling my thoughts with all that I find beautiful, noteworthy, and of value in the world.  It sure is better than despairing over COVID-19, lamenting the terrible headlines, or worrying over what may happen in the future.

    As James Allen writes in his book, As A Man Thinketh, “Your mind is a garden, your thoughts are the seeds.  You can grow flowers, or you can grow weeds.”

    Our thoughts are powerful; they shape our days.  Why not choose happy thoughts? 

    So, what are your top ten favorite things?

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • Make Your Life An Event!

    Make Your Life An Event!

    Photo by Boris Pavlikovsky/Pexels

    Here we are at the beginning of a new year with 365 blank days ready to be filled.  Each day is like a page in a book and the story of that book is written by how you decide to spend your moments.  How are you going to fill the pages of your life?

    It isn’t difficult these days to find plenty to complain about.  Those with little imagination can always lament but those with vision and wisdom write the story of their life with gratitude and gentleness.

    They are the ones who see the touch of divinity in seemingly ordinary occurrences.  They gather these occurrences like one may gather shells on the beach or stones along a hike.  They are gathered and placed into one place to be reviewed and admired for the beauty they hold.

    One way to do this is simply by hanging a calendar on your refrigerator and making note daily of all the beauty you witness. Record the day you bumped into an old friend at the grocery store and spent 45 minutes in the cereal aisle talking or the day your new arm chair arrived after months of waiting.  Make note on that calendar of the brilliance of the full moon or the day you saw your first Robin in the spring.  Ink in the day the daffodils bloomed, the roses filled the air with fragrance and the day you noticed the first red autumn leaf.

    Then, as the year draws to an end create a ceremony of reviewing your year.  Make a cup of tea or pour a glass of wine and in a quiet space slowly flip through the months making note of the days, pausing to remember the moments and savoring the memories.  Welcome to the story of your life!

    As John Lennon sings in his song Beautiful Boy, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”  Don’t miss out on the beautiful story of your life by only using the calendar to write down Doctor’s Appointments, bill payments and when the car needs an oil change.  Don’t miss out on the divinity in your life by only remembering who slighted you, what upset you and who made you angry.  Instead, take a daily inventory of all the beauty your life holds. 

    Happy New Year Everyone,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • Park Benches!

    Park Benches!

    Photo by Andrea Piacquadio/Pexels

    There has been a new edition to our daily walks; park benches! Over a two week period in mid-October the park staff were busy arranging new memorial park benches throughout the park. Each bench has been donated in memory of a loved one. One can now have a rest half way up the 1 mile trail allowing for a panoramic view of the winding creek.  Other benches were added along “Ring Road”, beside the Sydenham River, by each of the play grounds and in quiet out-of-the way spots in the park. 

    One of the highlights of my mid-day walk with Abby, my canine sidekick, is two women who share the same park bench.  They can be found around noon proudly sitting behind their walkers which have been decorated with flags and ribbons.  They both wear bright red headbands, navy coats and one has a lovely yellow scarf while the other wears a bright green scarf.  Each as cheerful as the colours they wear.  

    There is an elderly gentleman who I often see sitting on a bench in a quieter part of the park.  He nods in response to my “hellos” but never offers any more conversation.  I have assumed the bench was donated in memory of his wife and it is while sitting there he daily converses with her despite her physical absence.

    During one walk I found a sweet blue and white rabbit sitting on one of the benches, someone had carefully placed it there with a heavy rock upon its lap.  I stopped and smiled as I thought of the child who is looking for this furry friend and the many adventures they must have shared; my hope was that the bunny found its way home.

    Another time I witnessed a grandma sitting on the bench with a small child sharing a picture book.  I knew a child like this, one who would carry books everywhere, always preferring books to jungle gyms or slides.  I hope someday to sit on the same bench with one of his children, my grandchildren, sharing in a book while the others run and play.

    This past week I noticed that many of the benches have been decorated with bows or Christmas decorations.  Presumably this is done by family members of those whose names are on each bench; an act of remembrance which is most important during this sacred season.

    In the few short weeks that these benches have been present they have nurtured rest, reflection, friendship, healing, and created countless memories. May we never forget to pause and appreciate the small things for as it is written, “Enjoy the little things in life for one day you will look back and realize they were the big things.”

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • The Eternal Echo of Smallness

    The Eternal Echo of Smallness

    Photo by Lilaartsy/Pexels

    At Bible Study last week one of the participants asked, “Why can’t God do something as big as the disasters?  The flooding out west, the horrific carnage of the forest fires last summer or this pandemic that has taken over the entire globe.  These disasters cannot be ignored. Why can’t God do something that is so big everyone witnesses God’s power?”

    Her question expressed the true longing of the Advent Season; the longing for God’s kingdom to be realized. 

    Many others around the table nodded their heads in agreement and she quietly added, “I know God is at work.  We hear about those who step up to help and we hear about those who survived against the odds. We hear the heroic stories and know God is busy turning things around.  But why do we always have to look so hard to see the small acts of God?”

    She has a point.  God does do things in obscure places in seemingly unnoticeable ways; a baby born to poor parents in a barn who grows to lead an endless worldwide movement that begun with only 12 followers.  

    As the Apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Corinth Church, “…God chose the small things…Yes, he chose even the things which seem to be nothing. He did this to destroy the big things.” (1 Corinthians 1:28)

    Forest fires are eventually extinguished by each tiny drop of water and each sand bag does its part to hold back the flood.  This is how God’s kingdom works, small and quiet acts that echo for eternity.

    We can help realize God’s kingdom by small acts of peace, respect, and acceptance. What a difference the world would be if each one of us decided to do one small act of kindness every day; imagine the tremendous wave of hope, peace, joy and love that would wash over the world!

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel 

  • A Determined Hope

    A Determined Hope

    Photo by Maria Orlova/Pexels

    (Hello everyone, this is the second time you have received this BLOG this week. When I reread the original BLOG I noticed a big mistake. It is amazing how the positioning of two words can alter the meaning entirely. Perhaps you will notice the change….maybe you won’t! Thanks for joining us at Stainglass Lense!)

    When hiking the trails through Grey-Bruce Counties it is likely you will come across one of the most hope filled images in all of God’s creation, a tree growing out of a rock. With its roots stretching over the sides of the rock and sinking deep into the earth while its limbs reach up to touch the sun, each tree seems to embrace these large rocks.  This image has always encouraged me and I have pondered, is this an image of hope or is it an image of determination; perhaps, a determined hope?

    This is the image that pops into my mind each Advent when the words of the Prophet Isaiah are read, “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit (Isaiah 11:1).”  In other words, out of a seemingly dead tree new life will emerge with a determined hope.

    Isaiah is speaking of the kingdom which began with Christ and continues to be realized through the Spirit of God. In this kingdom the wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, justice will cover the earth as water fills the sea and peace will be maintained between all the nations (Isaiah 11:1-10). 

    Isaiah is speaking to those who know how to deepen their roots around hardship, embracing change while reaching upward.  He is reminding us that with God there is always hope for new life to emerge.

     This coming Sunday we begin our Advent journey.  And, as is tradition we will begin by lighting the candle of Hope.  I cannot imagine a better way to start any journey then with hope.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • Selah.

    Selah.

    Photo by Josh Hild, Unsplash

    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.       

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • Strange Happenings In a Country Cemetery

    Strange Happenings In a Country Cemetery

    Photo by Scott Rodgerson/Unsplash

    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?!

    Happy Halloween Everyone!

    Rev. Heather McCarrel   

  • A One Eyed Dog & A Hand Dug Grave

    A One Eyed Dog & A Hand Dug Grave

    Photo by Annie Spratt/Unsplash

    Country Cemeteries always remind me of a one eyed dog, hand dug graves and musty sanctuaries.

    The reason for this is due to an incident that happened early in my ministry.   My presence had been requested at a grave side service for a family that lived in Toronto.  This family had, years earlier, purchased plots in the cemetery related to one of the, now closed, churches of my pastoral charge.  I was asked to preside at the grave side service of a deceased elderly male.  His wife and adult children, along with the Funeral Home staff, would drive the 3 hours north from Toronto and meet me at the cemetery at 1:00 p.m. 

    Upon my arrival on that hot and humid July day I was met by a friendly one eyed dog that took his job as host very seriously and kept close to me for the remainder of the day.  It soon became clear that this cemetery was his home and among the long grass and weeds one had to step carefully.  I made my way to a dirt covered man who was busy digging the grave with a pitch fork and shovel; that was the way of grave digging in this neck of the woods.  Before returning to his work Syd told me that this was the last plot to be filled in this cemetery and it would be officially full. 

    About half an hour later, off in the distance, I saw a hearse approaching followed by a few cars.  It was then that the Syd approached looking a bit upset and asked if I had a key to the old church building beside the cemetery.  Yes, I did have the key but the building, which leaned dangerously to one side, was condemned.  “Open it up and have the family wait in there.  We have a problem.”

    I nervously unlocked and slowly opened the heavy doors of this tired old building to be met by an earie scene.  The hymn numbers were still in the hymn board at the front of the sanctuary, hymn books were laying on the torn pews, candles poised on the communion table and an open Bible laid across the pulpit.  It looked as though a worship service had just happened days earlier.  I stood in the silence almost expecting to hear singing rise out of nowhere.  As the confused family filed in they also paused, looked around and carefully took seats close to the back doors.  The musty space did offer a break from the oppressive heat that hung just outside the doors and for this we were thankful.  I went back outside to discover what problem had arisen.     

    A rather upset Funeral Director approached me in his three piece black suit and while wiping his forehead explained that Syd had discovered a body was already in the plot!  In complete disbelief I looked over to the plot to see Syd and three others looking down.

    After some discussion and a confession by one of the sons the mystery was solved.  It turned out another family member had been buried there four years earlier; an estranged son of the deceased.  We were told that this son had been estranged from the family for many years, caught up in the wrong crowd and one night had died.  Not wanting to upset his parents this son arranged his brother’s burial in this forgotten cemetery.  Thankfully, it was the same funeral home four years earlier that had accompanied his mother on this hot July day.  After a few phone calls it was confirmed that this burial had been recorded, they had paper work to prove who was in the plot and there was no criminal intent.  With Syd’s quick thinking a second plot was quickly dug.    

    I asked this one son to take me to sit with his mother as he explained what had happened.  The mother did not speak English but no words were needed for me to understand her grief; the language of a mother is universal.  I sat with her as she grappled with the news of her son’s death while waiting to bury her husband.  Perhaps the setting of an old, sad looking sanctuary fit the scene perfectly. 

    Eventually, we made our way out to the plot and with the one eyed dog by my side we continued the service.  The Mother did not understand a single word I said but she did understand the actions and when we were done she knelt down at both plots and marked them with the sign of the cross before standing tall and walking back to the car. 

    Syd, the one eyed dog and I stood silently by as this sad procession headed down the road toward Toronto.

    Each Halloween I think of that sad day so long ago and wonder what other odd and unusual stories are hidden among the graves of old country cemeteries.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • The Echo of Orange

    The Echo of Orange

    One day in 1973, a little girl named Phyllis Webstad from the Stswecem’c Xgat’tem First Nation began her first day at St. Joseph’s Residential School in Williams Lake, British Colombia, Canada.  She proudly wore an orange shirt her granny gave her for this special day.  Soon after she arrived at school, that shirt was removed from her. Forty years later, September 30th, 2013, she publicly shared her story for the first time and Orange Shirt Day was birthed.

    Sadly, in May of this year, with the use of ground-penetrating radar, 215 unmarked graves were discovered at the former Kamloops Indian Residential School. Since then, over eighteen hundred unmarked graves have been found; children who died in Canadian residential schools. 

    Phyllis Webstad most likely never guessed the significance of what she began the day she nervously shared her story.  Her voice is now the voice of over eighteen hundred children and the Orange Shirt Day has become Canada’s first National Day for Truth and Reconciliation.

    The Government of Canada has legislated every September 30th as National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. The passing of Bill C-5 follows the 2015 TRC recommendation that Orange Shirt Day be formally recognized as a federal statutory holiday. 

    This day is set aside for listening deeply and holding space for the stories of the survivors.  We are to reflect on changes needed to elevate the voices of our First Nations, Metis, and Inuit neighbors. 

    Take time on September 30th to watch CBC’s commercial-free programming honouring stories of survivors. You can listen to Phyllis Webstad at this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3vUqr01kAk

    And, if you do decide to purchase an orange shirt, please do so from an Indigenous designer that gives proceeds to survivors and reconciliation work.  The photo with this BLOG is of a t-shirt purchased from M’Wikwedong Indigenous Friendship Centre in Owen Sound and was designed locally.  

    May we live the commitment of equality for all,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • The Fluttering of Wings

    The Fluttering of Wings

    Photo by Javardh/Unsplash

    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.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel