Honouring through Story—Carolyn R. Wilker

This past week has been an exciting one as I distributed copies of my first picture book, Harry’s Trees, to my family. The book started as a way for my parents' great grandchildren to remember their great grandpa who died in May this past year. Some of the children are preschoolers and in early school age years, as my own grandchildren are, and may not remember him later, but it is my hope that they will enjoy the story and some day appreciate the legacy he left for them.

The theme of trees has been paramount in Dad’s life. He learned about them as a boy. They were Christmas trees; they were firewood to heat their home. They were a home for birds, a place to pick fruit, and as a boy, something to climb. They're a way of holding the earth in place, of cleaning the air. He learned lessons of life through them too, through the season changes and a place where squirrels climb and birds build their nests.

As Dad grew older, he learned more about trees, such as how to trim them when they were broken so that they might continue to thrive, and when they needed to come down. Just as important he taught us to name them and respect them as well.

Dad learned about grafting branches from one tree and putting them on another, much as doctors take an organ and transplant it into another body when the donor has died, so that someone else might have a second chance at a healthy life.

Dad checking out the trees on a holiday in Jamaica

 Fellow writers offered much wonderful feedback on my story in various stages, such as arranging the story into seasons. I thank them all for their valuable suggestions.

As I celebrate this book, and the memories of Dad that it evokes, along with the vivid and colourful illustrations of my talented artist, Maja Wizor, I dedicate it to my father for all he gave us as we were growing up, especially the passion he shared of honouring God’s creation.

a sample of  illustrations within the book

Carolyn R. Wilker, author of Once Upon a Sandbox and contributor to several anthologies, including Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon. Watch for Good Grief People book coming in late February. 

www.carolynwilker.ca

Spying on the neighbours - Kathleen Gibson

A pair of Bushnell 7 X 15 X 35 binoculars hangs ready for quick use at our house - the better to spy on our avian neighbours. They don’t seem to mind the paparazzi, and appear oblivious to our inspection. (Then again, perhaps they’re watching us.)

One year a robin pair built their nest in the maple tree outside our living room window. I peered in often as the birds raised their three nestlings. 

In his role as fly-in provider, the male robin regularly coaxed his mate up to the edge of the nest in order to move closer and feed the chicks. His mate supervised - seemingly glad for the break.

The nest, an almost weightless, neatly swirled circle of grasses, rested in a crotch of bark two limbs up, about ten feet off the ground. I worried plenty about it during the series of severe storms that battered our area. An umbrella of leaves offers little protection, I thought.

During the worst of those storms, one that even threatened human life, I grabbed the binoculars and sat down in front of the window - to add a little watching to my worrying. There sat Mrs. Robin, stone-still, wings spread wide over her offspring. Drenched to her pinfeathers, her beak ran water-droplets like a leaky faucet. But when the wind lifted the nest almost at a right angle to the tree, she clung tight.

Every so often, the gale seemed to pause for an intake of breath before its next big gust. In those moments, in darted the sodden male, bearing take-out. To my astonishment, he first fed his mate. She ate, then lifted herself off the nest just high enough for the chicks to thrust their gaping mouths out from under her wings.

The deluge that accompanied that storm chased over a hundred people from homes nearby. Many of those homes were irreparably damaged, and later condemned. Yet the small circle of grasses in the maple outside our window remained intact, and so did the little family.

I'll never forget their song after the storm subsided -- clear and sweet, it soared to me, even through the glass.

These are difficult times to keep a home together. Marriages have never before collapsed at the present rate. Battered by sundry storms, partners flee commitment, sacrificing future joy for present relief or passing pleasures. I grieve the brittle spirits, the inevitable from-bad-to-worse years, the wounds festering in the bewildered hearts of children.

My parents, 90 and 95, celebrated their sixty-second anniversary last week. They remind me of the robins after that storm. Bedraggled, weather-beaten and weary. They’ve held hard to Jesus, fought storms together and survived formidable enemy attacks. They even survived raising me. But they have survived, and so have their values, reflected in each of their children's lives.

If I’ve learned anything from the Robin family, it’s this prayer, "Oh, Lord, give us robin-spirits. Our neighbours are watching."

*~*~*~*~*~

From the archives of Sunny Side Up.

Sunny Side Up has been published weekly since 2001, and runs in various Western newspapers. 

Find author, columnist and broadcaster Kathleen Gibson on the web at www.kathleengibson.ca

 

Share your life—if necessary use Facebook--Gibson

I don’t use Facebook much. I post my weekly newspaper columns and when I have time, I jot a few notes to others. Rarely do I share more. But then, ordinarily I sit DOWN to breakfast, not ON my breakfast.

I’m talking more than semantics here, understand.

In my defense: everyone knows that few things can jigger a smooth curve of productivity like a snow day—or several. In the previous two days, a storm had dumped almost two feet of snow over my dot on the province.

I spent the entire weekend not doing things I’d hoped to and doing others I hadn’t planned for. My mistake was just one of a series of blizzard-induced misalignments. My frustrated Facebook post, “I just sat in my bowl of porridge. Don’t ask,” was another.

After that impulsive post, I left Facebook alone for a day. When I checked it again, I found twenty responses. (Sometimes I forget that Facebook people are real—and really curious.)

“I hear another article with a valuable life lesson coming on!” said Maxine. “Oh my...”jotted someone else, adding a long series of “hahas”. “Sorry, but it strikes me funny,” commented another. “Bummer!” spake one. “A novel technique, but I prefer a spoon,” quipped the mayor. (Who says politicians have no sense of humour?)

Several friends hinted that oatmeal is good for the skin. A few, including one person at least two countries away (and my very own son-in-law around the block), wanted more details. Others noted that they couldn’t stop laughing at the mental picture my post provided. Someone even demanded photos. I declined—the logistics puzzled me.

Bringing up the rear of the comment thread, and because I now realized I couldn’t leave those people panting for the bottom line, I explained. For my Sunny Side Up readers who also wonder, here’s the back story.

It’s simple: In the midst of still-falling snow, I walked into my office with my bowl of porridge, preparing to write. Noticing that my desk was too cluttered for my bowl, I set it down on my chair to clear a space.

That was then I noticed the flutter of wings at the feeder on the deck—an unusually large flock of several species, driven to our free buffet by the blizzard. They startled me so much I sat down to watch them. And that, dear readers, is how and why this middle-aged observer of faith and life plunked her nether end down on her bowl of hot oatmeal.

Though I was doing both, I don’t think this story is what Jesus had in mind when he told us to consider the birds and not worry about what we will eat or drink or wear. But the responses to my short post reminded me that nothing builds bridges like sharing our flaws and laughing together. And building bridges is crucial in the sharing of both life and faith—but so is crossing them.

Fellow followers, build bridges. If necessary, use Facebook.

Kathleen Gibson ponders faith and life in her newspaper column, Sunny Side Up, and on her radio spots, Simple Words, aired weekdays on numerous Christian stations around the world. Find her online at www.kathleengibson.ca