Lives knit together

life,

“You just don’t know”, she said to me quietly. “mmhhm”, I said back.

It’s July and nine months since I sat next to someone waiting,
to Die.
Nine months. The amount of time it takes for a human to be formed according to God’s plan, within her mother’s womb. Dying can happen so much faster. Well, we know that from the time we are born, we are dying but that doesn’t count. Living a life and then leaving here, the World, can take years or seconds.

I want to tell you about my friend Helen. I call her Baba and that’s what her grandchildren call her. I get to call her that too because, well, I just do. She is the grandmother of my nieces and nephew who are the children of Baba’s son and his wife, my sister. They can’t visit like they wish they could. They can’t pop in to chat and share a laugh like they would if they lived close. Oh they come when they can. Her boy has been coming lots, recently. He wants to be here and is when he can.
They live far and I don’t, live far, so I take myself to visit every now and then. Lately it’s been a bit more since she needs some extra TLC. Her daughter lives across the street bless her heart and of course she loves her mother, so has worn a path between them the last few months. The daughter has done what she can, like one does when one loves their mother and wants to
End well.
Ending happens whether we like it, want it, face it, or not.
Ending is hard and I’m pretty sure none of us like it.
We know the now, whether it’s good or bad. The end is scary,
hard.

Some of us are confident about After the End. I am, confident. Nano was, confident. Even so, she wasn’t anxious to do the End part. Baba is confident and it’s still hard, the End.
It would be so much nicer and more pleasant if we could skip the End and just jump from the now to the
Then.
Can’t!

So
we attempt to embrace it and ride the waves with the ones we love, who find themselves facing it, the End.

“You just don’t know”, she said to me quietly. “mmhhm”, I said back. I waited just a second for her to finish her thought.
Now, I have a terrible tendency to finish people’s sentences. I’m not sure if it’s because I like to guess what they are about to say, or if I’m not patient enough to wait, or if I think they need help to finish the thought, but I have been told and often, that it’s a habit I have and not a good one.
At these times though, the ones where I’m waiting on the person in the chair. The one who is wrapped in a blanket and struggling to speak, I sit, wait, Patiently even.

So after Baba said the part about not knowing, I waited and not for long before she went on.

“will it be tonight, or tomorrow or when?”

I answered back like this.
“Well Baba, that’s the thing. None of us knows. Only God knows. It could be an hour from now, for any of us.
But,
isn’t it wonderful that we don’t need to worry about the time? Isn’t it great that God knows and He knew when He made us, just how long we would live?
AND
isn’t it wonderful that He is making a place for us, right now?
AND
you get to go there So Soon. Oh Baba, I am happy for you, Thrilled that you are soon going to see your new home and see people who have gone before you. This is So Good. And Jesus will be there. Goodness Gracious, Jesus Himself.

“God is so good”, she said, with tears in her eyes and a shake in her voice. “He sure is”, I said back.

“There’s a song that says that, God is So Good”, she said. “Yes there is”, I said back.

I waited, patiently.

“Show me your knitting”, she said. “I sure will”, I said back.
I pulled it out and she smiled and told me how proud she was of me.

Then she picked up the wool and started to roll it.  I asked if she would like to roll it into a ball for me and she said she would.

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Two weeks ago I went to visit and was just starting a knitting project. I hadn’t held knitting needles for a very long time and couldn’t quite remember how to start. Well I went over to her chair and sat next to it and her. I gave her the needles and the wool and asked if she would show me how. With a face that was as happy as the face of a 91 year old who is in her last days could be, she commenced to show me how to knit. It was hard for her and her fingers didn’t quite do what her brain told them to do and that was okay. We worked on it together and we were happy doing it, with pills on the counter behind us and a walker by the door and those big heavy bandages on her legs and

death lurking near.

It’s quite a story, Baba’s. She lived in a house until recently, where she had lived for, well not for Ever, but for a very long time. It has a huge yard full of gardens and until last year she was still traipsing around out there checking her flowers and looking at the spot where she used to plant her vegetables. She is one of many. I can’t remember if there were seven or eight of them but she had a lot of siblings and the more isn’t always the merrier. It can be hard too.

We, the House family, came on the scene at a time when her boy was in his twenties and he was reintroduced to my sister. The initial introduction happened when they were children and we attended a little church and someone brought him to church. So anyway, the reintroduction happened way over in Vancouver and that was some adventure. I was a scrawny teenager at the time and my sister was a reluctant recipient of his attention. As a matter of fact, there was even a time when he wanted to come over and we had two donuts (I have no idea why we would have donuts since we never had donuts.) and we, my sister and I ate those two donuts right in front of him without so much as a “oh hi would you like a piece of donut because we would be happy to cut them in half and share with you”.
No and he still came back. You see, God chose him for her and God chose her for him and it was only a matter of time before
they recognized each other and that was that.
Except and this is where Baba comes in,
his family was not keen on his choice. It took a while but once they realized the treasure their boy had brought to their doorstep, there was no turning back.  It wasn’t long before most of that family learned about Jesus and His life changing sacrifice for them.  Their lives were changed by Him and He used a little preacher’s girl to help with the introductions.  She and her God chosen husband were a witness to God’s great wisdom and kindness.  They loved and God turned that love into understanding in the hearts of many loved ones.

“God is so Good” and her Bible sat next to her and a couple of other devotional books.

My only response of course, was “He sure is Baba”.

And then

“Just think how God brought Jan into our Family. We had no idea about the truth and God did that for us. He brought her right into our family” and then she wept. “He did that for us” and then I was reaching for a kleenex and

she said “God is so Good” and I couldn’t really say much.

And this week we were sitting there and every day is different now and I was showing her my knitting and she was happy watching me from under the blanket she had knit a long time ago and I was happy sitting next to her with my knitting needles clicking.

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and then

“To think that God introduced us to your family”

“Yes Baba” I said back

And she said “and we had such a negative attitude to Christians” and then she wept
and I reached over and held her hand and I said
“Isn’t God so very good Baba?” and she quietly answered back, “He sure is. Praise the Lord”

And we sat together and she was tired and then there was a knock on the door and in walked the doctor, of all people and then I was in that hospital room nine months ago when a doctor young like this one had walked into the room and they both, the young doctor last fall and the young doctor this week started talking
Palliative.
For the second time in nine months I was sitting in on a palliative conversation and I could not help but think
about God. I often think of God but when things take a turn for the bizarre, my mind runs to Him. There is no such thing as chance and coincidence with God. He knew I would be there and He knew it was okay that I was going to be there. More than okay. Me there beside Baba, was where He wanted me right then. Her daughter walked in and I listened as they had
The Talk. You know the one.
The End, Talk.
I tried to stay out of it but you know me. I did pipe up every so often, with my thoughts on the matter and it was a sad thing to
watch Baba listen.

Earlier, before the doctor visit, I talked to Baba and reminded her that Death is not good because God created us to Live. It is because of Sin in the World that death lurks around.

I said
“you know Baba,God is bigger and stronger than death. It is a nasty thing but keep your eyes on the After part. He is waiting with arms open, to welcome you. Rest. Lean in on Him. He will get you through this End part so you can start on the
After.”

“Praise the Lord”, She said.

“Praise the Lord”, I answered Back.

Of course it’s just a silly word picture but I thought, as I was knitting and Baba was rolling the wool and trying to hold the needles, about how our lives are not independent of other people.  I thought about how careful we need to be when God nudges us to do kind deeds that might not be our first choice for a sunny summer afternoon or a frosty winter morning.  I thought about the joy that comes from the darkest corners and the heartaches that are turned into beauty.  I thought about how there are So.  Many.  Times when I/we are tempted to avoid the mess and black all around and

what a shame it is.

 

You see, God knits us together in our mother’s womb.  He tells us that in His word.  Also though,

He knits us together, one person to another, from the most unexpected and even unusual places.

 

 Psalm 121:

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
2My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
6the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
8the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

In Honour of Father

life

I went to church today.  This is not unusual.  However, It’s far away from where I usually find myself of a Sunday morning and I hesitated, just a little uncertain.

Whether it’s because I’m in a foreign land with a rugged coast or because it’s Father’s day I couldn’t say, but C.D. House has been especially on my mind this weekend.

All those years ago when I was a little House and we lived on the prairie and then in the city, there was a strong Father figure in our home.  No question, Dad, Papa was in charge and next in line was Mom, Nano.  I of course, had trouble “getting it” and faced consequences as a result, often.  There were many and varied opportunities to learn obedience and our understanding of the purpose was less important than the heeding. The point was

How will you learn to submit to your Heavenly Father

unconditionally

if you refuse to submit to your Earthly Father, the one God chose to give guidance to your everyday, here?  It wasn’t until much later that I knew I was one of the fortunate ones. There was a Loving Iron Rule in the House house and in some homes, families, the iron rule was not Loving.  Not even kind.  It wasn’t until the eyes of my soul were more mature that I could see the good in paying heed.  I daresay parenting has changed greatly since those days and it just isn’t done that way now.

Mistakes?  Absolutely!  Hurt?  Yes!  

Baggage?  I have lots!   

And these many years later, after both of our teachers have left us, we have learned and even continue

to learn, about living and dying and strength and Love and kindness and being

unwavering in searching and knowing truth from untruth.

So today I took myself walking in this, one of my favourite Scottish towns.  I have walked it’s length and breadth numerous times on this visit and others.  Yesterday the sun shone and I walked and walked, on the beach and through town and today again God gave us sunshine and it’s a beautiful thing, sunshine.  The World looks different when it’s shining.  I walked and the birds were everywhere and there were church bells and for a small place there are more than a few churches here.

Today I saw a couple, likely in their later years.  I walked behind them and decided they were headed for church.  They could have been on their way anywhere but no, I was certain it was to one of the churches I had passed in recent days and I thought I would go along.  Oh, they had no idea, nevertheless, I was a shadow.

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A lady on a bike came behind and I moved to the side of the very narrow path to let her pass and I was again certain We were on our way to church.  Down the path and around the corner and on we went.  They in the lead and me following.

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Finally, they reached the episcopal church and walked inside.   Well I could very easily have crossed the threshold behind them but I have never been to an episcopal church and when I saw the white robe and the dark interior of the building I wasn’t sure so kept walking.  I went back to Market Street which had obviously been the original street of commerce here, a mere five hundred years ago.  I know this of course, because it is the one street with ancient cobblestones and it is in the center of town.   I walked further and saw the sign for St. Andrews Baptist church.  I walked in the direction the arrow pointed me and wound my way down the driveway where I was greeted by two kind middle aged men and that was it. I was committed.  How could I tell them I was just checking it out, when they shook my hand in friendship and led me to the makeshift sanctuary which was actually a gymnasium.  I was introduced to a lady who explained that this was a substitute for the usual location since their congregation had grown to the point where they did not have enough space in their church.  It was a fine substitute I’ll tell you.  It’s a school and it was a beauty.  The rows of white folding chairs stood, mostly empty in the old auditorium.   I was half an hour early.  There were a lot of those chairs and I chose one, mid way and on the end.  A young girl who was was clearly today’s worship leader, was running through one of the songs.

All Heaven Declares the Glory of the risen Lord.  Who can compare with the Beauty of the Lord.  Forever He will be The Lamb upon the throne.  I gladly bow the knee and worship Him alone.

Yes, I was right at home among these strangers.  Jesus worshipers are one, wherever in the World they find themselves.  Another lady slid from her chair to the one next to mine and introduced herself and then another little lady came and sat down.  Pleasantries were exchanged and the service began.   We sang a few more songs and one of them was

You’re the Word of God the Father, from before the world began; Every star and every planet Has been fashioned by your hand.  All creation holds together By the power of Your voice: Let the skies declare Your glory, Let the land and seas rejoice.  You’re the Author of creation, You’re the Lord of every man; And your cry of love rings out Across the lands.

It was good to worship with strangers who knew what I know.  That God is Lord and He welcomes our praise.

We sang together and I looked around remembering.  Back then, in the days of obeying, wherever we were, even on vacation in a town in a province one over from ours, we attended the Sunday service.  Oh, not because God expected it.  Not because it was necessary in order for us to get to Heaven or to ensure a safe Sunday.  We went to the local church because Papa said it was good to do it, good for us.  I hated it!  Passionately despised it!  Would have done many things other than, had I been given a choice.  I wasn’t however, given a choice.  Of course we had to go to Sunday school because that was the right thing to do and our parents went to the adult Sunday School class.  Yes, even on vacation.  Of course, visitors were asked to stand in front of everybody so they could be welcomed.  I hated it.  Passionately despised it.  It was the meanest thing, for parents to make their children go to church and be the new person.  It was one of those things we did because and only because we had no choice.  It was a hard thing for a child and I remember it being that, hard.

However

it was a character building, hard thing.  Now, often, when I am in an unfamiliar land, a foreign city, despite my qualms, I know the benefits of finding a church will outweigh the sweaty palms and the extra beats of my heart.  Time and time again I have found myself sitting in a service where I knew nobody and  it did not matter because I was participating in worship and listening to God’s living word to the people.  All of the people.  Me included.

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So yes, today I went to church and it was good and I remembered Papa, my hand held firmly in his.  He knew I was less than keen and still he led me.  The young man who preached today was clear and concise and told us what God had told him to tell us.  Yes, I had wondered even as I walked, whether I would actually go to church this morning.  I did and as usual, it was a good thing and I was thankful.

Standing here at the ocean, I can see my Father’s face as he stands, breathing deeply of the salt air.   It’s been a very long time since he filled his lungs with the freshness of it.  Twenty Eight years long.  His lungs are filled with Heavenly air now and it may sound disrespectful, perhaps in poor taste yet I say it with confidence.  He’s in Glory, with Nano, his beloved.  This post isn’t intended to preach about Heaven.  I am no expert.  Even so, I know it’s better than the most beautiful thing our finite minds can think of and Jesus went to prepare a place for us there.

Today it’s Father’s day and He is especially on my mind since I’m by the water on a rugged coast where there’s foam and crashing waves and those were his favourites.  He was from the East coast of Canada, Newfoundland and that makes me half Eastern.  Half Newfoundlander.  Nano was a nice girl and all but she was from the mainland, way, deepest Ontario, Haliburton County.   Papa had the salt and sea breeze in his blood.  He could tell a joke and build things out of wood and he could make a cup of tea, the right way.  You know, “hot the pot” first with boiling water, dump it out and add the tea bag and then top the pot with boiling water to steep.  He would say to mom, “Honey, I think it’s time for a cup of tea” and they would sit down together, always together and drink tea and have something with it.  He could also pray, like nobody else I know, with heart and passion and love, for God.  He prayed for us and with us, his loved ones and a whole lot of other people and we watched him love and serve and teach and live what he taught.  He was a strong minded man and knew what he knew to be right and whatever he knew was God’s teaching, he taught to us.  He knew because he learned it by reading God’s words to us.

Now it’s almost the end of Father’s Day, this year.  I’m thankful that Papa taught me about my Heavenly Father.  He made me do things I did not want to do because they were good for me and I got my first glimpse of God’s greatness, my first glimpse of God’s merciful Love, because my father Loved Him in a huge way.

Just like Papa held my hand and sometimes pulled me, squeezing tightly, to where I would learn and grow in stature, God stands near and holds tightly and He leads me.

Here’s another thing I know.

Although it is a wonderful gift to have an Earthly father who recognizes the greatness of God, it is not essential.  We, you and I, can know the Love of God even without the Love of another person.    God can teach us and nurture us without help from Earthly anything or anybody.  He is enough.  His Love is bigger.

Can I hear a loud AMEN?

Happy Father’s Day Dad.  It’s been a lot of years and still

I will always thank God the Father for choosing you to be my Father here.  Can’t wait to see you again one day.

XO

 

Soul Full Creating

life, , , ,

Hey!

It’s been a while and I haven’t forgotten you.  Thoughts have been stewing and words have been gathering but the time hasn’t seemed right for putting them into stories. I have a few waiting to get from my heart and head onto the page and stay tuned for the unveiling.

I’m pretty good at certain mediums of creating.  There are others I can’t perfect to save my life, but I’m not beyond trying.

Years ago, back when there was still Sunday night church, we brought “quiet toys” with us in hopes that those few things would  keep the little ones quiet.  Of course the quiet toys needed to be transported somehow and Nano thought it would be a great idea to make special fabric bags for each child.  The Staley children  used those bags over the years to carry their Sunday toys to church, to a friends house, to school and some even kept precious keepsakes in those bags, safely tucked away out of sight.  Of course, I knew how to be quiet in church and did not bring toys with me, but there were other uses for Nano Bags.  Mine was/is blue with purple flowers on it and over the years, crafts and books and Bibles and pens and paper have found their way into that bag.  It has held knitting, needles and wool, crossstitch patterns and scissors and it has travelled far and wide, in cars and on planes.  Today I was getting some things gathered for traveling and there it was, that blue bag, with a long forgotten cross stitch pattern safely stowed inside.  I took the pattern out and checked the box of yarn and yes, it’s ready to be stitched.

We leave tomorrow for a few days away, across the pond, as the English say. Rob is golfing and I’m walking and looking and breathing deep and maybe writing. I have some knitting needles and wool stowed and sitting next to the suitcase is my Nano bag full of that pattern and yarn and I might even work on making it into a picture. I am well aware that traveling away is intended for seeing all there is to see and pondering. I aim to do that and it looks like the rain might be there with us and I’ll be ready if it is, to hunker down and keep busy.  Don’t hold me to it and there’s a chance this bit of handy work will come home as is.  Just in case though, it’s going to Scotland.  I think Nano’s “quiet bag” will come along.  It’s a nice neat and safe place in which to pack my Creating Cargo.

Last week there was a picnic in my backyard. It’s a small place with some flowers and a few shrubs. I prepared a table with napkins, a cloth and we sat around and ate and chatted. The chatting was no small feat what with the red winged blackbirds and the starlings fighting about squatting rights. It was at times not unlike sitting in a  restaurant with poor acoustics. One person speaks louder than the other and so on until you have a pretty noisy place and sore throats all ’round.  It was fun anyway and I believe I mentioned that we ate. As usual, the guests were guinea pigs since I made the recipes up as I went. What’s the worst that can happen? We end up with some dishes that are not worthy of a michelin star but are likely still edible and even tasty. That’s my philosophy.

It’s late. Too late for posting. However, I promised to put some of the recipes on the blog and here we go.

There was Rice and Sweet Potato Casserole/Salad which looked like this.↓

Rice and Sweet Potato
Rice and Sweet Potato

Let’s Not Forget

Lemon sugar cookies
Lemon sugar cookies

There was also the very popular

Lemon and Raspberry Dessert
Raspberry Lemon Delight

Some day I will tell you about the other items on the menu but for now, I will leave you with these three. Tomorrow is going to have way more than 24 hours in it and tonight is fast approaching morning.

This somewhat reluctant traveler who in actual fact is a contented kitchen dweller who enjoys dreaming up culinary creations, is off to bed.   On that mouthful I will wish you a good night.

Sweet Conviction

life, , , , ,

I’m here!

The kitchen is a mess.  Stewed rhubarb is on the stove, cookies are cooling and cake is waiting to be iced.  The fridge is almost overflowing and I may have had to use a little extra effort to close the door.  The rain has paused for a few minutes although if They are to be believed, it won’t be for long.

Honest to Goodness Gracious if I’m not having a bit of a time this morning.  Has your heart ever overflowed with joy to the point where you just want to cry?  I’m not talking Happy or Good Vibes.  No.  It’s a God thing.  A mountain top, bringing my face to the ground.    I have some stuff going on and for all of us there are days when there is tough stuff going on.  Today though, here at my house, God has come, in a special kind of way.

Matt Redmond is singing to God and I get to listen.  The album is called  Unbroken Praise.  I just know God is smiling at the words His boy, Matt is saying and I think He’s looking at me too.  I’m sure of it.   I know it because He has reached down and put His hand on my head and taken hold of my heart this morning.

Unbroken praise be Yours, God, forever
All my praise be Yours, God, forever
Lord, take this life
Let it become Your throne
Unbroken praise be Yours

No, this is not Happy.  This is, I am so awed by your Glory Lord.  By Your Greatness God.  It’s these moments I pray for.  I ask for.  Rain raining, gloom all over the sky and God here, with me, in my kitchen.  He is love and He is Great and I won’t forget today, that He is Strong.  He is God and not to be pushed aside.

God You can tell the waves be still
Tell the ocean roar to pass
Lord until it does
I’ll wait here

God You can part the raging sea
Bring the miracle I need
Lord until it comes
I’ll wait here

CHORUS
And I will sing
Songs in the night
Praise in the storm
You’re God in it all
And I will stand
I’ll be still and know
Whatever may come
You’re God in it all

VERSE
And so when I am in the storm
Lord the storm is not in me
You will be my peace
I’ll wait here
I’ll wait here

BRIDGE
Your love
Your love
Won’t leave me in the shadows
Oh Your love
Your love
Forever by my side
I will not be afraid
You are my song in the night


He has it, people.  He has all of it.  The whole World.  The good and bad and in the moments we aren’t thinking about taking time to come into His presence, He comes into ours.

He came into mine.

Yesterday out of the blue, people said nice things about me.  I was so very blessed and thankful for the kind words.  It was on social media but I felt pretty good and even thankful and then I said something that keeps replaying and then when I woke up I heard a quiet reminder, deep, say,

you are wrong and I know I am and I was.  I said something about my self esteem and being thankful for the kind words because it makes me feel good

about me and I was wrong and that, dear friends, is the difference between guilt and conviction.  The Spirit of God convicts us because He loves us and wants to teach us.  It isn’t to bully us or make us feel inferior or guilty or bad.  It’s all for Love.  He teaches through conviction so we can learn and carry on to do the good He’s is working

in us.

through us.

Our job is to hear what He’s saying and make the wrong right and carry on to be who He’s making us into.

All For Love!

I am living to be who He has called me to be and any good in me is not me and that’s for sure.

It’s God in me.

It’s God IN me

I tell you.

I was a broken mess of a vessel that has been put back together because of Jesus

blood shed and death on the cross

and His work IN ME

Yesterday I sat across the table, twice, with people and talked and you KNOW how I love sitting across the table from people.  Not texting.  Not emailing.  We actually looked at each other and said words that were good and any good in me

Is because of HIM

And today He Blessed me because

well

because

because He looked at me and said

I will bless you today because I will♥

I am worshiping Him right now, right here because the good in me is Him.

“Your Love won’t leave me in the shadows.

I will not be afraid

you are my song in the night”

And now I’m going back to the sink to peel some things and He is here and is there too,

with You.

Praise Him in the clouds and the gloom and open your curtains and look out.

He is The mighty, Holy, Worthy, Good, Powerful, Kind, Gentle, Gracious,

Present

God

Happy Saturday, Friends.  Let God Bless someone through you today.

 

 

Just Do It

life, , , , ,

I learned quite a lot from Nano but one thing I picked up loud and clear was that doing stuff in the kitchen should not be considered drudgery.  She spent much of her time Doing for people and when she wasn’t Doing in the kitchen she was Doing at her sewing machine and when she wasn’t Doing there, she was finding other places to Do. Well, as it turns out  I picked up on her ease in the kitchen and I kind of went berserk. Sort of rogue and free spirited (if you will).

I can’t draw to save my life and I sure can’t play piano or grow dahlias, but give me a stove and a cupboard full of this and that and a fridge with a few basics and I’ll cook ya up some tasty vittles.

I woke this morning intending to get some things done around here. I vacuumed a couple of closets and piled the boots by the basement stairs since I’m hoping like crazy that we won’t need them again until, oh, December?
I rearranged some drawers and emptied the fridge so I could do away with a few jar fulls that needed getting rid of.
I debated going for a walk but couldn’t face the chill in the air. Okay, excuses.
Just about noon time I decided to do some baking. We’re having a bit of a due this weekend. We’re expecting thirty something twenty somethings and I think we’ll need quite a menu.
I decided to make some jam jams and some buns.
It was mid mess that realization set in.  I was recreating some Nano specialties.

When Nano and Papa were at their first pastorate in Meadow Lake Saskatchewan, Nano didn’t know a whole lot about sewing and cooking but she jumped in and boy was she a quick lerner. It was 1949 and there was no running water and they had to break the ice in the water barrel in the winter before they could drink water or wash or cook and they had to stay close to the little coal stove to keep from freezing to death. Look on a map. Meadow Lake is Up there!
That’s when they really, together, had to start trusting God for
every little thing. They had no money and they prayed and God answered. He sent people who brought with them a coat or a dozen eggs or even a word of encouragement.
I always assumed Nano had been born knowing how to get things done, but she actually learned it and most of her learning happened after she married Papa.
In their first church and then in their second church there were people who loved God and thought nothing of taking the young preacher’s wife under their wing and helping to nurture and train her.
I have a friend who is Mennonite and she often tells me I don’t have Mennonite blood running through my veins but my heart beats Mennonite. The places God sent papa were mostly Mennonite and boy can those people get things done around the house.

So one of Nano’s stories was about her friend Mrs. Andres in Meadow Lake. She lived in the country and I can’t remember how many children she had. I’m sure my jaw dropped to the floor when Nano told me that the Andres Homestead was a poor one but Mrs. Andres, daily, swept the dirt floor in their cabin and that place was Spic.And.Span. Say WHAT? Mrs. Andres could make a mean pan of buns before you could say “My but your dirt floor looks fresh today”. She was one of many who spent their days cooking so that the men folk would have enough to eat so they would have enough energy to work the fields and milk the cows and fix the tractors and
life was awfully hard but
Nano spoke of those days with joy in her voice and a shine in her eyes.  Maybe you haven’t noticed that needing to trust God because there’s no hope otherwise, brings Joy.

Jump thirty five years ahead and Nano and Papa moved to another Mennonite community. It’s in the Valley, as it’s called. The Valley is just outside and to the East and across a couple of bridges from Vancouver. They moved to a house next to an apartment building and would you believe that in that apartment building, lived an aging Mrs. Andres. I am just not sure what her first name was. Nano always called her Mrs. Andres. Well those two reconnected and Mrs. Andres continued where she had left off.

When I was a wee little lamb, I had a big heavy wool quilt. Of course someone somewhere had made it for us. Once Nano and Mrs. Andres met again, they worked together to take that quilt apart and sort through the wool and clean it all. Then they made the pieces into two quilts and the Staley boys used those quilts for years, on their beds. Those precious quilts are packed away in my closet.  Maybe we’ll use them again some day.

Mrs. Andres also reminded Nano about
Jam Jams.

jam jams

They are cookies that you fill with whatever you like. Nano loved Jam Jams.
Today I made jam jams. I’m not sure who in the World will eat them since my family really doesn’t eat much sweet stuff.
While I was making jam jams I made buns.
I grew up on buns. So often I would come home from school and there would be warm buns to eat. Nano did that on purpose, made the buns so they would be just out of the oven when we walked in the door. We ate them with butter dripping off.
After Papa went to be with Jesus, Nano came to visit us for a month at a time. The very day after she arrived she would get to making buns.
The Staley children still call them
Nano Buns.
So today I made Nano buns.
Oh I’m okay. Don’t worry. The sun is shining in my windows, Matt Redmond is belting out
Love that will Not Ever Let Me Go
and this place is topsy turvy and I have fresh buns and jam jams on the counter.  I am having fun remembering and I even sat down with a warm fresh bun and let the butter drip off.

There are two coming in the door very soon and I better get the barbecue going. It’s that kind of sunny and lovely, leaf budding day.

I’ll be putting the recipe for jam jams on the blog shortly, but just wanted to get this little bit off my chest. I hope you enjoy this evening and spend a little time giving of yourself to make or help recall a memory for someone you love.

XO

On Mother’s Day I Write

life

It’s almost over!
My already irregular heartbeat has done a few extra flips and blips today.  A few people have asked, cautiously, how it’s going,
Mother’s Day this year.
My response has been
“Good. I’m Good. Yes, I’m doing well.
Thanks for asking.”
Then a few minutes ago
she came up from down,
from, as she calls it, her “basement wing”.
“I meant to ask you mom, how are you doing today?   I mean, since it’s Mother’s Day and it’s the first one”.
“Good, I’m Good. Yes, I’m doing well.
Thanks for asking.”
I smiled sort of and then
shoot, if all of my resolve and healthy acceptance didn’t start to crumble. I was
determined though and made it through with only a few tears and we talked about it, how I’m doing,
a couple of sentences worth
and then
a hug and that was that.

Really, I could start listing right here and now, friends whose mothers and fathers are gone.
Friends who are orphans just like me.
Friends who struggled too, today.  My heart is no more sad than
maybe,
yours.
So this story isn’t about my first Mother’s Day without a mother, being bigger or worse or sadder or more reminiscent or more lonely or more nostalgic
than
yours.
It’s about me letting you in.  It’s about us sharing a moment together
here.
We know,
you and me,
how it feels to say good bye for the last time, to the one who took the best care
of us.  We know how it feels to need to talk to her.  She brought us along, under her wing and maybe didn’t consider herself a teacher but she was that.  We watched and a lot of what we do now is because of what she did then.  The non teaching we do or have done with our own girls and boys, we do or have done because she did the same.
I’ve told you before that I would not wish her back. No way on Earth. She is worshiping Jesus and enjoying her new home in Glory.   You better believe I believe it and I’m happy she’s there.
I just miss her.
I mean, 94 years is a long time to live on this Earth and considering she was born in 1921, I am amazed at all the changes and adjustments and good and bad times she lived through. She learned to be strong and maybe at the beginning she wasn’t, but after moving from here to there and then over yonder and from there, beyond, she learned to adapt and adjust and grow and learn and I learned good things watching her.
I would just like to talk to her sometimes.
Today, I would like to talk to her.
All three of my little ones wished me a Happy Mother’s Day and even my newest girl, my son’s wife, sent me a text on her way to see her own mama, to tell me thank you for raising “the best boy in the whole world” (I realize some of you, friends, might disagree with that part, since of course your own boy is the best boy in the World) and tell me she loves me. I got hugs from the other two and even got to sit in church with those two and
I can tell you and I am pretty sure you will agree
that I didn’t need flowers, or brunch, or presents. To see their faces and hear their voices was all.  Just. All.
Thirty two years ago, on the second Sunday of May, I was at church. The very church I was at today and people were giving me pathetic, sympathetic looks and saying
“Oh my dear, are you still here”? My first born was slow in arriving, or so I thought. I officially became a mother just about two weeks later.
Thirty years ago, on the second Sunday of May, I had an almost two year old and a one month old and I loved those two boys.
Twenty eight years ago, on the second Sunday in May, I had an almost four year old, a just turned two year old, my father had just been buried, my mother, three thousand miles away, was mourning the loss of her dearest one of all and I was waiting, once again, for another Staley babe. This one arrived, just as her brother had done four years earlier, approximately two weeks after Mother’s day and I loved those three little people.
As an aside, someone suggested that perhaps my husband and I should live in different provinces for the duration of the month of August.   Agreed!

And here we are and I’m the mother around this place and you and I know there isn’t a harder job on the planet and there are so many days when having three very little ones in one house is three too many and they all need caring for and they cry and we cry and they laugh and we laugh and we cook and we clean and we sing and we rub backs at bed time and we go for walks and wipe noses and put bandaids on scraped knees and kiss elbows that have landed on the pavement and we change diapers and wipe up spills and we won’t talk about vomit, not here,now, and they stamp their feet and we sit them in time out and some of us even spanked little bottoms and we gave hugs and received hugs and bathed and fought over what they were going to wear and not going to wear and reviewed spelling lists on the way to school and listened to their memory verses or poetry or speeches and we were frustrated when they didn’t listen and we spoke sternly when they fought and they argued and they said mean things and we prayed with them and took them to church and brought them home from church and some of us even took them to McDonalds more than every once in a while and we forgot sometimes that being a mother meant that we were also the tooth fairy and there were more tears and we were sad when they were sad and we are still sad when they are sad even though they are all grown up and we still pray with them because they need us to do it and we still pray for them when we aren’t with them because they need us to do it and it’s such a huge responsibility to be a mother and when they are little we don’t think so much about the responsibility of it and we just want to survive and do the best we can and we want them to survive and be the best they can be and
sometimes there just wasn’t time to eat and then we ate the leftovers on their plates because it was good food and why would we throw it away and we wonder if they have any idea
really
how much
we Love them.
But really
it’s okay if they don’t because we do.
We know how much we love them and we know how thankful we are that we get to love them and even though they hurt us sometimes we still love them
more than.

My mom, Nano, loved me. She loved us. She’s gone now and I would love to hear her voice again just like you would love to hear the voice of your mom.  For as long as God lets me remember things, I will remember her and I’m going to try to remember to thank Him for giving me to her and her to me for a while, a long while. And when I finish thanking God, the creator of everything there is, for a loving mother, I’m going to remember to thank Him for these three, the little ones who aren’t little at all any more, but whose mother I get to be.