Reading the Leaves

The Friday Night Before Valentine's Weekend ...

2012-02-11T07:28:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Weekend at the TH

2012-02-08T16:46:00.000-08:00

Love Is In The Air ...

2012-02-05T23:54:00.000-08:00

I got home from Edmonton late on Friday night only to discover that the Valentine's fairies had danced all the way through the TH!

My first intimation - the front counter ...

The little secretary ...

The tea trolley transformed! Note the old music -
presented to me by my nephew Matthew after
his trip to Italy - on the brass music stand ...

The top of the curio cabinet ...

The left side of the mantelpiece ...

... and the right

My beloved piano

One of the Christmas cardinals managed to work its way
into the birdcage - notice the flash of scarlet ...

I added the cup and saucer, which I had purchased
while working up in Edmonton because it reminded me
of my very first "own" tea cup, given to me by my
friend Crystal Bloom for my seventh birthday.

The tea cup that started it all! Its home is now on the
Victorian mahogany mirror above the mantelpiece.

The Hug

Close-up of a table arrangement -
and yes, you can eat the candy!

The mirror in the entry way

As I was admiring the heart casually gracing the hallway mirror, I caught the reflection of something red, almost out of sight.

I turned around and there was Asher - remember him? The snowman who guarded the front door and greeted everyone through December and January - with his back to me, peeking through the window.

I approached with caution, curious as to what he was looking at...

Esmerelda? What was she doing over here? I thought she was stationed near the piano!

Here's a question for you: if snow people's hearts melt, does the rest of them melt too?

They both seem pretty shy ...

The wreaths next to the front door

The poster on the front door -
Karl and Dave are coming back for Valentine's Day ...

Thank you, you magical TH fairy, for the beauty your wand has waved into our little place.

And Asher, my bashful friend, I feel I should point out that there are only nine days left till Valentine's Day. Now would be a good time to tell Esmerelda what's on your heart.

But Ez, may I remind you it's leap year? If Asher is just way too shy, you're permitted to ask him out on February 29 ... that is, if it doesn't get too warm before then!

The First Sabbatical Event - Aoife

2012-01-30T17:21:00.000-08:00

I have loved this girl from the first time I saw her. The only daughter, with four elder brothers, somehow she holds her own in the family. And so it was natural that I should want to have my first El/Ol-less Event with her.

We browsed together in a quaint little store she'd been in previously - cowboy gumboots; really?! - which made me realize how much fun an Event with a girl could be. She had chosen Edo for dinner and we perched on the high stools and people-watched and chatted. She was the model of manners, consulting with me on what we should get, carrying the food-laden tray to the table, and clearing the table afterward.

Then we went to Chapters for the official Event. One of the topics of our conversation over dinner had been the children of the tsunami, whom I am hoping to visit again this year in India. I had mentioned that I wanted to get enough small stuffed animals to place one on each of the beds we had donated money to make. Aoife chose some she thought would be cute on kids' beds even before she went to find a book for herself.

When we had each found a book and paid for them, we went to Starbucks for coffee and a chat - and I received a text from her Dad.

I read it aloud to Aoife and she was rightfully indignant. I handed her my phone and let her respond, which she did with much seriousness:

The name Aoife means beautiful; radiant; joyful. Our Aoife is all of this and more. She is thoughtful, polite, intelligent, and caring of those less fortunate than herself. She's a good soccer player and loves to ski. She's also adventurous, and is going to learn to snowboard this year ... And she loves sock monkeys, so she's pretty spectacular company on an Event!

Today happens to be her 11th birthday. Happy birthday to one of the loveliest girls I know ... Can we do this again some time?!

Rites of Passage

2012-01-24T11:04:00.000-08:00

The beautiful ring Richard and Lana gave her:
her birthstone in the middle, and Mary's and
Richard's on either side.The inscriptions:
"Love, Dad" and "Forever, Mom"

Yesterday was a landmark birthday for my friend Rebecca.

So a few of us gathered at the TH to celebrate her life and to rejoice in the difference she has made in the lives of each one of us who came to wish her.

Sweet Lana - who had conceived the idea and organized the event - spoke first. "Thank you," she said, "for the gift of being part of your family ... I'm so glad you live here because this has given us the opportunity to get to know each other and to become friends. Thank you for your friendship."

Lana and Richard

Lana is married to Rebecca's Dad, Richard, and he spoke next. "Who would have thought, all those years ago when I was still single, that I would one day be celebrating this birthday of my daughter? ... Happy birthday, honey," he finished softly.

The birthday girl and Angela

Beautiful Rennie and lovely John, tender, courageous pastors
and stalwart friends who have shared many seasons
of Rebecca's and her family's life

Each of us went around the room and spoke to Rebecca from our hearts. One of her newer friends, Angela from Lebanon, movingly remarked that she was so glad she had met Rebecca because now she could say she had a true friend in Canada.

And that's what Rebecca is - fiercely loyal, imaginatively thoughtful, extremely consistent. All the characteristics of a true friend.

Mary's friend Elaine. Exactly four months
earlier, she was in this very room for
another special occasion ...

Happy Birthday to you!

The life of the party!

I was thinking how proud Mary would have been of her beloved daughter, how grateful she would have been to see how far Rebecca has come in the last five years; of how much she would have loved to have been here on this occasion, raising a toast with us to our clever, complicated, compassionate friend who can bring together people from different life experiences to unite in celebration and fellowship.

And then, once again, I thought of the words of our wise friend Tony Hanson:

"She is with God, and God is with us, so she's not that far away ..."

Dear Rebecca, as you move into the next decade, may you accomplish what it is you set out to do; may you be shown much love; and may you revel in "the blessing of the Lord," which is where true wealth can be found and which adds no sorrow to it.

I am honoured to be your friend.

A toast to the birthday girl!

Year of the Nephew: Matthew ...

2012-01-22T23:11:00.000-08:00

I got to be there when you were born.

You. Were. Perfect.

And as I watched you grow I learnt so much from you. You were the one who, at the ripe old age of 3, had this conversation with your Aunt Cathryn when we were all at a restaurant together:

You: Those people didn't say thank you to God for their food. I don't think they love God.

Cathryn: Matthew, you can't see what is in people's hearts. They might love God.

You: I know, Cath - sometimes I am so judgative ...

My mind often harks back to that conversation when I am ready to pass judgment on someone without knowing all the facts. Judgative has become part of my vocabulary. Your influence, even from a child, has been remarkable, all the more so because it is often unconscious.

You are an astute observer of the human condition; couple that with an incredibly sharp brain and a quick way with words, and a conversation with you is bound to be engaging and lively. But you also have an enormously compassionate streak in you that emerges at the most incredible times. Remember my friend Ron, the engineer-turned-bottle picker who lived under a parking slab near where we all were in Bankview? You reached out to him when you were a tiny boy, walking with him around our block and talking to him as he pushed his cart. You accepted him as he was and treated him with respect - probably the only child he knew who did so; he in turn loved you, calling you one of his friends and bringing you little treasures that he unearthed in his travels. You visited him in hospital some years later after he had had parts of both his legs amputated from remaining outside one bitterly cold winter's night. How you grieved at his funeral; but you derived reassurance that he had trusted in God and was now with Him, far better off than struggling on with the day-to-day that had become his life.

I used to love listening in on your conversations with your grandmother, my mother. The two of you would read stories together and then discuss them - the discussion was invariably more thought-provoking than the original story. To this day your grandfather loves it when you come by to see him. You are such a connection to your Grams for him.

On the "Action Couch" at the TH.
Now THERE's a story that should be told ...
And yes, you can have the couch when I die!

And the TH is always a brighter place when you grace it with your presence! Thank you for all the hours you worked here when I needed help. You did whatever you were asked, and that means a lot to me. You chatted with customers of all ages and they loved you. It's your picture that's the first picture people see on Nilgiris' web page ... you're standing there chatting to Oscar as he sits by the fire place. Our dear Oscar was in for coffee today, very frail and fading into the sunset of his life, but he still asked after you today. I told him it was your birthday and he remembered how you would talk to him when he was "a little low."

But then again, that's just you. Because you are so perceptive, you know who needs a word of encouragement and when. You have the power to move people and to leave them feeling better about themselves should you choose to do so.

As you start a new year, my wish for you is that you discover the true purpose for your life this year, and that you pursue it with all the intelligence, zeal and passion that you have inside you. You are one of the most interesting people I have ever met, and I can only imagine what you can accomplish when you channel all that you know, have experienced and can intuit into your life's calling, whatever that might end up looking like.

Happy birthday, my middle nephew. You are the bridge between the two elder and the two younger of your cousins. You are a vibrant thread weaving throughout all of our lives. You are a gift to our family.

Year of the Nephew: Craig ...

2012-01-21T22:09:00.000-08:00

Happy champagne birthday, Craig! It seems like such a very short time ago that we were visiting your newborn self. What a loving baby you were ... On the quilt your Grandma Ironside made for me is a picture of me holding you - you were so little, so sweet. I look at the pictures on my quilt each day and am grateful for the reminder of what it is to be part of a family who loves each other.

I loved how, almost from the start, you have liked things to be in order and each item in its own place. I remember your cars and trucks lined up meticulously in your room and admired you from afar as you have continued to strive for order even in times of chaos.

You have always cared very deeply for those you love. A favourite story to do with my nephews is the one where you and Luke, both little guys still, were playing outside and your Mom looked through the window to see you writhing on the ground in apparent pain while Luke stood nearby. When she went running out to see what had happened she saw you weeping for your brother, who had gashed himself on the fence and was standing there with blood dripping: "Why is he never spared?" you sobbed.

One of your most endearing characteristics is that you want to spare both animals and people pain.

My heart was warmed beyond words when I heard you were going on a missions trip to India to work with Dalit kids in the Delhi area. When you returned, the stories you related about some of your experiences showed me how your heart was expanding and your horizons were broadening and that your love for God and your fellow human beings had grown exponentially.

I'm certainly glad your heart has expanded to make room for the beautiful Kelsey. Our first niece at long last! and someone your aunts have been longing for and praying for for years ...

What a truly beautiful couple the two of you make. You each bring out such goodness in the other. Your goals and priorities are aligned. Your hearts are both tender and you are going to have an amazing life together.

Happy birthday, dear second nephew. I'm looking forward to seeing how the next 21 years unfold for you!

"That Went Well ..."

2012-01-20T09:53:00.000-08:00

The dreaded quarterly "Funnel Review" is behind me for another couple of months, and I am still standing.

I acknowledge that I have been given quite a number of gifts; some that I have NOT been given are making projections and calculating what it will take to get me to my target. I work very hard at what I do, but forecasting numbers is a mystery to me. I am comfortable dealing with what I know.

And then when my VP said, "I would hedge your bets 3 - 1", I actually had to ask her what she meant ...

When she explained it, I understood her completely and her logic was impeccable.

As I was signing off, she said the sweetest words I have heard for a long time anywhere: "Well, that went well."

I am so grateful to Carswell (a Thomson Reuters business!) for all it has given me over the years - I started with the company in 1992 as a contract worker; then was taken on permanently in 1993; resigned in 2003 to start the TH; they took me back in 2005; and in 2006 I was given the opportunity of moving into the role I'm in now. They have exercised enormous patience with me in my various roles and I couldn't be more grateful.

However, two thoughts came out of this morning's exercise:

First, when the final day rolls around for me, and I'm standing before God, is He going to say to me, "Well, that went well"? Or will I be as apprehensive, have as many knots in my stomach, then? It dawns on me that there won't be a chance to change my projections and resubmit at that point ...

And second, I'd better learn something about gambling before the next review!!

And the Two Shall Become ... Eight?

2012-01-16T10:19:00.000-08:00

Winter wedding at the TH!
(Photo courtesy of the Jepsons)

The call came in one Sunday evening right in the middle of the dinner hour. I understood the gentleman to be asking if I rented out the Tea House rooms. Thinking he was interested in the two suites next door, I quickly gave him my friend Bonnie's number and carried on with my serving.

Later that evening I got a call from my dear Sharon. "Karyn, that was my son Ryan who called earlier, and I think there was some misunderstanding. He is going to get married at the beginning of January and they hoped they could have the wedding in the Tea House!"

I called Ryan back as soon as I could, apologizing profusely. He put me over to Jenna, his fiancee, who said that she had loved the TH from the time she had been in it, on one of their very first dates. It was going to be a tiny wedding ... she would love to get married from the Tea House ... would that be possible?

"Absolutely!" I exclaimed. "When? How many people? How do you want it set up? Ambiance? Food?"

"About 25 people, and just leave it looking like the Tea House," was the response. "It's going to be very casual, very low-key. Maybe just a short ceremony followed by desserts ...

"Oh - did I mention that we have six kids between us?"

Kids in the TH - and for a wedding, no less! How could my joy be any greater? Those of you who know me know that if I could figure out a way to do it, the whole TH would be based around kids and it would be one tea party after another. This wedding was going to be a great party!

"We're going to have to feed those kids something beside desserts," I laughed. And with that the very trusting bride-to-be, who didn't know me nor I her, left it all up to us. The only request for the day was fresh berry tarts, a particular favourite of the groom.

I gathered my women about me - Brenda, Doreen and Tiffany. I sort of had an idea of how I wanted it to look, and I knew that these three women could transform my tentative vision into reality.

We had no idea of what to expect for the evening; we just wanted it to be beautiful and magical, especially for the six children whose lives would be bound together irrevocably from this day forward.

Doreen set to work creating the floral arrangements. Brenda came to rescue me in the kitchen. And Tiffany showed up to put the final touches on everything.

Here, primarily in pictures, is the story of the day from the point of view of Nilgiris:

Heart in the entrance-way mirror

They would exchange vows
in front of the fireplace ...

What had been my cardinal Christmas
tree was transformed by Doreen
into a white and gold "wedding tree"
festooned with ribbons, where
butterflies and doves could lightly rest
(see anyone looking pleased with himself
at the ring-side seat he scored?!)

The simple beauty of Doreen's arrangement
for the registry table spoke to me
of faith, of hope, of love.
It symbolised courage, a willingness
to become vulnerable again, to say
"Your people will be my people ..."

Trying to retain the "TH feel," I placed the
comfy chairs on the perimeter and
set the other chairs in the space they made

There would be other children present, but I
wanted The Six to feel important; we arranged
chairs for them on their own side ...

The set-up for the ceremony was complete!

The beverage table ...

... and the food table. We wanted it all ready for
6 pm because the ceremony was going
to be short and everyone would be hungry
after the drive out from Calgary ...

The officiant, Cliff Pedersen,
had been Ryan's pastor when
Ryan was a child

Ryan was the first to arrive.
As soon as we caught a glimpse
of him in dress uniform, we
had to add one more thing ...

...As the first guests entered, we
quickly rolled out a white runner
to mark an "aisle" up which his bride
would come to meet him.
"It will make it more special for her,"
he said tenderly

The Six were some of the first people to be seated

Everyone was in his or her place by 6:00 p.m.

... and anxious for the first glimpse of the bride

Here comes the bride!
One of the most beautiful I've ever seen ...
(Photo courtesy of the Jepsons)

Jenna's exquisite elder daughter
held her mother's bouquet ...

Husband and wife!

"The Lord bless you and keep you

The Lord make His face to shine upon you

and be gracious unto you

The Lord lift up His countenance upon you

and give you peace."

Both Dads taking pictures

(Photo courtesy of the Jepsons)

We had read on the "wedding website" that
there were going to be crafts and games,
so we set up a kids' area ...

... which was filled with activity and great joy ...

... but there was still space for a very little girl
needing a little quiet time by herself ...

Fresh berry tarts,
made especially for the groom!

First dance, to Van Morrison ...

As I observed the activity and listened to the happiness, two images caught the corner of my eye, and my heart: two couples who have already been there, who have faced adversity, who have known both joy and sorrow, and who would rather be with each other than with anyone else in the room.

This kind of love is what I wish for our beautiful couple and their vibrant family. The love between them is palpable. Their commitment to each other, to their children, and to God is deep.

With that kind of impetus spurring them forward, this was not a celebration of two becoming eight but, rather, of eight becoming one.

(Photo courtesy of the Jepsons)

The Perfect Tea Cup

2012-01-12T21:51:00.000-08:00

He came to the TH for the first time a few years ago. He was a little homesick, a little sad around his eyes.

I asked him where he was from.

"Halifax," he replied.

"I have the tea cup for you, my friend!" I exclaimed, and went to my place where I store tea cups for special moments.

When I served him with this cup, he brightened up immediately and from then on, when he had occasion to come to the TH I would serve him tea from "the cup."

He came back to visit last weekend after a few years, with a wife in tow! She's from near Mahone Bay. "Could I ask you a huge favour?" he said. "It would mean so much to me if you still had that tea cup and I could use it today ..."

I found the cup and brought it out to him. He thanked me and looked closely at the painting. "When I was here before I used to look at this cup and try to pinpoint where the place on the cup is. It made it seem closer."

He signed the guest book; and after he left, I read what he had written:

Thank you for giving me this beautiful cup and saucer, my dear Kathryn who lives in Edmonton but remains a Nova Scotia girl through and through!

A New Heart

2012-01-10T12:12:00.000-08:00

I went to see my friend Morley yesterday.

Visitors have to put on a gown and gloves right now as he is recovering from one of those infamous hospital superbugs; and as luck would have it, just as I was gowning up, the aide came by with his dinner. "Would you give this to Mr. Morley?" she asked. "Then I wouldn't have to put on the gown and gloves ..."

You can imagine my delight! The poor little aide wondered why I burst out laughing. I was able to walk in with his tray and say, "Morley, do what you like; you can't get away from my being your waitress ..."

The doctors and surgeons have done a marvellous job. There he sat, resplendent with new glasses he had received on Friday; a crisp new haircut; and a familiar face meticulously recreated, the work of a master's hands.

His wonderful brother-in-law, Donna's brother Darryl, was there when I arrived and in the few minutes remaining of his visit the three of us chatted easily and joyfully.

Then when he left, Morley and I settled in for one of our Catching Up conversations.

He showed me his left arm, the forearm of which has a long seam evenly stitched. "My arm was broken," he explained.

He briefly ran down the list of his injuries, noting that there was no brain damage, no spinal cord damage. "It was miraculous," he said quietly. He has to speak quietly right now as his throat heals.

But what he mainly wanted to talk about was two people: Donna, and God.

"Sometimes I look into those beautiful, serene eyes and I think, 'What did I ever do to deserve a love like this?' " he marvelled. "The first time I met her, I was immediately drawn to her. And she's still here. I can't comprehend a love like hers."

And this:

"I'm stubborn, closed, ungrateful. God had to do something drastic to get my attention. He had to bring me to the end of myself." And with that he never mentioned his prodigious injuries again; instead he focused on the goodness and grace of God.

Morley is grateful for everything - that he can taste the cup of vanilla ice cream on his tray, that he can sip the vegetable broth, that he could have his feet over the side of the bed for a short period for the first time. "I had my first shower on Saturday," he said, a little smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "That shower was so sweet ..."

He knows the road ahead is going to be difficult - he is going to be moved to a rehab hospital within the next few days. There will be days fraught with pain, and much relearning to do, times when he might want to give up. "But God didn't give up on me, so I won't give up," he avowed. "Besides which, it's external. No organs were touched."

"I think you're wrong, Morley, I said. "You're heart's been touched by this accident."

His eyes lit up and he put his right hand over his heart. "Actually, you're right. I have a new heart in me. And God has put it there."

It was time for me to leave; but first I asked him if I could do an update on his story for RtL and maybe take his picture. "Oh yes," he said. "Just be sure to tell them that God is good."

We prayed together, his cold hand clasping my latex-covered one. And the room was holy ground.

As I left I dropped a kiss on his forehead - a "blessing kiss," my Nana O'Halloran used to say.

I'm not sure if his new forehead could feel it, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his new heart did.

Happy Birthday, Andy!

2012-01-08T00:01:00.000-08:00

May this be the year where all the surprizes are good ones!

Happy New Year, M!

2012-01-04T14:28:00.000-08:00

This morning my sister Deb forwarded on this email to Dad and me:

Dear, Uncle Greeting to you in the Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I wish you a very very happy and prosperous year. Uncle, God answered our prayer for my dad. God is so faithful to us.3. jan 2012 my Dad was released from the jail. I thank you for praying for my Dad. I hope your all are doing good. May God bless you.

Faithfully

I Thess 5:24 ( This is my Promise verse for 2012 )

Leading a chorus ...

And now the story can dare to be hinted at, the story of a son - one of my Dad's former students - whose father was arrested and imprisoned for three-plus years with no reason given. The man was seized and jailed, in a country north-east of India, without a trial and without any legal recourse. When the family started to question, they were told that if they launched any complaint or investigation his sentence would be doubled automatically to six years.

With the younger Chelli kids ...

M (I am not putting his full name in for fear of reprisal), though a fairly small man in stature, is a giant in his love for people, for his work and for God, rooted in no small part from his father. He has a natural musical ability that, if he were raised in the western world, people would have seized on and sent him for training and development of his talents and potential. Children love him and are drawn to him - and he always has the time for them.

He is a champion of the students he now teaches, a quiet encourager offering a word to someone he senses is downtrodden and under a cloud.

And yet, for over three years, he has laboured under a cloud most of us cannot even imagine.

His beloved father, in prison, allowed one visitor a month. M's sister would make the arduous journey most of the time. The man was given one handful of rice twice a day, with a spoonful of dal (lentils), a subsistence diet that ensured he would not die while draining him of all his strength.

Cup your hand like you're going to fill it with water. Now imagine rice being put into the palm of that hand. Now level the rice off - no heaping handful for the prisoners! Two of those and that's your food for the day.

The conditions in jail were difficult, to say the least. And - worst of all - there was no guarantee that M's father would actually be released.

"Pray for my father, Sir," is what he would say to Dad when he saw him each time over the past three years. He himself could do little more than pray - the journey to his birth place is long by train and expensive by plane, by average Indian standards; and what money M could afford he would send to care for his mother who, one can imagine, was beside herself with grief and worry.

Yet, M persevered. He leads the music at the College; this year, the President's wife, Sarah Chelli, reported that the Christmas Cantata, under M's direction, was one of the best ever in recent memory. They had to schedule an additional performance as so many people in the neighbourhood showed up for it that there was no hope of accommodating all who wanted to come.

And M was the one who held the rehearsals, coaxed western-written four-part harmony out of people who are used to the doh-re-mi scale, pulled the choir and the narrators together.

Graduation, March 2011

At the very bottom of something I wrote last year about worship is a link to a clip of the congregation in Bangalore on a Sunday night. The first 30 seconds are of M. The reason I draw it to your attention is for you to see this man's face - not morose, not dwelling on the worries of his heart, but focused entirely on the goodness of God.

But his eyes - ahh, his eyes could not hide the tale of his very real pain ...

I would love to see those same eyes right now. How I wish those eyes could be looking at his Dad face to face - but I'm sure his Dad knows how much his son has done for him and for the family over the last long years.

What better way to start the year than with an email like this?! We're looking forward to seeing you and rejoicing with you in person in March, dear brother!

The Word and the Verse

2012-01-02T23:12:00.000-08:00

You may remember from this time last year that our family gathers on New Year's Eve to play games, eat, sing, laugh, reminisce ... and the highlight of the evening, the reason we count down to midnight, is because we get to draw our verse for the year.

This has been our tradition since we were little: Dad used to type up literally HUNDREDS of verses on ribbons or paper bookmarks (depending on finances, I suspect ...) in time for the "Watchnight Service" at the College; and just after midnight each student and each guest at the service would come up and choose a ribbon upon which would be a verse of encouragement to take into the new year.

This year the celebration was somewhat bitter-sweet - no nephews for the first time since there have been nephews!- but the nine of us who gathered revelled in each other's company and in the magical atmosphere of the TH at her finest.

In the few quiet moments scattered throughout my week between Christmas and New Year's Eve I had started thinking about the word that might take on significance for me in 2012. I was drawn to this idea of choosing a word from my friend Kimberley, a brave woman who has known more than her share of grief and pain and yet still looks to God as her source of all things good. My Kimberley waits quietly for a word from God; and then throughout the rest of the year, no matter what might appear to be crumbling around her, she clings to the promise contained in her New Year's word and turns to God for strength and comfort and direction.

As I pondered the last year and the lessons learnt, one word stood out to me in stark relief: NACHAM. I first became aware of this word in a course I am taking from Prof. Rick Love at Ambrose; assignment #4 brought it to my attention and I spent several hours reading up on it, studying it, trying to burn it on my heart.

According to Strong's Concordance, the word nacham carries with it the following meanings:

nacham: to be sorry, console oneself

Original Word: נָחַם
Transliteration: nacham
Phonetic Spelling: (naw-kham')
Short Definition: comfort
comfort self, ease one's self, repent

A primitive root; properly, to sigh, i.e. Breathe strongly; by implication, to be sorry, i.e. (in a favorable sense) to pity, console or (reflexively) rue ...

The King James Version of the Bible translates this word as follows:

comfort (57), repent (41), comforter (9), ease (1) (Brown, Driver, Briggs and Gesenius. "Hebrew Lexicon entry for Nacham". The KJV Old Testament Hebrew Lexicon.)

The New American Standard Bible translates it like this:

am sorry (1), appeased (1), become a consolation (1), change mind (6), change minds (1), changed mind (4), comfort (30), comforted (18), comforter (2), comforters (4), comforts (2), console (3), consolers (1), consoling (1), give rest (1), have compassion (2), moved to pity (1), regret (1), regretted (1), relent (5), relented (4), relenting (3), relents (1), relieved (1), repent (3), repented (2), sorry (6), think better (1), when the time of mourning was ended (2). (NAS Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible with Hebrew-Aramaic and Greek Dictionaries Copyright © 1981, 1998 by The Lockman Foundation All rights reserved Lockman.org)

As I studied this word I thought back to last year's word, ruach, meaning breath. This new word, nacham, wove the thought of breath into it as well - to sigh, to breathe deeply in sorrow and in comfort.

And I thought of an anecdote my Dad had told us in one of our studies not long ago. There was a little girl who had sustained a very minor injury to herself in the course of her playing. She went running to her daddy, who immediately shifted into top gear trying to determine the extent of the injury, to treat the scrape or bump, and to instruct her on what to do to prevent a similar injury in the future.

When he was finished she went to her mother, who was in another room, and told her what had happened. Her mother wrapped her arms around her tiny daughter and consoled her. Then in a little while, when she found out the child had gone first to her father, she asked her daughter, "Well, what did Daddy say and do?"

"He didn't say anything," the little girl replied mournfully. "He didn't even say 'Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ...' "

Sometimes what we are looking for is simply "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," just a breath of comfort, an acknowledgment of our distress. Sometimes anything greater than the slightest whisper is too heavy for us to bear in that moment of sorrow or pain.

This is what nacham signifies for me. It tells me that God understands, that God knows the degree of consolation I need. God is "touched with the feeling of our infirmities"; He "sympathizes with our weaknesses," as Hebrews 4:15 says, translated first in the King James Version and next in both the New American Standard Bible and the English Standard Version.

Indeed, Romans chapter 8 and verse 26 comforts us with the thought that when we are at the point where we don't even know how to pray for what we need, God the Holy Spirit "intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..."

As the clock crept toward the moment that would turn Saturday 2011 into Sunday 2012, I looked at the beautiful antique platter of Mum's that Dad had so lovingly arranged this year's promises on - at present covered with a hand-embroidered cloth that said, in part, "But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength ..." - and I breathed a prayer that God would give me a verse to hold onto, a verse that would let me know He would wrap His arms around me no matter what happens in the coming year.

When it came my turn to draw a ribbon I selected a green one. And on this ribbon was typed the verse that is Nahum chapter 1 and verse 7:

"The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him."

The name Nahum itself? It means comforter.

The Lord is good, someone to hold onto and someone who will hold onto me in times of trouble. He knows me. He will comfort me should that day arise.

Nacham.

No Man's Land

2011-12-31T18:03:00.000-08:00

My sister wrote these words a few days ago:

i wait
in between
what was and
what is to be
now
expectantly
(Cathryn Ironside)

And that is where I sit, quietly waiting, the fireplace glowing brighter as the outside light dims.

The Tea House is ready, with freshly washed carpets and upholstery, linoleum scrubbed clean, comfortable chairs waiting in a circle for the guests who will inhabit them in just a few hours.

I have talked with many people I love throughout the day.

And now it's me and you.

Where do you sit in the quietness before the break-up of the old year, the breaking of a new one? Will you have a chance for a moment of reflection before you join the festivities?

How would you sum up your year? What sets it apart in your mind from every other year?

Did you accomplish what you had set out to do? Did you dare to dream dreams that actually came true?

Did you dream dreams that seem to have been crushed underfoot, disregarded, thrown back in your face?

Was this a year of unmitigated joy for you, or of unquenchable grief?

Or was it a year that seemed to slip by so quickly it was barely distinguishable in all the swirl of activity rippling around you?

We have each gained some things and lost some things that are precious to us.

But through it all, through the ups and downs, one thing rings out, a clarion call:

God Is For Us.

We may not understand His workings

but He is in control

We may feel abandoned and alone

but He is with us

We may feel apprehension for the future

but He goes before us

He loves us, and He wants what is best for us. It gives Him no pleasure to see us in pain.

And even when it seems that - despite our best efforts, despite our crying out to Him - He is nowhere to be found ...

... He is still there.

In 1988, when I was going through a time of terror and transition in my life and the unknown loomed darkly in front of me, I asked my Dad if God was still in control.

"Hold out your hand and take hold of mine," Dad said. My left hand grasped his right hand, our fingers interlocking.

"Now let go," he instructed.

So I did. My fingers stretched straight up, stretched away from the back of his hand.

And even though my fingers felt in limbo, felt detached and isolated, my hand remained in the steady grip of my father's hand.

He had not loosened his clasp one iota.

How much more so with our heavenly Father? "Underneath are the everlasting arms," my Dad whispered to me that day.

The prayer I offer as this year closes, and which I pray with you, is this:

Cardinals in the TH

2011-12-31T15:25:00.000-08:00

Out of all her children, I'm the only one who did not share her great passion for birds; in fact, I'm quite terrified of them when we are anywhere near each other.

And yet this Christmas I was missing her immensely. I needed to honour her in some way at the TH, needed people to be reminded of the huge impact she has had on this place.

I went to the basement to get the tip teapot we use in winter - it is a cardinal one, given to me by my lovely Sarah and Taylor the Christmas my Mum died because, as Sarah said in her husky little voice, "Your Mom liked cardinals."

And after that, almost without conscious effort, cardinals started to pop up everywhere I went. Here's a peek at the TH, festooned for Christmas:

The front door wreath, created by Doreen

The mirror in the entry

Deb attached this jaunty bird to
Asher's felt hat

The sign that greets you as you enter the dining room

Door mat, presented by Brenda

Each of the three chandeliers had
its own cardinal perched on it

Our little Christmas tree - Deb started the tradition of
giving each of us a cardinal ornament the Christmas
after Mum passed away. They are all on this tree ...

Nilgiris' traditional Winter Scene on the fireplace ...

... with a close-up of the
ornament my friend Jackie
gave me last year

Ornament over the little desk

How do we go back to regular white plates after using these all season?!

Cowboy cardinal from Brenda,
making sure the boys
wash their hands!

Men's room

Ladies' room

Cardinal kids playing in the corner

Meant to be: my friend Lynda - who had
no clue about the cardinal theme -
made this apron for me!

Tip pot from Sarah and Taylor

The Salt and Pepper Shaker Chorus

Snow globes

Mini tea sets, given to me
by Sharon and Vernon
since 2007

Our family's Christmas pudding - Dad's Mom's own recipe - stuffed with coins like Mum's Mum taught us and served with rich white sugar condensed milk sauce and

caramelized brown sugar sauce from these beautiful pitchers

The handmade chandelier over the counter was
the perfect perch for the cardinal
Bronwyn brought us on Christmas day

... and underneath it, a picture of Mum
on her beloved verandah in Bangalore

The last cardinal was to be found outside, to the east of the TH, in the Josh Tree. Enduring the elements, this little bird managed to cling to the brittle twig-like branches throughout the season, a brave solitary figure that reminded us of grief in this season of gladness, it is true; but also of the marvellous grace of the Baby, born in a stable, who would grow up to say to those people who love and trust Him, "Lo, I am with you always," and "Where I am, there you will be also."

They've Arrived!

2011-12-29T23:18:00.000-08:00

In the airport moments before they went through security. Bronwyn sent us a note today telling us about their wonderful journey, and hinting at a sweet apartment that I know she will already have started to make beautiful in that way only she has.

Elliot and Oliver ... oh okay, and your parents, I guess ... I miss you already!

And I have decided that to be able to bear it, I need five kids for five Events. I went on an Event every month with Elliot or Oliver. It was a chance to hang out and to get a book, and then to enjoy a beverage and a chat.

You should be between 10 and 14 and you HAVE to like reading! Any takers?

Aoife, I'm signing you up first of all!

Asher, what about you? (We might have to smuggle your Mom along too!)

Elliot and Oliver: get back here soon ... xoxo

Christmas Day

2011-12-25T23:11:00.000-08:00

Emmanuel, Emmanuel

His name is called

Emmanuel

God with us

Revealed in us

His name is called

Emmanuel

Tea House Christmas Carol

2011-12-24T06:50:00.000-08:00

One of my goals at the TH is for my kids to attend a cultural event each year. Two years ago we went to Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe Concert. Last year, there was Handel's Messiah.

This year, Bronwyn hit on the very thing: Theatre Calgary's A Christmas Carol. Her church's staff was going on Wednesday evening, and there was availability for a group for the matinee performance on Thursday, December 22. She gave me the contact information for Carolynn Tyson and Brad Carter, Theatre Calgary's group sales manager and the caterer who works out of Foothills Alliance respectively.

I sounded out my staff: "What do you think about A Christmas Carol for the TH Christmas event?" I asked.

"Which Christmas Carol?" "Will we have to sing?"

"No - Dickens' Christmas Carol," I reassured them.

"Which one was his?" "Who is he?" "I don't think I know him ..."

That settled it. I called Carolynn and emailed Brad.

And, just like that, everything was put into place and all we had to do was be there at 1 p.m. on Thursday.

Just before 1 o'clock I walked to the locked doors of the Max Bell Theatre and was immediately whisked inside the elegantly decorated lobby, to be greeted by none other than Carolynn herself.

The lobby, with Carolynn waiting to greet us ...

A more gracious hostess
you could not find!

She took me upstairs to get a glimpse of the private lobby where the TH family would be having lunch, and she introduced me to Brad's staff and also to John Fortunka, the Theatre's Front of House Manager.

Then we went back downstairs and heard John announcing that the Front Of The House ... Was Now ... Open. The staff, who had been lounging about desultorily, sprang into action and to their positions. The doors swung open and I beckoned for my group to enter.

After the normal muddle of checking coats and looking for a few people who were in turn looking for cheap parking (in downtown Calgary? I guess I didn't warn you enough times ...!), Carolynn guided us upstairs to the third floor.

What a welcome at the bottom of the stairs!

Sign at the entrance to the private lobby area

Happy Birthday, Curt!

When most of us were in, I welcomed everyone and Dad said grace; and then I decreed that the order to the buffet would be, as it is in the TH, shortest to tallest - but that Curtis, on his seventeenth birthday, should be able to get into the line early ...

The food - a selection of hot and cold hors d'oeuvres, punch, and tea and coffee - was the perfect introduction to a "stand-up" reception for my kids. But all too soon John's dulcet tones started to come through the speaker system: 15 minutes ... ten ... five minutes before the curtain, ladies and gentlemen! Carolynn was there for us, shepherding those of us who needed the elevator into the right one, and directing the rest of us down the stairs. We had the entire rows B and C, the fourth and fifth rows from the front - perfect for seeing the actors' expressions and all the detail of the sets!

The house lights dimmed and words started flashing across the thin curtain ... Charles Dickens' words:

I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little tale to raise the Ghost of an Idea

which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves,

with each other, with the season, or with me.

May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

Their faithful Friend and Servant,

Charles Dickens

And the magic began ... Marley was dead, of course. We know that. But from that moment on, we were led down new paths of mystery and enlightenment, beauty and quasi terror. Stephen Hair commanded the stage, but never by force. His Scrooge this year, under the direction of Dennis Garnhum who also adapted the play, plumbed the depths of Ebenezer's pain that was manifest as, well, Scrooge-ishness.

The set was magnificent. The costumes were gorgeous. The music - ahh, the carols! - were sublime. The story moved along at a clipping pace with pauses for throat-catching scenes such as riding the bedroom window with the Spirit of Christmas Past into Ebenezer's childhood misery and, much later, visiting Tiny Tim's grave with the clever, formidable, silent Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come.

The rollicking fun of the new housekeeper trying to keep all the dishes and food on the dinner tray was little Maya's favourite part of the whole thing; and the Fezziwigs' Christmas party was joyful and loving in a way that made you want to apply for a job with them immediately.

The skating party on the Thames, silver blades flashing and little silver flasks on hand to keep the chill off, conjured a wonderful dinner party thrown by Scrooge's nephew, Fred, and Fred's new wife. Bob Cratchit, Scrooge's clerk, was terrific; the entire family, with the tiniest of Tiny Tims, was spot on.

And through it all, the snow fell. Big, fluffy flakes of snow that drove Scrooge past the point of even the façade of patience with his fellow man on this waste of perfectly good working hours. As the story glided its way along its course, he began to be able to ignore and at last to appreciate and even to revel in the snow.

At intermission, my little group crowded our way back to our lobby, where Brad's guys had set out desserts and fruit for us. The conversation was animated ... how could that Scrooge guy be so mean? Were you scared of the ghosts in the very beginning? Only for a moment, but then when they laughed it was okay. How did Marley fly right up to heaven from his coffin? Do you think that could happen, Pastor Ironside? Wasn't Marley mean too? Well, I thought the part with Robinson Crusoe was the coolest. D'you think all those books had stuff written in them? Hey! Try one of these cup cakes!

Our own beautiful Maya,
herself dressed like Christmas

Twenty minutes disappeared as fast as the sweets and we all trooped back down to our seats.

The second half was as enthralling as the first. And when Scrooge finally caved and saw the error of his ways, an audible sigh rippled along rows B and C. This wonderful story of the redemption and transformation of someone who appeared to be a heartless, penny-pinching tyrant had once again found its mark.

But there was one more moment of rapture in store and that was at the end of the show. It had started to snow again - this time, Scrooge raised his hands to embrace it, a benediction of sorts - but suddenly there was a universal gasp: it was snowing all through the theatre! The magic of the play literally touched every one of us.

They received a standing ovation, of course - who can remain on your feet when your heart is bursting?

After the heartstring-tugging plea by Stephen Hair on behalf of the Food Bank and Theatre Calgary's "Toonies of Turkeys" campaign (no wonder Calgary raises so much money - one must go where this Scrooge leads!), we slowly wended our way toward the coat-check, sleepwalkers with no desire to awaken.

My kids' eyes were like stars as they hugged me and earnestly thanked me for the day. "I never knew a play could be like that!" one said to me fervently.

Oh, my kids ... God bless you, every one!

(Trudie Lee Photography is the photographer for all the official Christmas Carol photos in this post. Read the Calgary Herald's review and the Calgary Sun's review of this extraordinary production. To listen to a CBC interview with the charming Stephen Hair, who plays Scrooge, click HERE, then click on the Play arrow.)

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas!

2011-12-22T22:11:00.000-08:00

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Ev'rywhere you go;

Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again

With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Toys in ev'ry store

But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

At your own front door.

A pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots

Is the wish of Barney and Ben;

Dolls that will talk and will go for a walk

Is the hope of Janice and Jen;

And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again...

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Ev'rywhere you go;

There's a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well,

The sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas;

Soon the bells will start,

And the thing that will make them ring is the carol that you sing

Right within your heart.

The Season of Advent, Week 4: Love and "The Most Horrible Time of the Year"

2011-12-21T14:22:00.000-08:00

I had lunch with her a few days ago, as she was getting ready to go away for the holidays. We had started with coffee and miniature sticky toffee puddings bathed in warm caramel sauce; and the conversation was wonderful, taking us all over the world and through several decades, and the morning somehow slipped by.

A gift from my friend, this plate had
belonged to her late husband's aunt

We talked about her grandmother, who she said had been the one person who offered her unconditional love throughout her life. We also, of course, talked about her dear husband, who had passed away earlier this year. "This will be the first time in over 60 years that I have not spent Christmas with him," she mused. "I just need a quiet Christmas with my memories. I want to be where we would have been together. I want to grieve him."

She invited me to stay for lunch. And she invited me to say grace for the meal. In my prayer of thanks for the food and for the morning, I got a bit tangled up. I prayed that, as God had promised to be a father to the fatherless and a husband to the widow*, so might He be with my friend over the Christmas season and into the new year.

After we had said Amen, she looked at me. "God would be the perfect husband, wouldn't He?" she asked. Her husband - like all of us - had not been perfect.

"I guess He would be perfect," I agreed.

Her face crumpled. "I don't want a perfect husband," she whispered. "I just want him ..."

This morning I was shovelling the TH parking area and my neighbour was doing the parking lot for the two rooms next door. We were chatting as we worked; suddenly she stopped short and leaned on her shovel.

"I've been thinking about this day and thinking about this day and now it's here. It was one year ago today that my Mom died."

She went on to say how she had put together her Mom's recipes for Sally's grand kids. Included were "inspirational" quotations Sally had jotted down and notations she had made about her family. "When I was reading those sayings, I couldn't believe how many she had written down, and how corny some of them were ...

"I'm really missing Mom today," my friend added softly.

This fourth week of Advent is in many ways the hardest week. We hear about God loving the world so much that He gave His Son, whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. There is so much manifestation of love at this particular season, so much good will floating around delicate as ice crystals.

But what about those whose lives have been changed forever by the loss of someone they love more than anyone else in the world?

What if you can't bear the thought of getting up because there is going to be one less face at your table this Christmas?

What if the carols and the lights and the hastily shouted greetings start to pound in your head like nails being hammered over and over again with no reprieve?

What if it all feels so empty, so pointless?

You don't want perfect. You just want them.

Something Don, one of our friends at the Tuesday morning Bible study, said a week or so ago came to me as I was thinking about all the loss some of those people I love have sustained this year:

We can enter the family of God because Jesus entered the family of Man.

God did the only thing that could be done to bring us to Himself - He gave up His Son.

The very first Christmas itself marked a time of loss as God the Father watched God the Son take on the confines of humanity. The One for whom time and space were never a factor gestated as a foetus for nine months in the crowded darkness of a womb. The One who cannot learn anything new had to be taught as an infant how to eat, how to walk, how to read.

It is a mystery far too deep for me to be able to understand how God became man while remaining God. Nevertheless, I believe that in some way there must have been a type of physical separation between God the Father and God the Son when the latter "entered the family of Man" around the time of that first Christmas. God Himself felt the absence of His Son's presence on the day that has come to be the catalyst for families to gather together.

For each of us who has lost someone very precious in the past year, all I can offer you is this: God does understand. He has been in the very place you find yourself today, longing to be with the one you love on the day everyone around us is singing "Joy to the World ..."

He was parted from His Son because it was the only way to bring us to Himself.

He didn't want perfect; He just wanted us.

In Service to the Parents - Postscript

2011-12-20T23:05:00.000-08:00

That Tereasa did it again! She sent a few pictures of Elliot's and Oliver's Ciao Baby Dinner honouring their parents, and I wanted to share them with you. They really capture some moments that I had missed in my busyness in the kitchen.

Buon appetito!

Karl Roth and Dave Hamilton

entertaining the guests as we waited for B and P to arrive

Bronwyn's and Paul's arrival ...

Serving the palate cleanser - limoni gelato

Everyone feeling a little Italian!

Elliot singing "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant"

Oliver singing "Hallelujah"

Their beautiful mother taking it all in.

Y'know, E and O notwithstanding, I think I'm going to miss her a little bit too ...

Evening of Joy: "In Service to the Parents"

2011-12-18T23:11:00.000-08:00

Each Christmas for the past few years, Elliot and Oliver have given up their December Event with me in order to do something special for their parents. "In Service to the Parents," is how Oliver put it one year and it stuck.

I would have to say that this year's event was inspired by years of unobtrusive influence on my guys, plus months of planning on their parts.

The influence part came from the magic that is Buon Giorno Ristorante Italiano, on 17th Avenue in Calgary. I first took the boys there when they were quite small, because I thought it would be an unintimidating place for them to practise their manners and etiquette and where they would be treated with dignity and kindness by the waiters who have been there for as long as I can remember.

We went back initially because, well, do you know how much glee can be obtained for an eight-year-old when he says, with all the insouciance he can summon, "I think I'd like some hot buns ..."

The waiter, with great aplomb but with a twinkle in his eye, responded, "Right away, sir." And in less than a flash he was back: "Hot buns for you, sir!"

We kept going back because the boys as they matured noticed how the waiters talked directly to them; how they would discuss the food and explain the dishes; how they were never too rushed to pay attention to the little things. Besides, that, the food was good ... and there were those buns ...

So when we started planning this year's event back in June, the boys, currently on a Billy Joel kick, decided that "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" would be the theme - and the "Italian restaurant" had to be like Buon Giorno.

Of course, R&D had to occur. The three of us, along with their Bop, went there for lunch this summer to decide on a potential menu. By the end of the meal we knew for sure that we wanted the strachiatella soup and the tartufo ice cream.

Next we worked on the guest list and what we would say on the invitations. We decided that six couples would be a nice number, and that it would be a surprise send-off for their parents. The invitations were duly written out by hand the weekend the boys spent with their Bop; I think it was Auntie Deb who came up with the headline on the invitation: Ciao, Baby ...

Clothes had to be purchased - Debs tracked down black trousers, long-sleeved white collar shirts and red bow-ties. Real bow-ties. (On the afternoon of the event we realized that none of us knew how to tie real bow-ties ...)

All five couples the boys had invited accepted with pleasure.

Even my boss, Lisa, was in on it. I could find no better resource for all food Italian than Signorina Marrello, who sent me recipes for bruschetta, risotto, and suggestions for antipasti.

And then a couple of weeks before the Event, a real blow: the boys' Granny informed me that she had spent several days at their house and all the dishes, with the exception of one everyday set, were now packed. I would have to lug dishes from Trois Lumps to Hawkridge ... What if Granny hadn't been in on the packing up and we had arrived to find we were eating off paper plates?!

But as if to mitigate that minor set-back, Tereasa, one of the invited guests and someone who is as kind as she is lovely and artistic, volunteered to track down and bring three tables and some decorations.

Friday the 16th finally arrived. Bronwyn and Paul had been told to evacuate the house by no later than 2 p.m. and not to return until the appointed time. I had taken a vacation day so I did only a couple of hours' work for Carswell before getting into party mode. A quick trip to Chinatown to get small oval platters for the pasta course, and a somewhat longer trip to Lina's Italian Market - a shopping experience I have come to love over the years - plus a stop at Superstore, and I was ready to head to the house.

Caite and I met there shortly after 2, and the boys came straight home from school in order to start getting the place ready. Tereasa, good as her word, arrived armed with tables, dark table cloths for under the green-checked gingham I had bought to match Buon Giorno's, candle lamps and Italian tiles for the table. She also brought fairy lights that she thought might look beautiful strung around the room.

Furniture was moved ... Christmas decor was packed away and the tables were put in place and sparkly lights set up.

Caite took over, getting tables and chairs organized (the napkins were folded by Oliver just like they have them at the restaurant!) and starting the chopping of vegetables and the preparation of hors d'oeuvres.

I had to run out to pick up the soup; when I got back, late ("I'm sorry, young lady, I thought you said ONE order of soup! We'll need a few more minutes ..."), I met Karl and Dave in the driveway - they were going to provide music for the hors d'oeuvres hour before dinner.

Somehow, despite the craziness, when the first couple arrived - followed immediately by the second, third, fourth and fifth; thank you, all of you, for your great punctuality! - we were starting to pull together into a semblance of promise that the evening might be able to be pulled off. Because of a little miscommunication coupled with a dead cell phone, B and P arrived a little later than we had anticipated. But Karl and Dave entertained the guests (one of whom commented to Bronwyn later that the music was so amazing, even if B and P and taken longer, the guests would have been content just to sit and listen to Karl and Dave!); while Deb, the angel of all Christmas and other parties, arrived with dessert and an assortment of various parts of the meal. She took in the pandemonium in the kitchen at a glance and immediately started in on the risotto while I tackled the chicken breasts wrapped in pancetta. The Waiters, meantime, with bow-ties - expertly tied by Bernie; thanks, Bernie! - circulated with plates and the antipasti platter.

When Bronwyn and Paul arrived they were utterly surprised to see a group of their closest friends waiting to fete them. Paul asked how I knew whom to invite. "The boys chose who," I replied. He scooped both of them into a hug: "My boys ... you know your parents very well!" he exclaimed tenderly.

Not too too far behind schedule, the Waiters were able to usher the guests into the next room for the meal.

After welcoming everyone and thanking them for coming, they invited one of the Jameses to say grace; and then they truly sprang into action. The soup was served, followed by Caesar salad.

Pretty pleased with yourselves, guys?!

Then came the pasta course (spinach-stuffed cannelloni with a rose sauce) and when those plates were cleared, the Waiters carefully carried out the delicate glasses containing the palate cleanser, an acerbic yet refreshing limoni gelato. As the guests scooped the last of the tangy ice out of their glasses the boys carefully garnished the main course plates with lemon zest, grated earlier by Elliot, and prepared to serve their guests the roasted chicken breast accompanied by risotto.

Waiters getting into the sauce ...

"I'm so hungry!" came one small plaintive cry early in the proceedings. "Forget it - you're here to serve," snapped their hard-hearted Auntie K; and from that moment on there was no mention of hunger or their own needs. They were the waiters from Buon Giorno, chatting amiably with their guests, making sure that everyone had food, that no one's glass was empty, that each person was having a good time.

When the last people had finished eating ("How can you tell if they're finished or if they're just taking a break?" came the urgent whisper), tables were pulled back slightly and for a few brief moments the boys sang for their guests. Elliot started off with the reason for the theme, playing the piano and singing Billy Joel's Scenes From an Italian Restaurant. Oliver followed it with his delicate guitar playing and a moving rendition of Jason Mraz's Bella Luna - one of my favourite Mr AZ songs. Elliot followed this by a rousing crowd pleaser - I Saw Her Standing There, which got people singing along - on his electric guitar; then Oliver brought the entertainment part of the evening to an end with Hallelujah: Cohen's angry anthem had never sounded so sweet or so vulnerable as when that 12-year-old bent his head over his guitar and murmured "Love is not a victory march; It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah ..."

Elliot playing "Scenes ..." Unfortunately Oliver's
picture came out far too dark; he was a huge hit.

I stood in the space between the kitchen and the makeshift cafe, listening to them and thinking, "Oh, my boys, I am going to miss you so much ..."

When the applause stopped,dessert was served. Deb had created Panettone Bread Pudding with Amaretto Sauce; a slice of triple chocolate tartufo was placed next to it and, with a whirl of whipped cream and three raspberries arranged artfully by the Waiters, the last course was served.

Coffee and biscotti wrapped up dinner; and as the boys thanked their guests for coming they presented each one a tiny box containing two Callebaut chocolates.

At 11:30 p.m., Auntie K was the first to leave the party, shockingly ...

Elliot got the last word this year: "I didn't have a lot of expectations for this Event, to be honest. But now I really think that it was the best Event we've ever done for them..."

Grazie, Elliot and Oliver, for a wonderful evening. Arrivederci; torna presto!

Joy to the TH!

2011-12-16T07:49:00.000-08:00

There are some parties I just love every year. Here's a peek into our Wednesday evening Bible study Christmas party.

These people are closer than friends; we have become family.

Char, with a beautiful
gingerbread house for the TH.
How we missed Brian!

Charles and Rose - enjoying each other's
company, as usual ...

The turkey buffet line

Ben and Renate - wonderful additions
to our Wednesday study time!

Leona and George, who've been in the group
since the beginning

Our very tender-hearted Lynda ...

Remember dear Betty? Here she is, flanked
by her great friend Joyce and newcomer Alice

Bob and Dianna: their quiet impact on
the group is immeasurable

The newlyweds ...

Ralph's daughter Jackie and her husband, Oswaldo

Dad, Ted and Oswaldo

Brenda helping at the dessert table ...

... and BA and Doreen, who hid out in the
corner when we realized I had set
two too few places!

No picture of Sherlotte and Marge, unfortunately, as they had to leave early. It was wonderful to have Sherlotte with us again, the wheelchair and oxygen tank no match for her indomitable spirit.

We sang some carols before and after the meal. And Dad created a "review" ("not a test!" he assured us) for us to tackle between the main course and dessert - food for the mind and soul as well as the body ...

Special thanks this year to Brenda, Dianna and Doreen for all the help. As a matter of fact, when I had to leave for an unexpected appointment, those three capable women took over; upon my return I found the tables set, vegetables peeled and boiling on the stove, dressing made and the turkeys almost ready to be carved!

Each one of you is so precious. Thank you for bringing such love and joy to the TH every single Wednesday. Thanks, Dad, for all the many hours you spend in preparation for each week's lesson - and for all the notes that give us the opportunity to study and grow.

Happy Christmas - see you next year!

The Season of Advent, Week 3: Joy In the Evening

2011-12-14T10:18:00.000-08:00

"Weeping may endure for a night; but joy comes in the morning ..."

But I'm finding more and more this year many people hurting so much that their pain spills through into the day; their pillows cannot contain the anguish they are feeling.

So can we change the time for joy to the evening, when we have gained more equilibrium?!

Consider this:

There were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And suddenly the angel of the Lord appeared before them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were very afraid. But the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold I bring you glad tidings of great JOY, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord.
The wise men travelled by night, following a star, until it came to rest over the place where Jesus and His family were living
Nicodemus, the ruler to whom the most well known words of the Bible were spoken, came to Jesus at night. Jesus said to him, among many other things, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Did Nicodemus experience joy from that meeting? I would like to think so - in his great love for Jesus, he was the man who brought about one hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes, spices to embalm a dead body, when Jesus was taken down from the cross in preparation for His burial

In the last few days the TH has experienced moments of joy in the evenings. Here are some tiny glimpses:

Each evening my friend Doreen comes and lights candles in the lantern that rests outside the window of the TH. "Seeing that light makes me so happy," a college girl said to me on Sunday night at dinner.

Spidery winter cobwebs delicately gracing my car port - I had never noticed them until two frosty nights ago

My favourite Christmas dinner of the season at the TH this year: the Kneehill Christian School Board booked in for a turkey dinner. I had no idea who was going to show up - imagine my happiness when I was able to greet a number of some of my favourite people who come to the TH!

The dinner went well. However, the highlight of the evening occurred after all the food had been cleared away, after the speeches had been made and the coffee drank. Different groups arose and sang, magnificent carols - some old and familiar, some new to me and beautiful. But the one that stopped the chatter and the breath of all of us in the kitchen was Silent Night, a cappella, in four-part harmony.

Lastly, I managed to get into Calgary to take in an art show featuring my friend Frances Ann's newest creation, the Tree of Life depicted on 33 squares of canvas. Also on display were some paintings and some of the exquisite poetry from the mind and heart and hand of my sister Cathryn. Sitting in the room as darkness fell outside, allowing the Tree of Life to tell its story; reading the words; studying paintings, executed in the dark but bringing such light, provided me with the time I desperately needed to regain my focus, to remember my joy in this season. Spending time with my sisters Bronwyn and Deborah, who also came for the showing, added to my great pleasure in the evening.

And then, as we left the FCJ Centre where the exhibition was housed, Frances Ann exclaimed, "Look, it's on!"

We looked across the street to the cathedral shrouded in darkness. But shining out from the wall was the stained glass window, whose lights had been turned on for some reason that evening. "It's rarely turned on," Frances Ann explained. "I've seen it only twice.

"But this evening we've been given a gift - He's here!"

Glimpses of Joy in the evening ...

Fragments of Peace

2011-12-11T23:46:00.000-08:00

As this week closes out, I have been conscious of how very much we all yearn for peace.

This week, starting on Tuesday, I conducted a small informal poll of my own. I wrote down the three words LOVE, JOY, PEACE. And then I made a little mark next to the appropriate word when I head it or saw it.

The cushion on one of the chairs
at The Hug

PEACE outstripped JOY almost three to one; it outstripped LOVE two to one (and that would have been higher if so many people in the TH this weekend hadn't told me that they love me and they love the TH - for which I am so thankful and personally blessed).

In various degrees, we all suffer turmoil and disruption to our lives. And when these difficult situations come, don't we long for peace, for relief?

We look past ourselves to our neighbourhood. And then we scan our beautiful country. Finally, we lift our eyes to the world. Everywhere restlessness swirls its way through even the tiniest pockets of humanity, playing no favourites between rulers and subjects alike.

His name shall be called ... The Prince of Peace

A little note handed to me this evening
- along with decadent almond bark! -
by my dear Dea

And perhaps that is the secret to finding peace - being able to reach the ear of the Prince of Peace.

In one of my daily reading books, Daily Strength for Daily Needs, were these words:

December 7

Acquaint now thyself with Him, and be at peace.--JOB xxii. 21.

All thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace
of thy children.--ISA. liv. 13.

Yes! blessed are those holy hours in which the soul retires from the world
to be alone with God. God's voice, as Himself, is everywhere. Within and
without, He speaks to our souls, if we would hear. Only the din of the
world, or the tumult of our own hearts, deafens our inward ear to it.
Learn to commune with Him in stillness, and He, whom thou hast sought in
stillness, will be with thee when thou goest abroad.

E. B. PUSEY.

Plaque on the wall above the
cardinal Christmas tree

As the week of Peace gives way to the week of Joy I wish for each of you, my fellow RtLers, a season of rest and peace.

Of course I went to Handel's Messiah performed by the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus this week. Below is a beautiful rendition of "How Beautiful Are the Feet of Them that Bring the Gospel of Peace." If you would like to listen to it, scroll down to my playlist (named "For Josh") and click on the large middle Pause button to turn off that music. Then click on the Play arrow in the middle of this video to hear a couple of minutes of true beauty and peace.

And may the Peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your heart and mind through Christ Jesus (paraphrased from Philippians 4:7).

Calling All Tea Drinkers ...

2011-12-08T14:05:00.000-08:00

I'm writing very briefly this afternoon about Morley. My dear Morley is in bad shape. He was involved in an almost-head-on collision on Saturday afternoon, and he is still in ICU in Calgary.

Morley is one of the good friends of the TH. He is funny, clever, charming, self-deprecatory, well-read, a good listener. He loves the carrot cake with a pot of tea. He is an all-round excellent man.

I spent a while with Donna, Morley's beautiful and kind wife, yesterday afternoon. Over tea (not great - but we were in the hospital cafeteria; what do you expect?!) she told me some of the details of what Morley has suffered.

His body is brutally broken and battered. His face is extremely swollen. His brain and his spine, however, have not been damaged, which is nothing short of miraculous.

The doctors have already spent one 8-hour session in surgery; the next session is going to be tomorrow.

Please, all RtL readers - whether you drink tea, coffee or dirty chai! - won't you say a prayer for Morley tomorrow, Friday the 9th? Pray that the surgeons will have steady hands and keen eyes; pray that the surgical team will be focused and compassionate. Pray that our dear Morley's body and spirit will be up to the task of yet more invasion, more surgery.

Pray that his bones will be knit, that his organs will be unscarred, that his flesh will heal.

Pray that his spirit will remain strong.

Pray for more small miracles.

And pray also for my dear Donna. Her life, too, will be - has been - radically changed. Her courage is immense and her devotion is unquestioned. But she will need support and love surrounding her over the next months.

Thank you, Nilgiris family. I am so thankful to know you are out there, thankful that you care.

We love you dearly, Morley. We are all rooting for you.

xoxo

The Season of Advent, Week 2: Peace - Praying For a Boy

2011-12-04T23:17:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about Elizabeth this week. A daughter of the line of Aaron, Moses' brother and therefore in the elite High Priestly family, she was married to Zachariah, who was the priest selected to burn incense in the Holy place in the temple the year Jesus was born - literally, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

This was a couple who loved God and who had given their lives in service to Him and to their community. They had everything, except for the one thing they longed for the most - a son.

I can just imagine them as newlyweds, confident that God would bless their union with a boy. Elizabeth would have dreamed what he would be like: he would be strong and athletic; he'd have a charismatic personality, a natural leader among his contemporaries; he would be intelligent and would use his brains to make life better in some way for the world; he'd be kind to his parents and his family.

And, above all, he would have a heart that would seek after God. God would be his number one priority; and from that, he would seek to serve his community, perhaps as a priest in the temple like his father?

A couple of years went by and nothing. Elizabeth ratcheted up the praying for her heart's desire. Then ten years: still she prayed every day, as her neighbour women seemed to retreat a little bit from her ... twenty: she started to ask God if there was some sin in her life that was preventing her from becoming pregnant ... thirty: she filled her time with busying herself in her neighbourhood and the women, who had avoided her, started slowly to be won over by her kindness and wisdom and humility ... forty: she stopped praying for a boy. She more than anyone knew that it was impossible.She told Zachariah to stop praying for a son too. There was no longer any hope.

Who knows how many more years creaked on by? Although no more prayers were offered up for a son, sometimes did Elizabeth still dream about him in her sleep? And then one day she realized with a start that she had not dreamed about what her son would be like for a long time. Now she focused on the things of God, focused on creating a peaceful home for her Zachariah, focused on helping her neighbours and being a voice of counsel for the younger women in her community.

We know the rest of the story, know how the angel Gabriel came to Zachariah on the day when he was sent into the Holy place of the temple to burn incense and told Zachariah that his prayers had been answered - those prayers that had not been uttered for years now - and that Elizabeth would have a son. His name would be called John and many people would rejoice in his birth. He would indeed be a leader and a peacemaker, turning the hearts of the parents to their children, and helping the rebels and miscreants see the wisdom in the words of the just.

Most of all, Gabriel told Zachariah, he would have a heart for God, just as Elizabeth had prayed for her son so many, many years earlier. John's name would be great in the sight of the Lord Himself, the angel foretold, and he would turn many people to God.

And John was everything his mother had prayed he would be. A priest's son from the line of Aaron on both his mother's and his father's side, he would have been educated, particularly in the scriptures. A strong young man, he could sustain long periods of time in the desert, living in the most primitive way. He was indeed a leader full of charisma - people actually followed him out into the desert, where he established his ministry.

John might not have seemed like a likely advocate for peace. There he was, all wild-man in the desert, eating locusts and wild honey. He didn't hesitate to use his knowledge and his opportunity. He didn't mince his words: Vipers, he called the religious leaders of the day. He spoke out against injustice: in the turbulent political and religious repression of the day, he did not hesitate to be a voice for hard-won peace through righteousness.

And to John was given the privilege of baptising Jesus, signalling the start of Jesus' ministry on earth.

I wonder how Elizabeth felt when she heard that her son was in jail ... and then by the ultimate news that would rip her in two: that her son had been murdered by the king for his stand against injustice and sin.

I have to think that the two young men knew each other. Their mothers were close: as a matter of fact it was to John's mother that Jesus' mother went when she found out she was to give birth to the Son of God - and John and Jesus would both both have been told about how when the two women saw each other, John, about three months away from being born, had jumped for joy in his mother's womb.

The birth of John, about six months before the birth of Jesus, was indeed the answer to his mother's prayers.

In the TH we have had one such person: Brent is a young man of great intelligence, a leader among his peers, with a quick, dry sense of humour. He is liked and respected by all with whom he comes into contact. He's modest about his own accomplishments, downplaying second-year university grades in the high 90s.

He is a peacemaker. He seeks out solutions that will benefit all sides. He carries other people's burdens. He follows situations of conflict and tragedy around the world and yearns to be able to offer hope, to create safety and to establish peace.

But most of all, Brent has a heart that seeks God. He is a young man with a deep desire to know Him and to make Him known.

Isaiah chapter 32 and verse 17 says, "And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance forever."

It may seem odd to say it, but I see Brent in this verse. He hungers and thirsts after righteousness. He is quietly assured in his own life and in his dealings with people. He seeks to effect peace.

So today, on the second Sunday of Advent, the week symbolizing peace and - this year - the day of Brent's 21st birthday, the day he officially is recognized world-wide as a man, I wish him love, joy, and peace - peace of mind and of heart, peace in his interactions with people, and the ability to create and sustain peace wherever he goes - throughout his life.

He is truly a son any woman would be honoured and grateful to have.

Would You Buy This Cake?

2011-11-30T17:26:00.000-08:00

I was asked by Marlene, manager of the local Credit Union, to make a cake for the annual "Santa Cause," a fundraiser hosted by our Chamber of Commerce and with all proceeds going to three local charities.

So I went with the carrot cake. I must say, it came out beautifully. AND I threw in a jar of tea.

But that wasn't enough. Marlene said we had to write something to describe the cake, something that will garner interest in it and raise the bids. The MC will read aloud what we write, apparently, and get things going.

This is what I wrote, and some poor man will have to read it to the audience! I hope it works ...

NILGIRIS TEA HOUSE CARROT CAKE

Close your eyes for a moment …… Go on, do it. Now ……… What do you think of when you think of love? …….. No, not THAT love, UNCONDITIONAL love. Love with no strings attached …

You can open your eyes now.

That’s the chief ingredient in this carrot cake. Love. From the second the first egg is cracked open and slips into the bowl to the moment the cake is taken out of the oven, precisely one hour and 17 minutes after it’s been gently placed onto the centre rack, every gesture in the measuring, mixing, stirring and baking includes affection and happy thoughts.

Thoughts of the person who will purchase this cake and will share it with their friends and family – they’ll be passing on that love. And people will want seconds.

There is no fruitiness or nuttiness in this cake – there’s been enough of that already … remember how you closed your eyes?!

It’s just lots of carrots kissed with the purest vanilla, baked especially for you.

But the luscious cream cheese icing that flirts with your taste buds and teases you with a hint of something spicy to come … it’s enough to make Santa give his list another look!

Enjoy your cake with a pot of the Tea Bag’s favourite tea, Cream Earl Grey.

Hope for the Helpless - Josh on the Mountain

2011-11-30T10:09:00.000-08:00

Josh's mother has so very graciously shared with us the picture of Josh that I was trying to describe in my last post.

If you can, click on song #5 on my playlist at the bottom left of this screen ...

And then I would ask you to take a moment to look into his beautiful, beautiful face.

That face is now seeing Jesus' face.

But, oh, the devastation that face's absence is causing here on earth!

In all the busyness and the bustle and the beauty of this season, please don't forget Josh.

Please don't forget the other Joshes who are out there in our communities, who are struggling with unnamed, unspoken pain, pain that seems darker and heavier in this season of light and joy.

There are people from many countries all over the world who read the Leaves. Please, wherever you are ... take a moment to add Josh's family - his Mom and Dad, his elder sister and his two younger siblings - to your Christmas gift list this December. Give them the gift of your prayers and your love and your invisible support throughout the month as they now trudge the weary, anguished path up their own looming mountain.

And remember that there is hope. Underneath Josh's family - underneath each of us who cries out to Jesus - are the everlasting arms.

There is hope for the helpless, rest for the weary

Love for the broken heart

There is grace and forgiveness, mercy and healing

He'll meet you wherever you are

Just cry out to Jesus

Cry out to Jesus

When you're lonely and it feels like the whole world is falling on you

You just reach out, you just cry out to Jesus

Cry to Jesus

(Third Day)

The Season of Advent, Week 1: Hope - "But For This Time We Have Jesus"

2011-11-27T23:00:00.000-08:00

There is one image in that sad, sad afternoon which haunts me: They had both been so brave individually for the entire service. They had sung the songs; they had comforted their remaining children; he had given the eulogy himself. But during the last song, he stood up, indicated for his daughter to move over, and sat down beside his wife. In unison they reached for each other, cradling the other's head in their arms, cheek to cheek, clinging together, pressing closer than words, obliterating thought for one brief agonized moment.

The songs that are playing on RtL during Advent this year are ones my nephew's friend Josh had on his iPod and ones that were played and sung at his funeral.

At the beginning of the service Ian Trigg, the lead pastor at Foothills Alliance Church, gathered us all together with words along these lines:

We are here today to support a wonderful family

We are also here today to look at life and wonder
at family and hope

We will examine pain and sadness
loss and confusion

We will listen to His promptings

We will evaluate our lives

On the front of the stage was lovingly grouped a collection of Josh's treasures: books and games, his Kobo reader and iPod, a wooden castle complete with turrets and a draw bridge and sentinels en garde, his Scouts uniform and blanket with so many badges. There stood his ski equipment and his bike, packed tenderly for this day by his Dad and ready to go on one more trip. A picture of Josh and his siblings peeked out from one corner and flowers dotted the tableau.

And in the centre of it all was Josh's well-used, well-loved Bible.

"There are many questions that will never be answered," Ian cautioned us all. "We have all asked the question Why?

"But in our looking for hope, I would suggest we answer the question Who?"

I looked at the items hanging against the backdrop of the stage, words etched on simple squares:

COMMITTED

FOCUSED

FAITHFUL

FOLLOWER

And these: not a fan and Luke 9:23

And this drawing: three crosses sketched starkly on the right hand side of the square with what looks like the silhouettes of three people to the left of the square, their arms reaching toward the centre cross.

James Wheeler, another pastor, read from Isaiah chapter 57 and verse 1, the same text that Dad read at Mum's funeral:

The righteous man perishes,

and no one lays it to heart;

devout men are taken away,

while no one understands.

James commented that his child, who is a friend of Josh, said to him, "I don't get it ... If this kind of thing can happen to Josh, what makes our Christianity so special?"

What indeed ...

James's answer came in the form of a two-part question: "Does God know what it's like to lose a son?" and "Was Jesus' death on the cross the end - did Jesus stay in the grave?" He said that he was given the opportunity to discuss these two questions and the significance of their answers with his boy; and then at the end of their dialogue he asked his beloved son, "Is this the end of Josh's story? No way. No way."

After all the songs were sung, after the beautiful eulogy was given from a heart severed beyond relief, Ian again got up to speak.

No one saw this coming, he told us. As wonderful as we believe Heaven to be, Josh made a tragic decision ... he carried a burden that he didn't know how to talk about.

We can't explain life; we can't explain death; we can't explain tragedy, he went on. Death always seems unnatural - we are MADE for eternity.

But despite the joy that we had heard about in Josh's life, pain was just under the surface. A sobering statistic: 15 - 40% of Canadian teenagers are suicidal at any given point.

Ian urged us all to take a look into our own hearts and ask ourselves, How well are we?

We have three choices, he suggested.

Despair - we abandon hope. Despair narrows our capacity to think clearly. If you are in despair today, Ian urged, ask for help. Don't let despair win the day. We all lose when it does.
Denial - strong, tough, brave, cynical. Hard on the outside to cover pain on the inside, we become numb. But the pain is still there. We have become experts at denial in our culture, as we ignore the quiet voice saying, What's your life all about? What about God? What about faith?
Decision to make room for God - to choose this option is to choose to build an inner world. And this is the answer to Who?

Christianity is not a faith for people who have it all together, Ian reminded us. It is a faith for him, for Josh, for us. God loved this world so much that He gave His son, Jesus, who died for our ignorance, our arrogance, our despair.

There is NO sin that He cannot forgive. He doesn't care about our church attendance or our giving. He just cares about us.

Josh made a terrible mistake, Ian mourned. But Jesus died for our screw-ups and our mistakes. The Jesus whom Josh knew and loved said, "I will never leave you or forsake you."

Josh's life and death has changed us all, Ian observed. We've lost our innocence; we see life is not as simple as we might think.

But it's not as complicated as we might think, either, he encouraged us. Let's embrace the truth. Let's have the important conversations.

Let's embrace life.

"But for this time, we have Jesus."

The service closed with this song by Robin Mark:

When it's all been said and done

There is just one thing that matters

Did I do my best to live for truth?

Did I live my life for you?

When it's all been said and done

All my treasures will mean nothing

Only what I have done

For love's rewards

Will stand the test of time

Lord, your mercy is so great

That you look beyond our weakness

That you found purest gold in miry clay

Turning sinners into saints

I will always sing your praise

Here on earth and in heaven after

For you've joined me at my true home

When it's all been said and done

You're my life when life is gone.

The other image of the afternoon that left a lasting imprint on my heart and mind and soul is the reason I chose to usher in this first week in Advent, the week in which we remember hope, by writing of the funeral that should not have been. So strong was my visceral reaction to this scene that I made a clumsy sketch of the image I saw in the tiny notebook I carry in my purse.

That image is this: on the screen at the front of the sanctuary was projected a picture of a smiling Josh in the foreground, just off to the left. Behind him, curving through the mountains and literally up into the clouds to the right of Josh at the top of the picture, is a path.

And halfway up that picture, halfway between Josh and the clouds of Heaven, the mountain slopes are cut away and rise up on either side of the path. These slopes are white, in contrast to all the green and brown surrounding them, and they look like the outstretched arms of someone wearing a cloak of protection.

The fifth book of the Bible, Deuteronomy, talks about these arms. In chapter 33 and verse 27, we read, "The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."

The Everlasting Arms is the who Ian asked us to look toward. Those everlasting arms were with Josh on the day that picture was taken; and they were just as surely with him on the last day of his life, underneath him the entire time he fled up the path to his refuge, the eternal God.

And into this season of despair for one family who have had to give up their son speaks the words of hope from the prophet Isaiah of a Father who also gave up His son:

For unto us a child is born

Unto us a son is given

and the government shall be upon his shoulders

and his name shall be called

Wonderful Counsellor

Mighty God

Everlasting Father

Prince of Peace

"But For This Time We Have Jesus."

We have Hope.

Asher and Esmerelda

2011-11-26T01:02:00.000-08:00

Meet the two new people in the TH. They're only seasonal help, though, so get to know them while you can!

That's Esmerelda on the left, and Asher on the right. Ez was named by Oliver and Ash is named after my new buddy Asher, a super cool guy who comes to the TH now and then.

Some of Ash and Ez's new friends:

The things you'll do to coax
your kids to make friends ...

Christmas question for December: Any kids under the age of the real Asher (12!) who come into the TH and can tell me the names of both the snowpeople get a free hot chocolate or hot apple cider (the first time you tell me!!) ...

Year of the Nephew: Luke ...

2011-11-20T22:30:00.000-08:00

I remember visiting you shortly after you were born: with your dark eyes and perfectly shaped head, you were one the most beautiful babies I had ever seen.

Your good nature and sweet spirit, combined with your fearlessness, gave all of us no choice but to love you and cherish you and cheer you on. Oh ya, and pray for you. A lot.

You have never been afraid of a challenge, never afraid of hard work. You're a natural leader and the joy you convey is contagious, spreading to those who have the privilege of coming into contact with you.

One of my all-time favourite pictures, and the one on my desktop, is this one:

I love how you are standing guard over Matt and how Craig leans into you with complete confidence that his big brother will be there for him.

I've watched you grow and mature over the years until now I witness how you are there for so many people who might need a boost or an encouraging word. I love how you pop over to see your Grandpa when you're in town, and it means so much to him too. Whenever you have time to stop at the TH for a few minutes, like last Sunday, it just makes my day. I admire how you are learning to cut to the chase of what's truly important and to focus on that.

You are a person with an enormous heart and a great capacity for love. I wish you much love in return. I am so proud of you, my first-born nephew.

Happy birthday.

50th Birthday

2011-11-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

Today you would have turned 50. I wrote the following after we spoke on your birthday 32 years ago. How I miss you!

Phone Call from Kansas

The phone rings – I pick it up

and in an altered tone of voice

you state: “I’m living for myself.”

You – one of the most respected ones

with parents on the mission field

(How they have failed their closest ones

While striving for the “heathen lost”!)

You go on into the silence that follows,

“Now don’t you worry – I’ll be okay.”

But you won’t, for I can sense

that you’re puzzled and heartsore and lost inside,

disillusioned by the western dream

while scrabbling for the streets of gold

“I’ve got a head on my shoulders, you know.”

Yes, but for how much longer? I think,

as you tell of near-crashes, policemen and girls,

the drinks and the drugs, the friends that you’ve made

Your pitch gets higher and faster until

you suddenly stop.

“What do you think? Are you shocked?” you ask

No, not shocked – just helpless, scared

We begin to chat, and as I say

“I’m going to Greece on my honeymoon”

the mood again changes as you respond

“Marry me, you’ll have lots of fun …”

Oh, my friend, for you’ll always be that

no matter what happens in this life

Is fun the most important goal

to aim at while we’re on the earth?

As you go to hang up, you ask,

“Still my friend, Tinhead?” I want to weep

but I manage to stumblingly reply

“Always your friend, Maynard.”

November 16, 1979