Sandwiched--Carolyn R. Wilker

“If God sends us on stony paths, he provides strong shoes.” --Corrie Ten Boom

We’re at that stage in our family with aging parents on one side—we’re all aging every day—and younger family with grandchildren on the other side. We’ve known, in retrospect, that this could happen one day and now we’re there, but we don’t always know what to do with it.

With two parents needing our support, our attention and energies are spread to their maximum, and that comes apart from a career as a freelance editor and writer, and a husband at home with some special needs of his own.

Carol Abaya, an expert in elder care, writes that there is no rehearsal for parent care, rather parenting one’s parents. “Becoming a parent to an aging parent presents extraordinary challenges.” Apparently it was Abaya who coined the term “sandwich generation” but also “club sandwich generation.”

Layers of the Sandwich for Care Givers

In due respect to Abaya, I prefer to call it the “Dagwood sandwich” because of the many layers, even more than a club sandwich, also in respect to the cartoonist of Dagwood and Blondie who invented that sandwich name.

The thing about the layers is that there are so many of them. There are the usual tasks to keep one’s home livable, the tasks involved with a business,  including keeping it going in spite of all else. Adult children ask advice and sometimes for physical help, and there are grandchildren to spend time with—which I want to do as I am able. Apart from care for my parents, whom I also love, there are other positions in my life that may be somewhat displaced during such a time of transition.

Spirituality in Elder Care

It can be a challenging time in which we—the grown-up kids in the middle of things— learn about the support needed. Depending on the circumstances, it’s physical support that’s required, but other times it’s just listening. Consider also the spiritual matters. We care about the whole, not just the physical, and yet the spiritual may be hard for some elders to put into words. And hard to hear.

In a recent lecture on senior care and spirituality from the Waterloo Region Gerontology Interest Group Annual Workshop on May 8, 2014, speaker Cathy Joy said, “The conversation might even start by asking …what do I need to know about you as a person to ensure that I give you the best possible care/support?” After you ask, then just wait!”[1]

The support given by family will be different than that provided by professional caregivers outside the family, which is not to say that the family does not have professional resources. Ours does, but we’re pretty close to the situation. We still need to listen for cues of what our parents need as well as hearing their concerns. And I remember that I need to update their pastor as well. Being unable to get out on their own, it’s hard to stay connected to their church family.

Supportive Organizations

It’s a fact of life and also an emotional one for the elders to see small things slipping away, one after another, until the changes become bigger and parents require more support—perhaps even more than adult children can provide. This is where I’m grateful for those organizations called Community Access Care and the trained professionals within them who have given their best. As well, I am thankful for sisters to share the care.

We pray for strength and energy to handle the demands and hope for the understanding of others when we need to step back from time to time, and we accept the prayers of others to help us to keep all the parts in balance.

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[1] Warm Embrace Elder Care newsletter, June 2014, Spirituality & Aging, p. 2, 3.

PARK YOUR EGO AT THE DOOR-By Heidi McLaughlin

“Everything is wrong with this place. We don’t have all the tools we need, not enough billable work hours and even the air conditioning is not working.” Those words whizzed through the air like scud missiles! I knew they were intended to shock and intimidate me; but in that emotional moment I knew I was simply the target for the release of someone else’s frustration and unresolved anger. Years ago I learned that to be a woman of Godly influence, I had let go of my own insecurities and display integrity and grace in my workplace by learning to “park my ego at the door.”

 For thirty years I have been the only woman in the board room. For ten of those years I was the administrator of a large law firm, and prepared the agenda and chaired the monthly board room meetings. For the past twenty years I continue to be the Controller of two automobile franchises and again, I am the only woman in our weekly board room meetings. I have had to learn that when we allow selfish, pleasure seeking egos to dominate the agenda and conversations; an ugly tension permeates the room.  When our egos are threatened, we have a tendency to feel stupid, shamed, rejected and insignificant.”

 Nine years ago I put my fragile ego to the test. I am blessed to have two accountability partners that allowed me to engage them in an exercise that was intended to bring clarity into our biggest ego struggle; the idol of pride. We made an agreement that each time something or someone chipped away at our idol, we would record the words “ka-ching”. After an entire month of this humbling and revealing exercise, we met and shared the number of “ka-chings” we had recorded.   I was shocked and horrified to find that I had allowed my ego to sabotage my thoughts to propel feelings of being stupid, misunderstood, not heard or even rejected.  Somewhere on my spiritual journey I had forgotten that God makes us all unique and He has a plan and purpose for each of our lives. This little “ka-ching” exercise affirmed for me that everything in life is not about me, I am not the savior of this world and not responsible for everything that goes wrong.

 To be a woman of Godly influence in every area of my life, it has become my personal goal to value people over process. I am a task oriented person and no one knows better than I that there are goals, agendas and deadlines to be followed and adhered to. But if I allow my brittle, flimsy and selfish ego to rule my days, I will miss out on the joy of achieving success and accomplishments that I believe God wants me to enjoy. But I must always remember that my greatest goal in life is to pour God’s love and grace onto everyone I meet. That means taking a deep breath, parking my ego at the door, and remembering that we are all God’s creatures trying desperately to find our value and place in this world.  

 

Heidi McLaughlin lives in the beautiful vineyards of the Okanagan Valley in Kelowna, British Columbia. She is married to Pastor Jack and they have a wonderful, eclectic blended family of 5 children and 9 grandchildren. When Heidi is not working, she loves to curl up with a great book, or golf and laugh with her husband and special friends. You can reach her at: www.heartconnection.ca

Everything Old is New Again

About a month ago, my wife and I went for a leisurely Saturday drive out to the Carp Farmer's Market about a half hour from Ottawa. It was one of those ideal summer mornings—perfect weather. We thoroughly enjoyed the displays of fresh produce and home-baked goods, but best of all we enjoyed sampling them. Surrounded by friendly faces and live country music, who could ask for more?

But there was more. On the fairgrounds next to the farmer's market antique autos were rolling into position for a 100+ vintage car exhibit. I've always revelled in these displays, so after a locally prepared midmorning snack, we sauntered over.

Now I admit I find early twentieth century cars fascinating, but for me, pure nostalgia draws me to the mid-century beauties of the 1950's and '60's—the cars of my childhood and youth. Nothing says classic styling like the fins on a '57 Chevy or a mid '60's Mustang.

But for me the real find—the pearl among the oysters—was a green 1953 Ford. Why did this car attract me like a magnet? It was the first car I remember—my father's family car. I remember every detail about it from the chrome jet hood ornament to the Ford name crest on the trunk.

A thousand half-forgotten memories flooded back when I set eyes on that car. I was a one-year-old when Dad bought that car back in Saskatchewan. I cut my teeth in that old Ford and it was a central part of so many childhood memories. And here it was—a near perfect replica—sitting before some sixty years later. Furthermore, my name was on the license plate. How cool is that!

Unfortunately, over time we have lost so much. My father's old Ford went to rust bucket heaven a decade or two after he drove it home from the dealer. Cars rust, fabric frays, memories fade. That's why I draw so much comfort from this Bible verse: Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! (2 Corinthians 5:17).

This body of mine may be growing old and showing signs of wear, but in Christ I am being renewed every day. If there is resurrection and renewal for old cars, surely through faith in the risen Christ there is hope for this old body of mine. And if that be true there may even be hope for my Dad's old 1951 pick-up truck stored in a shed in Saskatchewan, and my grandma's bones stored in a grave a few miles away.  

So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable (1 Corinthians 15:42).

There's hope and renewal for old Ford's and Kitz's too!

David Kitz is an award-winning author and Bible dramatist. For details on his book and drama ministry visit www.davidkitz.ca

Bliss by Ruth Smith Meyer

I once was asked  to contemplate  

          Get right into the mood of this-  

Consider what are all the things, 

          That surely would bring me much bliss.

I sat back and put up my feet,

          And started to stare into space,

Is bliss doing, being, seeing?

          This question I surely must face.

So I sat there, really pondered

          And slowly my thoughts came around.

To my mind there came a whisper

          From my heart  where such things are found.

To begin each day in quiet,

          Listening for love sounds from God,

To step out on a fall morning

          To smell pungent leaves and the sod.

To crunch through the leaves in autumn

          See purple lined clouds in the sky,

To see dew kissed flowers and webs,

          And catch them with camera’s eye,

To walk along sandy beaches

          Find round pebbles of every hue,

To walk, ski, sit in the moonlight,

          Feel peace and hushed quiet anew,

To catch the marvelous sweet scent

          Of wood shavings or new-mown hay,

Taste a strawberry from the patch

          Or a wild one found on the way,

To sit with canvas and brushes,

          Then painting the beauty around,

To listen to birds insect, frogs,

          As they each lend musical sound,

To sit at cottage’s lakeside,

          And hear o’er the water, loon’s call,

To see the beautiful sunset

          And the first star when comes night-fall,

To hold the hand of a loved one,

          Behold a child’s eyes with love’s light,

To experience meeting of minds,

          Bond with another in delight,

To face challenge inviting growth,

          And draw on the depth of your soul,

To laugh at yourself, share a joke,

          To reach an unreachable goal.

These, just a few that bring delight,

          That in this life I’d hate to miss,

In truth, as I pondered it o’er,

          Certainly they’re what I would call bliss.

But what is bliss, kept to oneself,

          And hoarded in silence alone?

It’s true, that it can feed one’s soul

          Bring a harmony to life’s tone.

But share that bliss with another,

          And worship your Maker on high,

Bring praise, exuberant thanksgiving

          Let Him hear your awe-filled cry,

Your bliss may surprise, astound you,

          As it’s multiplied, then abounds

Warmed in His beautiful presence,

         You’ll stand there on God’s Holy ground.

May each of you find the pockets of bliss in your own lives. 

Say No to the Herd

"...There are four possible attitudes, said Jones, to the herd urge.  We can 1) withdraw from the herd 2) defy the herd 3) succumb to the herd or 4) surrender the herd to God and then live within it..."

By the Rev. Dr. Ed Hird

Every summer the Hird family goes away on an Ashram retreat to Sumas Mountain.  The Christian Ashram movement was founded in 1930 by Dr. E. Stanley Jones in India.  As a close friend of Mahatma Gandhi, Jones wrote twenty-eight books that sold millions, including Christ of the Indian Road and Abundant Living.

As the most widely read spiritual author during his lifetime, Jones left a remarkable impact that is rapidly increasing in our social media world.  Jones’ short aphorisms are very quotable, being often reposted on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, LinkedIn, and Pinterest.

 

For the last year, I have been rereading Jones’ book The Way to Power and Poise. Jones memorably warns us against the herd: “If we are herd-centered people, then we are insecure, for the herd is fickle and may quickly change.”  Teenagers, when facing peer pressure, are often tempted to be herd-centered.  When we give up self to the herd, we lose identity, focus and creativity.  The desire to be popular and to fit in can be very deadly.  It takes courage to be ourselves.  Jones taught that if we are dominated by the herd, we are doomed by the herd – doomed to a life of up and downness. 

The problem with the first attitude of withdrawal is that we are left in isolation and eccentricity.  All forms of separation, segregation or apartheid backfire upon themselves.  Emotional cut-off solves nothing.  We are called to be in the herd but not of the herd.

The second attitude of defying the herd leaves us on the defensive.  As Jones put it, you cannot live constantly objecting without becoming objectionable.  Defensiveness is negative and self-defeating.  Healthy people do not define themselves by what they are opposed to.

The third attitude of succumbing to the herd, said Jones, robs you of your voice: “you are an echo; you don’t act; you only react; you are not a person but a thing.”  Mindless conforming is ultimately deforming.  Giving up self to the herd leaves us flat and empty.  Mob mentality, as with the 2011 Vancouver Canuck riot, is rooted in the herd mentality. Many young people going to that Canuck game had no idea how destructive they would become. 

Only when we let go and let God can the herd become healthy.  The herd will drain you of life and energy, if you let it.  The herd is never satisfied.  You can never do enough to please the herd.  Jesus gives you the ability to transform the herd into a thing of beauty.  Say no to the herd, and yes to life.

The Rev. Dr. Ed Hird, Rector  

BSW, MDiv, DMin

St. Simon’s Church North Vancouver

Anglican Mission in Canada

-author of the upcoming book Restoring Health: body, mind and spirit 

-an article for the September 2014 Deep Cove Crier

p.s. In order to obtain a copy of the book ‘Battle for the Soul of Canada’, please send a $18.50 cheque to ‘ED HIRD’, #1008-555 West 28th Street, North Vancouver, BC V7N 2J7. For mailing the book to the USA, please send $20.00 USD. This can also be done by PAYPALusing the e-mailed_hird@telus.net . Be sure to list your mailing address. The Battle for the Soul of Canada e-book can be obtained for $9.99 CDN/USD.

-Click to download a complimentary PDF copy of the Battle for the Soul study guide : Seeking God’s Solution for a Spirit-Filled Canada

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From my account of human evolution

  The Little Lady of Flores spoke from the grave. But said what, exactly?

The key fossil's small brain was taken by many researchers as evidence that the Floresians must be a separate species. That and an odd-shaped wrist bone. But almost immediately, a competing narrative appeared. In November, leading Indonesian scientist Teuku Jacob (1929-2007) announced that the Flores hobbit was an "ordinary human" and "just like us," but possibly with mental defects. Jacob took the bones to his own lab, and returned most of them the following February, amid charges that he had severely damaged them.

He also damaged the orthodox narrative. And Nature wasn't having any of that "just like us" stuff. In March 2005, it triumphantly reported the results of a computer simulation that bolstered the new species claim, in a story titled "Critics silenced by scans of hobbit skull." But the critics' silence did not dispel lingering doubt about "Homo floresiensis."

Concern was raised that the ongoing controversy might be good for creationism. One researcher offered that "we certainly make it easy for them when we have disagreements like this one. I think that a lot of what has been said is going to have to be retracted. Given the amount of media attention, it just makes the field look incompetent." He concluded: "Nobody is on the side of the angels now."

Not even the angels, it seemed. …

 Neanderthal Man: The long-lost relative turns up again, this time with documents

Earlier we saw how much present-day evolutionary biologists needed and wanted to believe that we had found a new human species in Flores man a decade ago. But it quickly became clear that the ancient inhabitants of Flores were not appreciably different from other humans of their era, apart from very small stature.

The story was different back when Neanderthal skeletons, first unearthed in 1856, began to be studied. As Britannica puts it, "Using those skeletons as a basis, scholars reconstructed the Neanderthals as semi-human, lacking a full upright posture and being somewhat less intelligent than modern humans." The story grew legs and was admirably suited to demonstrating the fashionable, then-new idea of Darwinian evolution. As a result, "Neanderthal!" is now a term of abuse. The man himself does not protest, of course, for his type is extinct.

Thus, until very recently, Neanderthal man has been explicitly treated as an extinct, separate human species -- the status sought for Flores man -- in so highly politicized an environment that classification likely depends not on the persuasiveness of facts but the power of factions. More.

 A deep and abiding need for Neanderthals to be stupid. Why?

There has been a significant change in his status in recent years, as researchers began separating what we see from what we think ought to be or must be true. … In fact, quite apart from the fact that Neanderthals appear to have been part of our own families, they have persistently failed to be as stupid as Shermer's account needs. Increasing numbers of finds are breaking down the supposed differences between them and other early humans. As one paleontologist puts it, "The historical downgrading of our Neanderthal cousins has gone well beyond the scientific."

It's not clear, however, that "the scientific" was driving the need to downgrade Neanderthal man so much as a Darwinian anthropology that is at odds with the archaeology. More.

 What can we responsibly believe about human evolution?

Villa and colleague Wil Roebroeks carefully studied explanations for the extinction of the Neanderthals as a separate human group based on the assumption that they were inferior. Such hypotheses include the idea that they did not use complex, symbolic communication, were less efficient hunters, had inferior weapons, or were not omnivorous. As we have seen, none of these hypotheses panned out.

In any event, the current human genome incorporates Neanderthal genes; it's at least possible that they were just assimilated, the way many tribes in millennia past were assimilated into larger groupings, empires, or nation states, and lost their separate identity. One question the new assessments raise is, was there ever more than one human race? More.

 Note:The Science Fictions – cosmology series  is here.  The Science Fictions – origin of life series  is here.

History Rests on the Shoulders of Writers by Rose McCormick Brandon

 

 

William Francis Conabree, an ordinary man with an extraordinary story, sat down one day in 1952 and wrote an account of his life as one of Canada’s British Home Children. When he finished, he folded the sheets of paper and stuck them in a drawer.

He died.

His daughter retrieved the story and put it in her bureau drawer.

Decades passed. William’s daughter died.

Her family, while clearing her home, found the crumpled sheets of paper that contained William’s story. They almost went in the trash.

William had titled his story, “Believe me Friends, it’s the Truth.” He didn’t write about his experiences as a POW in WWI. That would have made an interesting story. He was interred with Con Smythe, the famous owner of the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey team.

William chose to write about his early days in Canada and the horrific treatment he endured as a fourteen year-old immigrant boy working on Canadian farms.

It’s not easy to tell of painful events. Most people lock their hurtful memories in a trunk and throw away the key. Yet, history rests on the shoulders of people brave enough to tell. Books about the holocaust, fiction and non-fiction, written for adults and children, continue to keep alive the memory of the worst massacre in history, a massacre committed at a time when the world considered itself enlightened.

The world needs stories from people like William. Most of the 100,000 child immigrants who arrived in Canada between 1869 and 1939 kept their pasts a secret, even from their spouses and children. Of the ones who did tell, few shared their lives on paper.

William wasn’t writing a book for publication. He simply scratched out his story on cheap lined sheets because he felt the need to tell. More than six decades later, long after his death, his words have come to us.

No one could tell this story. Only William.

Writers, skilled and unskilled, play an important role in the passing of history from one generation to another. William’s story came to me too late for my book, Promises of Home – Stories of Canada’s British Home Children.

I’ve shared it on my blog, Promises of Home, in the hope that many will read William’s story and remember the sufferings of the young immigrants who landed on our shores looking for a place to belong and give them their rightful place in Canadian history.

 

****

Rose McCormick Brandon is the author of Promises of Home - Stories of Canada's British Home Children. She writes books and articles on faith, personal experience and Canadian history. Visit her blogs: Listening to my Hair Grow and Promises of Home.