The beauty was right under my nose the whole time

Posted on May 20, 2013 by

An elderly woman in my congregation is ill just now and on a bright spring day I went to visit her at the local hospital. I parked my car and made my way along the sidewalk toward the main entrance when I stopped short. What I saw took my breath away: right there beside the parking gate amid concrete and asphalt was a glorious blaze of colour!

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I had my prayer book in my hand and I really wanted to see L. but first I had to stop to oooh and ahhh over the red tulips and pink hyacinth. Bulbs always look best when they are tightly packed together like that, a little community standing in solidarity against the changeable spring weather. Even the traffic island was overflowing with daffodils and tulips! Someone went to a lot of trouble for this, I thought to myself. Two carefully positioned plaques told me these flowers were planted in memory of Dick Freeborough and Mags Shorey. Yes, this was indeed a carefully planned and tended garden.

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How could I have missed such an incredible display all those other times, I wondered? I have been in and out of this hospital for more than ten years and never noticed it. Beauty was right there in front of me and I didn’t even see it.

Perhaps I had never been by the garden at just the right time, I thought. Perhaps in the summer I hurried by to avoid the blazing sun. Perhaps in the fall it looked muddy and brown. And in the winter, who can blame me for rushing from my car into the warmth of the front doors?

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Yes, perhaps that’s it. It is like those families I meet who are celebrating the birth of a child and want to reconnect with the church after a long absence. Or those who begin serving the community with new vigour once their nest is empty. Seasons change. We change. What we had never seen before suddenly becomes clear. Even if was right under our nose the whole time.

I decided not to waste my time on regret. Instead,  I embraced the gift of delight from that brilliant little garden. I stood on the sidewalk and marveled. I smiled to myself, and took a deep breath, and carried on to see L. in her room on the fourth floor. I am sure my visit with her was richer and more full of life because of my new discovery. 

Thank heaven for changing seasons and the gifts that they bring.

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Minnie is a great dog, even though she ate my favourite sandals.

Posted on May 15, 2013 by

Our family got a dog.

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This winter we registered with a pet rescue organization and then about six weeks ago  we welcomed Minnie into our family. She’s a two year old Airedale terrier. She is very sweet, very energetic, and eats absolutely everything. Shoes. Plastic wrappers. Stuffed animals. Pencils are her favourite. But for all the extra work a dog brings (like sweeping up pencil shards, for instance) she has also opened my eyes to beauty I would have otherwise missed.

Since I now take Minnie on long walks, I am getting to know the streets around our new house. As we make our way into cul-de-sacs and follow the walking trails (what a blessing our community was built with so many!) I am discovering new neighbourhoods, new parkettes, and houses with some very pretty gardens out front. If I was driving the car instead of walking the dog, I would never have found them.

054Those walks are also giving me the time and opportunity to see what is growing near my house. One day last week while walking the Sixteen Mile Creek trail, I revelled in the lovely swaths of white trillium growing on the forest floor. Although it is our provincial flower, they are not easily spotted. They bloom in early spring but many of us don’t get outside until the weather warms up . Without Minnie I would have missed them.

And then there were the toad lilies I found growing along the trail near our house. I exclaimed out loud when I saw them, and smiled because they reminded me of my daughter E. A few years ago we had a great time doing a school project on local wildflowers and learned about them through her research. We only saw them in photographs, but here there are growing right next door! Without Minnie I would have missed those, too.

042But Minnie has done more than introduce me to the local flora. She has also been the catalyst for smiles and conversations that I never would have had otherwise. There is the nice man who has a welsh terrier, the neighbour with an Australian shepherd/poodle mix and the young girl with a golden lab who apologized when her dog growled at mine. Somehow, with a dog to walk I have been welcomed into a new community that was not available to me before Minnie.

Minnie is still a crazy dog who jumps up on strangers with deranged enthusiasm. And I hate that she eats anything left unattended (yesterday it was an entire bag of coloured sprinkles. That should make her poop exciting!) But I am so pleased that our desire to welcome a homeless dog is bringing unexpected blessings to me and to our family.

Hospitality–especially the risky kind–is like that.

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Sometimes even in the springtime hope is hard to find

Posted on April 22, 2013 by

A woman from our neighbourhood died. For ten years our families have shared an unremarkable friendship, really. We chatted in the doorway at birthday parties, arranged play dates, and exchanged stories about our kids. There was no drama, no intensity, just warm neighbourliness which, in this day and age, is perhaps an undervalued gift.

All of us dressed up and went to the funeral home for the visitation. Our kids have been through this before and my husband and I spend lots of time in funeral homes, of course. But this time it was different. The room was full of children and teenagers, and there were people we knew from our childrens’ schools, and near the casket there was a very young, very distraught family. There were so many large flower arrangements that they had run out of room on the plant stands and tables. The television played a loop of family pictures showing L. in high school, and with her infant children. She was too young for this, I thought to myself. I am too young for this. 

We visited with the dad and kids. We talked with the others who were there. We went home feeling sorry and sad. 

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I spent the whole weekend looking for signs of hope. But this year in Ontario, those signs were hard to find. With snow well into April, the grass was brown and the forsythia bushes devoid of even green buds, nevermind yellow blooms. In my new yard there aren’t even any snow drops, which for the last ten years have been the first to greet me after the long winter. I looked for hope everywhere I went. I found nothing.

When I found nothing–no encouragement from the earth or sky–I decided that there was only one thing to do. I kept looking. Faith tells me that there is always hope, even when it is buried deep in the earth. So I walked the dog and peered into other people’s gardens. I looked up at the sky and into the barren trees. I looked and looked.

It took a long time, but suddenly there it was, all in one day: There was a warm breeze. We found a few tiny crocus. My youngest and I were out for a walk and he held my hand. The earth had begun to thaw. My shoulders began to relax. All will be well, I said to myself. All will be well. Even if it takes a long time. 

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I know that L.’s family still grieves, that they still wake up and wish it was all a bad dream. Their schedules at work and school are resuming again, but nothing will be the same. They have to figure out how to live in this new reality that they didn’t plan on and didn’t want.

I know that I can’t turn back time or take away their grief. So I will send a card, make them dinner and set up a play date. That, and take the hope I found this week and share it with them the best I can. Because I know that sometimes it can be really hard to find, even when you’re looking.  

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Canada Blooms: A breath of fresh air

Posted on March 19, 2013 by

How blessed am I? So blessed that A. and M. gave me a pair of tickets to Canada Blooms! This year, it is being held at the Direct Energy Centre in Toronto from March 15-24, so last Friday my husband and I sent the kids to school and drove off to spend the day together. We got there just as the show opened, and lazily made our way through the feature gardens and the marketplace. We saw incredible things, like the flowers arranged to look like a bedroom, and a cute-as-a-button bicycle with yellow flowers (God forgive my envy). We loved the dog house with a living roof, too, and walked very slowly through the creative “Live Outside” exhibit.

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We enjoyed the market place and stopped to chat with our friends at NEOB (Niagara Essential Oils and Blends) who we met two years ago when I was on sabbatical. It was great to hear about how they have expanded to include not just lavender and scented geranium, but are growing orange trees and roses now, too! I treated myself to a little bottle of lavender pillow spray (since lavender is an herb that encourages relaxation and I need all the help I can get) and also something I had never tried before: lavender chocolate! Of course I liked it (it was chocolate–duh!) but it also had a gentle flowery taste that was completely new. Yum!

We went by the booth for GardenMaking magazine, too. It was wonderful to meet editor Becky Fox and her daughter, Katherine and we chatted for quite a few minutes about growing vegetables on the front lawn and passing the love of gardening on to your children. I already liked the magazine, but meeting them made it seem even more authentic. I love Canadian publications.

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The hours seemed to fly by until we were ready to head for home again. I was sorry to leave, but feeling encouraged and hopeful. The greenery and beauty were the perfect antidote to an Ontario winter that just won’t quit. I am ready for a change of season. Bring on the sunshine, the first shoots of green, and weather warm enough to get my hands in the dirt!

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And that was perhaps the best gift of all from Canada Blooms: fresh hope. The sights and smells of tulips and hyacinth, the silly garden ornaments for sale, and the talk of soil amendments reminded me that spring really IS coming. Nothing can hold it back: not my busy schedule, not my fretting over an un-landscaped backyard, not my wish that I had started more seedlings by now (this year I will just have to buy my leeks!) Even though today the winds are howling and the snow stubbornly continues to fall, it will not be this way forever. 

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I really love that about the world God made: for all its mystery and strangeness, the changing of the seasons is dependable, and happens without any help from me. Too often I feel as if everything really does depend on me (ministers are prone to that, as are mothers, so I suppose I get a double dose!) and it is good to remember now and again that it isn’t true. In the coming weeks, the daffodils will most certainly  bloom and the trees will sprout new leaves, without fail and without my help.

Yes, spring is coming, no matter what. And that is good news for my winter weary soul.

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Banging my chair on the ceiling: take that, squirrel!

Posted on March 6, 2013 by

I may not have bats in the belfry, but I do have a squirrel in the attic. At least, I hope it’s only one. Good grief.

We first noticed it ages ago, but it took us a few weeks to find a pest control company who would help us for a reasonable price (who knew squirrel-catching was such a lucrative profession?). Finally, we found a really nice guy with a really nice price. He was local. He came right away.

My new friend S. came and installed a one-way door where the critter had been getting in. He charged us $300 and told us he’d be back in a few weeks to collect his hardware. He was sure we wouldn’t see the squirrel again, and he was right. For awhile.

white chairLast night, the squirrels woke me up sometime around four am. I  was not happy. The soft sound of scratching isn’t as bad as say, a train horn or bagpipes at that hour of the day. But laying in bed listening to the varying patterns of scritching and scratching can induce a fair amount of worry.  Are they making a nest to have their spring litter above my bedroom?  Is my house gong to burn down because they are chewing on the wiring? And what kind of a smelly mess are they making in my attic?

Thankfully I dozed off again in fitful sleep and the sound was gone when I got up this morning. Then I sat down at my desk. Rustle, rustle. Thud. Scratch scratch scratch. Arg!

I looked around for something long enough to reach the ceiling, but there were no brooms or mops handy (not an unusual situation for my household, really). So I picked up a wooden chair, turned it upside down and banged the legs on the ceiling. He scampered. I banged some more. Scamper. Bang! Scamper. Bang! The scampering headed for the eaves trough. Bang bang bang!  Silence. Victory!

plaster dustIt was short lived. Just as I settled in to finally check my email, I heard it again: scratch, scratch. So I whipped out my trusty chair and banged him away again. Take that, you nasty squirrel!

The light dusting of plaster that now rests on my desk notwithstanding, I am feeling like a successful squirrel wrangler. My husband, however,  (who is at work and hates the thought of my banging willy-nilly on the ceiling all day long) has agreed to call our friend S. again. Perhaps he needs to come back and check on his “one-way” door.

It’s funny to me that I spend the rest of my life trying to open doors: the door to my house so I can offer hospitality to family and friends, the door to my church where I hope all will find a warm welcome, and even the door to my heart where I might receive the love of God. But now here I am hoping for the permanent closure of that tiny, one-way squirrel door.

Knowing that every single one of us longs to be loved, welcomed and accepted, I almost feel sorry for that poor little squirrel I am evicting. Almost. Because while all God’s critters may have a place in the choir, they still don’t belong in my attic. Which is why, at least until S. gets here, I am keeping my trusty white chair at the ready.

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Ashes to ashes, parent to child.

Posted on February 19, 2013 by

Ash Wednesday is an ancient holy day in the Christian church calendar. It marks the beginning of the season of Lent, which is traditionally a time of spiritual attentiveness and renewal. We are reminded of our mortality as we confess our brokenness and receive God’s mercy in Jesus Christ.

150At my church, we gather in the evening for a service that includes the imposition of ashes in which we turn toward God in order to receive from God a clean heart and a new spirit. The ashes are made from the leaves from Palm Sunday the year before. They are black and grainy, and with my thumb I mark each person’s forehead with a cross as I utter the words, “From dust you came, to dust you shall return”. They are a reminder of our limited humanity. God is infinite and powerful but we were born, and we will die. 

When my children were very young, I would go to these evening services alone. This year, however, my children were old enough to attend with me. For the first time, my family was present at the Ash Wednesday service. I always love it when we can be together at church.

The service proceeded as planned, with quiet prayers and lovely music. I stood at the front of the church and invited everyone to come up the center aisle one at a time to receive the sign of the cross.

One by one they came to face me, stepping toward me so that my thumb could touch their forehead. I looked each person in the eye, considering our human frailty, repeating the words over and over:  Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  

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And then I was suddenly face to face with my child. In front of me, eyes looking up expectantly, was my own flesh and blood. I carried him in my belly for nine months, listened as he took his first breath, marveled at his infant beauty. I held his hand as he learned to walk, rocked him when he cried, watched him delight in puppies and Lego and birthday cake. Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.       

Facing him, I couldn’t breathe. It was agony to reach for that small forehead and mark it with a reminder of death. How could I stand there and acknowledge that the death of my own child will one day come? That my sweet little boy could at any moment–will at some moment–cease to be?  Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.        

I swallowed tears. I made that mark with my thumb. This is the way it is in God’s world. Agony. Death. The promise of Comfort. Lord, have mercy.

The line pressed ahead after that. I was shaken but carried on, marking each of us with ashes that seemed blacker than before, earthier somehow. There we were at the crux of it all, accepting the realities of life, the pain and suffering and disappointment. There we were acknowledging how powerless we are to change it.

Still we were together, and straining our eyes for the first signs of hope. Surely Easter is coming soon. 

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Snow day in high def. With 3D and surround sound, too.

Posted on February 8, 2013 by

004It was a snow day. The best kind, too. Not only were the school buses cancelled, but schools were closed and the roads were too messy to venture out on. We all stayed in our jammies til noon, made waffles with berry topping for breakfast, and lounged around watching the Weather Network.

Later in the afternoon, however, I began to feel a bit sluggish. Maybe it was too many cups of vanilla nut tea. It was probably the fact that since 8 am my eyes had been glued to a screen–television, ipod, blackberry or laptop (I may have been in my pj’s but there was still work to be done!). I considered a nap, but knew that would make me groggy. I looked out the window for the millionth time, enjoying beautiful windswept snow in the yard. It was time to take the plunge.

008The girls had already been out for a walk (it’s so lovely they have friends within walking distance of the house) and told me it was cold, but that didn’t put me off. I like winter.

It didn’t take long before I was outside with the boys, shovel in hand. We cleared off the van and set to the driveway (well, T. mostly just flopped around in the snow, but he’s ten and I would expect nothing less). Soon I was tossing snowballs–or snow handfuls, since it was so powdery and fresh–and being foolish.

Next thing we know the two teenage girls next door came out to offer the help of their snowblower, an offer which was happily received. The three of us chatted while A. (fine strapping young man that he is) cleared the snow. They finally went inside, but we went across the street and introduced ourselves to B. and A.,  who seemed to need a hand clearing the snow in front of their house.

006It was only an hour or two but it was wonderful– and here I had almost forgotten to go outside! It made me think of a passage out of a book I am reading just now:

“Garden photographs, which mouth-wateringly decorate so many articles about gardens…can take no account of the complex experience of being in a garden…the smells, the sounds, the relationship of one part to another, the sense of process and imminent change, the fragility of the whole experience….” (Rory Stuart, What are Gardens For?)

Exactly. I could have had a nice snow day looking out the window. But I had a fantastic snow day as soon as I went outside and immersed myself in it. Wind, snowflakes, working muscles, friendly neighbours and goofy kids added vitality, zing, wonder.

It was a fine snow day, indeed.

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