My Heart Belongs to Daddy

"My son, give me your heart," entreated the wisest man in the world, "and let your eyes observe my ways."

I have been observing my Dad's ways for over five decades now. He knows the value of a child's heart and he has always done everything he could to build up the hearts of each of his children.

"Always seek to encourage those with whom you come into contact," he has said to us on many occasions. "Build up their hearts. The origin of the word itself has "heart" embedded in it ..."

I of course looked it up on dictionary.com:

courage

 

cour·age

  [kur-ij, kuhr-]  Show IPA

noun

1.

the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain,

etc., without fear; bravery.

2.

Obsolete . the heart as the source of emotion.

Idioms

3.

have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, 

especially in spite of criticism.

Origin: 
1250–1300; Middle English corage  < Old French,  equivalent to cuer  heart 

(< Latin cor;  see heart) + -age -age

"When you discourage someone, you're hurting their heart," Dad observed.

When Dad had to discipline us as we grew up, we always knew - although he never uttered that platitude - that it did indeed hurt him more than it hurt us. It got to the point that when we might be debating whether or not we should do something, "It'll hurt Dad" was often enough to stave off the action.

"Honey, keep their hearts": you disclosed in a Wednesday Bible study that you would say this to Mum on occasion. You don't harp on the inconsequential, which might do not much more than cause resentment. Because of this, when you speak, we listen.

You have indeed kept our hearts - not only the hearts of your family, but the hearts of your extended family at the Bible College as well. 

Your own heart has taken a beating, both physically and emotionally; but it still beats strong and true, an example to all of us who love you and have a place in your enormous heart.

Yesterday afternoon - the day after Father's Day, when this entry would already have been late - you stopped by the TH and had tea with me. We sat in the cozy wing chairs and sipped that most comforting of all beverages, this day sweetened with condensed milk and served in simple, comfortable mugs. We talked about being just, about justice being served, about the Justifier who took our penalty and how it all comes together without incongruity: "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other," says the 85th Psalm, verse 10.

"I never realised until recently that this happens twice," marvelled Dad. "It happened when Jesus died on the cross; but it also happens in each person when he or she accepts the gift of salvation, when we give our hearts to God and ask Him to take control of our lives ..."

What a blessing it is to have a father who has our hearts, and whose own heart is held in the hand of his heavenly Father!

Although this is late, I can't let this Father's Day time slip away entirely without saying Thank you, Dad, for recognising the value of a heart - of each heart. You encourage me to encourage others and to love with all my being.

I heart you.

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)

Of Para-flus and Paracletes

The results are in: Dad's H1N1 test came back negative, but he tested positive for para influenza, which in most healthy people will run its course in 3 - 10 days.

But Dad has pulmonary fibrosis and struggles for breath now ...

Certain words fascinate me. For example, cleave means both to cling together and to slice apart.

Flammable and inflammable mean the same thing.

And para has a number of meanings and uses. Wikipedia gives a succinct summary of two definitions that seem contrary, that seem to be at odds with each other:

- a prefix widely used in various compound words (para-olympic, para-medic, para-gliding etc.) which can signify alternately: "alongside, altered, beyond, contrary," originating from the Greek preposition para that means: "beside, next to, near, from," and also, "against, contrary to," similar with Sanskrit para "beyond." 

Para influenza has made my Dad's heart race far too fast; has made his concentrator pump out oxygen levels at a rate of 4 litres rather than 2; has made him cough up vile green gunk; has forced him to sleep 18 hours a day; has zapped his strength; has almost curtailed even minimal movement. It is certainly against, certainly contrary to, what we want for him. It might even have altered the course we thought was charted for him.

But through it we have seen many people come alongside, beside, next to, and near him. Paracletes have encircled him with love and concern and practical guidance.

Wikipedia, again, describes paraclete as follows:

Paraclete comes from the Koine Greek word παράκλητος (paráklētos, that can signify "one who consoles or comforts, one who encourages or uplifts; hence refreshes, and/or one who intercedes on our behalf as an advocate in court"). The word for "Paraclete" is passive in form, and etymologically (originally) signified "called to one's side".

Let me give you just a few examples:

Dr Rimmer - his pulmonologist who, after assessing Dad and wanting to admit him, went and checked the realities of the bed situation in the hospital and reluctantly decided that he would receive better care and rest at Deb's home ("You're sensible," Dr R said to Deb!). From that time she has called frequently to check up on her patient, exhibiting the same level of care and compassion she has always given Dad over these years. Last night she called at 7:45 - what other doctor does that any more?! - and discussed with Deb the plan of care and action that she feels would be best for Dad in the short-, medium- and long-term.

What other doctor calls at 7:45 in the evening? Dr Husain, that's who - Dad's family doctor in Three Hills and someone whose family we have grown to love as an extension of our own. Deb apologetically called him at home, and he immediately phoned a late-night pharmacy in Calgary with a prescription to ease the excruciating cramps that Dad was experiencing from the Tamiflu. He called upon the recommendation of

Dr Naomi Chelli Gunti, the eldest of the Chelli kids, who called from the States to see how Uncle was doing. She listened while Deb went over the symptoms and as they were discussing treatment options, she said, "Deb, what about the drug that's used for the unbearable cramping caused by Crohn's disease?" Deb called Dr Husain, who agreed that this could work and called the Rx in. Dad has not suffered that terrible pain since.

Zeba Husain - Zeba, Dr Husain's wife, cares very deeply for Dad and on Saturday she called me just as I was closing the TH to head up and see Dad. "Karyn, I've made some khichdi [kitcheree] for Uncle Allan - will you take it to him?" I gladly agreed. When I got to Deb's house I said to her, "Zeba made khichdi for Dad ..." and she immediately took it, saying, "Dad asked for khichdi this morning!" Zeba, you were the direct answer to what he needed that night and I thank you for your sensitivity to the promptings you felt to make that ultimate comfort food for Dad.

Almost too weak to eat, Dad managed to swallow some of Zeba's khichdi

Flowers and flags - Peter and Mel Mal's girls came to the TH on Saturday: "We made a picture / a flag for your Dad!" He has them on his window sill ... And that same day Naomi and John, and Sue and Les, sent beautiful flower arrangements, reminding us of all the beauty to be appreciated in the ashes of the situation we were facing. Debby cleaned the TH for me so that I could get to Calgary. Don and Norma came over and got me back on my feet again on Sunday afternoon.

Dozens of you have called, left messages, sent cards, written words of encouragement for Dad and us - and he has read EVERY comment, asking about the people he doesn't know personally and asking God to bless them for their kindness.

There are five very special paracletes who have come alongside their Grandpa / Poppa / Bop whenever they can. Luke, Craig, Matthew, Elliot and Oliver - how he loves you boys! His spirits brighten measurably upon a visit from you guys. There is no doubt how much you love each other and him. 

And THOUSANDS of people are praying. You are all paracletes as you have come alongside Dad, bringing him before the throne of grace around the clock.

The most valuable Paraclete of all for Dad - for all those who have trusted in Christ - is God the Holy Spirit. This is how He is described in the gospel of John: counsellor, helper, encourager, advocate, comforter ... the one who makes free. As you all pray, Dad feels the presence of God and the power of all your prayers in a very real way.

I and my family - siblings, nephews, aunts and uncles - have derived much comfort and love from your outpourings of sympathy. But two special reassurances were given to me personally that have brought me peace regardless of whatever lies ahead.

The first was a comment left by Sumitra. Sumitra was in the group of men who met Dad as he disembarked off that ship 55 years ago in the port of Bombay. He and Dad studied together, prayed together, served together, preached together, ate together, laughed and cried together. He has always held a very special spot in my parents' hearts,

This dear man's comment read: "Dear Karyn, sorry to learn of your dear Dad's ill health. Be assured of my prayers for recovery of his health. I praise the Lord for Bro. Allan's input in my life. I remember welcoming him in Mumbai 55 years ago. God has made him blessing to many through his and yes through your Mum's simple life style and teaching because of which many are serving the Lord and I am one of them. Be encouraged, Dad will be well soon."

I could not help but think of the story recorded in the gospel of John chapter 4 about the nobleman whose son was dying. He sought Jesus out and begged Him to come to the house to heal his son. Jesus said only six words: "Go thy way; thy son liveth" (verse 50). And the child did. When I read Sumitra's last seven words, it was as if the Lord Jesus Christ himself spoke them to me. Those last seven words broke through my grief and despair.

And then Tuesday morning, Dad was too weak to read, so he asked me to read the morning passage from the Daily Light devotional that Mum read and recorded events of note in for years.

The captioned verse was this: As Your Days, So Shall Your Strength Be

My breath caught in my throat and I checked the date. You see, last year, on February 27, I boarded the plane a few days ahead of Dad, BA and Deb as I was flying on points and had to leave on that day. I had been worried about Dad's low energy levels and the long flight ahead. God brought this verse to my mind, and I have claimed it on behalf of Dad almost every day since then. "As many days as You want him on this earth, give him strength for each one," I ask. 

Yet for the past few days, since Thursday, I must confess to my shame that I had completely forgotten about it.

But my Paraclete gently reminded me that God is in control by sending the verse I had been praying for almost a year directly back to me right when I needed it most. Not only that, the entire reading is of encouragement and strength. Truly God's timing is impeccable ...

Sitting on the floor beside his bed:
"someone to watch over me"

There are two more paracletes I must mention. The first is our beloved Deb, who faithfully cared for Dad and continues to care for him. She it has been who sat up with him on those first critical nights, monitoring his pulse and O2 levels, giving medicine, holding the straw to his mouth so he could take a few sips of liquid, washing him, cooling his forehead and piling on hot water bottles and blankets as he shivered his way through his fever until it broke. She has had very little sleep in the last week, but she never once expressed even that she was tired.

As a matter of fact, at the conclusion of Dr Rimmer's most recent phone call, Dr R applauded Deb: "You managed very well the care of a patient who should have been admitted." Thank you, Deborah Joy, from all of us who love him and you.

The last paraclete is our beloved Dad himself. In an almost whisper he marvelled at the prayers offered up on his behalf from the people of God all over the world. "I am so blessed," he murmured. That Tuesday afternoon he finally felt able to pray aloud, asking God's blessing on our simple lunch. And after he thanked God for the food, these are the words he said next, the ellipses indicating where he had to pause for a breath:

We remember others ... just as sick ... weaker ... more needy ... without people to pray for them ... Hold them in your tender mercies ... Heal them ... Forgive them ... Restore them ... Comfort them ... Meet their needs ... today.

Amen.

Words To Rest By

I closed the TH at 4 pm today. I needed to see Dad.

He is very weak, frighteningly so. However, some wonderful things occurred to make his suffering a little easier, and I will tell you about them tomorrow morning; but suffice it to say for now that the prayers of literally thousands of people around the world were heard last night and he passed a relatively peaceful night - no real sleep but at least no debilitating pain.

It's about time for the awful side effects of the medicine to take their best shot at him again. For any of you up, please do pray ...

Before I say good night, I want to share the Psalm I was privileged to read to Dad this evening. He reads a few Psalms every night before he goes to bed, and this was where he is up to. He reads the King James Version, but I'm also including the English Standard Version for another beautiful reading:

Psalm 4

King James Version (KJV)

4 Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.

2 O ye sons of men, how long will ye turn my glory into shame? how long will ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? Selah.
3 But know that the Lord hath set apart him that is godly for himself: the Lord will hear when I call unto him.
4 Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
5 Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the Lord.
6 There be many that say, Who will shew us any good? Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us.
7 Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased.
8 I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4

English Standard Version (ESV)

Answer Me When I Call

To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Psalm of David.

4 Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness!
    You have given me relief when I was in distress.
    Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!

2 O men, how long shall my honor be turned into shame?
    How long will you love vain words and seek after lies?Selah
3 But know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself;
    the Lord hears when I call to him.

4 Be angry, and do not sin;
    ponder in your own hearts on your beds, and be silent.Selah
5 Offer right sacrifices,
    and put your trust in the Lord.

6 There are many who say, “Who will show us some good?
    Lift up the light of your face upon us, O Lord!”
7 You have put more joy in my heart
    than they have when their grain and wine abound.

8 In peace I will both lie down and sleep;
    for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

As my voice faded into the stillness, Dad's voice, almost a whisper, said, "Read that last verse again."

And as he prepared to sleep, he commented, "What comfort can be derived from the Psalms! What a comfort to know we can simply rest in Him ..."

I, along with all of you I know, claim that last verse for him tonight. My family and I thank you for praying, thank you for caring about him. As one of Dad's favourite songs says, "I'm so glad I'm a part of the family of God!"

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

Advent 2013, Week 1: Hope for the Wounded

My friend and almost-sister Sonnie noticed the mole and went in for yet another battery of tests.

My friend Jane noticed the bloating, couldn't endure the pain and went to the emergency room.

The news was not good for either of them.

O God, we want to cry, Why now? Why at this season? Why ever?

And this is the day we are supposed to focus on the first Sunday in Advent, ushering in the Season of Hope.

It was with a heavy heart that my car, Josephine, and I groped our way through the heavy fog to Big Valley Church. The road stretched long and lonely, winding down and down to the one-lane bridge:

The weather and scheduled vacations combined to reduce the number of worshipers.

The music stubbornly refused to give way to the hearts of the musicians trying to lead the singing.

When finally it was time for Pastor Allan Clark to speak, I was exhausted, without heart; without hope.

And the first thing he said, as he lit the Advent candle, was "Today we are going to learn about the Season of Hope."

Hope is so much more than wishing your football team wins the Grey Cup, or longing for a great home-cooked meal, he said.

A dictionary definition of hope is "a wish or desire accompanied by the expectation of its fulfilment." Hope itself is authored by God himself, Pastor Alan went on. After humankind's first act of disobedience, God made a promise: 

I will put enmity between you [the serpent] and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
and you shall bruise his heel.”

—Genesis 3:15, ESV

And then he went on to touch on a few of the great figures of the Bible who - in the worst of circumstances - continued to have hope. Job, who suffered losses beyond belief in every way, physical, material, spiritual, emotional, still could say, in Job 19:23-27, that the hope of being in God's presence is what carried him through all his trials and tribulations.

Mighty King David, who managed to get himself embroiled in scandals or enmeshed in sorrow on a number of occasions, recognized in Psalm 71:5 that God was his hope, and not status, victory and wealth. That's why, time and again, he was able to come back and recommit his way to God with a repentant heart, seeking to get back into a right relationship with the one person who could give him lasting hope.

It was revealed to Paul, that great apostle, at the time of his conversion to Christianity how much he was going to have to suffer for God: Acts 9:15-16. And yet Paul had hope - later I pondered 2 Corinthians 1:8-10, which gives us this tremendous declaration:

8 For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself.9 Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. 10 He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. (ESV)

Paul discovered the secret of hope; he experienced it for himself. He knew that our hope originates in God, that the only way we can have a hope-filled life is to abide in God. 

People will fail us. 

We will fail ourselves.

Only God will not fail.

The Lord Jesus Christ himself had hope, Pastor Allan went on. Hebrews 12:2 tells us that Jesus saw past the immediate pain and suffering, past God his Father turning his face away from his Son, past the crucifixion, to see what was going to be accomplished by his Father through Jesus the Son dying on the cross and rising again. What Jesus accomplished on the cross 33 years after the birth we celebrate at this season provides the key on which - if we receive him - we will build our own hope on.

"Our hope is not found in our physical well-being, but founded in a God who loves us, who has good things planned for us," Pastor Allan summarized. "Thus we can glorify God through our circumstances."

And so to my beloved Sonnie and Jane, to my friends Lorne and Becky, to Beth, to Dad's friend Paul, to Sonnie's friend Colleen; to all of us who are wounded in one way or another at this so-called festive season, I leave you with the note my perspicacious 21-year-old nephew Matt wrote to his dear Sonnie:

It's a fight. You're the only one in the ring; a boxer. All the training, all the previous battles, they're done...nearly forgotten...it's you and your opponent, toe to toe. You begin to lose confidence and feel isolated. No one can bail you out, this is all on you. Now you feel lonely, then you hear "Hit 'em with all you've got!" It's a familiar voice, so you're not distracted; nay, you're emboldened, strengthened by it. This is the voice of your trainer, the chief of your corner. Now you remember that you didn't come here alone. The people in your corner, though they may have changed over the years, are your people. And this trainer? He's seen you through every fight, and always been there to give you words of advice and courage meant when you get knocked down. The people in your corner? They've been to some of your other bouts, and they want to see you win. They're cheering you on. They know they can't jump in the ring and actually fight for you, so between rounds they Q-tip your cuts and reduce your swelling. They pour water in your mouth, and while all this is happening, you're focused. Not on your opponent, not on your people, but on your trainer. You know that even though you're in the fight, He's got a plan for it. And win or lose, He'll see you through it. All any trainer wants us for their fighter to listen to their instructions and have faith that they know what's best. 

Sonnie, I just want you to know that my family - our family - the family of God is in your corner. The Lord is in charge, and He has a fight strategy planned out. He knows how it'll go down because He knows us better than we know ourselves, but He doesn't tell us because He wants to see that we can trust in His word and instruction, and that win or lose, He is with us and loves us. It's our faith in Him to lead us that counts, not our performance in the ring. The thing is, He knows that it gets lonely in a 1 on 1 fight, so He brings people to support us and stand in our corner, to cheer us on. People He knows will mourn if we lose and rejoice if we win, who hold out for us no matter if we get knocked down and stagger up or win in the first round. People who through the whole fight want to be there to support us and hope we win. The trainer is the only one who knows, and the corner offers support, because He knows we need it. God's got a plan, and we've got your back. We love you Sonnie. Try as you might to get rid of us, we are in your corner, cheering you on in your fight.

"Win or lose." Active, living HOPE.

Advent wreath at Big Valley Church

Golden Boy

I've known him half his life now.

And I am compelled to say that in the last 25 years he has never let me down; he has always been only a phone call away when I need him, my source for careful listening, wise counsel, and unquestioning comfort.

I've watched him come into his own, from a determined young man struggling to stay alive to a callow first-year law student tiptoeing into his initial vin ordinaire gathering; from a jubilant law school graduate to a harried articling student in an office where, if you crept in after hours with only the dim corridor light flickering, your heart would stop as you were confronted by a figure in a full coat of armour appearing ready to accost you; to the day when he had a launch party in his new 17th-Avenue digs, the ones where his name is listed first on the door; to the evening, earlier this year, when he gave me the grand tour of his beautiful home, and noting that what he was most excited about were the rooms for his kids.

I remember the days of eating steak sandwiches at Caruszo's and discussing the genius and humanity of Bruce Cockburn; working out guitar cords in the basement of Kathy Nichols' home; enjoying the sun and the view at Calgary Cannons baseball games; watching with gathering indignation the final episode of Seinfeld (really? we cut short our dinner for that?!); tasting (and admiring) the results of his new-found baking skills in the days when he was forced to adhere to a restricted diet; shopping for a black suit to go on articling interviews; breaking speed limits to find a clear spot where we could catch the last song of the Northern Lights; going to the law school grad banquet; feeling horror and gratitude a couple of days later when his car was totalled by a deer clearly not apprised of his new academic status.

Gary Kirk, it occurs to me that you are one of those rare people, completely true to yourself. You charted a course for your life and - against all odds, sometimes to the accompaniment of protest and discouragement - you have succeeded. You are healthy; you are wise; and you are a success - in your profession, with your children, and to your friends.

I've been thinking about you a lot these last couple of weeks, and I've been reading Mary Oliver. Her words have captured you like no feeble attempt I could write in tribute:

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations, though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver, Dream Work, Grove Atlantic Inc., 1986 & New and Selected Poems, Beacon Press, 1992.

I am so proud of what you have accomplished - oh, not professionally necessarily, although it gives me great pride when I hear people say, "He's a really good lawyer ..."; but when I see how you have set the bar high for yourself and how you have been equal to every challenge thrown at you. 

You are a man of sterling character, of exceptional resilience, of uncanny acumen, of great good humour, of enormous heart.

So this October 12 especially I want to say Happy Birthday to a true friend. May these first 50 years pale in comparison to the success, joy and love I wish for you in the next 50!

Perhaps Patricia

At the beginning of 1959, just before my Dad was to set sail from Port Arthur, Texas, for Bombay, India, he stopped for a few days with his elder sister, Mary, who lived in Texas at the time.

And he got to meet and know Mary's eldest child, Patricia. Patty.

Dad forged a bond with Patty in that short time that remains to this day. As a matter of fact it's flitted through my mind, like a breeze through sheets hanging on a clothes line on a fragrant summer afternoon, that the warmth of Dad's affection for his little Patty predisposed him - a stranger in a strange land - to look toward a familiar name when he heard it, to look in the direction of another girl named Patricia, a girl with brown eyes and an enormous heart who would become his wife a couple of years later.

My eldest cousin, Patty stayed with Dad for the last few days and was with us yesterday, the sixth anniversary of Mum's death.

Eight yellow flowers growing on one stem ...

Both our Patricias know what it is to suffer. Like Mum, Patty has undergone brutal treatment for cancer - and, also like Mum, her indomitable spirit and her deep strength of character have carried her through.

Like Mum, Patty is warm and loving.

She's quick and funny.

She connects with people.

She came along with Dad to the Manor on Tuesday and to our Wednesday TH Bible study yesterday - the actual anniversary of Mum's death. 

Dad is guiding us through Paul's tiny letter to Philemon on Wednesday evenings - you'd think that it would take one study, right?! But Dad is revealing a wealth of meaning and such a source of challenge and comfort through this little book.

This Wednesday he addressed three topics: Prayer, Human Nature, and The Providence of God, all as seen in the letter to Philemon.

The providence of God has been defined by Henry C. Thiessen in his book Lectures in Systematic Theology:

Etymologically, the word “providence” means foreseeing. From this basic
idea has developed the meaning of providing for the future. But in theology
the word has received a more specialized meaning. In this field, “providence”
means that continuous activity of God whereby he makes all the events of
the physical, mental, and moral realms work out his purpose, and this
purpose is nothing short of the original design of God in creation. To be sure,
evil has entered the universe, but it is not allowed to thwart God’s original,
benevolent, wise, and holy purpose. [Emphasis added is the part Dad quoted.]

(1989: Wm B Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan, p. 122 ff)


Dad asked the question "If God is not the author of sin, how do we explain the horrible acts of sin if God is ruling over all? How is God related to [humankind's] sinful acts?"

Providence, Dad went on to say, is manifest in four ways:

Preventative Providence, where God restrains a person from the sin he or she is intending to commit: Genesis chapter 20 verse 6 is an example of this.

Permissive Providence is where God sometimes permits sin to take its course: the book of Acts chapter 1 and verse 16, and Psalm 81 verse 12 is God telling how He let people go their own way.

Directive Providence is where God allows evil to occur, but He directs the way it goes in order to accomplish His will: John 13:21-27 is the tragic vignette where Jesus tells Judas Iscariot to "do quickly" what he intends to do.

Restrictive Providence reveals God determining the limits to which evil and its effects may go: the book of Job chapter 1 verse 12, and chapter 2 verse 6 shows God saying to Satan, "So far, but no further."

In the letter to Philemon Paul is pleading with his friend for mercy to be extended to the latter's runaway slave, Onesimus. In the 15th verse Paul says, with great gentleness and insight, Perhaps he left you for a while so that he would return to you forever ...

The word perhaps in Philemon opens the door to the doctrine of Providence, Dad commented.

The other notable occasion the sense of this word is used is in the little book telling the story of Queen Esther: Esther chapter 4 and verse 14 gives us Mordecai, Esther's uncle, speaking to her fairly sternly regarding her responsibility to her people. "Who knows whether [Perhaps] you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?"

There is more written in the Bible about the providence of God than about creation, Dad observed; and yet the word itself is never used. God cares about every aspect of our lives - if it's big enough for you to be concerned about, it's big enough for God to be concerned about. He has known us and cared about us from before we were born.

As I sat across the room from my beautiful cousin, who had no idea when she planned her itinerary that she would be here on such a significant date to our part of the family, I thought of her and my arms entwined as we shed tears and supported each other in remembering our mothers at Mum's graveside. I thought of the songs we sang, BA, Dad, Patty and I, into the sting of cold air that held no victory that day. 

For each one of us who has watched helplessly while a dream dies and we are left with a yawning hole stretched out before us, perhaps there is more to this story as we trace the providence of God working its mysterious way through our life? I think of my own life, of dreams that shattered or shifted last year and this one. Now, in hindsight, I can see the hand of God smoothing the way for me, guiding me in a new way, restoring my soul in ways I could not have imagined at the time.

And I thought to myself, Perhaps Patty was with us on this particularly hard anniversary, both for us and for her?

"Praise the Lord for the word perhaps ..." Dad ended.