Where Two Or Three Are Gathered Together ...

It had been a particularly tough day, Tuesday. Dad was almost motionless all day: he could barely open his eyes, barely eat or drink anything, barely speak to us.

Even Matt, when he came over, was unable to capture his interest.

We called our dear Naomi and our dear Navaid, who reassured us of their constant support and availability.

Later on Elliot and Oliver, and an assortment of Dad's children, filled up the house and the space with sound, with laughter, with conversation; and he managed to sit up for a while, to half-enter into what was going on, to walk around behind us when the swirl got too fast.

Wednesday was slightly more promising. He was more alert and he could move around with greater ease. But his eyes were dead, glassy, no light or spark in them.

Then Brian came over to visit.

Brian may as well be another son to Dad. They have known each other since Brian was about 16, and Mum and Dad loved Brian as though he was their own from all those years ago.

He sat across from Dad, not saying too much or forcing the conversation, his penetrating, loving gaze never leaving Dad's face. 

And suddenly Dad began to talk.

"You know the verse, The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous shall run to it and be safe?" he asked Brian, who nodded.

"I've been giving these kinds of verses to people for decades. I need them for myself now ..."

Deb said to me later, "When you can't talk to your best Friend, who you're used to talking to throughout the day every day, you just want to die ..."

"They're still there," Brian replied confidently, with conviction.

"Yes," Dad whispered.

Wednesday evening Bronwyn came over with the boys; and she brought Ian Trigg, the lead pastor of Foothills, with her.

Ian sat on a little stool that had been drawn up next to the couch where Dad lay. He took Dad's hand and started to ask him questions about India, about his ministry.

They began with Dad arriving back in 1959 and teaching a few students in Chembur, Bombay. They went on to how the college moved to Bangalore but how Dad stayed in Bombay to continue studying with the students there, to work in the churches he had become involved with.

We talked about coming back to Canada on furlough ... the educational systems for us as third culture kids - "Fourth culture kids, really!" Bronwyn exclaimed when we looked at it through the eyes of Ian ... what it was like for Dad and Mum to leave us in Canada  - "The worst kind of pain," he admitted.

We talked about how, through the seeds planted by two men who sent letters requesting Dad to join their work, John Teibe and Jake Johnson, Dad went to India to fulfill God's calling for his life.

And as Dad told Ian about churches planted, colleges started, orphanages and children's homes flourishing, work with prostitutes and victims of HIV, deaf schools, music ministries, Ian marvelled at how God had worked and continues to work because Dad and people like him were and are so faithful to their call.

Bronwyn told Ian that the verse that has governed Dad's life, that has comforted him and directed him and sustained him, is the one found in the first letter to the Thessalonian church, chapter 5 and verse 24: "FAITHFUL IS HE THAT CALLETH YOU, WHO ALSO WILL DO IT."

"It's about His faithfulness," Dad replied to Ian. "He is the One who does it all."

As he prepared to leave, Ian asked if he could pray for Dad. These two godly men linked hands and Ian thanked God for the ministry Dad has had that has impact all over the world today. He thanked God for the ministry that Dad continues to have, preaching, leading Bible studies, counselling, sharing, helping to shape the characters of those who will seize the baton and carry on with the race. He prayed for strength for Dad in a huge ministry that he has and that will continue to develop: that of praying for people, of holding them up before God, a ministry of intercessory prayer.

And then Dad prayed for Ian - for his ministry, for his family, for him.

And in the hush, all of us in the room knew that we were standing on holy ground.

For where two or three are gathered together in My name,
there am I in the midst of them.
(Matthew 18:20)

2014: Never Alone

It was upon us again, my most treasured tradition of the year: New Year's Eve with my family.

We met at the Tea House because it seems that we really do need a fire place for the occasion; we started with hors d'oeuvres and sparkling apple cider and frappuccinos; we played a few rounds of a game; and then, just after 11:30 pm, it was time.










The table by the fire place was cleared off and the tray containing the promises for the year was brought over.


We sang some songs from the cherished song book that BA had carefully typed out all those years ago. Dad read a few verses from the Bible. A few people said what they were thankful for about the year making its exit. Allan prayed. 

And then Dad  lit the candle in the centre of the tray upon which the promises he had typed out rested, and moved the whole plate to a table in the middle of the room.

Selection order this year was decreed to be youngest to oldest, so Matt went first.






 When it got to my turn, I silently committed the selection of my promise to God, asking for a verse that would show me how He would meet my needs, known and unknown, for the coming year. 

And I chose a green ribbon this year.

 
In the last few weeks of 2013 I had been contemplating my life, my work, my relationships, my future. I had asked for wisdom and guidance. I had asked for security and reassurance.

And the verse I chose met me at each of those question marks: He will be there, with me and for me; He will help me; I do not have to be afraid.

Even though I don't know what this year holds, I know Who holds the year, and that is enough.

It was confirmed for me the next night when we were joined by Bronwyn's family and they drew their promises. Then someone asked Allan to "sing like George Beverly Shea," and this is the song he sang (this version is not GBS, but still a sweet rendition):

Many things about tomorrow

I don't seem to understand

But I know Who holds tomorrow

And I know Who holds my hand

Christmas 2013

After dinner there were presents, interspersed with moments for private conversation. 

"Blessing kiss": Dad and Bronwyn

With hearts full, we thought of the Creator of the world who, 2100 years ago, could find no place to lay His head; who spoke the world into being but yet had to gestate for nine full months before being born to Mary; who holds the world in His hands, and yet was fully dependent on His mother to care for Him.

And in gratitude we cry out with the song writer: "O come to my heart, Lord Jesus; there is room in my heart for Thee."

The Final Thank You for October

Judging from the number of posts, I am not very thankful! Quite the contrary - my heart has been brimming with gratitude this month more than most. God has been so good to me; my family has been so dear; friends have sustained me. I just haven't had the time.

One of my favourite days of this whole month was Thanksgiving Day itself, so I'm going to leave this season of gratitude with some pictures, accompanied by the words to our dear friend Martha Wunsch's favourite song:

How good is the God we adore

Our faithful, unchangeable friend

Whose love is as great as His power

And knows neither measure nor end!

'Tis Jesus, the First and the Last,

Whose spirit shall guide us safe home

We'll praise Him for all that is past

And trust Him for all that's to come!

Happy Thanksgiving Month, everyone!

Thanksgiving in the TH

Sixty-one people in the TH for Thanksgiving dinner, plus a take-out dinner for two.

The Tea House Staff was extraordinary: Thank you Mike Thibault, for efficient vegetable prep and extraordinary turkey carving and serving; Brenda, for working two days straight and in particular for making the wonderful TH dressing; BA, for doing the board and getting the tables cleaned off in between seatings, plus serving soups, clearing plates and getting the keeping the dining room under control; Gabrielle, our unbelievable dishwasher who kept up with it all while still serving rolls and pouring refills of water and punch; Deb, who came out from Calgary in the early afternoon and stayed till almost 1 a.m., laying the table for the first seating, getting food prepared and served, and cleaning up when it was all over; Dad, for turnips like only Dad can make; and Norma, who came in the next day to wash stemware and china.

All the guests - okay, almost all! - seemed happy to be there and thankful for the food and the effort. I was too busy to take any pictures - except one.

Here is Gerald, who came at the invitation of the Teahouse Sweetheart, who happens to be his mother and is one of the people we love the most for her encouragement, prayers, support and, well, because she is a sweetheart. One of the things we are most grateful for is that she is recovered from the fall and that she is still up and about, sharing her indefatigable spirit and her deep-seated, quiet kindness with all those fortunate enough to come into contact with her.

At her table with her were her four favourite people: her daughter and her husband, and Gerald and his wife.

After they all ordered pecan pie Gerald, joking, said, "Might as well bring us the whole pie!"

So we did.

Thank you all of you who joined us for such a wonderful evening!

Here's the ultimate Thanksgiving song for people right in the middle of Alberta farm country ... except for in this version it's sung by the choir and congregation of St George's Windsor. I chose this version because it wasn't just a choir singing; the faces of the congregation are joyful as they pour out their song in praise to God. You and I could be singing with them!

The Thanksgiving Menu

We are looking forward to welcoming our guests for dinner tomorrow! I am so very thankful for Mike and Brenda, who worked extremely hard to get vegetables peeled, pecans roasted, the ingredients for the dressing chopped and ready. 

Here's a Thanksgiving medley of songs, a couple of which I haven't heard since the days of Miss Hall at Hebron Girls School in Coonoor.

Daddy, Sing "Jesus Loves Me ..."

On Father's Day, I want to share with you words my father wrote last year:

The morning began with laughter and chatter and then the little child ran off with Kirtan, the butler, to take Gumba and Nana their morning tea. She led the way up the stairs to their room, Kirtan following with the tray loaded with cups and saucers, a pot of freshly brewed tea, a jug of scalding hot milk, a few small biscuits and some fresh fruit. This was their chota hawzri, little breakfast.

Near the top of the stairs she stumbled and fell backwards. Kirtan reached forward to stop her fall, and in the process the hot tea and boiling milk were spilt on her. 

A loud cry was heard.

Her mother and father ran upstairs and found her being held at arm's length by Gumba, her light night dress soaking wet. He did not know what to do. Her parents quickly removed her undergarments as they were sealing the heat to her skin.

Gumba and Nana were totally distraught that this should happen to their granddaughter and in their house. Kirtan was crushed as he felt that he was responsible.

The father carried her down to their room and laid her on the white sheets that the mother had just smoothed out for her. 

There she lay for a moment, in desperate shock and pain; then she said softly and yet so earnestly words that can never be forgotten: "Daddy, sing Jesus Loves Me." 

The father felt that his heart was being pulled out of his chest by invisible cords of longing and anguish. He then sang, the best he could, to this little girl who was in such great pain and shock:

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong -

They are weak, but He is strong

She lay quietly on the bed.

Wonderfully, they had a large medicated bandage that was suitable for such a burn; and then off to the doctor. Many weeks transpired in the treatment of this injury, which was oft times painful, until it was finally healed. Of course, a scar remains.

Many years have transpired since then. Calendars have been hung on the wall and taken down, and a new one hangs in its place. There have been many mornings of laughter and chatter and running to show the way. There have been days with family and friends, tea, lots of tea. There have been books and music; there have been singing and travel; there have been the Bible and Church and prayer. 

There have been burdens lifted from shoulders and hearts bowed down with despair. There has been great joy in the gladness of another and there has been deep grief in the loss of those most dear to the heart. There have been lonely hours and silent nights. There has been unknown and often unexpressed shock and pain - not the pain of burning flesh but the tearing and twisting of a wounded spirit and a pummeled heart and mind. There have been times when the only adequate prayer that could be uttered from the depths of the soul was "Oh God ..."

But there is triumph! The clock does not stay forever at midnight. There is new purpose, new beginnings, fresh hope. There have been many times when this little girl, now a woman caring and strong, has needed to hear those words, Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so ... but they were not heard; the singer was silent!

But echoing from the mountains of God and distilling like falling dew upon the waiting heart comes the sure and sweet refrain, Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so.

The daggers of doubt may shoot their arrows; the shadow of betrayal may cast its net; the poison of falsity may fill its vial. These and the ravaging hordes that follow them can never silence or change the eternal truth, settled in the eternal decree before the world and stars were hung in space, and sealed on Calvary's hill as the precious blood of the Lamb of God was spilt, that Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so.

For fifty years it has been true for this one, and praise is offered. The curtain lifts; there is silence; and then a new scene comes before us. Whatever it may hold, the counsel is established, ratified in Heaven and on earth, assured by divine omnipotence:

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong -

They are weak, but He is strong

Yes, Jesus loves me

Yes, Jesus loves me

Yes, Jesus loves me

The Bible tells me so

Allan T. Ironside

May 3, 2012

This was my father's love letter to me on my fiftieth birthday. You can glimpse the heart of this man, right from when I was an infant until this very day.

He is the person who has influenced me for the most for good in my life.

No wonder Jesus Loves Me is my favourite song!

Thank you, Dad, for your great love - first for God, then for Mum, and then for your six children and now your grandchildren - which has proved to be the best teacher possible in communicating God's love for us.

I love you; Happy Father's Day.

Update: And the Prairie Senior High School Male Christian Leadership Award Goes To ...

Congratulations, Curtis, on winning this award Monday night! I couldn't be more proud of you! This is the one that counts above all the others ...

Searching for Helen Keller

On Sunday, June 9 - for the first time in a long time - I didn't have to panic about whether the red apron was clean and ready for the day. Yesterday was the first Sunday in four and a half years that Curtis was not an employee of Nilgiris Tea House. Curt loved that red apron, and everyone else knew not to choose it if he was coming to work.

How do you say goodbye to someone who has been with you since the week after his 14th birthday? 

I have seen the path from childhood to adulthood being traversed by this exceptional young man. The first day he presented himself for the job he shook my hand. His sleeves were rolled tidily to his elbow. His hand was shaking. He was shorter than I. His round little face encased two enormous chocolate-coloured eyes. His hair drooped shyly over his head. His voice quivered.

I wanted to adopt him, not employ him ...

But Brent, the big brother who has looked out for him since the day he was born, was in the House. He quickly got Curt's hands shoved into the dishpan and quietly, in a confidential, off-the-record sort of way, got him oriented in the mysteries of the kitchen.

And Lois, wonderful Lois, tucked him under her wing and gave him the big sister treatment he was missing so desperately since his own had moved to Lethbridge.

He was so timid, those early days. I would ask him to fill me glasses of water, or create Italian sodas. He would readily tackle anything like that; but if I asked him to carry out a glass of water or to get a dessert order from a customer, he would turn a stricken face to me and in desperate tones would say, "Karyn, I don't feel confident doing that." 

All of that changed when he helped hoist Erna out of the car one Sunday when she couldn't get herself out. From then on, Curt became the top draw for our senior ladies, otherwise known as "The Ladies." He entered into their conversations and freely chatted with them about his life and theirs. (One of The Ladies remarked to me this Sunday as I was taking her order, "... and I like butter - lots of butter. Of course, Curt knew that ...")

Suddenly the little kid who was shorter than I had taken over the dining room. All of us regular spectators of the Curt show would speculate how much taller he had grown each week, and we would repeat to each other the clever comments he would deliver almost as an aside. His dry wit became sought after and drew even quiet customers into conversation with others as they laughed over something he had said or done.

"Hello, Mrs Long!" he would always greet Norma. Don would ask him whether he'd got a goal in the last hockey game. If Curt replied in the negative, Don would say, "Well, did you get a penalty? If you can't get a goal, get a penalty!" Curt would respond earnestly but with a twinkle in his eye, "I'll try!"

"Pastor Ironside!" he would say to my Dad wherever the two would see each other. He specifically requested that my Dad come and pray for him and his team when the local pastors were invited to the high school assembly's send-off before the team ventured off to Colombia. 





He also popped into the TH for something the Wednesday before they left, and we prayed for him there too ...

The Colombia Team send-off. Photo courtesy of Becky Scott.

"Rookie mistake!" was Curtis's favourite saying, and the recipient of his scoffing would pretend to cringe while trying not to smirk. Rookie mistakes could be as diverse as dropping a spoon on the floor to making the wrong dessert to spilling dishwater everywhere.

Curt really grew up in every way during his time at the TH. Last December we celebrated his 18th birthday by holding the TH Annual Christmas Event at Rosebud. We went to the matinee buffet and performance, and then we made our way to my friends BJ and Ken Jantzen's Rosebud Country Inn for hot chocolate and pie and to fete Curt.

BJ (centre) and "her" girls with Curt's cake

Curt loves red! Presents for his
college career

Curt's Dad and Mom, Oswaldo and Jackie,
with big (but suddenly shorter!) brother Brent

There have been many firsts for him in the last few years. He joined both the hockey and football teams and quickly became a leader on each. He was Vice President of the Student Council in Grade 11, President in Grade 12. He went on a mission trip to Columbia and volunteered in various capacities around school and town. Cute giggling girls would come into the TH to be served by him - one mother actually brought her daughter to apply at the TH, stating openly that she wanted her daughter to "catch Curt" - but so did his buddies, a strong core of excellent young men who clearly respected and admired him. He grew comfortable talking to anyone, working with anyone and assuming leadership of the rookies. He would move smoothly from serving customers to plunging his hands in the sink and doing a few dishes to give someone a break. He kept himself busy all the time; but he was never too busy to stop and give someone a word of encouragement, either in the dining room or the kitchen.

On his last shift

Or to me. Right from the start, Curt would exhort me to drink water. Or to eat. Or to smile. He'd ask about my day and my week. He'd tell me which customers seemed to be a little down in the dumps. He'd help me with the tables I was caring for. He'd work past the end of his shift without being asked when he saw we were busy. He'd flip me a text message every now and then on a week day.

He shared some of his own life with me: exams, sports, friends, burdens. A few of his burdens were great indeed; but he never let them affect his demeanour in the dining room. He would ask me to pray for a particular friend or other, or to pray for him, and then he would be back at his duties.

Only one thing is missing from this picture. As you know, all our tables have names. The one closest to the counter is named "CFD" ... which stands for Curt's First Date. When he was about 15 he promised that he would bring his first date into the TH. Every female who has worked and currently works in the kitchen loves this young man and wants the best woman possible to come into his life. And of course we want to be able to check her out to make sure she's good enough for him; so we decided that we needed him near the counter on his first date so that we can observe her and see if she's worthy! On June 2, the last Sunday he worked, we were teasing him about who it might be. Curt, ever self-deprecatory, made some comment about how she would need to be blind and deaf to fall for him - "I'm searching for Helen Keller!" he quipped. Then after a pause, he added, "There'll be nothing to hear; might as well seat us at the Hug ..." 

"Oh, so a lot of hand holding on the first date?" I responded. "Besides which, Helen Keller learnt how to speak - but she always had an unmistakable, piercing, oddly high-pitched voice so we would be able to hear her at least!"

Last day: with Rodrigo ...

Over the years I have joked with Curt that there is one prayer that I'm pretty sure God is not going to answer in my favour, which is that Curt would fail Grade 12 about four times so that he could stay at the TH. I dropped off a carrot cake for him yesterday, and he asked how things had gone the day before. I told him everything was awful and my heart was broken. A slow smile spread across his face and he responded, "I haven't graduated yet, you know!"

... his parents ...

... and two of the Ladies

Well, he graduates in a couple of weeks. His next step is university - I'm not holding my breath that an A student is going to fail grade 12! - and we at the TH are so proud of him.

But how we miss him already! As he was leaving, we asked him to be sure to bring his girl to the TH when he eventually finds her. He immediately asked me if I would still have Nilgiris open in 20 years. I told him whatever it takes. 

Glancing back, he said, "Then I'll keep my ears open ..."