Nilgiris Tea House - the Tour

Although I've written extensively over the past seven years about the goings-on at the little TH, it occurs to me that I've never really taken you inside to see more than just a glimpse or two of the actual space.

So here are some of the spots I'll remember fondly - I took these pictures in the midnight hours of the last Friday night, after the wonderful Debbie M had cleaned and before the mayhem of Saturday hit ...

The first place everyone's eyes go to as they walk in the door is the fireplace. Mum's and Dad's pictures hold places of honour, as does the beautiful elephant carving - a wedding present to them and given to me by Dad on my fiftieth birthday - resting at the bottom of the Victorian mahogany mantel mirror. People would call and reserve the Purple Chairs for special occasions or just to be comfortable and watch the goings-on in the dining room ...

The table (which you can barely see!) to the left of the Purple Chairs is called Father Time, a nod to the clock Don and Norma presented the TH when we opened. The cabinet - acquired from Rosalie and David - contains, among other things, special little china cups and saucers and tea sets that our smallest patrons delighted in choosing to use for their tea parties ...














The bookcase beckons from between the Purple Chairs and Father Time. A treasure trove of reading material for all ages, as well as games, challenges for trivia buffs and, of course, elephants ...

To the right of the Purple Chairs is a nondescript table - the biggest in the room - named the Looking Glass because of its proximity to the largest window in the room. To its right are two little tables in the bay window: Quiet Corner is on the left, and Hidden Valley is on the right. (Hidden Valley's pet name is the Komorowskis' Table ...)

Hidden Valley is so named because it's tucked behind my favourite spot in the TH, the piano. This beautiful upright grand was given to me - through Bronwyn - from Foothills Alliance Church. Above it hangs a picture painted by my artist sib to remind me that the former things - antique pianos, estate china, Beethoven from my friend Mary, photographs of friends who have left this world and pictures from my own childhood, even me! - will be made new ...










The wall to the left of Quiet Corner houses one of my dearest treasures: pictures of Alex, the boy from South Africa who changed my whole outlook on life.

The story of my encounters with Alex is simple and yet profound. In the providence of God, on our first day of service I was in the group of people who met a woman asking for us to go visit a home where a young boy was "sick in the head." The home was not on our list of places to visit, but the team of home-based care workers from Hands at Work decided that we could go. We got there to see a small boy sitting on a blue plastic chair somewhat apart from his Go-Go (grandmother) and her sister. The latter two set chairs out for us and started to tell us his story: his parents had both died of AIDS and now these two senior ladies were attempting to care for this child, who had been doing okay until he was assaulted on his way to school some months earlier. From then on he began to withdraw into himself until he was unable to talk or participate in any way at school. When he became unable to control his bladder, the teacher called his Go-Go and said that he was "sick in the head" and couldn't return to school. The only thing for him was for his grandmother to beat him until he was able to "behave" properly. 

My sister, our team leader, earnestly spoke to these two ladies who truly wanted only what was best for the boy and believed that the educated teacher must be right. She told them how important kindness and love were to a child, how much better to build him up, how beatings would only drive him further away from getting better. She besought them to love him and not to leave him alone and to stop the beatings.  They listened carefully to her, interjecting now and then with some of their own sad stories. She in turn listened to them, encouraging them in their difficult journeys.

On impulse I wandered off to talk to Alex while this interchange was going on. As soon as I stood over his cowering little frame I realised that of course we wouldn't be able to understand each other through words; so I reached down and, holding both of his hands in mine, gently raised him to a standing position. "U sisekele," I said quietly. "You are so beautiful." These were the only words I could remember from our training, and so I reiterated them as I started walking with him, hand-in-hand, the length of the little house in which the three of them lived. I asked the ladies, through our home-care workers acting as translators, what his name was. Alex was the answer. I picked up a stone, and wrote Alex with it on the wall where I could see that pictures had been previously sketched. He pointed silently to his name. With the strictures of the others about writing on people's walls finally penetrating my consciousness, I turned Alex to the ground and traced around his hand in the dust. Then I handed him the stone and he did the same for me (centre picture). The Gog-Gos became animated - he was responding to something! 

Soon it was past time for us to leave. As was their practice wherever they visited, the home-based care leader asked me to "give a word" before we prayed together and went on our way. I was unable to speak so I just asked if we could sing the children's song Jesus loves me - except instead of singing me we would sing Alex. As I knelt down to his height the ladies surrounded us and began to sing and clap, their love and concern for this child palpable. He buried his face in my neck and I hugged him fiercely, wishing I could protect him, wishing I could do something (top picture) ...

That evening after dinner our team went back to our accommodations and decided to sort clothes and toys we had brought with us for the children we would meet. We had talked about our day and I had talked about Alex. As we went through the stuffed toys that people had donated we suddenly came across a teddy bear wearing a light blue baseball cap. And on his little white shirt was a name in red.

Alex.

The ONLY toy out of all of them with a name on it!

Of course we had to go back - even though a home visit usually occurred about once every two or three weeks, when the home-care workers saw the little bear, they immediately agreed that we would return the next day! When we arrived at the house Alex was by himself in his little chair. He stood slowly to his feet as we approached him, and I held out the toy to him.

Cautiously he reached for it and looked at it, and then a shy smile broke out over his face. He traced with one hand the name. Then peeking up he said, "Aaaaaaa ...," almost inaudibly (left picture). The home-care workers swooped joyfully on him, hugging him and laughing and chattering to him about what a good boy he was, how beautiful he was. He didn't say anything else but he submitted to their love and gentle ministrations.

Again we had to leave too soon; but this time he raised a timid hand in farewell, the other hand clutching his teddy bear. I doubted that I would ever see this little one again because, really, two visits in two days was unheard of! However, we were able to obtain occasional updates over the next couple of weeks and he seemed to be doing better.

On one of our last days there our Canadian team put on a celebration of the local workers. We had prepared snacks and decorated the small hall, wanting to do what we could to express our love and appreciation for these women who basically volunteered their time for an occasional stipend but who served God and their people with their hearts and everything they were. 

Dressed in their finery, they sang and danced in procession to the centre of the room. After we sang and clapped and joined in as best we could, we partook of the refreshments and then we all sat down and talked about what we had learnt in the last few weeks.

"Alex," one of the ladies said almost immediately.She went on with words to this effect: "We learnt that love can change things when talking and beatings and nothing else can. If love can change one person at a time love can affect a whole community."

On our very last day the home-based care workers came to me. "Would you like to see him again?"

Would I?! My sister and a couple of others and I went with the team toward his home. On the way we met his Go-Go. "We are loving him and we are not beating him and we are telling him he is beautiful!" she said breathlessly. Oh, and he was not at home today - they had taken him a few houses down to a neighbour who was watching him because they were not leaving him alone to be frightened ...

We arrived at the neighbour's home and suddenly a little whirlwind in a grey shirt with red trim launched himself at me, hugging me. He was smiling. And his trousers were dry.

The only picture that was posed in this series is the one at the bottom. My sister took all the Alex pictures, and in this one we smiled together for the camera.

It is impossible to maintain contact with specific patients; but other teams who went out would check on Alex and a couple of years later someone sent me the picture on the right. He was thriving and back in school, was the report we received. His Go-Gos were still loving him and caring for him.

That was five years ago; but the memory of this child remains with me every day and he is what prompted me in 2011 to raise money through the TH for beds for the kids affected by the tsunami in India. It is what led me to try to raise money for the van for the Children's Home on the outskirts of Bangalore this year.

The life of one needy child on one continent is impacting the lives of needy children on another continent because you who gave so generously were also impacted indirectly by Alex. No wonder Jesus exclaimed, "Allow the little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven!"

At the other end of the piano from Hidden Valley is the tea trolley. Above it hangs the inlaid wood picture of a leopard - Mum and Dad gave each of us one and they have a spot in each of our houses to this day. To the left of the trolley is Baby Elephant ...
















On the other side of the foyer is Pat's Corner, named for Sweet William's Patsy and for my Mum, both of whom liked that spot a little bit away from the main part of the room. Above the window hangs the stunning print on three canvases of African elephants with Kilimanjaro in the background, given me by our own Brent. Update on him: he's been accepted into medical school!

















Next comes the Safari table, dominated by the most impressive elephant in the room: The Power of One ... On occasions when I might have been a little discouraged, this poster reminded me that one person can indeed make a difference!












The guestbook desk stands sentry next to the space leading to the kitchen. AT the top left of the picture you can see the bottom right of the old 1955 Map of India, rescued from disposal and given to the TH by Mr A shortly after we opened ...

Across and a little bit down from the map are the shelves that house the teas we enjoy ...




... and across from the teas is the Wall of Great China. Many times people would walk back there to check out the Wall and choose the cup they would like to sip their tea from ...
















But tucked away on the left side of the WoGC is found one of the sources of hope and joy that have sustained me: some of the little notes and written and / or given by Dad and others to encourage me personally as I try to do the same for my guests.



Go through the door you can see at the edge of this picture and you'll find yourself in the Staff Lounge ...

(If you were to continue up the stairs you would find yourself in my little apartment!)

Across from the counter is The Hug, table of confidences given and comfort received, presided over by the unique piece of art that reminds me that beauty can be found even in brokenness ...













And down the hall behind the wing chairs are the men's and ladies' loos:



















(The fascinating maps will be returned to their rightful owner!)

H'mmmmmmmm ...




As you leave the dining room your eyes will be drawn to the Traveller, a sculpture formed entirely out of leather and given to me by Dad and Mum:

On the left hand side of the little foyer sits the Tea Tree, laden with little bijoux given to me over the years - miniature cups and saucers, tea pots, charms ...


















And the last thing you will see before you walk outside again is stencilled right above the front door, a gift from my dear Zeba:

Thanks for visiting!

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!

Gap Analysis

Four days' lag time from the last post to this one! Three days ago my director called me up fairly late in the afternoon and requested in-depth analysis of certain areas of my territory. He called it "Gap Analysis" and "sorry for the short notice, KI" - he needed it all done by first thing Friday morning Toronto time.

And then he emailed me the data from which I would be working. 

I dug in on Wednesday morning and struggled late into the night: I contacted professors, librarians, bookstores; I researched courses and websites; I prowled through my own work history. I didn't make much of a dent.

Thursday loomed large and menacing. I was conscious of all the dishes piled up in the kitchen from the regular Wednesday evening meeting, but I pushed them out of my mind. I kept all the blinds shut in the room, so no one would come by. I turned off the ringer on my phone. Fortified with cup after cup of Dilmah tea, I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. 

At 4:45, early on Friday morning, I eased my computer into "Sleep" mode and headed off to bed myself with only a glancing thought of the dishes.

An hour later Debbie, the lady who cleans the TH every week, arrived.

When I got downstairs at 9:30, preparing for my phone meeting, I apologized for the state of the kitchen; she volunteered to do the dishes, but I took one look at her tired face and gratefully declined. "I'll get them done this evening," I assured her.

I hurtled into Red Deer and met a dear friend for a late lunch and a much-needed chat. Then it was on to the grocery run to get supplies for the turkey dinner we serve each Thanksgiving Sunday.

I finally limped home at about 7:30, to be greeted with the outside lights on, welcoming me. I unlocked the back door and the entry light was on. Wandering into the kitchen, I saw that it was spotless, the counters gleaming and the tell-tale little light of the dishwasher glowing.

This could mean only one thing: Brenda had been in the house ...

No Thanksgiving month can go by without my giving thanks for this wonderful woman and friend to the TH and to me. On Monday she had had an encounter with the sidewalk where the sidewalk won. Her glasses were scratched and her poor face was bruised; her back felt like she had been pounded on by a street gang.

Brenda demonstrates, usually behind the scenes, the grace of God to me every single week. She drops by, ostensibly to say hi, and immediately puts on an apron. When we are running behind in the kitchen, she walks around the dining room, chatting to people at each table, serving refills of coffee and water, clearing plates and offering reassurance. The mood in the room lightens after she's been out there for a few minutes.

She helps with the Tuesday Manor meeting and the Wednesday TH meeting as well. When I have to go away, I know I can leave the details in her capable hands.

Most of all, she listens to me, she prays for me, and she loves me. She offers wise counsel and she can keep her counsel.

As I started to get ready for the weekend I reviewed the week in my mind. "Gap Analysis" had dominated my thoughts and time; but I had received no idea if the information I had submitted was correct or how it would benefit the organization.

I compared that situation to a statement in the book of Ezekiel:

And I sought for a man among them who should build up the wall and stand in the gap before me for the land ... (chapter 22, first part of verse 30)

God is saying these words, and He goes on to say that there was no one to stand in the gap.

This week I felt like the gap was so big it was turning into a precipice. Analyzing it only made it worse. And then Brenda came along and stood in it, doing whatever she could, quietly and with no fanfare and no expectation of reward or praise. She just did it for the glory of God and because she saw a place where she could be of service.

She analysed the gap and filled it.

Here's a deceptively simple, simply exquisite interpretation of the old hymn "I Need Thee Every Hour": 

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 ..." 

Phoenix Rising

Yesterday was the Actual Day - ten years since the doors opened for business at Nilgiris Tea House. Don was the first person through the door: he had set an alarm. Matthew had the privilege of being the first person I rang through the cash register. We were busy that entire terrifying day from the moment we opened. 

Mum, Dad, Bonnie C, Angela, BA all came to bail Andy and Brenda and me out when it was clear we couldn't cope with the tidal wave that had hit us. We had been so naive in our expectations of this place. But somehow, with the grace of God and the graciousness of friends and family who rallied around, we managed to get off the ground.

Fast forward ten years. Yesterday morning at 7:17 I heard from the staff member due to work the late afternoon / evening shift. It turns out she was "uber tired and grumpy" and thus would not be able to work.

We were already short staffed for the day. Frustrated at the irresponsibility, I wondered how I would get through the day. I resigned myself to having to close for the evening.

For two hours I grimly and methodically got on with the tasks at hand. And then just after 9 a.m. I heard a cheery voice: "It's only me!"

The first voice I had heard on that fateful morning ten years ago. Brenda's voice.

She washed her hands, pulled on an apron and got to work.

Shortly before 10, another voice: Char's. She straightened up the dining room and got the doors unlocked and the Open sign hung up on the pillar.

Then Shehana, my lovely Shawni who has roots in Pakistan and India and wings in Canada, showed up for work.

And people poured in, just like they had ten years earlier. Even my dear Bonnie and Gordon, the friends who own the guest rooms next door and who have bailed us out on so many occasions when we were short staffed, came for lunch with our friend Joanne.

But something was missing, and I realized that it was the joy Mum would have brought to the day. How she would have loved this day, I thought to myself. She would have been proud of me for this milestone ...

Just a few moments after I started feeling sorry for myself, the back door opened and Dad entered on a swirl of snow and frosty air. His arms were laden with a gold gift bag and a wrapped bouquet. He handed them carefully to me and then hugged me. "Happy tenth anniversary, Honey," he said.
,
Brenda put the flowers in water and placed them on one of my favourite spots in the TH, the piano. I unwrapped the green tissue cushioning the contents of the gold bag. Inside were two pieces of antique china - but not just any china. These were two exquisite pieces from the Brown Cinnamon Estate china, complete with the insignia of the phoenix that was part of the crest.

My Mum's heritage. Dad knew I would be missing her this day, and he brought me a concrete acknowledgement of the occasion, a tangible message of love.

Do you know the legend of the Phoenix?  It was blessed by the sun to live forever, and in return it promised to sing its song for the sun alone; but it grew jaded in the spotlight and took for granted the blessing it had been given, and so it flew away from its source of power and strength. It went into hiding. It still attempted to sing its songs to the sun; but something had changed.

After many years in seclusion the phoenix grew old and tired and frail. It had drifted far from the sun and the blessing now seemed more of a curse. It decided that its only chance of restoration was to return to the sun, to get back to its place of origin. As it flew it gathered bits of cinnamon bark and various other beautifully scented herbs and spices. Tucking these treasures into its wing feathers, it finally arrived back where it belonged, and it started building a nest of the cinnamon bark and the herbs. Then it rested, crying out to the sun one last time to make it young and strong again.

The sun heard and shone brightly down on the nest. So powerful was its rays that the nest ignited and the phoenix was consumed in the flames.

When the conflagration died down, the nest remained unscathed; but where the phoenix had been was a heap of ashes.

Suddenly there was movement and from the ashes emerged a young phoenix who grew to the size and beauty of the old one. It stretched itself and opened its mouth. Out poured a glorious song of praise to the sun.

The story of the phoenix reminded me a bit of the story of Nilgiris. We opened originally with such energy and expectations and fanfare. But as the months and years slipped by we moved further and further from the sun, the source of our strength and beauty. We ended up closing the place and for one year I lived in grey chilliness of defeat and despair. I wondered how I could have drifted so far from what I knew to be true and good and right. I wondered if I would ever see the Sun again, feel the warmth of His love, bask in His approval.

Then one morning I was sitting miserably on the floor next to the Action Couch in my little rental house, almost in the shadow of the TH, and I was thinking about a sermon Dad had delivered the day before. It was on Jesus' disciple Peter and the story was the one where Peter walked on the water to go to Jesus.

A lot of us know this story: Jesus had told the disciples one evening to get in a boat and cross the lake to the other shore while He remained behind to pray.

The night grew restive and a storm blew up. The disciples spent that night huddled together in terror. Then, in the darkest moments just before dawn approached, they saw Jesus walking on the water toward them. Their fear increased - they thought He was a ghost. But He called out to them, "Be of good cheer; it is I; don't be afraid."

We know the story of how Peter walked on the water to Jesus; how he was distracted by the churning waves and the whipping wind and looked away from Jesus and started to sink. We know how Jesus immediately reached out His hand and lifted him up and rebuked him for having so little faith. When they were both in the boat, the wind ceased and they had smooth sailing to the other side of the lake.

But what I remember so vividly from that day in 2007 was Dad saying words to this effect: "The real wonder of this story is not that Peter walked on the water. The truth is that after Jesus had set a course for them - get to the other side of the lake - Peter actually veered from the course when he clambered out of the boat and walked on the water. The real wonder is how Jesus patiently got Peter back into the boat and back on course and how they did indeed reach the other side. The real wonder of this story is how Jesus brought Peter back to what he was supposed to be doing, where he was supposed to be going."

My heart and will were broken that morning and I stopped looking around at all the storm of troubles roiling around me. I stopped dwelling on the past decade of failure and loss. I finally turned my eyes back fully upon Jesus for the first time in ten years.

And He heard me! He had been just an arm's length away, the same as He was for Peter on his stormy night. Shortly after that I was given a mortgage from the TD Canada Trust bank; and a few months after that I was back in the TH, living and working and trying to stay within the rays of the Son. 

Like Peter, who even after this experience denied knowing Jesus not once but three times on the very night of His betrayal and ultimate death, I have made some colossal errors and grieved the One who so patiently keeps giving me chances. But since that summer day in 2007 I have had no doubt that He is with me, close enough to reach out to at any time.

The TH is now a cinnamon-scented nest, a place where people can often find a measure of peace and restoration.

The song is back.

All of this came to my recollection with the priceless gift Dad bestowed upon me on Nilgiris' out-of-sorts tenth anniversary morning.


We closed at 5 p.m. My beautiful Shehana worked faster and harder than I'd ever seen her. Her glowing smile and her cheerful spirit evoked the fragrance of cardamom and cloves and cinnamon as she washed china and restored order to the kitchen.

She had to leave immediately after her eight-hour shift, hoping to make it back to Calgary before the worst of the snow storm broke.

We set the table for a quiet celebration: Vernon and Sharon, Char, Brenda, Dad and I sat together at the table named Quiet Corner and thanked God for His goodness and provision; and we feasted on spaghetti and meatballs, Caesar salad and garlic toast, fresh berry pie and mugs of fragrant coffee.

The storm raged outside, wind using trees as whipping posts. But we were snug and safe inside, a group of friends who love each other and love the Tea House.

What a perfect celebration!