The Moment

Small children have a gift. It is the gift of living in the moment. When I was a child the first snowfall thrilled me, it was magical. It was like I had never seen snow before.  I used to marvel at my children's ability to take joy in the smallest things or be absolutely engrossed in things that most adults wouldn't even notice. I remember Pieter as a three year old crouching down to examine a dead frog in the road. A bit gross for most people but absolutely fascinating to a three year old. He used to take things apart, to see how they went together. He didn't worry about getting them back together. Luke would to wake up singing and dancing, no thought about where his meals were coming from or what his future would be. Luke,  at twenty, still lives in the moment more than any other person I know. He loves to create, sing, play music and philosophize but even he worries at times about the future. Watching my children grow and discover the world was a joy. I remember Anna following our dog Bashful around and taking such pleasure in the way she wagged her tale. I loved how determined she was to ride a bike, she persevered like there was nothing more important in the world. Tina was another one that would sing, dance, twirl completely free from worldly constraints.

When Grace was about a year old, I was facing some issues within myself that were overwhelmingly painful. One spring day she and I were out in the garden. I was hanging laundry and she was sitting on the grass near me. I noticed that she was totally oblivious to what I was doing. She was looking around herself in wonderment. Lost in the moment. I wrote this about it:

Spring

My baby sits in the garden

The grass curls around her legs

as if she is born of the earth.

a sunny flower.

She waves at a bumble bee

and strokes the grass with

her soft hand.

I pick her up and hold her,

her heart close to mine,

perhaps to share in that 

deep, wide unsuspecting innocence.

She doesn't know the brown grass of summer

or the bee's sting

and when she's close

I forget.

Every once in awhile we forget ourselves and become totally lost in the moment. Sometimes sitting beside a lake early in the morning,with the mist rising off the water  we glory in the dawn. We stop thinking, we just are. In church when a great piece of music is played we close our eyes and soar far above the earth. In the spring we go for a walk and breath deeply of the fresh smell of earth and plant life. We are caught up in the green newness of the world.  In prayer we are transported from the here and now and are engulfed in the ecstasy of the Lord's presence. Every time these things happen it is because I have forgotten myself and am more aware of God's kingdom. Life, as we grow, grows busy, we become weighted down with doubts, self-consciousness and worry. We have experienced pain and at times old wounds seem fresh. I have learned that at those times it is important to stop, look outside myself, run to the one who created us and wants us to live with him always. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear" 1 John 4:8 "How great is the love the Father has given us so freely! Now we can be called children of God." 1 John 3:1

Anna and Bashful

Narnia

 I love to read.  My parents were and are avid readers. They introduced us to books at a young age. But the thing that made us into readers was their example.

I read mostly fiction but I think the reason I read is to understand people, the world around me and at times to uplift my spirit.  To me the best books are honest books. Books that are written with a love of the craft and not just for profit. This is true of all forms of art. I don't have to necessarily agree with the characters' points of view if what is being said is genuine.

 I have favourite authors and books. There are books that I reread every few years. David Copperfield, Little women, To Kill a Mocking Bird, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy and CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia are some of my favourite rereads. Of all the books that I have read multiple times the one I reach for most often is the Chronicles of Narnia.

Every two or three years I pick up the Chronicles of Narnia and dive head first into that world.  I need to visit that place once again. I love that a lamp post hurled in evil rage from our world into Narnia plants itself and continues to shine for eons there. I love how Aslan creates his world with song. I can hear the music as it emerges from his being, causing stars to twinkle and the sun to rise for the first time. I revel in it as it rolls and swells and hills, valleys and plains are formed. I thrill as the song trills and flows and streams, ponds, rivers, lakes and oceans appear. I love the idea that a good and blameless king will pay a price for a crime he did not commit. It moves me that people who are weak and selfish come to see their weaknesses after they come face to face with Aslan and are changed. That children can be heroes and grow to become fair princes and princesses and noble Kings and Queens who rescue others. In Narnia the wicked hatch schemes to deceive but in the end their falsehoods are revealed and their plans to do evil are thwarted.

After reading CS Lewis' books I am infused with hope again. I can see our world in a different light. I see that there is evil and tragedy, but also light and love displayed in the face of adversity. I can see what is noble and think on those things. I am challenged to look beyond myself to others. To see promise in those around me.  To forgive as I have been forgiven and to bless others as I have been blessed.

They grow up.

My youngest child left home this year to go to the University of Waterloo for the honours Math program.

Every one of my children has taught me something and one of the things that this child taught me was, don't get hung up on what others think be who you are and want to be .

When Grace was very little I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. I was thinking she would say something like teacher, police woman maybe even princess. My little girl looked at me and said "I want to be a dragon!" I was a little taken back by this and so said "but what are you going to do?" Grace looked at me as though I didn't really understand the way things worked and said, "I'm going to Breath Fire!" Grace took my question at face value; what do you want to be, not what career do you see yourself having. She let her imagination go and ending up flying and breathing fire. She did not let the constraints of this world hold her down.

Around the same time she started to refuse to wear dresses. You can't do somersaults and hang upside down on the monkey bars in a dress. Throughout grade school she had her own sense of style, it had nothing to do with what was cool or pretty. It was all about comfort and what made her feel good. She hung out more with the boys for a long time because "all the girls wanted to do was talk about boring stuff". If a child was catty or mean to Grace she would just move on, why waste time on that kind of thing. Good lesson.

Grace has always had a quirky sense of humour. Her grade 2 teacher told me that one day the back of Grace's chair came off as she tried to pull it out from under her desk. Grace laughed and laughed at that. (Sometimes you just have to laugh at little mishaps.)

When Grace started High School she met what Anne Shirley would have called "a kindred spirit" in a boy named Geoffrey. Grace and Geoffrey hit it off really quickly. It wasn't long before teachers were mentioning their friendship to me. Geoffrey was also someone who didn't take others opinion of himself too seriously. He had a quirky sense of humour and his own sense of style. I started to hear his name daily from Grace. She was really happy with this friendship. I would say that grade nine was the happiest school year that Grace had ever had. That summer Geoffrey got sick, was admitted to Sick Kids in T.O. and then passed away. Grace, who was always quiet got quieter, she clung to her father, she slept a lot. It was the hardest thing I've ever gone through with one of my children, her sorrow was mine. After  a while Grace came to us and told us she needed to do something and she had decided to shave her head, donate the hair to make wigs and raise money for Cancer research but she wanted some help. Pete called the Canadian Cancer Society and got the sponsor sheets and other items needed for such a campaign. Grace worked tirelessly to raise the money. She canvassed the neighbourhood, the school and she spent two weekends at the local grocery store. Our community was amazing and in the end Grace raised over $8,000. The people at the cancer society told us that was the most that anyone had ever raised with a head shaving campaign. It didn't change the fact that Geoffrey was gone, or that those who loved him missed him and always would. It spoke volumes about one boy's impact on the people around him.

My girl is off at school doing one of the things she loves, Math. I don't really get it. I have always been a words person, but my girl loves numbers and what you can do with them. In high school she started a comic called Doctor Math. It became a tradition of hers to draw a Doctor Math comic at the end of all her math tests and assignments She has carried that tradition on into first year university. I can appreciate them but admit that I  don't get them. My daughter has grown and she has a life all her own.

He weeps.

People suffer. I don't understand why and all the standard answers just don't cut it. There are times when my heart feels like it has taken over my whole being and is drenched in tears. At those times all I know to do is to pray and remind myself that Jesus wept, he sweated blood, he cried out "my God, my God why have you forsaken me!"

When Paul, my brother, was 25 he committed suicide. My whole being was transported to a foggy and oppressive place.  All I knew at that time was that God is there and he is good. It was in the core of me this knowledge. It was the light that came to me through the fog. I couldn't say that God caused Paul's suffering and death for a higher purpose, I didn't believe it then, I don't believe it now. But I know that Jesus wept.

My brother David died suddenly when he was 43. After I broke the news to my children I went and sat alone. I was struck once again. After a short time Grace, who was 6 at the time, came in and sat beside me and held my hand. We sat quietly like that for a little while and then she said "you know, if one of my brothers died I would be really, really sad."  Then we sat quietly again for awhile.

When Grace was in grade 10 one of her best friends, Geoffrey, died of cancer. Grace was in that place of fog and oppression. My heart wept. I wanted to pull my girl out of that dim place. If I could have  I would have taken her place, but all I could do was hold her and pray and I knew that Jesus wept. I watched Geoffrey's parents go through what must be the hardest sorrow for a parent. My heart wept and I prayed and I knew that Jesus wept too.

I don't know why there is sorrow and suffering. I do know that God is there, God is good and at those times he holds us in his arms and weeps with us.

They're Here!

They're here! It is such a happy day. My lovely girl and her lovely girl are here!


Over nine years ago my oldest daughter moved to Vancouver. It was just supposed to be for 3 years while she attended Studio 58 at Langara College(theater school).  Nine years later she and her husband and little girl are firmly established in their community. I am truly happy for them. They have a close knit, warm and supportive community. It is a comfort to know that your loved ones have found a place where they are blessed and are a blessing. Being separated from them for most of the year only increases the joy of having them come and stay.


The last time they were here I really got to know Calla. She is a peppy,dramatic, imaginative girl with unruly blond curls. Her laugh is completely infectious and she is my granddaughter!


It is one thing to be a mother but another to see your child as mother. The experience is almost surreal at first but slowly you become accustomed to it. My daughter is a gentle, caring and fun loving mother. I watch and listen to her explain things to her daughter and think what a great teacher. I witness her comfort her girl when she is hurt and think what a great nurse. I listen to her read stories and think, great actress. I eat the meals she makes and think, chef. My daughter has grown into all these things and will continue to grow. It is a wonderful thing to witness.


But Tina is more that the things she does and accomplishes. To me she is a miracle. I had her when I was 19. I loved her from the moment I knew she was there. It was not easy calling my parents and telling them I was pregnant( their response was amazingly accepting). It was hard enduring the scorn of others, some were ashamed of me, others judgmental, some thought I was throwing away my life. I however loved that little life growing within and decided to do my best for her/him. I quit doing all the unhealthy things I had been doing and started to read books on pregnancy and breast-feeding. She gave me a reason to care for myself, she brought purpose to my life. God has been good, faithful he has helped me along the way. The statistics are not good for children of teen mothers but God is bigger than statistics, He is Love. I think that Tina would agree that he has been our Father, our strength, our wisdom, our all in all.


When Tina was five a man came into our lives.  This man is a good guy with a big, kind and generous heart. Our second date involved all three of us going roller skating. We skated with Tina between us holding hands. After skating we were wandering around TO when we found ourselves witnessing a parade. Pete picked Tina up so that she could see over the heads in front of her. At some point he became aware that Tina was not looking at the parade but instead at him. He turned to look into her eyes and she said, "You know I don't have a daddy," as if to say, "I think you might just do." It went straight to his heart. I don't know how many men out there can marry a woman with a child and truly become that child's daddy but Pete did it. How good God is. He not only provided me with a husband but my little girl with a good and trustworthy Dad.


Tina is spunky, she gave me some crazy moments growing up but mostly joy. It has been a long and wonderful journey with my girl who is now a mother herself. I am so glad that I have the opportunity to experience life with her and now I get to share in the journey she is taking into mother-hood!


Soon the house will be full with all 5 of my children, my granddaughter, my son-in-law. It will be chaotic, noisy and heavenly!

Birthday

Today is a special day. It is my oldest son's 22nd birthday. Time has gone by fast. I still remember his 'birth' day well. It was a cold and early morning when Pete and I set out for the hospital in Scarborough from our home in Uxbridge.  On the way the car stalled at a  deserted intersection. I had visions of the two of us at the side of the road trying to flag down a semi to take us to the hospital but thankfully Pete got the car going. We arrived at the hospital and were admitted. I tried walking some as was my usual habit during labour but started to feel the pressure to push coming on. I got into the bed and told Pete to call the nurse, which he did. After the nurse looked at the situation she informed me that I would have at least 2 hours to go and asked if I would like something to help me. At that point I couldn't imagine 2 more hours of labour so I said yes. As soon as the nurse administered the medication I felt an overwhelming urge to push. The nurse yelled at me not to push but it was too late my body had taken control. She physically tried to stop the baby from coming and in a panic asked Pete to pull the call bell out of the wall to signal an emergency. Things progressed very quickly after that till the doctor told me to hold on and not push. The umbilical cord had become wrapped around the baby's neck. I stopped everything held my breath and prayed. The doctor finally had to cut the cord away from the baby's neck and I continued pushing till my little one made his first appearance. I was instantly elated and then sobered as I realized he was not crying, not breathing, he was blue. I held my breath again, prayed again as the medical staff shook him, prodded him, suctioned him and finally got him breathing with a wail that was like music to both Pete and me.


Being a mother has been one of the greatest joys of my life but it has not always been easy. There were times when I was tested and failed ,when words came out of my mouth that shouldn't have. There were times spent in emergency wards and hospital rooms. Times when having a gracious loving mother was a comfort because all I had to do was make a phone call and she would be there. 


When I was 19 I became a mother for the first time. I was young and impressionable. I knew nothing about parenting beyond my own experience. One day some one gave me the book "Dare to Discipline." This book advocated the use of corporal punishment, it made it sound reasonable. It also made it sound as though the parents' job was to break their children's will. That if parents did not break their child's will (without breaking their spirit) disaster would ensue. Aside from the model I'd grown up with this was all I had to go on. I used corporal punishment. I always tried to be sure that I never hit out in anger but only as a means to discipline. I continued on in this way until my oldest son was three. This son is a wonderful guy. As a child he was not much of a talker but rather a person of action. He rarely sat still, he ran, jumped, hopped, leaped and made really loud sound effects while playing, he was full of pep. He loved to push boundaries. If I said to him "stay off the road, he'd go and stand at the end of the driveway with one foot just touching the edge." I tried to discipline this boy to make him mind. One day after a battle, I broke. I saw that I was losing and so was he. I prayed and then went in search of a new way. I found it. I started reading. The first thing I read that made a huge impression was; "there are no perfect parents, no perfect children and no perfect families." This gave me a huge sense of freedom. I began to see that what I'd been doing was trying to control my children to make them what I wanted them to be. I wasn't accepting them for who they were. I started to take a look at them differently. My oldest son changed in my eyes from a difficult child to a child with spirit. I started listening to people like Barbara Colorosa, and I read a book called "Raising your spirited child"
 I also sought out counselors. It was not easy but I made the transition from a mother seeking to control her children to one trying to give them respect and train them for life. I also learned to appreciate and enjoy my children. About the same time that my oldest son turned 3 my oldest child became a teenager. This approach I believe saved my relationship with her. I realized that I was talking at her and to her but rarely with her. I also was guilty of not listening, really listening. 


Things did not always go smoothly. You may laugh but I kept a broom handle in my room to beat my bed with when I needed to let off steam. I prayed, recited the twenty third psalm, counted to ten and started asking others for help when I needed it. My kids are great people, each one an individual. When I look at them I am amazed at who they have grown into being. The best times for me are when they are all together. They are times of intelligent conversation and lots of fun and laughter. 


Being a parent has been a journey of discovery for me. I found out that there are others out there willing to listen and help. I've also become someone who rarely judges other parents. Except those unwilling to listen, grow and change. I'm still working on that one.  I've grown to realize that people are unique and have unique places to fill in this world. It has been such a joy and blessing to watch my children grow and discover who they are.


My son who is turning 22 today. Is an intelligent, responsible, hard working person who is always willing to help others when they ask. He is still a man of few words, he thinks before he speaks, he can crack up a room of people with one line and a barely discernible smile. He has not figured out his chosen career yet but I have no doubt that he will find his way In the mean time he is discovering who he is and what his place is in this world. I am glad I have the privilege of being his mother.


I have 5 children and will probably take the time to write about each one in their turn.

Unconditional

After my last blog someone asked me about my father so I thought I'd attempt to write about him.  It may seem like I'm  beatifying my mother, I'm not. My mom was human and she had her failings but my relationship with her was simple. My relationship with Dad is more complicated. Dad is a complicated person.

When my father was 2yrs old his parents split up. It was 1933 in a Catholic society, the south Netherlands. Divorce was not common. It was nasty. My Grandfather accused my Grandmother of adultery and refused to believe that my father was his. When my grandparents split; the children, 3 girls and my dad, were almost abandoned, but my Great-grandparents came to the rescue and took in dad's 3 older sisters. Dad went to the neighbour. I'm not sure what dad's life was like with the neighbour, he doesn't remember. After 2 years of my aunts begging for their little brother to come and live with them their grandparents relented. My dad was 4 when he went to live with his grandparents and sisters. His sisters loved him and from what he says so did his grandmother. My father's grandfather however never showed him any love. Dad once remarked to me that he had no father. I said something about his grandfather taking that place, dad's reply was  a vehement, "that man was no father to me!" Great-grandfather had a temper, he was an angry and bitter person. Dad once told me that his grandpa used to shout at him and say, "you're no good, just like you're father." Someone, it could have been one of my aunts, told me that when my great-grandfather finally relented and agreed to allow my dad to come live with them he said, "okay but I wash my hands of it, I'll have nothing to do with it!"  It is fortunate that my great-grandfather was many years older than my great-grandmother and died while dad was still young. He grew with little contact with his father and visited his mother infrequently, his great-grandparents didn't get along with his mother. From stories that Dad has told me, his father sounds like he was mentally ill.

Dad was 2 when he was left with his neighbour, 4 when he was taken from there to live with his grandparents and sisters and 8 when WWII started. Dad has stories of that time. His stories of his childhood are not like mine or my mother's. They involve bombing and occupation. Buildings that were there on the way to school leveled by the time he bicycled home in the evening, of hiding in the cellar. It was a time of fear and uncertainty and my father grew up in it.

Dad left the Netherlands in 1950 when he was 18 and immigrated to Canada. He didn't know anyone here and he worked on farms. A year later his sister came with her husband. My aunt introduced my parents to each other and 2 years later they were married, it was 1954. Two years after that they started having kids. 

Dad is one of the most generous people I know, he loves to treat people to meals out and is quick to give assistance where needed. Growing up he would pile us and the neighbour kids into our Chevy Biscayne and take us all swimming or skating. He loved to be goofy and he made us all laugh at times. He does a great impersonation of the fat lady in the circus. He's an amazing whistler. He can whistle like Roger Whittaker. He took us camping, canoeing, hiking and on picnics. he loved being out doors. But my dad had a temper and you never knew when the lid would blow and you'd be left sitting in rubble. I was always a little on edge around dad. We danced around him never quite sure what would set him off.

My great-grandfather's legacy to my dad was fear, hate and anger. I think Dad hated those parts of himself but didn't know how to escape. As dad has aged he's mellowed, he rarely raises his voice anymore. I love my father intensely and tell him so, but it is a word he seems incapable of uttering.

When I grew up and started having my own family that anger started to surface. At first I thought "I'm a Christian all I need is Jesus" but it wasn't enough. I needed others. I did not want to pass this on to my kids. I didn't want to be like that person in the joke who is drowning who keeps telling all his would be rescuers that it's okay Jesus will rescue him and when he dies he asks Jesus, "why didn't you rescue me?" To this the Lord replies, "I sent you a canoe, a motor boat and a helicopter!" So I went to counselling. God uses people. We need to be brave enough to say, "I need help." My counselor was a lovely and wise man named Bob Johnston. He listened, prayed with me and gave me practical strategies. I thank God for the men and women that He has used to help me. Fred Penney is another person that the Lord has used. He understands that there is no shame in asking for help or in saying "I'm depressed I need someone who understands." I am also glad that I have found a father whose love is not complicated but unconditional and never ending. I pray everyday for my dad, for peace within and for the knowledge of how high and wide and deep and strong is his true Father's love for him.

Another favourite:

My God I am Thine

My God, I am Thine, what a comfort divine,

What a blessing to know that my Jesus is mine!

In the heavenly Lamb thrice happy I am,

And my heart it doth dance at the sound of His Name.

He came from above our curse to remove.

He hath loved, he hath loved us because he would love

Love moved him to die and on this we rely,

He hath loved, he hath loved us, we cannot tell why!

True pleasures abound in the rapturous sound;

And whoever hath found it hath paradise found:

My Jesus to know, and feel His blood flow,

’Tis life everlasting, ’tis Heaven below.

We all shall commend the love of our friend,

for ever beginning what never shall end.

When time is no more we still shall adore,

That ocean of love without bottom or shore!

Yet onward I haste to the heavenly feast:

That, that is the fullness; but this is the taste!

And this I shall prove, till with joy I remove

To the heaven of heavens in Jesus’ love.

Written by Charles Wesley