Listening is Hearing More than the Words - Eleanor Shepherd

Listening is more than hearing the words.  I was reminded of that again last week, when I was working as a Chaplain in a residence for seniors. I was passing through a lounge on my way to my office.  One of the residents, a woman who is blind was reclining in one of the large lounge chairs.

She was the only person in the room.  Hearing my footsteps, she called out, "Can anyone help me?" 

Pausing beside her chair, I asked, "What would you like, Miss Smith?" 

"Where am I?" She asked.

"You are in the lounge." I responded. 

Then for some reason I sensed that I should go further. 

"Is that the answer you were looking for?" I queried. 

She hesitated a minute and then said, "No."

"What do you want to know?"  was my reply. 

"I want to know where my brother and sister are."  I knew immediately that this was her real concern."

Then something clicked for me.  This woman must ask the staff members of our residence at least ten times every day, "Where am I?" 

The staff usually responds by giving her the name of the residence. I have never been sure that was what she wanted to know. 

One day in the dining room she asked me where she was.  I responded by asking her where she thought she was.  Her response immediately was the name of the residence. She knew all the time.  What she did not know was how to ask the questions she really wanted to ask. " What has happened to everyone who belongs to me? Where have they all gone?  Am I now alone in this world?" 

I suspect that she has been trying to reorient herself to her current situation. When she asks, " Where am I? " she wants to know her context. She wants to know where her place is in the world.

She likely defined herself by her relationships, as we often do.  However, these days there is no concrete evidence that these relationships are intact.  She is not aware if the relationships are still valid for her as she is unaware and unable to read any correspondence with her siblings.   "Where are they for her?" She may be asking herself.  If they have gone somewhere why have they not taken her with them? 

When I heard her question I tried to give an honest answer, so I told her that I did not know where her brother and sister were, but I would try to find out. 

 "Will you? " she asked. 

Assuring her that I would do my best to try and find out, her relief that she might be able to get answers to her questions was visible in the way that the tension seemed to dissipate from her body as she leaned back in her recliner. 

As soon as I had a few minutes available I headed for the nursing office where the records are kept to see what information I could find out about Miss Smith's family. The only clue I could come across was that the contact person for her was a nice living in another province.  I jotted down the phone number of the niece, so I could give her a call and find out about Miss Smith's siblings. 

Most of the afternoon Miss Smith remained in her large reclining chair dozing. However, at one time when I was passing by.  Hearing my voice she cried out, "You are the one who is going to help me, aren't you." 

"Yes, Miss Smith," I assured her.  I will do everything I can to get this information for you."  Content, she settled back in her chair. 

As I reflected on our conversations, I was so glad that I had been able to ask her if I was really answering the question that she was asking.  It opened the door for genuine dialogue that may help all of us to become more sensitive to her real needs ad those who in our home are living out similar reorientation of their lives.  That is why institutions like ours exist to help people to make sense of life when much of what they have known and loved is gone, and to know they still have a place and are valued. Crucial to that is to hear more than the words. 

Word Guild Award
2011

Word Guild Award
2009

Weighing the Difference/MANN

At age five, I remember walking along a country road toward my one-room school house—the last year of the war. Even at that age, I had a deeply instilled fear of airplanes and loud noises. War was war—even for a five-year-old. And I figured out as a youngster that I was safer sitting in the ditch until the plane was out of sight. Nonsense, you might think. For this child, it was safety—an action that brought me a sense of comfort.

Did that fear come from listening to the radio? Probably not at that age. Perhaps from hearing adults talk? Yes, some of that. Maybe it came from overhearing family talk about the men from the community who would not come home. Or could it have come from seeing my father polish his big black boots that looked so neat under his khaki army pants. No doubt some stories would be passed around the quilting frame as my mother and her Red Cross friends stitched or cut sheets for bandages and supports. While I cannot answer the question of where I learned to be afraid during that last year of the war, I can remember how I was calmed.

Age five was possibly an enlightening year for me. I not only remember the feeling of fear, I also remember gaining confidence and courage. Certainly in situations of listening to the roar of airplanes as I ran to the ditch on the side of the country road, but more than that. Being juggled through the snow to the barn over my father’s hip like he’d carry a bag of feed, gave me the feeling of protection and safety. My early Sunday school years deeply planted a sense of belonging. And of course my circle of friends as I made snow angels across our front yard.

Childhood provides a place of gravity where life experiences settle. And, only as an adult can we reach back to see the importance and impact they have on our adult life. I’m now at the time of my life where I’m watching grandchildren and great grandchildren experience different situations and I wonder how they will draw on them later in their life. We may not understand at the time when we look back and see pockets of unresolved emotions, from which we might be tempted to shy away. But, opening them up to answer the question, solve the equation is worth the challenge. Healthy fear is about protection and safety. It triggers action. It's that nagging fear that hinders us and limits our quality of life. In the ditches of life, we hear the sustaining words, “For I the Lord your God hold your right hand; I am the Lord, Who says to you, Fear not; I will help you (Isaiah 41:13).

Blessings,
Donna Mann
http://www.donnamann.org
Agnes Macphail series
Grief resources - WinterGrief
   21 Promises: Honouring self in the Midst of Grief - Coming soon

A Listening Ear--Carolyn R. Wilker

Our wedding season is over, with two beautiful and happy brides, meaningful ceremonies, and enjoyable receptions—all a mother could hope for.  I will admit that with two daughters getting married in a few months, my focus has largely been on my family. 

There was shopping for special outfits and gifts as well as time spent discussing details and listening. Any big event like this requires communication and cooperation. My questions were: How can I help? And where do I need to be?

My daughters are mature and make their own decisions—many of them, wise decisions. All three daughters ask for advice from time to time, including the one married first who has two small children.

 In teaching, there’s listening too—checking for understanding of material taught. In Toastmasters, we listen attentively to others’ speeches so that we can give helpful feedback in the learning process. And at the Button Factory, when the Baden Storyteller’s Guild hosts Open Story Night, there’s nothing better than to sit back and listen to stories. 

I enjoy attending plays in which my niece has a role. It’s my main purpose in being there, to hear her and the other actors tell the story, and to support her.  I also look forward to a concert in Kitchener very soon, with Lunch at Allen’s—a group of musicians and singers. I will be listening, since I love music.

I get frustrated when I hear other people talking while actors are performing or when someone is speaking. It seems disrespectful to those on stage and makes it harder to hear the words coming from the stage. The same could be true in a classroom when I’m there to teach or learn.

My three-year-old granddaughter has learned what the phone is for. It’s amusing to hear her talk on our play phone when she comes for a visit. She pretends to listen to another person on the other end. We’ll never know the part of the conversation she makes up, with her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she sees others do. When she’s done listening or talking, she’ll hang up and tell me who had called. It might be mommy or daddy or even one of their dogs.

When my daughter is speaking with me on the phone, she’ll often ask her three-year-old if she wants to say hello to Grandma. Most often she says yes and hurries to the phone.

“Hello, Gandma,” my granddaughter says. Then she’ll tell me about her day and all I have to do is say “hello” and listen, for the conversation will be short. I hang up after such a conversation and smile.

Active listening has a place in the home with family, and with friends. When a friend is going through a difficult time, there may not be anything one can do but listen and pray for the person. There’s listening to be done every day, with conversations, radio and videos people might watch for business or pleasure.

Jesus listened too—to his followers and to people who asked for healing. He responded because he heard the need and wanted to restore the person to health. He also listened for God’s messages to him. 

Listening is a part of our everyday world. Listen closely next time a loved one says something. It just might be a word of appreciation or an “I love you.”

http://carolynwilker.ca/

Author of Once Upon a Sandbox

Editor and contributor to Big Ideas for the Big Stage

Bella: Lightning a Candle - HIRD

By Rev Ed Hird 

Many of us are unaware that BC was once a Spanish Territory.  Our famous Captain Vancouver, after which our city is named, was sent to the West Coast by the British Government to receive this land from the Spanish.  I took one year of Spanish in Grade 10 after finishing Grade 12 French in Grade 9.  Languages have always fascinated me, perhaps because I spent two years in Montreal learning French during the time of Expo 67.

Our St. Simon’s NV community has been on many mission trips over the years, especially to Mexico and Rwanda.  Our first St. Simon’s NV mission trip was to the Hispanic Anglicans in Honduras, one of the poorest countries in the world.  It was a wonderful opportunity to refresh my Spanish, preaching, teaching and even singing on the radio in Spanish.  Our Latino Honduran friends were very kind to me as I sought to improve my Spanish diction.  I think that they appreciated my making the effort to speak in their heart language.

The largest ethnic minority in North America is the Hispanic-speaking people with over 52 million in the United States, 14 million in California, and almost 5 million in Greater Los Angeles.  Fifty percent of all those recently added to the USA population were Hispanic.  Many commentators have predicted that the very close American Presidential election (now concluded) would be won on November 6^th by whichever way the Hispanic voters leaned.

One of the most delightful movies that crosses the Hispanic/Anglo divide is Bella.  My wife and I recently borrowed Bella from the local library, after a good friend recommended we check it out.  We were not disappointed with our ‘date night’ movie.  This stunning ‘once in a lifetime’ movie left us both in tears.  It left me with the conviction that Bella has the potential to do something beautiful in the world. Bella lights a candle in people’s heart.

Bella struggled for visibility until winning the prestigious People’s Choice Award at the Toronto International Film Festival as well as a Heartland Film Festival award.  Then our North Shore-based LionsGate Films and Roadside Attractions became the distributors.  LionsGate Films is part of the reason why with so much film activity, the North Shore is often called Hollywood North.

As the top-rated movie on the New York Times Reader’s Poll, the Wall Street Journal called Bella ‘the fall’s biggest surprise’.  With more than $10 million in domestic box office, it became one of that year’s top-ten-grossing independent films, breaking the record for a Latino-themed film in total box office earnings.

Alejandro Monteverde, Bella’s Producer with Metanoia Films, wanted to produce a movie that showed the real face of Latinos.  So often Hispanic people are portrayed in movies in less than flattering ways.  We need more culturally sensitive movies likeBella.  For Latino people, the kitchen is at the heart of the family.  Everything in Bella was food-related, whether speaking of the key actors who worked in restaurants or the intimate family times where Nina a pregnant non-hispanic waitress is welcomed into their Latino hospitality. Bella reminded me that the Hispanic people have a rich family heritage and deep spirituality that is an important contribution to our North American multicultural mix.  In an age where marriages and families are often collapsing, the Latino people have much to teach us about human dignity and making room for everyone.

The gist of the story is that Jose, a famous soccer star, becomes involved in a tragic car accident that ends his career.  He lost his passion for life and for soccer.  Meeting Nina changes everything for him and for her in a most unexpected way.  More than romance, Bella reveals the beauty of sacrificial love.  I thank God for Bella’s celebration of family, food, music and life-affirming Judeo-Christian values.  You could check this movie out of your local library or view it online.  My prayer for those reading this article is that we will daily rediscover the importance of family, kindness and compassion for others in need.

Bella Movie Trailer  (click to watch online)

Bella Movie Trailer (en Espanol/Spanish)

Reverend Ed Hird, Rector

St. Simon’s Church North Vancouver

Anglican Mission in the Americas (Canada)

http://stsimonschurch.ca

-an article for the November  2012 Deep Cove Crier

-award-winning author of the book ‘Battle for the Soul of Canada’

http://www.battleforthesoulofcanada.blogspot.com

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 PAYPAL using the e-mail ed_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

You can also download the complimentary Leader’s Guide PDF: Battle for the Soul Leaders Guide

Me and NaNoWriMo

I can barely look up from my computer these days. So, if this blog post today comes out crooked and misshapen, it’s because I’m writing a novel. In one month. For a long time I’ve heard about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and these crazy people who sign up to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. I admired them - from afar (From a far distance, actually.)

It usually takes me nine months to a year to write a completed novel. I’ve done it 18 times, so I told myself that I should know my own novel writing process by now. 

And yet, a week before NaNoWriMo began I started thinking about it. In the past few years my writing has been in a bit of a slide. This can happen even to seasoned writers. I had several health concerns, plus other things that got in the way. And so, I thought, maybe NaNoWriMo can help jump start my writing career back into my writing career.

I signed up. I’m pleased to say that at the end of 6 days I have written a bit more than 10,000 words and am working hard. I entered the exercise not knowing what my novel was about. All I had was a title and a vague sort of theme. 

So - for all of you out there doing NaNoWriMo this month, best of luck and let’s keep each other accountable.

Here’s the NaNoWriMo website in case anyone wants to see what it’s all about: http://www.nanowrimo.org Consider it for next year!

My recent stories on the death of key culture critic Jacques Barzun - Denyse O’Leary

An astute critic of Darwinism dies at 104  But Barzun's clarity is probably the precise reason his reputation is likely to go into eclipse in a decadent period. In “Jacques Barzun, wide-ranging cultural historian, dies at 104” (Washington Post, October 26, 2012), Joe Holley offers a conventional view, implying that critiques of anyone but Darwin are acceptable. More here.

 And Scooped! The New York Times is already untelling the story of Barzun ... Actually, if he wanted to be an authentic witness, he could not spare Marx or Darwin what he did not spare others.

And friends write to remind me of Gertrude Himmelfarb: At 90, still a sharp critic of rant, cant, and credulity about the past, and also a critic of the Darwin cult. She comes in for her share of abuse from the cultists too.

Readers who do not care about critiques of Darwin might wish to consider this: In decadent times, cultural historians cannot get a serious discussion going about elite cult figures like Darwin. And not even fashion cult figures like Che Guevara. And those are precisely the discussions most needed at any time.

Marine Wisdom

                                                                                                                                    by Glynis M. Belec

     

A Ship in harbour is safe - but that is not what ships are built for. 

John Augustus Shedd

                    Brilliant. My niece, Rachel posted this superb quote on her Facebook status this morning. For some reason, it stirred my heart. Rachel does have brilliant tendencies and she has written some equally wonderful words in the past, so I didn't think I was out to lunch reasoning that she had penned it. But she 'fessed up and told me she did not know who the creator was. With an inquisitive mind and a desire to know, I did as I am inclined to do when stuck with a conundrum, I 'Googled' it.

                Sure enough it was there. John Augustus Shedd (1859 - ?) was an American author and professor. In 1928 he wrote Salt from My Attic and this is apparently, a quote from his book.

                 As I started to reflect upon Shedd's wise words, I thought about my own comfort zone. My harbour is my home and if I had my way, I would stay safely hitched to the dock. Only a slight rocking to remind me I am afloat. I like the safe feeling; the benign moments knowing I am tethered and secure in my own place.

                The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that just as a boat is not built for rocking to and fro anchored to a dock, neither was I created to feel comfortable each and every waking hour tied to my home or my office. Oh yes, I do believe God wants me to enjoy peaceful moments and sense the safety of His grace and unconditional love. He has given me a desire to write and to stay close to home with my tutoring job, so I can't be dashing here there and everywhere, but untying the knot and setting sail to where God wants me to go, should truly be my desired destination.

          I don't think that necessarily means I have to travel the briny ocean and leave for foreign parts. But it might mean I have to stretch myself and be more attuned to the needs of others; to bite my tongue when I feel I need to retaliate; to convert my busyness into fruitfulness. Whatever my lot, I will find contentment and the realization that God has made me for so much more than I can even comprehend.  

The key is to listen. To discern. To heed. Some days are easier than others. I am drawn to joy and laughter and hope. On the days when I cannot breathe, I remind myself of things that matter. Then my joy returns. Laughter releases endorphins and I relax. Each new day is a reason to hope. Stepping out of my comfort zone, out of my harbour, can be a place of pure joy purely because Jesus is there. 

          So thank you Rachel, for giving me something to think about today. I love the challenge you have (perhaps) inadvertently set before me. And thank you to Mr. John Augustus Shedd. Who knew your words from 1928 would make it to Facebook 84 years later (and make a bit of difference for at least one soul?) 

I Signed Up for NaNoWriMo on a Whim - den Boer

God help me. I just signed up to write a novel in a month or, as I understand, the first draft of a novel that could take a year or two to edit. All I need (they say)  is a story idea that excites me, a main character I love, and a touchstone such as a song, picture or memory to draw us back to the story if my character takes me drifting off in an ocean of words.

Dear God, give me a story that excites me...please.

Humour always excites me...clean humour...not that grungy, suggestive stuff. My story has to be humorous.

Suppose I take a character I like, put that person in an impossible situation and see what happens. With NaNoWriMo, a month and 50,000 words later I'll have the flawed first draft of a humorous novel.

Okay, now I'm dusting my keyboard. Such inspiration.

Let's concentrate on a character. I have to get on well with this character as I'll be spending most of November with her. I'll call her Minnie. She's a middle-aged woman.

Now, I'm biting my finger and thinking about lunch.

A touchstone...I'll do that first. That passage in Matthew 6 comes to mind. "Don't worry...seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be yours as well." It's been a durable wedding passage for 36 years of marriage, so should work for a 50,000-word less-than-perfect novel.

Back to a story that excites me. I need an arresting situation for a middle-aged, God-loving woman. This lady's three kids are grown and have left the nest. Her husband dies after a short fight with cancer. He leaves her with a house, two cars, and nothing to do. Boring. How about she finds out he had a gambling problem and he leaves her with nothing? That sounds dreary.

It is three minutes to twelve. How  about I go have lunch?

How about Minnie doesn't lose her husband to cancer? Her husband loses her. Minnie has a car accident. She goes to heaven. She becomes one among the great cloud of witnesses cheering people on.

I can see potential here.

Minnie can explore heaven, and she can peer out through the windows up there to do some cheering. Of course this will go against all manner of theology, but that shouldn't matter because in the end Minnie wakes up from a coma with a renewed zest for living.

Forgive me for spoiling the suspense.

Marian den Boer is the author of the book Blooming, This Pilgrim's Progress. If you haven't read it yet, she'll be happy to sell you a copy. Don't bother contacting her in November. She'll be busy. 

Attitude before age, people -- Kathleen Gibson

Life goes faster over the hill, they say. Clearly, my body saw that coming and voted against it.

As I motored along (at a decent pace) over the freeway of mid-life, some molecular process within me tapped the brakes and flicked on the blinker. Looking for the scenic route, no doubt. Perhaps a long curving exit ramp.

It began just past my half-century mark. Flat parts got round, round parts got flat and smooth parts began wrinkling. Worst of all, things that used to stay up and in without a fuss, (hair and teeth for starters) began arguing.

Then I heard myself saying things like elephant instead of element and castration instead of frustration.

I also noticed (with more than an elephant of castration) that stuff that took minutes in my forties takes many more in my fifties.

These days, my evenings, once my most creative time of day, are often little more than supper, dishes and a few mandatory chores—all accompanied by yawns, rabid clock-watching, and a deep gulp of slow.

I can’t even order off most seniors’ menus yet, but some days I feel as though old age has marched out to meet me. “How’d we get this way?” I asked the Preacher the other day, as we dragged our limp selves into bed. “Who kicked us into old?” I sounded angry, and at that moment, I was.

He chuckled. “The pirates and beasts, probably.” True, his medical romps with West Nile and cancer have changed our lifestyle. But up with the birds, and down with the sun? We’re too young for that. Besides, I don’t see it working well in winter. My boss may complain.

Two well-aged men with great perspectives have recently reminded me how important it is to keep a great attitude, and a forward look.

Recently Stuart MacLean, on his radio show, The Vinyl Cafe, interviewed a ninety-some year old Arthur Award winner from Cape Breton. “Tell me, Angus,” he said, “what did you like better about the old days?”

Angus barely paused. “Dare were sam tings good, ‘n sam tings bad,” he said. “T’all evens up, I tink. Dem were doze days, and deez ‘r deez days.”

Angus had great attitude. So did the Apostle Paul, and he matched it with a great faith. “Forgetting what lies behind,” he said to the Philippians (my paraphrase), “I reach forward to grasp all the good God has waiting.”

Lord, give us boldness enough to let go of the old good, trust enough to seek out the new good, and hope enough to believe in your highest good. Amen.

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.

Mercy in a Gift Shop - M. Laycock

I received this scripture by email one morning - "Keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life." (Jude 1:21,NKJ)

I was struck by the words, “looking for the mercy.” I believe this is a big part of being a Christ follower – we are to be looking for evidence of His hand everywhere we go, watching for His grace and mercy, looking for signs of His incomparable love. Sometimes we are to be that hand ourselves. 

Some time ago I was in a hospital gift shop, stocking shelves with Christian books. A young woman asked me about the flowers in a nearby display case. Her eyes were hopeful but I had to disappoint her and explain that I did not work in the shop. I was just there to stock the book rack. I pointed to two ladies at the front counter. “Maybe they can help,” I said. 

She nodded, stared at the flower display and sighed. “I’m not really sure what I want.”

I took note of her dress then – a baseball cap pulled over messy hair; a thin pair of pyjama bottoms topped by a hospital issue housecoat wrapped around a frail frame; pull-on terrycloth slippers, two sizes too big.

“My friend is dying,” she said, then turned back to me. “I am too.”

I put my clipboard down and waited. Her story unfolded in simple language, the words slipping from her mouth almost as though rehearsed. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a picture of her seven year old daughter. I could see the resemblance. She smiled when I mentioned it and went on to say there was a surgery that she was hoping for – highly experimental, there was only one doctor in the country who could do it and he just happened to live in a nearby city. But then her voice fell and I had to lean close to hear. Her friend had had the surgery. She was still dying.

The conversation turned to the word hope then. She had hope they would agree to do the surgery, hope that, unlike her friend, she would recover, hope that she would live to watch her daughter grow up.

She said a pastor came to visit sometimes and “we say our small prayers together. They seem small, just words, but maybe not, eh?” Again that hopeful look in her eyes.

I was praying small prayers right then. She’s so young, Lord. Please. Please.

Then she was gone and I resumed stocking the rack. I do it once a month and in that hospital, the rack is usually almost empty by the time I return. As I filled the pockets with books I was acutely aware of their contents. They hold pages about the love and mercy of Jesus, pages filled with stories of courage and faith, pages of humour to lift a sad heart and inspiration to encourage a weary soul. Pages of hope.

I knew I was sent there that day to do much more than “just stock the book racks,” but my job suddenly seemed important. My other job, as a writer, suddenly seemed essential, “That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works.” (Ps. 26:7, KJV).

****

Marcia Lee Laycock writes from central Alberta Canada where she is a pastor's wife and mother of three adult daughters. She was the winner of The Best New Canadian Christian Author Award for her novel, One Smooth Stone and also has two devotional books in print. Her work has been endorsed by Sigmund Brouwer, Janette Oke, Phil Callaway and Mark Buchanan. Marcia's second novel, A Tumbled Stone has just been released. Abundant Rain, an ebook devotional for writers can be downloaded here. Visit Marcia's website.