When we are Jesus for each other

A sign on a church in our community read “when we are Jesus for each other.”  I saw it as I drove home from the grocery store one day and it made me think, When am I Christ for someone else? I know when I’m not, and yet there are times that I do feel I act as a good neighbour ought, not expecting the same thing in return.

How about you? Have you given something with no expectation of return favours? Our friends will often do things for us in exchange, but perhaps there’s a time when even they need to be the receiver, especially when it’s hard.

In the middle of January, a woman came from Mauritius, a tropical country where it can be cool in evenings, but never cold enough to snow. Zareen was coming to work for a year with a regional organization, and she would land in the middle of our Canadian winter. She’d been here in the fall and had an idea of our autumn weather, but not snow. And they do not sell winter wear on that island.

I contacted a friend who’d also met Zareen when she came to our Toastmasters club during her previous work session. We hatched a plan to take Zareen shopping, the day after she landed, for winter clothing, warm coat, boots, mittens and hat. Zareen was excited when I told her. 

As it turned out, the weather got very cold the evening Zareen arrived. She felt that winter chill. The next morning the snow started coming, with cold icy wind. And all she had on her feet was a pair of canvas sneakers. As was also fortunate, my friend had a coat and boots that had been her mother’s and were still like new.

Delighted with her new coat and boots, that fit her well, we headed for the mall to fill in a few other gaps. We not only had a positive outcome, but our guest would also be warm and cozy. We even got a photo of her clearing snow off the car in the parking lot. 

That felt like being Christ. She would be dressed appropriately for our winter weather. And we all enjoyed our time together. Well maybe not driving in those conditions so much, but we travelled safely and slowly that day.

Your act could be buying a bag of potatoes for a food blitz for a local shelter, or sending good used clothing that you don't need anymore to an organization that helps the working poor. Or it could be helping to plant trees in a local park that needs extra hands to do the job.

I don’t know what it will be for you. Taking soup to a friend who’s just had surgery and must rest. It could be calling someone when you get the ‘feeling’ they need to hear from you. A 'God moment' for them and for you. And maybe some day, it will be you who needs the help. Be willing to accept as well, for that's the way gifts work.

We still have to take care of our family and manage our finances well, so we can pay our own bills. Being Christ for someone else may not always be a monetary act. How will your “being Christ” look?

Carolyn Wilker is an author, editor and storyteller based in southwestern Ontario. Learn more about her here.  She also writes a blog called Storygal.

Pre-Launch Jitters, But it All Worked Out

Reading from my book

my launch flyer created by one of the Tavistock Library staff

The night before my book launch, I had everything ready to load in the car—boxes of books, my notebook to record sales, reading copy with pages marked, several pens for signing (in case one quit), a tablecloth for my book table, and my book rack. I fell asleep easily, knowing those things were ready to go.

I woke close to two a.m. with some sore muscles and my mind whirling. What if people don’t show up who said they were coming? This was our home town audience with friends from the city coming too. The editor of the weekly newspaper had indicated his willingness to come too.

Eventually I went back to sleep. The morning of the event, I signed the whole lot of books that I was taking along; I could personalize any as requested. We were ready with time to spare. My husband had his favourite little camera ready, and the tripod. We set out for Tavistock.

From Oxford County Library

We arrived early. The library was fairly quiet as I set up my rack and books. I waited near the door so I could greet my guests as they arrived. It was getting close to 11, and no one was there yet except the library staff and a few other patrons. I felt like a kid at a birthday party, waiting for her friends to arrive. But this was after all a Saturday morning, a day when people want to go a little slower. 

Where are they? I wondered. Close to 11, people started to arrive, in singles, in twos and small groups. Our eldest daughter, son-in-law, and two happy little children arrived, the small ones showing me a truck and a doll they’d brought along. Their smiles told me they were pleased to be in this interesting place.

We started a little late and more people trickled in. One guest had to leave at the end of my first reading. More came and the chairs filled. The children played in the house centre during the readings. I needn’t have worried for those who planned to be there had come.

A pleasing place for a book launch

The reading went well, allowing for people to reflect on what I’d read, or laugh when there was a place of humour. My husband took a video and my publisher, Glynis Belec, of Angel Hope Publishing, had her cell phone poised. Then the editor of the weekly paper, Tavistock Gazette, arrived about the end of my question and answer time. I hoped I had answered people’s questions to their satisfaction when I was called away for a special photo with the librarian.

During the social time, we had more conversations. Deb Schurink, Chief Librarian, and her staff  had set out an attractive table of refreshments for guests to enjoy. I signed and sold books and enjoyed the company of those who had come. Our family was waiting for us over at Quehl’s. We’d have lunch together before heading home. 

shelves behind me had interesting items on them too

I was pleased with the way the event had gone and that my guests seemed to enjoy themselves, pleased too with the varied supporters and the library staff who prepared for the launch. Thank you to all who came to make it such an enjoyable launch.

Carolyn Wilker

https://www.carolynwilker.ca/books/

 Photos and video by Glynis Belec and the Oxford County Library. Thank you.

Making the Effort—Carolyn R. Wilker

Monday began like any other day. My husband and I started out at slightly different times. I had a meeting to attend over the noon hour, and things to take care of in my office. My husband, a retiree, began the day more leisurely, and things he wanted to do.

 By the time I left, my husband had already begun preparing our lunch. After my meeting, instead of doing an errand, I decided to skip the errand and go home. We ate our late lunch together. Anxious to get back to work, we cleared the food away, and I headed for my office and my husband for a nap. Later, I had not only begun the quote, I had also put up a blog post.

Late afternoon, my office door was open when my husband came up the hall. I spoke but couldn’t understand his reply, so I asked again. He tried to talk, but I couldn’t understand a word. I helped him sit on the bed and sat looking at him, face to face. I realized very quickly that something was wrong. Stroke. Is this what it looked like? I called the doctor, figuring someone would give advice, but I was on hold. I wasn’t going to wait and took him to the nearest hospital. On retrospect, I could have just called 911, but I knew I needed to act.

In the emergency department, I reported my observations. A nurse whisked him away after only a few questions, leaving me to finish up the paperwork. Soon I was called; the doctor needed to talk with me. A nurse had already put a monitor on my husband. I watched, inwardly cringing at the high numbers. Much later that evening after a scan and another talk with the doctor, a patient transfer  team came and took him to the hospital that has the stroke unit. 

Our girls had come to be with us at various times, and the last one stayed until we had him settled in the ward. We went home late and very weary, knowing that we'd be back again.

Over those four days, I observed many professionals doing what they know best, taking patients for tests, talking with them about next steps, talking with patients, and encouraging them too. While my husband was soon able to get up and move around by himself, his speech remained a concern.

We couldn’t help but hear the fellow in the next bed reluctant to get up, even when the occupational therapists urged him to do so. Different issue than my husband, but alike in that effort would be needed to get better. That he would need to endure some pain and discomfort to get muscles strong again. They'd both need to make the effort.

 Art for Papa

 A little visitor now and then brings a smile

My effort will be in patience, to supply things my husband needs, and to encourage him to do the speech exercises given by the speech pathologist. I insisted, on our arrival home, on ‘no stairs’ for the next few days until I knew he was strong enough and steady on his feet.

Like his usual pattern, he sleeps late as I write this post. He may need some assistance with breakfast, but I will allow him to do all he can. This won’t be a typical day, but it’s good that he’s home.

Like us as Christians, it’s often difficult to do what we need to do—to practise patience  with our loved ones and show love to others, showing our light to the world in the best way we can.

Many Conversations—Carolyn R. Wilker

a prize-winning exhibit

Women's Institute display

September 8th to10th was our hometown fall fair— the place we loved to go with our parents when we were children, the weekend after Labour Day and when we were back in school after the summer. We looked forward to the parade, rides in the midway, eating caramel corn, and seeing our school friends. Incidentally, it was also the place where my parents met when they were young adults, at the Friday night dance.

This year, as an author with a new book, Harry’s Trees, I’d signed up early and paid for a table where I could meet people of my hometown community. I had other books too, but my new picture book rose to the top in interest. Probably helped by articles in the Tavistock Gazette, the Ontario Farmer and Oxford Review and people who knew my Dad and his inspiration for this book.

My table, ready to sell

Ontario Farmer article about my Dad and my book

Preparing for the weekend, I remembered that we’d be standing on a cold arena floor, one with ice under it, for hockey had already begun. When my husband and I packed the car on Friday morning, we included a rubber mat, a set of coloured foam mats for standing on, my boxes of books, and something to sit on. Snacks too.

We’d set up the books on the table in the morning then went to visit my mother for awhile. The fair began at 5 p.m. on Friday when the arena opened for exhibits and the silent auction.

Parents and children streamed in, seniors ambled along, looking at displays and seeing who won the prizes in fruits, vegetables, handiwork and art. Many headed to the nearby church booth for a cup of coffee or tea and some pie and ice-cream. My husband and I ate our sandwiches and watched the action. Soon people began to stop and take notice of the books. I offered younger children a tree stamp on their hand.

An older man and woman soon stood before me. “We read the article in Ontario Farmer about your book,” the gentleman said. “We came to see you. Did you get my email?” he asked.

I asked for the surname. “No, I didn’t get it. You can get a book now that you’re here.”

“We’d like to buy two copies,” the man said.

They asked me to write in the names of their grandchildren. I printed in the names, they paid and were on their way.

 This sort of thing happened over and over during the weekend—people I didn’t know or ones I knew, seeking me out to buy the book for children, grandchildren, or themselves. They all had the same interest in trees that my dad had, that I had too. Many of them knew my Dad in some capacity.

Conversations included the artist’s style, how the book came into being or asking me how long I’d been writing. I often got a smile as they walked away with book in hand.

I had kindred spirits there, not just farmers who are custodians and stewards of the land, but also long-time friends, fellow high school classmates or siblings of my classmates. Conversations were longer when it wasn’t so busy, or much shorter while others waited. All were good.

When fair goers headed out to the tug of war or the ambassador contest or other activities, the arena would become much quieter for awhile. That’s when I checked my bids at the silent auction, looked at displays, or chatted with the young woman next to me who’d been doing face painting.

silent auction- during set up

Quiet moments at Hannah's table

Another Women's Institute display 

                         

Sherrill and another woman at the Tavistock and District Historical Society booth

The late evening hours passed the slowest. We drove home late, only for me to sleep, eat and return the next morning. The weekend passed and the arena air was so cold, but we had no emergency, so we couldn’t complain. Except maybe shiver. Friends in Florida in hurricane weather certainly came up in conversations.

 Sunday mid-afternoon, I packed up my books. We gathered chairs, mats and other items, packed them in the car and headed for home. It had been a weekend of healthy returns, mostly sunshine, and many pleasant conversations in an agricultural community that works well together.

"We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land."  

--text by Matthias Claudius, 1740-1815

largest pumpkins next to my table