My "Granny Pad Rant" or Growing Old with Respect

As people grow older, and their personal needs, along with a desire to stay in their own home increases, there is a dynamic of a two-fold stress that arises. As we look from the outside in, (as those who are mere spectators) we often conclude that the best results that could be attained would be to dislodge our seniors from their homes and move them to a more acceptable situation, where both social and medical help would be more available. This may include more suitable surroundings, where consideration can be given to special needs with health and safety concerns as a basis of justification.

This stress can surface in at least two areas. We often disregard these two factors that arise in the aging process; It is the issues of convenience versus familiarity. There had been in the not so distant past, a tendency for both family and the care-giving sectors, to opt for convenience, as seniors were rushed into nursing homes and extended care facilities. This has changed somewhat, as governments have surveyed the cost of corporate care of elders, finding the growing economic limits of this type of housing to be prohibitively expensive, and so moves were made to aid in  keeping seniors in their homes longer. Now with the limitation on public resources once again being of concern, there seems to be a move now-a-days to promote alternate avenues of care for our aging population, among the private sector; that being the promotion of “Granny Pads” and “tiny home” provision for our seniors. This first area of stress is out of concern for the seniors themselves. Convenience is important to some extent, but as we consider convenience there must be the consideration of respect for the wishes of those who are our aged, what is measured as convenient for our senior family members themselves.

A certain or sure dynamic of stress arises when the only consideration is that of uni-directional convenience. As we evaluate both the environment and personal health of our aging seniors, there are two facets of care that must be considered. In this day and age, as family members are sometimes shipped off to a distant nursing home that may be of some distance away from their family. That sounds harsh… and it is. With the aging populations of North American society there are constant stresses placed on both health and geriatric care facilities. The Canadian dynamic is a bit different in some respects, as there are two levels of care available. The first line and most important to our citizens, is the state operated nursing and extended care facilities which have been our privilege for many decades. The alternate for some, are private facilities which may be a choice for those who can afford this style of exclusive care with extended options for socialization and exercise along with personal health care as a first line supplemental base. How is convenience measured then? Is it the convenience of those facing the decision process for others, or for the convenience of those being processed? What is most important is the convenience for our seniors, not the convenience of the family, or perhaps convenience for the care giving professionals and this fact causes much stress for all concerned. How does one evaluate fairly based upon all the factors involved and then make a decision based on both practicality and prudence?

I remember years ago my parents wishing to have us boys place them in a nursing home when the time came. They clearly, at that time, did not want to become a burden to us. We were both professional men and our lives were busy and complicated in many respects. There was no clear definition of timing or circumstance around which this decision process was to begin. As the years passed, a change took place as their view to the future was totally opposite to their original wishes. My parents now wanted to stay in their own home. My Dad had been instrumental in the providing of senior’s accommodations in our area, and had accomplished having two 2 bedroom apartments placed in the extended care housing facility, that was built during his years as Chair of the Housing Authority. His plan had been that he and Mom would live there, as their need for extended care increased. This was not to happen, as it was not coordinated with my mother’s plan.

My parents finally decided one day that they wanted to stay in their own home. This second dynamic of stress for both them and for us, as their children, was that we realized that there arose this problem of familiarity. How can familiarity be a problem one could ask? Human nature gets used to a certain flow throughout a lifetime. This is both more finely developed and accentuated as we age. Daily processes become a harbour of safety and routine, a fence to help keeping on track those mundane considerations of health and happiness, for seniors it is a familiar environment that lends itself to comfort. There is routine to make sure medications are taken, meals are prepared on time and the regimen of the day, through repetition, is comforting, as well as therapeutic, in most cases. While care must be taken to watch for signs of degeneration of mental capacity, we should not be too quick to identify a bit of momentary confusion with total senility. Consider how many times we have reached for something during the day and wondered what it was that we wanted, even in our young adulthood. There are signs of more deeply seated confusion that can be noted, to help us better evaluate, and it is our responsibility to help those we love by due diligence and research, as we assist and watch. without undue stress for either ourselves or our loved ones.

We often hear people say, “There is no place like home!” and yet a normal reaction for those on the outside quite frequently is to come to the conclusion that something else, in the way of surroundings and environment, would far better serve their loved ones, in their later years. This is not a total misjudgment, if the circumstances warrant it. There does come a time, if personal care is of great concern and the availability of caregivers, to meet the personal needs of our loved ones, is lacking. I will not argue that. I would suggest, and perhaps I may be seen as naive here, that first and foremost we need to continue to do evaluations based on the desire of our aging seniors. I have seen in the past too many evaluations done by professionals, who with well-meant consideration for their clients, made their decision to report a need for relocation based solely on a 45 minute practical and verbal tests, focused on physical response times and acuity of understanding. While these tests or benchmark forms of evaluation have their purpose, there is the problem of false positives or false negative factors that must be considered. To have a stranger come into your home asking questions, and often being perceived as “demanding” responses, to both oral inquiry along with physical capability, can be daunting for seniors. Seniors do not always react well to external stresses created around such evaluations. There may be formulas in the process that allow for client’s (this is the term used by the health care-givers) state of mind, but far too often, it seems like results are calculated only using standard forms, reflecting basically the actual responses given and abilities shown, as time needed for such evaluations is an element of concern within the process itself.

I have been there and I have noted those stressed seniors personally over a 40 year period, working with not only family members but community members, as they faced this overwhelming process. I helped care for both of my parents, hands on, and I know that there are easier ways to both try to help and assure our seniors, who are our family members… yet sometimes alternate methods and foreign environments, are not the best way to go. I realize that not everyone is capable of caring for aging family members. Not everyone is in a situation that allows them to perhaps stop their own lives, to assist an aging parent, or parents, through their final days. But out of respect for our seniors, I pray that this hands-on course of care will not become a “last considered” option, as our society seemingly devalues our seniors in many respects.

 I am writing today in response to an ad found on social media for the proposing and promotion of “Granny Pods” or housing for our family members in the backyards of our homes. In this scenario they are near, but out from under foot. Seniors in this scenario are given the opportunity for personal space and privacy, but are also near enough to be cared for when care is needed. That “when needed” has always bothered me. My sick mother looked after parents and her aging in-laws until their deaths. No one knew how many times she cleaned up the messes made when their body functions failed them, the meals shared, clothes laundered and a hand was held when losses meant tears being shed and company was needed. That was “hands on”, and it was not just a chore to be grudgingly completed, it was a privilege. Years later, there were moments of exhaustion for my brother and I, as we experienced what our parents years before, had taken on as responsibility for their own parent’s care. There were times when embarrassment had to take second place, as the needs of our parents overshadowed any preconceived idea of how things would work themselves out, when the latter years of our parent’s lives came to confront us, and their care was now of prime concern, now to be a privilege and not just a necessity.

This is not meant to be a chastising of those who have made other choices for their own family members or parents. I helped my aunt get a bed in a nursing home because that is what “she” wanted at that point in her life. It was not a matter of outside evaluation and decision process… it was her decision and I was merely the convener within that process. How we perceive our seniors, and how we deal with their needs, should be made solely on their desire first wherever possible, and where that is not possible, great care in acknowledgement of their presence and importance in our lives should be taken, so that perceived alienation does not become a factor of daily life later on, for those we love.

Granny pods…. Well, if that is a consideration on the part of the senior themselves… OK! But, let’s not rush to tuck away our seniors and parents in our backyards too soon… their homes are their castles and as we evaluate the dynamic of familiarity over convenience, we must not leave out that dimension of human need that states that what is familiar to us brings comfort beyond most external supplemental care in life. If I choose to move… and I may very well do so at some point in my later years, then I pray that it may be near some family member who will choose to help care for me, not from guilt, pressure or perhaps only out of a fear for my safety. I pray that it might be with a heart of love that remembers that as a parent, I helped nurture them, as best I could through life, and that they would now do so for me, until I depart in death. That may include at some point, a decision to place me in extended care somewhere, when I am no longer manageable and their personal care for me is no longer tenable… That could be a reality, but one faced with God’s Grace.

That is what living near the edge sometimes comes to. It is not always about exploring new ground or meeting challenges that are all about our skill sets in life; one day it will be our ability to face the unwanted changes that are normal for advancing years, but foreign to us in your youth. We must prepare ourselves to walk near that edge as well. Is there a need to rush things? Perhaps not. But, like anything in life, the more homework we finish on time, and with due diligence, the more prepared we are for the test when it comes. As we walk near the edge in this respect... take time to answer some of the gnawing questions about what you want, versus what may be expected. No need to walk there alone! Walk with God at whatever level you might be in your understanding of His guidance and direction for your life. But remember this... we will all face that reality at some point ... ready or not! Personally, I do not fear what the future holds as I am too busy just celebrating the present, but I do keep in mind and practice the reality of my place before God.

May you be blessed, as you consider some of my odd rant today. Now don't go getting all depressed... I will be taken care of I am sure, even if I don't deserve it! That can be your smile for today!

The Grandmother Clock and the Challenges of Passing Time

My Grandmother Mantle Clock

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, was a most familiar sound in our family home growing up. There was what we called the old "grandmother's clock", that sat on a shelf in our home that was lovingly and methodically wound every day. On the hour it would gong out its reminder of the time and by 12 noon or at midnight, the loud resounding of its voice carried throughout the house a noisy reminder that another cycle of time was about to begin. If it was daylight outside, then it was mealtime, and if nighttime cloaked us in veil of darkness, then it was the beginning of a new day. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock; its rhythm, a steady beat like the beating of our hearts.

Time has a way of just forging on. It has no motivation or need to stop... it just happens. I remember after my grandfather died there was some discussion about whether the old clock would continue to be wound. After all, it was a rather noisy, loud reminder of the hour, and as more modern versions of time pieces began to be used, the loud ticking of that old clock seemed less inviting. A new slender clock, now owned by my brother, had a sweeter voice that chimed out the hours and it had a sleek, smooth, curved look and soon became the main time piece in the home. The old grandmother clock had its place, but its gonging hourly voice sounded, as the chime section of the clock was no longer wound.

Time did not stand still, though the gong on my favourite clock stopped. It ticked on for many years more and surviving a move to another home, still ticked for decades following that. It has a place in my heart, but no honoured place in my home… the ticking has now stopped as well. But time still marches on, while the clock remains in storage for future use soon at out cottage, as a centerpiece, evoking memories for me and perhaps conversation for others. Once we are able to spend more time there, as life settles into a more controlled cycle for us retirees, it will be set on our fireplace mantle and be wound once again... perhaps not the chimes, but the time section for sure.

Advancing years brought many changes. An old friend said just last night, "Who would have thought that a certain item would show up on Facebook, much less on a cell phone?" It seems that each year new innovations, along with advances in technologies, change our lives. Along with those changes come other things less desired, and are often debated as we watch society's mores or accepted standards and customs change, and not always for the better. My Dad used to say that he didn't mind change, but just don't do any of it until after he was dead. That seemed so strangely odd and bordering on the ridiculous 40 years ago, but has a familiar ring to it now, as I hear my inner thoughts evaluating change and wishing that it would slow down, so that we would at least have time to acclimatize to what is here before us now. But time marches on and we have to negotiate our way through the changes, and adapt the best we can in the time allotted.

In the study of human history it was always said that a civilization's existence is very cyclical in nature. The advancement of understanding leads to technology, technology to stability, stability to affluence, affluence to indulgence and indulgence most often to downfall. Great civilizations of the past have fallen, not because of technology, but because they rotted from the inside out. Affluence, indulgence, greed, pride and most of all jealousy paired with moral decay, lead them all to depletion and then defeat. It has its parallel in our lives as we age.

It is perhaps this path leading from understanding to downfall that has created the most fear for us as we begin to age. I know my sons-in-law watch the news daily for changes in the stock market. It is important for them as they are in the commodity business and need to know how both common local and foreign markets are doing and how that will reflect on the sale of their goods worldwide. Each day can bring alarming news and though we panic by nature, we also have to pause and remember that the very fibre of humanity, this cycle of movement and change, is as continuous as the tides of the ocean or the sun's rise and then its setting in the evening... time changes everything.

Just as the twelve gongs of the old grandmother clock on the mantle marked out either the noon day hour or the beginning of an altogether new day , the end of each December marks the passing of the old year, and the beginning of the new. We review the past 12 months and reflect on the good and the bad. We want reminders of all that was fun, exciting and would rather put behind us those that were challenging to the point of exhausting or that lead to disappointment and grief. People spend time making resolutions about how life will change for the better... better dietary choices, better body and mind choices, more time to relax and enjoy friends and family and perhaps for some some lifestyle choices about retirement and travel.

We are a people of plans made, but with purpose often left unidentified. As a child we made plans for the future. Each passing day a new focus took up our interest and we moved from plan to plan, based on the whims of availability and the interests of others. It is often never truly clear when we settled on "the" plan. According to stats over the past decade, people will change jobs more and more in years to come. For instance it was calculated that my generation would average at least 3 job changes in our lifetimes. I am not sure if that included what we do in retirement or not. We can see the fluidity of movement and how both need and interest changes and how we react to both. For some it is a forced change, for others it is a personal decision to seek something fresh and perhaps more challenging or with greater benefit for self and family.

Today the process of New Years resolution making, along with the process of the already guaranteed move towards its failure, will begin. I have never made a new year's resolution. I have decided to make some changes, through the years, when time and situation gave opportunity, but I was never one to strive to suddenly feel that change would take place just because a new year was beginning. Each year, as it begins, has its element of potential for our lives. My concern is for this time to be a reflection, more of a processing of where I went astray or how things may have been approached differently, to make life more loving, memorable or perhaps more tenable for us as a couple, or even as a family unit, distributed about the province.

Change is sometimes necessary, but how do we identify who "we" are and our "purpose" in life; that being function, role or what may become our usefulness to society. I think sometimes about Moses in the Old Testament. He must have wondered many times about his purpose, as he moved from positions of leadership of men to herds of goats and sheep and back to his fellow man again. His struggle in both judgement and paticence, along with a few other human frailties, led him along an uncertain path over a span of a long and tenuous lifetime. Purpose as we see it in Moses, seems to be based on both need and circumstance. It is that way for most of us today? Are we certain of who we are based on what we do daily? After all what we are doing now, here in 2016, may be altogether different in a year’s time. Does that change our identity and is our identity based on purpose?

Another question worth examining as we enter the New Year is, does our identity or purpose need to alway align with society's expectations of us? That may be a more personal question that may take some time and personal wrestling, to find an answer to. In my life I have played in that sandbox and I found little joy and much sadness experienced in exhaustion trying to fit into the world's view of my identity that changed with entoy into the different factes of my work. We can become overwhelmed by the energy it takes to meet the world's expectations and I am finding that I must refocus every day and find my center, my identity, my purpose, based on the needs that I find as I awake and begin to interact with the world that God has given me. Purpose is not as static as it was once thought to be...today, it is a never ending chain of circumstance, environment and availability that cycle along with time and our willingness, or ability, to react in a positive manner. God uses us like he did Moses, perhaps not to lead whole peoples or nations, but to do our part with a resolve to accomplish what can be done, not limited by our skill set, but only by God's amazing grace.

Well... my ramblings will not change the world and likely will not even change your perspective on what New Years means today, tomorrow or years in the future. I have found that even my own children will only occasionally take time to read my "stuff ". When asked if they have done so they most often hesitate and so perhaps maybe even never have, in some cases. People ask if I write to remember or if it is a journal so that my children will have memories recorded for them in years to come, but that was never the case, not really. It may have some importance to them later, but busy lives dictate for them their own focus and we become for our children and grandchildren a reality of necessity more than need at some point in time. Necessity being what becomes their due diligence to family ties. I don't write for anyone in particular, I write because I want to share my thoughts, to scribe some memories that perhaps will touch a life, spur a thought or consideration not pondered before, but mostly just to give peace to my inner being from time to time. Only those who are writers, teachers or who those have had opportunity to create will know how it all works. An artist has to put brush to canvas, a sculpture must mould and shape the medium to create what is held there ready to come forth and a musician must hear the music and be carried by its rhythm to accomplish the depths of its influence.

That is how we are created. Each of us is to be individually important to God's purpose. The key is not so much the importance today to make or propose a resolution, but more importantly in my mind, to find a solution. That solution is most often keyed to what the circumstances of your life are; its flow and ebb, its trials and tribulations and its moments of challenge and lack of continuity of joy. We do our best to mask it all don't we? We diet, exercise, join clubs, travel, work and resolve to be a better "me"! But underlying much of the business and activity is a deep sense of mortality, the speeding of time that has gotten away from us and change that though inevitable, is scary and a constant challenge and bane to our existence. Today perhaps, the solution is something different. Maybe looking first upward and then inward would be more rewarding. I would have said outward, but that can be too exhausting for most of us with the conditions of the world in such an array of unrest and discord.

Start with upward... away from self and consider why we are here in the first place and what it is all about. For some, the precepts of God are not such a challenge… for others, they are mere childhood memories and details of myth and story time. But God is who He is... that will never change no matter the dialogue, debate or scientific argument. Then, looking inward, see if there is a void that has needs, such as unmet joys left behind. Perhaps for you today there is a necessity to just release the past and embrace a less complex design; one based on love of self, as God has made you. But it must be tempered with a love for others, so that together the two loves will shape and form a more acceptable identity of "self", in the image of who you are, not who others would expect you to be. This will be a trip to the edge once again. There may be no need for urgency, but nevertheless we never know. Who we are today and how we prepare for tomorrow is an exercise in preparedness for any daily approach to life.

Are you ready for 2016? I am! I am armed with a confidence that God is with me, His grace is supporting me and no matter the circumstances of the coming year... I will give Him the glory for helping me get up each day, no matter the physical pain of body or just life’s challenges being faced. I have a wife, who is my helpmate, and she is my “sweetheart” who loves me, along with a family that cares... added to that are the friends who pray for me and my family, each day. What more could I ask, I am surrounded with blessings galore. Well there may be one more thing I might request... only this... that people might love one another, putting away all that is folly, and embrace God's design for His creation that peace might reign supreme. May God richly bless you all as 2015 passes into 2016. Stay safe and make the right choices... the wrong ones affect not only you, but those whom you love as well. I continue to pray for you on into 2016!

The Anticlimax of Christmas

Growing up in rural Nova Scotia was never without surprises. I have mentioned various gifts that made a difference in my life as a small child and how they impacted on my life with active memories. These days, as an aging and retired adult, I see things a bit differently than I did, say 50 years ago. Christmas is not so much about what I receive, as it is about the family time together and the joys of sharing, caring and fellowship. Our family now gathers in a group on Christmas day and as much as is possible takes time to share the exchange of gifts, the laughs of interacting with all the grandchildren, along with some catching up on the news.

This year has been much of the same, but for one slight difference. In my time spent puttering after a hard winter, I was able to finish the exterior of that workshop that my wife and I wanted built to house all the machinery that I had collected down through the years. Most of it is not new equipment, yet is workable and there are some newer acquisitions. I did quite a bit of research over the past winter and found a lot of interesting items. I also carried the reminder of those special items that I had to produce, to even the score of who got what, with those newest grandsons, who as yet had not been gifted anything that Grandpa had made by hand. So without too much persuasion, I began in early fall to make plans, collect wood and start models and full sized mock-ups of some of the pieces that were on my mind.

I have discovered that not every plan has the same outcome. I found that after a rather long hiatus away from my woodworking, I had begun to lose confidence in my skill; well maybe more my ability to undertake too large a project, that may have some complexities to overcome. So I started small. I had been thinking about things for gifts for our daughters, along with the requirements noted for those new grandsons awaiting Grandpas handiwork. It seemed to me that cottage life, combined with wood stoves and the rustic atmosphere of off the grid summers, afforded me quite a few avenues of creativity. The questions always arises though, “What would they like and would what I make for them find a viable use at the camp or cottage. It is much easier to have subtle suggestion, than to sit and ponder the likelihood of misjudging the value of my taste, or a whim of curious design, for a planned object. But, then the surprise of an interesting object or two that may carry with them memories of a Dad or Grandpa though the years that follow, can’t be all that bad. So this year that is what I did, I forged ahead. After I did a few practice runs at some easy projects, and tried some of the old skill sets on some scrap wood, I offered my projects up to my wife’s scrutiny…. And they passed.

But the quiet reminder of those specialty requirements and requests began to haunt me. Not having the confidence that I had 20 years ago, to undertake a new project just on a hunch or hand-drawn sketch, I felt that I needed more of a well-planned blueprint to keep me focused. The further I went in my crafting, the more confidence I found, the less I felt that shop drawings were necessary. In my earlier years I had watched a program on one of the TV educational channels, where a skilled carpenter used a story-board for keeping track of projects. It was merely a stick (narrow board) with lines and measurements, denoting the various transitions and placement of the elements being combined in the piece or project. I went with that method and then by trial and error, I soon accomplished what I needed to move from the story-board to the working pieces.

So by this time, you are likely asking if I got all the projects done. Well, surprisingly yes I did, along with some other orders from individuals for specialty projects for Christmas gifts and decorations for their homes. My wife seemed pleased with everything, and after some struggles near the end with fine tuning a couple of the projects at the last minute, we were ready for delivery and the joy of watching the faces of the recipients. Those youngest grandsons loved the box that one of their gifts, that happened to be a purchased piece, came wrapped in. That has been the standard reaction of most children down through the ages… a cardboard box and children… there is the fascination of imagery that suddenly transforms a box into a fortress or hideout.  But boxes come and go. The value of a piece of furniture, or an item with its own worth and versatility, soon out shadows a mere box. Or… perhaps the box is soon discarded by eager parents wanting their child to focus more on what was in the box, rather than the box itself.

The wrappings all finally came off and sum of the work was viewed. Some comments were made and the surprise of having Dad or Grandpa think of such an interesting gift soon changed into chats, laughter and the sharing of common meals together, as we gathered Christmas morning. I had one more surprise left for my boys (my son and two son-in-laws). I had wanted to make this Christmas an especially happy one for the immediate family. After long thought and planning I made 4 rather strange gifts that I felt may have somewhat of a different impact on the atmosphere Christmas day. It gave me concern, but not enough to change my plan. As the family finally all gathered, I told the boys I had something special that I had been working on. So I brought out some small spongy packages and allowed them to open them. Well, there were some odd looks, and a few smiles as speculation took over from curiosity. I had to complete their gifs, I told them, so off I went off to retrieved the second part of the surprise. I then asked them to open the gifts so that the others couldn’t see, but the grandchildren's peeking soon saw what was being opened, and a food fight soon broke out.

Now I know that there may be some who by this time may feel that this was over the edge…. Well, this blog is about living near the edge after all. Here’s the deal. The second part of the gift that each received was a marshmallow crossbow. Yes… you read correctly…. They were marshmallow crossbows. They were made of birch and teak… too exotic you say?… no… they were worth the work and sacrifice for my boys and their wives. So began a food fight that lasted through the day and had adults chasing each other around the house pinging one another and their children with marshmallows, while the feast of eaten ammunition soon made the availability of the miniature marshmallows, that we had supplied as part of their gift, a scarcity. So out came a new supply and after a couple of hours in the second round, a cheer went up from my son and youngest daughter, “This is the best Christmas ever!” I could feel the tears edging to the surface, but I forced them back to protect the joy of the moment.

Can Christmas have an element of anticlimax? Yes it sure can… but not this year… not for me anyway. More than anything I wanted smiles, laughter and fun to be the most important element beyond the true meaning and importance of Christmas, found in our Bible reading and stories. My joy now finds those moments of making and remaking, testing, fine-tuning all worthwhile, even though there were moments of frustration and fear that I may not get the crossbows completed before Christmas. The anxiety over what the parents might think of marshmallows being catapulted around their home melted away with the ring of laughter and sibling playtime, once again being the most important thing for the moment, beyond those gnawing concerns that have haunted us this year.

Ben wants to take his on the fishing boat with him… April wants to take her husband’s to school with her and surprise her boss, the principal, with a marshmallow attack. Of course this means the certainty of one thing. Dad now has to make more marshmallow crossbows for the spouses and the tradition of the great marshmallow fight will be on each year as we gather. Of course that can never be guarenteed to happen yearly. But it was such a joy to hear them say how much fun it generated for them, and how excited they were to think about being able to do it more often. More ammunition has been acquired, but it stilll remains to be seen if there is another “major” outbreak like that of Christmas day, until all the siblings have opportunity to gather together again. Will it matter?… not at all. The important part was the spontaneity that erupted from that first marshmallow fired and the ensuing fun it created .

What brought joy to the moments on your Christmas day? The answers may be as varied as they are many. It might be as simple as silent reflection and peace, or the boisterous jostling of grandchildren’s excitement with each new gift opened, along with the looks of pure joy and pleasure they gave as they hugged you showing their personal gratitude. Christmas has its own journey to the edge. We go there with both expectation and wonder. We go there to seek both solace and assurance. We want only the satisfaction that the work to get us there was worth it. But most of all is the calm personal awareness of a resolve to celebrate anew each year what God gave us as  a celebration event; a reminder of what the greatest gift of all was, and should remain to be, for all mankind.

This morning my daughter snuck down the hall with her husband’s crossbow in hand, to start the day with a burst of laughter and my heart sings with the joy of accomplishing what I set out to do. Ben is shooting his boat buddies and a grandson is likely in stealth mode awaiting the opportunity to turn his Dad’s weapon against him in a sneak attack. The edge for me this Christmas has not been so daunting. It has been a hill of preparation worth climbing, and you may ask if I will go back home with an anticlimactic attitude. No… not this year. For me, it is found in the near parallel sentiment echoed from my son and daughter; “This may have been just about the best Christmas ever!”

I pray that you found as much joy as I did. If not, and this Christmas has been a struggle, I will take time to pray for you. I don’t need to know the details… I am going to pray, and have been doing so daily. I know from past years how much pain there remains for some who cannot find the joy in Christmas that perhaps they once had known.  Lord I pray: Touch the hearts of those who are still searching for that peace that eludes, through the darkness of disappointment and pain, that there may be a lightening of those burdens and knowledge of release. Bring joy to hearts that call upon You O Lord, and the miracle of blessing where belief has its only foundation in evidence shown.  Amen

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

Well, it is hard to believe how the time has flown. It seem just like yesterday that the family gathered around on Christmas Eve and read the story from Luke Chapter 2 about the birth of the Christ Child, Jesus… the reason for the season. … The true meaning of Christmas. I wish I could say that it was a tradition brought forward from my youth and then passed down to our children, and on to their children, but it was not.  I am at least a 3rd generation Christian. My Granddad was a deacon, highly respected I understand, and my father followed him as a deacon, and yet I cannot remember the reading of the Christmas Story in our home with them more than perhaps just a few times, or later after my grandparent’s deaths, with just my parents remaining.

I remember we had our own tree and Grammy and Granddad had one as well… a much smaller version, which I couldn’t understand at the time.  But, now older and much wiser, (Ya.. you all believe that one right?) I can see that it made Christmas, for them, a quieter more personal time together. They would always join us during the day as we ate Christmas dinner together, but they wanted that space, their time to reflect I believe, on their greater circle of family and friends… a very meaningful time for them.

Granddad always said grace. It was special to us who gathered around that table. It was not long, it was to the point, but meaningful. As we say in our family today, and I have heard a great many times, “Keep it short the food is getting cold Dad”. I was glad when I stopped being the token Pastor at gatherings and was finally just Dad or Edwin in those extended social gatherings. It is hard to imagine the joy I felt when my oldest daughter finally one day chimed in with the words, “Ok everybody I am going to ask the blessing… so QUIET!” Nowadays, during the more intimate gatherings ,our grandchildren take turns asking the blessing for the food and it is amazing how they will add further concerns or blessings to the grace. Perhaps some of the faith of the fathers and mothers has had a positive influence, now deeply engrained in them, I pray.

We’ve all gotten some level of  special Christmas gifts I am sure. Do you recount some special thing that you had hoped for and then received through your youth? One or two things have been highlights that are first on my list of memories from Christmas past. We wanted a wagon. Back then a wagon meant many things. It was a mode of transport when we were towed around by parents who found it hard to be carrying two boys while on walks. It was also a vehicle to coast down the hills on wild rides, and sometimes landing upside down in briar patches or in the brook at the bottom of the path leading to the road, until we were big enough to gain better control. But it meant work too… a load of wood piled too high so we might make fewer trips between the wood pile and the house when it was time to fill the wood box.

My adventurous spirit cried out for a sword. A fish vendor came by every week. A great friend of the family and to me, as it turned out. He gave me smoked haddock on the sly, to eat raw, when he came, and I am positive he never charged Mom for an ounce of it through the years that he visited our home. He was an older gentleman and we missed him when her retired, but he had one last gift to bring via a secret request made by my Mom.  I had been asking for this sword that I mentioned, and he brought me several swordfish swords. My Dad would patiently put them in the brook or an ant’s nest as prescribed by Scotty (our fish vendor’s nickname… his last name was Scott) but none of them turned out to be fit for making a sword.

One Christmas I opened a very special gift…. It was a sword. Scotty had gotten a wonderful man, who lived on Reed’s Hill in our town to make a sword for me. He was a native and had made wonderful hand-carved swords, and because he knew our family (likely friends with my Granddad or my Dad and our Scotty), he made me the sword for almost nothing. That sword, worth much money today ( for a mere 5 dollars back then), became a much loved possession that I have kept down through the years. I hope one day that one of my children, or grandchildren, will want it to be part of their prized possessions, along with some of the things I have made and given them. Heirlooms are not as popular perhaps these days, but I can dream that some of those things will be passed on to caring recipients.

But it is not about the stuff. It is about the meaning, and our home was filled with meaning. There had to be choices made and it was always without threat, when it came to faith and religious dedication to ongoing worship and celebration in the Faith. When others stayed home on days when Christmas landed on Sunday, to open gifts and play with toys, we opened gifts and then went to Church to celebrate the greatest gift of all …. The birth of Jesus. “For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given; And the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Found in Isaiah 9:6) It was not a burden; it was enlightenment that one day became a way of life, a meaningful extension of who we would become as modern shepherds, and wise men, women and children, who would seek out the Christ Child each year. Oh it may have had its moments at first, when disappointment found our hearts, having to leave those gifts behind, but that did not last for long.

These past 40 plus years of married life have brought changes, once we had a family of our own. Yes there were the disappointments that families face. The Christmas after we lost our first son (he would be 41now) was hard for me and likely was even harder for my wonderful wife, but we knew that God would provide and He did. A year later a new joy found us with our first daughter beside the Christmas tree and through the ensuing years another daughter and then another son followed. Christmas became so much fun and along with the joy of gathering, we started reading the Christmas Story on Christmas Eve, and we set forth new traditions. Some years, while living away, we traveled hours to get home to spend time with our parents, so that they could share Christmas with the grandchildren who they got to see only a few times a year. These were important family times, filled with opportunity to record the smiles, the excitement, and the joys of just time to chat. We rehearsed the past and watched children who had a whole lifetime ahead of them dream of every adventure possible, that evolved from those gifts unwrapped and scattered before them on Christmas morning.

Now we watch our children and grandchildren lead the way in celebration as they ring forth His praises, “Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth and goodwill toward men”, in word, pageantry and song. One day perhaps, one of them or maybe even a few of them, will be thinking back over the years and remember their Granddad’s long ,and hopefully meaningful prayers with them at Christmas, regardless of the worry over the food growing cold, and record for the next generations their thoughts about the joys of Christmas. May they carry those memories forward and show their children and grandchildren the true Reason for the Season, while remembering some of the ghosts of their own Christmas’ past.

It is a journey not everyone who reads today will want to take or enjoy taking, I am sure. There may be those of you who will not have fond and lasting memories of Christmas in your childhood or even as adults in family together. Many the times there have been, when I had to pray for families who were spending Christmas in fear, unrest and anger, as discord was the environment in the home. The answer is not in the stresses of affording, wrapping and giving, it is in the time spent together and it is what we do with that time that counts. Yes, too spend a lot of time preparing, making things to give my family, because I have the time.  I can do the work myself and it becomes an extension of the love found in gifts that I can both afford to give and without expectation, give freely just for the joy of doing so. But, most of all, it has become that teary moment, when seeing one of our grandchildren sitting on their father’s knee reading “The Story” from Luke 2 while their Dad helps he or she with the difficult words… a moment this grandparent will never forget, a memory cherished for a lifetime.

What will your Christmas bring to you this year? I pray there will be more to it than the stress of preparations being made and a mad rush of gifts being pulled open on Christmas morning. There is too much suffering from the syndrome of anticlimactic disappointment, as people wonder where it all went and ask themselves, “is all that energy I expended getting ready really worth the effort? “I have been there, so don’t beat yourself up. My journey into frustration with Christmas lasted several years while our children were in their teens and following. Children must make their way out of the nest, and in doing so have to leave us behind temporarily. Those years were lonely and I withdrew somewhat wanting to find a solace, in the comfort that Christmas still had a meaning beyond our children and gifts… a reinvestment you might say, in the true meaning of Christmas. If you are there today and frustrated… take time to consider why and who we celebrate, and try to realign your perspective more towards what may have been left behind.  At this point walk away from the edge…. Yes, you read it correctly dear friends… away from the edge, and go back to the core of what Christmas is really about. This is not the time for just the fringe benefits of Christmas… you and I need the core, the central blessing of the Season…. “But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10-11)

I continue to pray for all who need help and ask. I pray for my dear family today, as we have lost another of our loved ones. Christmas will be a more reserved celebration as a husband, a sister and nieces and nephews recall a life that was precious, now gone from their presence. But the Prince of Peace still reigns and He said, “"Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful. You heard that I said to you,  I go away, and I will come to you. If you loved Me, you would have rejoiced because I go to the Father, for the Father is greater than I.” (John 14:27-28) This is the child, become a servant on our behalf, whose birth we celebrate… He brings the peace we seek… Seek Him this Christmas! Sometimes the perspective from there brings unexpected joy! Be blessed in Christ as you celebrate this weekend, remembering Jesus’ birth…. Amen!

Ell Chambers and Glory-Hole Boxes

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My Father's Hands

My son and I were driving home from the city after one of his medical appoints and he looked down at my hand that was resting on the gear shift knob between us and said, “Dad I had never noticed that your hands look just like granddad’s hands”. I just smiled and remarked that they were not only shaped like his but now were wrinkled just like his used to be. He only said that he hadn’t noticed before that they had wrinkled, but seeing them now, they looked like granddad’s used to look.

My Dad was not a young man when he married and had children, of which I am the younger of us two boys. By the time I was old enough to note such things; Dad had begun to wrinkle in his mid-fifties. I often remarked how his hands were on the smaller side and seemed to curl inward like he was not opening his hands enough, to which he always answered that it was from holding hammers and tools for so long. It always made me laugh and when I questioned it he seemed to be adamant that this was the reason for them taking that shape. I understand more, now that I am in my sixties, how one’s grip changes, maybe not always from usage of hand tools, but from time taking its toll on our body as a  result of either arthritis and/or abuse. While working in my teens I saw so many men with sometimes as many as 3-4 fingers missing from work related accidents along with those misshapen from breaks and bad cuts.

When we take time to look at people’s hands we see the many variations of shapes and distinctive marks and family characteristics. For me it is shape and wrinkles, for others it may fimilar family traits that show up, but none of us can come close to those marks left on Our Father’s hands. I mean the hands of Jesus. This time of year we celebrate the coming of the “Christ Child” and even though the world is trying to lessen the impact of Christian influence by moderating the celebration, calling it happy holidays, there will never be the erasure or diminishing of what took place with God the Creator come to earth in the child form of Jesus of Nazareth.

People will argue over the possibility of a virgin birth, the actual time of year, an angelic choir and the visit of Magi from the east to see the birth. But, in the end the principle of what took place and what it represents will be neither forgotten nor be allowed to degenerate into a mere fictional coinciding of myth and folklore. The reason is because, the reason for this season is “Jesus” the Christ Child, “God with us”; “King of Kings” and “Lord of Lords”.

Those small hands that reached up to his new mother were the same hands, though grown strong through the years that touched, healed, calmed the seas and finally sacrificed their perfection as they were nailed to a cross for all who would believe on His name and follow His path to eternal life. (See Mark 8:34  “And when He had called the people unto Him with His disciples also, He said unto them, “Whosoever will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.”) You just have to identify your personal cross; that which is your burden, whatever that might be, and come to Him… not die under the burden of it… but to live freely with it! We have to hear Jesus say in Matthew 11:28-30, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

It is hard to understand that the human hands can face such diverse situations and yet survive, can take on such misshapen form, but still affect those who see, hold and are comforted by them, once fear is cast aside and familiarity becomes a peace and assurance. Perhaps that is one of the reasons for people fearing coming to Christ, believing and most importantly, responding…it is the anxiety over the expectations that both the Church and believer put on others sometimes. Yes, believers put very high expectations on the idea of coming to Christ too often. It was the Father’s hands that did it all. They bore not only the weight of his own body, but the weight of the sin of a whole world past, present at his death and the future to come. Accessed only by acceptance and submission that path to eternal life can become scarier than many would choose, while many would outright reject.

Do I have my Father’s hands? Yes, I do, but in looks only. My Dad worked years in auto-body repair and mechanics, and though I started out in life using tools I spent most of my life’s career in ministry. I pushed a pencil and used a computer, visited, taught and preached. I never knew really knew the kind of hard work that my Dad’s hands went through in his lifetime. But I love the thought that even though I don’t like to think about the coming wrinkles, I do have my father’s hands. Perhaps, somewhere along the pathway that I have travelled, I have accomplished even just a bit of the work that my Heavenly Father would have me accomplished so that the name of His Son Jesus would held high... though sometimes I have fallen far short. If anything was accomplished I always prayed that Christ would have the credit and that God the Father would be glorified. Our hands are just extensions of a human form… the Heavenly Father’s hands created, saves and sustains… that is out of my purview… so I most often say, “The Father gives, I only deliver” just like the postman or the local courier.

Have you looked at, or do you remember, you father’s hands. Have you ever wondered what he might have wanted for you or expected of you? It is not always an easy thing to do… to remember, I mean. But when you do, perhaps you may find more joy than you may now think. Close your eyes and with your mind think about, or back to his hands. Perhaps what you will see is scars… or you may just see the shape or the wrinkles, but most of all I pray what you will remember most is the love they gave. Today that is my walk toward the edge, towards my Heavenly Father's Hands.

Remembering is a bitter-sweet exercise sometimes. I loved my Dad so much and I know that he loved me and he sacrificed for me. I miss him so much… all the time. That is just like my Heavenly Father, with only one difference… God dwelt among us in His Son and then sacrificed that self same Son for you and me. So He wants us to love Him too. Just like our earthly fathers, God wants that and perhaps a bit more. As creator and sustainer He wants the respect, worship and glory that are due His name. That is part of the Christmas Season and celebration... not just a happy holiday!

May you be richly blessed this day. Put your hand in your father’s hand but more importantly perhaps, put your hand in the Father’s hand and let him keep and guide not just through this “Christmas Season” but through all the seasons of life. Take a walk towards the edge with Jesus, the Christ, the Reason for the Season…  walking near the edge is not bad, it has moments of testing, moments of required courage and moments of extreme joy... It's all in how we define the view from there.

Fallen Only To Rise Again

Throughout most of my teenage years I worked for a local business that was started by my Great Uncle. It was one of the larger employers in the town for many years. The company was diverse and had a grocery store, a feedlot, a hardware department and building supplies along with a complete mill, a kiln and sash and a molding/box factory. I was privileged to be asked, after working there for most of my teenage years in various departments, to come join the company as part of the office staff in accounts receivable. I hammered away on a 24 column posting machine, looked after customers and delivered pay packets to employees when the paymaster was busy, which was most of the time it seemed. Maybe he (a cousin) just wanted me to do all the walking. Part of the training I underwent was to go with the management up into the deep woods where the timber for our mill was cut and learn the lay of the land, how the timber was surveyed and measured for board foot capacity for harvest, while it was still standing.

Back in those days the cutting was done with resource management methods. Though there was the use of tree-farmers that did tear up wide trails through the woodlots, but selective cutting was done. The business had two mills at that time. There was one old diesel mill by a huge mill pond on site and a new total electric mill that was the envy of this end of the province. (I remember going to visit another mill up country to see how it was set up before Long Lake Lumber installed a new diesel electric mill with a 600 volt landline backup in the late 80’s. The company, Ohio Electric Ltd., of which I was partner along with Peter Covey, wired that particular mill when it was built… I nearly froze my feet off that New Years doing temporary set up of the diesel-electric generator all alone at 15 below zero.) But at the early stages of my life being in the woodlot with the management was so educational and I learned a lot.

To see a huge pine, hemlock or fir fallen and readied for transport to the mill, was something I will never forget. It perhaps was what kick-started my deeper love for the forest and its resource management. I had watched log trucks taking the product to the mill as a child and while on hunting trips with Dad saw old mill camps, logging roads and stumps among the regrowth of new generation of forest. Out of the stumps of hardwood grew new growth that would become the hardwood forest of the future. Among the stumps of new softwood cuts, there sprang up new young firs and birch trees. But most amazing of all were the huge stands of hemlock, which made an enormous canopy over the ground below; usually nearby a stream or river. Nothing could match those experiences at that point in life.

The mill turned out so many products over the years.  My favourite spot was the sash and molding factory. The men who worked there showed me so many things and were always accommodating when I asked all them questions… perhaps seeing my genuine interest in what they did and how everything worked. Both Russ MacKay and Lester Harris became close friends and were so helpful in developing an understanding of machines and product. Russ coached me on tools and made me my first wooden mallet to use with my new purchase of top quality chisels that he recommended when I started woodworking  as a hobby, while still employed at Woodworkers. I was like a sponge, soaking up information and storing it away for future use… and it all came in handy through the following years.  I was amazed at how easily wood ran through the sawyer’s main saw, the re-saws and planners and were later formed into windows, doors and moldings that left the shops almost as fast as they could be produced. A once tall standing tree, fallen, transported, sawn, shaped and now rising again as something beautiful again, gave me a deep sense of pride that I was part of it all.

But it all ground to a stop one day when my cousin fell ill and the then president suddenly died of a heart attack, all in a short span of time. All of us younger men who would have naturally fallen into management positions lost our jobs one by one and new management and owners took over. The mill was closed, dismantled and a new future loomed on the horizon for the business. I felt sad, perhaps in terms of cast down… fallen like the trees that were mere product that could be used and then reused for something else. The work  ethic back then, was that you stuck with your job and did your best, but times had changed and change being as it was, called for more drastic adjustments to life and plans for the future for myself and my family.

To rise again is to see life, not in terms of just new adventures or experiences, but how we visualize who we are and what we can accomplish. Sometimes it is a complete make-over or re-establishment of priorities, or maybe even a comeback from a disastrous mishap. We all have something that at one point or another, changes the master plan; that kicks our stumps (our supports) out from underneath of us. It is then that ready or not decisions have to be made and contingencies caused to kick in. These “what if” plans ,known as contingencies, are not important to the youth of most generations, but dreamers, on the other hand, are full of ideas, plans and contingencies that can be kicked in whenever needed or as an opportunity arises. Fortunately, I am in that category… a dreamer, thinker and planner. Well, … maybe fortunately. The fortune comes in that I have a wonderful helpmate wife who can plan for the day in other ways, unless catastrophic misfortune hits and it has in our lifetimes.

I was listening to two old worship songs that we used to sing in our quartet years ago. One we sang at the Blackwood Brother’s All Night Camp and Hymn Sing back in the late 80’s. Yes… Ok… so I am getting long in the tooth (old)… get over it!!!! The first was “Rise Again” and the other was “A Song to Sing at Midnight” which we sang in the competition in Pennsylvania. These two songs, as I listened to them again early this morning, bring me peace. There have been a pile of mid-nights when I needed a song while the prevailing darkness of need and sorrow filled my mind and heart. And the other “Rise Again” is a reminder that no matter the situation now… there will be better days ahead…. If not tomorrow or the following days, they will come eventually in this life or most importantly, the next for sure.

We make so much of temporary setbacks. If trees could feel, I am sure they would say, “Now I am lost!” But, whether bound for the fire to keep somebody warm, as newsprint carrying words to the world, or as building materials to provide shelter, comfort and joy to someone… they for the most part rise again… even from the roots of their fallen tops, or their seeds scattered years before. We are after all temporary for the most part. I said in one offering some time ago that after 2 generations we become unknowns to the family that follows. But we are affected by change; mostly by the bad. That is when we feel most vulnerable, most at risk and afraid. But how we handle the change becomes our legacy to family, friends and to the world out there that is watching, listening and sometimes waiting … and not always for further falls, but for the rising again to better and more productive times, that might enhance their lives as well.

Take heart my dear readers. God is not finished with us yet. When Dallas Holm sings “Rise Again” we can feel the sense of hope that it gives to those who are looking, waiting and praying for relief and release to a better day and Christ gives us that answer. You may be sitting on the edge right now, you may be facing harsh realities that were never expected or planned for, or you may be so worn and weary worrying, that reality is no longer an apparent issue, but don’t lose hope… Someone is holding on to you. First and foremost it is God and secondly it is those who know you and pray for you and who love you…. Now that is worth rising again for.

May you be blessed this day and if I know your need I will pray with you, for you and on behalf of those needs that are weighing you down. May that help to give you a different perspective, as you walk on or near the edge.  After all, it may help your perspective on life look different from there, knowing that someone cares … for you!