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!

Jewel Tones

Modelling Sophie

My first memory of you is a serene face atop a black suit with a flash of amethyst silk at your neck. Your sapphire eyes sparkled and you reminded me of a beautiful Annette Bening.

"She'd be someone I would love to know ..." I remember thinking wistfully.

That was back in 1995 or '96.

And, it turns out, you are.

Colour is important to you - you notice the prism-like beauty of a sun dog, the mysteries of the variegated greens as you run through a forest. You affectionately called your much-loved mother-in-law a peacock because of her sense of style and passion for vivid hues.

The Christmas after I got Josephine, you gave me a ruby hat adorned by a black band festooned with silk flowers. Pinned inside the hat was a hand-written tag saying her name was Sophie. "Wear her when you're out and about with Josephine," you suggested.

We were in Quebec City at a Carswell conference on a break years ago, window shopping in a store stocked with richly woven woollen goods, when we really started talking. We were both at question marks in that period of our lives. I remember how easy it was to confide in you, how I knew I could trust your wisdom, your discretion, your perspective.

From then on you became in a sense my personal Polaris. 

You are the only person I know who has a concert grand in her living room, who knew that music was so important to the fibre of her being that one of the primary criteria when searching for a home of her dreams was that there be room for the piano of her dreams.

You understand the pull of Handel's Messiah every year. You mourn during the Easter production of the selected Requiem. You gave me the book of Beethoven sonatas that I turn to both in joy and in sorrow.

Your voice itself is melodious, often reminding me of Mozart and the light and beauty he brought - he brings - through his music.

You know the power of the perfect little black dress.

You brought the magic of Paris - a lifelong dream for you! - back to us, who waited eagerly to hear your stories.

You and John plan great swaths of your life with care and much thought; and yet you are flexible enough to live in the moment, to adapt to someone else's plans and schedule without losing sight of your desired end:

At my 50th birthday luncheon

Blue coffees ...

Indian restaurants for plates of copper-coloured butter chicken curry on pearly basmati rice ...

Lazy afternoon in your back yard drinking some delectable amber beverage and nibbling on avocados ripened to a perfect jade ...



Drive to Three Hills for a quick lunch in the purple chairs ... (You are one of the very few people who have ever come out to see me rather than simply meeting me when I'm in the city; do you know how very much that means?)

Even when we haven't seen each other for some time, you make it easy to pick up the threads of our lives right where we left off. You have always welcomed me to share your family table, and it has been a joy to see snippets of your two boys as they have grown and matured into the truly wonderful young men they are today.

You accept adversity, and adjust your plans accordingly, with a minimum of outward protest and a maximum of inner strength. You set a powerful, compelling example of grace in action.

This year it's time to tell you thank you for your presence in my life. Thank you for the music and the colour you bring just by being. Thank you for your friendship.

Happy birthday - you are pitch perfect.

A Kiss For All the World

(Photograph courtesy of Arlin Koch)

Friday was a memorable day. My sister and I went to hear the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra performing Ode To Joy - Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. We were in the centre of the second row and as a result could almost believe ourselves to be part of the magic on stage.

Schiller's words to Beethoven's Ode to Joy:

O friends, no more these sounds!
Let us sing more cheerful songs,
more full of joy!

Joy, bright spark of divinity,
Daughter of Elysium,
Fire-inspired we tread
Thy sanctuary.

Thy magic power re-unites
All that custom has divided,
All men become brothers
Under the sway of thy gentle wings.

Whoever has created
An abiding friendship,
Or has won
A true and loving wife,
All who can call at least one soul theirs,
Join in our song of praise;
But any who cannot must creep tearfully
Away from our circle.

All creatures drink of joy
At nature's breast.
Just and unjust
Alike taste of her gift;

She gave us kisses and the fruit of the vine,
A tried friend to the end.
Even the worm can feel contentment,
And the cherub stands before God!

Gladly, like the heavenly bodies
Which He set on their courses
Through the splendour of the firmament;
Thus, brothers, you should run your race,
As a hero going to conquest.

You millions, I embrace you.
This kiss is for all the world!

Brothers, above the starry canopy
There must dwell a loving Father.

Do you fall in worship, you millions?
World, do you know your Creator?

Seek Him in the heavens;
Above the stars must He dwell.

Maestro Roberto Minczuk conducted. He needed no score in front of him - it was apparent from the start that the work is embedded deep within him. He elicited joy from the orchestra, which they transmitted to the audience. 

The orchestra was at the top of their game; and the CPO Chorus, along with the Cantare Children's Choir, wove ribbons of transcendent sound through the pipes of the magnificent Carthy organ soaring above them. The soloists rose to the occasion, the apparent rapport between them lighting up the words, "Thy magic power reunites all that custom has divided." Diana Cohen, our new Concertmaster, was enthralling.

The pipes of the Carthy Organ
in the Jack Singer Concert Hall

Earlier that day we had said our final earthly farewells to everybody's friend, Maida. So many of the hymns that were sung were the same ones sung at my Mum's funeral. There was a time for tributes. Some people had been asked to speak and then there was a space where people could feel free to come to the front and say a few words. A tribute that moved me most deeply was the one from Maida's childhood friend, the Reverend Angie Dodginghorse of the Tsuu T'ina First Nation. The farm where Maida started out her childhood bordered the Nation's Treaty 7 land and "Maida used to come visit me in my tent." Reverend Angie talked about how after her husband had died, Maida encouraged her to go to Bible School and become a minister to help her people. That is what she has done. "I have spoken at many funerals, and I talk about the love of God and I try to encourage my people to come to know the love of God. But Maida's funeral!" She paused and collected herself. "Who will encourage me now? Who will I call on to pray for me and my people? She knew us all and she loved us."

Indeed, one after the other, people streamed to the front of the church and spoke of Maida's great love and gave instances of how that love was manifest. Maida touched so many lives around the world. Her brief obituary didn't tell the half of what she had done.

It was Dad's privilege to deliver the sermon for the funeral. After Mum's funeral - where Dad preached the sermon - Maida had come up to him. "Allan, if you're still alive when I die, I want you to speak at my funeral!" she had exclaimed.

Turned out she was serious. Her daughter Laura got the request to Dad.

"I remember she had said that on that day," Dad remarked, somewhat wistfully, at the beginning of his message. "I just never thought it would come to pass."

He chose for the text the words from the book of Revelation, chapter 14 and verse 13:

And I heard a voice from Heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.

This is a strongly worded message of hope, Dad pointed out. It is delivered in three ways - spoken, written, and confirmed by the Spirit of God. Blessed in the past; blessed in the present; blessed forever. A three-fold witness.

Why are those who "die in the Lord" blessed? Because they have experienced God's grace in their life, they pass from this world to the next already possessing the following priceless gifts: 

• they have been loved with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3)
• their sins have all been forgiven (Acts 13:38, 39; I John 1:7)
• they are a new creation in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17)
• they are accepted in the Beloved (sometimes translated the One that He [God] loves, Jesus) (Ephesians 1:6)
• they are blessed with every spiritual blessing (Ephesians 1:3)
• they are complete in Christ (Colossians 2:10)
• they have had the opportunity to serve Him (the text says that they now will have "rest from their labours")
• they have a heavenly inheritance prepared for them (1 Peter 1:3-5)

In addition, they are blessed at the very time of death: Philippians 1:21 exclaims, For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. That word gain comes from the root word that carries the sense of a bonus. For a person who has trusted in Christ as his or her Saviour, death - far from being something to dread - comes as A BONUS!

And then, lastly, the wonders of God's eternal provision begin to open to them as they enter His presence. 1 Corinthians 2:9 says, Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them that love Him.

All of this is made possible because of the ultimate gift to humanity - Jesus Christ's death on the cross as propitiation for our transgressions and sin. Anyone who chooses this gift, offered freely to all with nothing to do but accept it, immediately possesses these blessings that Maida had as she passed away. 

Dad harked back to the story of the Queen of Sheba's meeting with the great King Solomon, recorded in 2 Chronicles 9:1-12. The Queen had heard of Solomon's wisdom, and she wanted to speak with him about matters that were heavy on her heart. He answered all her questions completely, holding nothing back from her. Then as she dined with him she observed his enormous wealth. Overwhelmed, she exclaimed, "It was a true report which I heard in my own land, of your acts and of your wisdom. Nevertheless I believed not their words until I came, and my eyes had seen it; and behold, the half of the greatness of your wisdom was not told me, for you exceed the fame that I had heard."

Maida is now in the presence of the One she loves more than any other. And she is seeing the reality for herself. We with our finite minds and limited capacity can only guess at the wonder of being face to face with the One who loves us more than any other has loved us.

Now Maida knows!

Dad concluded with this beautiful old hymn by Oswald J Smith:

The Glory of His Presence

I have walked alone with Jesus
in a fellowship divine.
Never more can earth allure me,
I am His and He is mine.

On the mountain I have seen Him,
Christ my Comforter and Friend
And the glory of His presence
Will be with me to the end.

I have seen Him, I have known Him,
And He deigns to walk with me;
And the glory of His presence
will be mine eternally.

Oh, the glory of His presence,
Oh, the beauty of His face,
I am His and His forever,
He has saved me by His grace.  

Maida is experiencing the glory of His presence today. Her heart, which had been broken many times and yet continued to pour out such love, and which finally just gave out on her, is now healed.

As my sister and I sat and listened to Beethoven's Chorus later that evening, the line This kiss is for all the world! struck both of us. "That could have been written about Maida!" we murmured to each other. She had a deep, entrenched love for her girls, Cheryl and Laura, and for her Willard. But her love was not limited to her family. It flowed out to her church family, her community, to people from many nations and cultures - all were loved deeply and well by her.

And as I made my way home late that night, I also remembered someone else this day. My friend Maynard would have been 51 on Friday, November 16. I was able to attend his memorial service in the summer of 2005. It was a very different service to Maida's where there was a profound, abiding joy and hope running just beneath the surface of the pain and loss. Maynard had loved Beethoven. He would have loved the CPO and the Ninth. 

He would have yearned for the joy.

********************************************************

(If you'd like to hear a sublime performance, click below to enjoy Leonard Bernstein conducting the Vienna Philharmonic in the 1970s. Part 1 starts with Bernstein's musings on Beethoven and the precious gift of the 9th Symphony, especially the Ode to Joy. And that young tenor who leads off part 2? Domingo.)

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3