Millie Moments

My first post of the current year in January was a modified edition of my newspaper column article of the same week, titled "The Millie Way." It featured Millie, a remarkable lady in her late nineties. This contented soul lives alone in the thick of a rural wooded area with only basic amenities, yet faces life day by day with confidence and faith.

Cottage among trees, but not Millie's

Google free image

I’d heard much about her, but she and I hadn’t actually met. Now that has changed. And so, with Canada Day behind us on this 150th Birthday year I’ll share  these “Millie Moments” with you now that we’ve stepped into the second half of this signal year. Canada was fifty-two years young when she made her appearance.

My much anticipated meeting with her finally came several weeks ago. It was a quiet affair; just she and I in that humble, though embracing, abode that is itself embraced by the towering friendship and protection of the surrounding family of trees.

[Not Millie's Peach] freeimage.

Oh, but I mustn’t forget Millie’s constant companion, Peach – her beautiful orange cat. This seasoned creature in cat years is more than equal to this lady’s own great age of almost ninety-nine. Peach stole over and checked me out – quite amicably, I thought – then ambled off to the comfortable familiarity of Millie’s lap where she purred away contentedly.

And so what did Millie and I do? What did we talk about? First of all was a little bit of fact-checking, since up to this point all my information about her was second-hand and had depended on the reliability of that information but more so on my memory – which, these days all too often lets me down.

I’d written that her son checks in on her from time to time. However, I learned that her son and daughter and her husband had all passed away. I learned, in fact, that it is a nephew living within a short drive who calls by. Other extended family members also do, on occasion. They ensure she has necessary supplies.

Her sight isn’t sharp enough now to read, and so I read that article to her. Since her hearing isn’t quite as acute as it used to be I spoke up and enunciated the words. She listened intently, and graciously accepted my humble efforts to encapsulate and present elements of her story, and she seemed unperturbed by her life’s being opened up to you and others, in this way. 

Millie knows God as a daily reality in her life. She’s no stranger to serious illness, and surgeries have come her way, while currently facial cancers present a concern. However, despite hardships and though bereaved of her nearest and dearest, she continues to trust Him. As I sat in her presence I felt blessed by a gentle serenity.

Before leaving, I read several verses from her Bible, gently took her hand in mine and prayed briefly. Was there anything I could do for her before leaving? No, she was just fine. A parting greeting and a hug, then I was on my way driving down that winding path in the woods with heaven in my heart.

I mused:

If only the whole world could enjoy such treasured moments,

perhaps even wars might cease.

~~+~~

P.S. I have one regret: I hadn’t thought to take a snapshot or two during my visit.

A blessed, fulfilling and happy CANADA 150 to you!

~~~

Peter A. Black is a retired pastor  -  well, sort of  -  and lives in Southwestern Ontario. He writes a weekly inspirational newspaper column, P-Pep! and is author of Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart, and Parables from the Pond. ~~+~~

 

Open My Eyes That I May See - Tracy Krauss

Paul's blindness at his conversion holds special meaning for me. Like Paul, I too have been blind - literally. I was born with a congenital eye condition known as Ectopia Lentis or dislocated lens. The lenses and the lens sack are misshapen and in the wrong position. Besides that, I have bilateral amblyopia (lazy eyes in both eyes), mild exotropia (one eye wants to wander), myopia (nearsightedness), and astigmatism (wrong curve to the cornea). Pretty much everything that could be wrong is wrong! I could never see well, and in fact was diagnosed ‘legally blind’ once I went to an eye doctor, but for the first five years of my life, nobody knew!

How can that be, you might ask? Well, as far as I knew, I was normal, and the fact that I could always draw well (and spent hours drawing), probably threw people off. Mind you, the fact that I’d be an inch from the paper should have been a clue... 

When driving in the car, if someone said, “Look at the horses!” I’d go, “What horses?” which would be met with, “Quit being silly!” Or when I’d say, “Isn’t it cool how when you turn your head to the side you can see three of everything?” I think my family just thought I was a bit slow…or strange… or maybe as the fifth child, my parents were too busy to really notice… 

In any case, when I went to register for school, a nurse was there to do a routine eye check. At first she thought I was kidding when I said I didn’t see any ‘E’ let alone a big ‘E’. Soon after she was basically scolding my mother with, “This girl needs glasses!” And what a difference glasses made! My very limited world was suddenly so much broader – even though by everyone else’s standards I was still visually impaired at a best case 20/50.

I spent my growing up years going to specialists and undergoing every test known to man, all with the same outcome. After examining me, the doctor would inevitably look surprised and call in all his colleagues for a look. Apparently, my condition is a bit of an anomaly. I’ve done some research and most people with the condition have other genetic disorders as well, as in dwarves, giants and people with downs syndrome… (I don’t have any of these conditions, or at least not that I know of. *Smile*.)

When I was a teen I went to a specialist that told me I’d probably go blind by 40. Now if that isn’t something to look forward to! Mind you, when you’re fifteen, that seemed really far away, and life would be pretty much over at forty, anyway, right? So I didn’t worry about it too much. My fortieth birthday rolled around, and all was still stable. Then as I approached 45 things started to change. A rapid decline in my right eye meant I needed surgery to remove the lens which was dangling by a thread. I underwent a three hour surgery where the eye was opened, drained of its vitreous fluid and a new lens was implanted just under the cornea.

Technically, all should have been well. Except the brain is a funny thing. My brain would not accept the new information that was now coming into it through the revised eye. My left eye shut down as well, and I was now almost totally blind. I describe it more like a ‘white out’ than a black out. I could see light, and some colour, but there were no definitive shapes of any kind. If I closed my right eye and held a book about a millimeter from my left eye I could make out the words, but that was it.

My two weeks of leave from work stretched into five months; I was blind for two of them, forced to use a white cane and all to get around. During that time I knit a sweater by ‘feel’, listened to audio books including the Bible, and played the piano – a good way to stop relying on the notes or looking at the keys! It was actually a wonderfully relaxing, restful time where I just spend a lot of time praying and where I was forced to slow down. It made me so grateful for the things I did still have and it helped me to realize that even in blindness, God was good.       

After a second surgery and another three months of recovery I could see better than I ever could see before – 20/40 in both eyes. That’s still not as good as the average person, but for me it was a miracle.

I’d like to say it ended there, but I guess God is still teaching me. Shortly after my second surgery, I started experiencing extremely high pressure in my eyes, due to an allergic reaction to one of the drugs used during surgery. I had to implement a cocktail of three different eye drops to control these ‘glaucoma like’ symptoms. Another side effect took place about a year after my surgery. Because of the invasive nature of the operation, I developed a macular infection – a huge mass of swelling on the retina that acted like macular degeneration…

Are you kidding? Besides all the other things I had to contend with, I now had both ‘glaucoma like symptoms’ AND ‘macular degenerative like symptoms’?! The only treatment for the one is the thing that causes the other and so I went through a regime of treatments and counter treatments for about four years.

The result is that I am now almost totally blind in the right eye with little hope of the sight ever coming back. The left eye is still holding out, although my last visit to the specialist confirmed some movement on the part of the implant which needs to be closely monitored.

Am I concerned? Of course. On the other hand, I am not anxious. I am resting in the knowledge that God is good and He knows the course of my life. My agenda isn’t God’s agenda, but I know that in every aspect of my life – large and small – He is with me every step of the way. Like Paul, I have learned to be content in every situation.

Philippians 4: 11-13 says, “ … for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am, I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

The above post is a short excerpt from Tracy's devotional book: LIFE IS A HIGHWAY: Advice and Reflections On Navigating the Road of Life

Tracy Krauss lives with her family in Tumbler Ridge, BC where she writes, teaches school, paints and enjoys life. Visit her website for more details. http://tracykrauss.com

Grieving Those Still With Us - Austin

Like joy, grief comes in many forms. Often it takes us by surprise. We think we are prepared, then find that preparing our minds fails totally at preparing our emotions.

No one lives forever here, and we grasp that without difficulty -- as a theory. But some people, even in long distance relationships, have entwined themselves in our lives so deeply that we cannot imagine a world without them.

Can this be the same man who moped around when he hit 50, because life was over? He's done quite a bit of living in the years since. Ninety-two is just nine days away as I post this.

In his 70's and 80's Dad was one of the key fund-raisers for the Canadian Leprosy Mission. With another man of the same vintage, they gathered scrap aluminum and copper, as well as old betteries and raised more than $50,000 each year. At 76 Dad set an age record for the zip-line at Camp Harmattan, and he still talked of getting roller-blades at 80, his wife telling him to act his age. On that particular birthday, Dad reached 80 push-ups, a goal he had worked toward for quite some time. It seems only yesterday that he would go for a walk and break into a jog.

Can this be the same man, tottering on uncertain steps, turning his body, then trying desperately to convince his feet to cooperate? Can this be the same man, who can still recite "The Cremation of Sam McGee," but asks the same question five times in 15 minutes? Can this man who relates stories from 70 years ago in minute detail, be the same one who cannot remember where 'home' is? Can this be the same man who moves so slowly from the couch to the phone, who has enough alertness to know he is losing some of his mental abilities, but no way to slow that loss?

How many times have I joked that he would outlive me, more than half expecting it would be true? How many times have I anticipated his line on the phone, "I'm pretty good for an old man," and somehow delighted in its predictability? How many times have I reflected on the richness of knowing he and Evelyn had prayed for my wife and I, each of our children and grandchildren -- by name -- within the last 24 hours? With close to 80 names in 10 extended families the last time I was present for one of those prayer times, there were mixups and prompts. But what price could you put on such a heritage?

Thirty-five years of daily prayer with Mom & Dad until Mom died in 1978. Thirty-two years of daily prayer with Dad & Evelyn. I'm getting up there, but that's more years of prayer than I've been around. They might have left millions for the seven families on Dad's side and the three families on Evelyn's side to squabble over. But how many millions would it take to balance this richer heritage of a lifetime of prayer? How many millions would it take to balance lives lived for God -- not perfectly -- but consistently?

I ache as I write this. I can hardly wrap my mind around this man who would still walk five miles a day two years ago, now shuffling in slow, uncertain steps. Yet in the midst of the ache, a deep joy wells up. Dad's time here is almost over, but he is finishing well. The losses hurt, for him and for everyone around him. But his faith in God remains strong. As we plan a trip west for another visit, the richest tribute I can pay him is to let him know my wife and I carry on this tradition of prayer -- daily -- for our children and grandchildren. I know the same thing is happening in most of those 10 extended families. These days it is also our privilege to be praying for Dad and Evelyn on a regular basis.

Dad's involvement in fundraising for the Canadian Leprosy Mission was integrally tied to his workshop. He stripped insulation off hundreds of pounds of copper and aluminum wire for recycling -- a tedious task, but somehow deeply satisfying for him. He also spent countless hours puttering with tools acquired over a lifetime, often reparing something for a neighbour who might be 40 years younger. Ranking someone else's losses is a dangerous thing, but possibly the biggest single loss in Dad's life since Mom died so many years ago was the loss of that workshop.
Those first years in a luxurious senior's complex wore at Dad. If he could have just gone out to the shop for an hour or two, the rest of it would have been a foretaste of heaven. He might have needed an ambulance on standby. His workshop had seen quite a bit of blood spilled through the years, but it had also left an imprint for good on many, many lives.

Grieving. . . It's a strange process. Dad is grieving a body that no longer does his bidding, and a mind that delights in the distant past, but is baffled by the present. Every one of his kids, the youngest past 50 now, grieves as well -- that this man who has seemed timeless, now somehow measures every day against a clock fast winding down.

Ah, but love is a rich, rich treasure. And we do not grieve like those who have no hope. For love, combined with a life lived for God and for others, leaves a legacy of immeasurable value.

Thank You, God, for Dad! And thank you Dad, for living your faith in God!

The Absence Of - Ayotte

I know…you’re never supposed to end a sentence with a preposition, but perhaps I can make an exception in this case because I have merely ended a title with one. I find that when I write, I take a few creative liberties and bend some of the grammatical rules as I see fit. Some fellow authors may very well choose to do the same. I hope so, because as liberal minded as I may think I am, it’s always good to feel that I am not totally alone with any particular point of view.

Today, I am about to express one of those views. I read a neat e-mail the other day sent to me by a long time Christian friend. This article really got me thinking about some of my own “isms”. The theme of the article had to do with opinions on science versus the existence of God. I’m not going to go on and on about what I read. I want to zero in on what captured my attention the most.

First of all, it was the concept of the description of death as the “absence of life”. The article mentioned that you cannot scientifically measure death so therefore, death should be referred to as the “absence of life”. As I continued to read, it was obvious to me that this article was becoming more philosophical than scientific because God was described as the Light, while evil was described as the “absence of Light”. In other words, those of us without God in our lives would be living in darkness. I’m pretty sure we have all heard this phrase before to describe different aspects of Christian faith or lack of it.

This concept made me look at my faith from another angle. It reminded me of the story about Jesus fishing in the stormy waters with His disciples. When they kept their eyes on Him and had faith, the apostles knew no fear. The exact opposite happened when they lost their focus. Perhaps, the same theory holds true for us. The “absence of faith” results in fear. When we are afraid, when we feel fear…is it because we really have something to fear or is it because we have taken our eyes off of Jesus? Do we give the concept of fear “life” and let it have power over us and what we choose to do or not do?

It is very difficult to overcome fear. I try my best to remember what Jesus taught us about perfect love casting out fear. Jesus offers this perfect, unconditional love. I do not want to be afraid. I want to know, love and serve the Lord with a deep abiding faith with the “absence of fear”. When I feel fear, it seems like I have taken my eyes off of Jesus and I experience the “absence of faith”. I much prefer it the other way around. I also need to remind myself that the word “fear” can mean “to be in awe” or “to have reverence and respect” in some instances. My relationship with God is one of those instances. I have every desire to be in “awe” of the God who created me out of love rather than to be afraid of making mistakes and fearing retribution for my human weaknesses. I do not want to have the impression that I am constantly being judged by my Creator who is ready to punish me if I take a wrong turn. For in reality, He wants to show me nothing but His infinite love and mercy, not only for me, but for all His creatures.

Author of “I’m Not Perfect And It’s Okay”
Website – www.doloresayotte.com
Blog site – http://doloresayotte.wordpress.com

Facing fear in Change - MANN

Rosemary Cash said, “The key to change is to let go of fear.” I see this in my life, in the church, family situations and community life. It is my thinking that most people find change difficult to some degree, and fear can be an important factor in whether change
can be achieved.

To change, one must be determined to risk. It’s having the ability to believe in self, while at the same time, being able to look beyond the obvious to possibilities.

Or being able to sigh, admit when change hasn’t worked and revert to the initial plan.

A decision to change might enhance a particular position or ricochet to a whole new situation. Somehow the first option is the easiest. Who doesn’t want to build on a life already experiencing acceptance? Yet, the concept of finding oneself in a brand new situation created through change tests one’s faith and gives opportunity to draw on God’s guidance in new ways. Certainly, the latter allows the possibility of something we might miss if we hadn’t risk.

Winston Churchill said, “There’s nothing wrong with change if it’s in the right direction.” So how do we know if our choices will take us in the right direction or create chaos? And why does it have to be an either/or situation? Why can’t we have what we’ve got as well as enjoy what we’ve had the grace to change? This last option sounds much less stressful and offers some diversity.

This was my experience over the past three months when my friend Sharon suggested that my Grammie Books, as well as the collection of stories that I’d written and edited with grandkids over the last ten plus years, should go further than the Story-chair and the Christmas stocking. When I also considered additional resources of my newspaper grief articles and rural church support work, I was soon led in the direction of exploring how to create audio books/stories and marketing them on the internet.

This has been a tremendous challenge to me and I admit that fear showed its ugly face on more than one occasion. However, I feel so blessed that I’ve been able to make the necessary changes in personal schedules and mental aptitude to see this project through. There is an excitement in the Internet audio world that I find very invigorating, yet I cherish the times when I hold a book in my hand and see the words flow from one sentence to another.

Although designing a web site was not new to me, I found building a StoreFront was. But, this too has become a discovery that I wouldn’t have wanted to miss. A win-win situation is good in any change, and I think my benefit was inviting the child in me to come out to play during this early season of retirement. I invite you to come and visit http://stores.livingwordsmann.com/. And don’t forget to visit The Playground before you leave the site.

Donna Mann

Take Time to Make Memories (1996)
WinterGrief (2003)
Aggie’s Storms(2007)
MeadowLane Audio Stories for Children(2009)

Symbols: Pressing the Button - Black

Symbols are everywhere – on our streets, roads, and highways; in hospitals, institutions, and thankfully, on the doors of public washrooms. They adorn food packaging, medications, electrical appliances, automobile controls, and are found in places of business and worship. We encounter scores of symbols every day and learn to interpret them – well, some of them.

A symbol, when properly understood and interpreted, holds meaning, whether, for example, it’s the skull and crossbones on a package containing a poisonous substance, or a checkerboard sign at a T-junction on the road, or a silhouette of a slope with tumbling boulders. Those are designed to forewarn us of hazards, for our safety. The symbol of justice in the blindfolded woman bearing a pair of scales reminds us that justice is supposed to weigh only evidence presented, and not be swayed to favour or disfavour either the plaintiff or accused, based on their appearance.

Symbols have no power of their own, other than the reality they represent, or when, in the case of warnings, they are heeded, and appropriate action is taken. Consider symbols of the faith: The Cross is arguably the supreme symbol of help and hope in the world. The wearing of a cross, crucifix, St. Christopher medallion, or any number of items bearing religious symbols, are powerless to save a soul from sin, or to keep one spiritually safe.

Granted, individuals have been physically spared death or injury when a projectile or weapon struck a metal emblem on their person, instead of penetrating their bodies. However, a crucifix serves to remind us of the price paid for the forgiveness of our sins and redemption. A plain, empty cross signifies that the cross on which Jesus died and the tomb in which He was buried are empty, because He rose from the dead, and therefore reminds us of His victory over death, hell, and the grave.

Sometimes I wear a lapel button in the form of an anchor. It reminds me of the verse that says Jesus Christ is the anchor of our souls, both sure and steadfast (Hebrews 6:19-20). The small bar near the top forms a cross with the word Sure, while the anchor’s tines bear the word Steadfast. I’ve had that button since 1957, when I became a member of The Boy’s Brigade, a Christian organization in Scotland. That anchor button has no power, but the reality it represents does, for it speaks of the Lord Jesus who entered heaven and whose sacrifice on the cross twenty centuries ago obtained for us forgiveness, cleansing, a restored relationship with God, and a living hope in this life and beyond.

Imagine: You stand before a closed electrically-operated door. You tug and pull at the handle to no avail. Then you notice the ‘Open’ symbol on a large button on the lintel. You press it, and the door swings open to admit you. The symbol had no power to open the door, but the mechanism that was activated by the pressing of the button did. The symbol’s role was to draw your attention to where you must apply pressure in order to activate the mechanism.

Dear reader, religious symbols do not save or bring us into right relation with God, but can be useful in drawing our attention to the spiritual and eternal realities they represent. Jesus is the doorway to life. Faith moves us to press the button.

© Peter A. Black 2009. This article adapted from Peter’s column P-Pep! in Watford Guide-Advocate, a Southwestern Ontario newspaper.
His first book, "Parables from the Pond" ("written for children, read and enjoyed by all ages") is published by Word Alive Press. He can be contacted at raisegaze@execulink.com and www.freewebs.com/authorpeterablack