I had one of those light bulb moments today, one where I had dug deep into my soul to sort out a conflict going on in my head. While I had already picked up Christmas Eve tickets for our home church, I have been quite disappointed in the lack of Christmas Carols over this advent season. For years we would sing nothing but Christmas carols throughout advent, Mrs. Chapple on the piano, singing our hearts out for His glory.
This year and last year, however, while the sermon series' have been great (Christmas at the Movies - and last week we dissected It's a Wonderful Life), I am missing the Christmas carols. However, I am constantly reminded of a message from a few months ago: "If you don't like the music, you have six and a half days to listen to whatever you want. If you feel you aren't being fed spiritually at church, you have six and a half days to feed yourself."
And yet, I found myself having a little argument with myself today, wanting to sing real Christmas carols on Christmas Eve, wanting to light candles, wanting to leave church with my eardrums intact, because even though I love to rock it out any other Sunday, Christmas Eve is a time for tradition, right?
I really had to remind myself of our mandate: to find the lost souls and introduce them to the love of Jesus. For the unchurched, an old hymn or a Christmas carol might sound very foreign and stale; it might have no impact on them whatsoever, and I need to remember that. A lost soul will be drawn to what they can relate to, and that is completely different than what I can relate to, having grown up with the knowledge that Jesus was always by my side.
What cemented this in my brain was when I discussed it with Scott. Scott, who has never in his life wanted to attend a Christmas Eve service, and he said,"I want to see what OUR CHURCH does on Christmas Eve." This isn't just a church that the kids and I go to and Scott observes from the outside. He has claimed this church as OURS, and my heart jumps for joy.
So even though our Christmas Eve will be filled with loud renditions of Christmas carols along with contemporary music, and my mom and dad will probably grimace at the noise, it is succeeding in reaching those lost souls; that is evident when I hear Scott talk about this church.
I can listen to O Holy Night and We Three Kings at home, and I can light candles in our kitchen. This year I will join our church in reaching out to those who have never known Our Saviour, and I will help teach them about His birth.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Goodbye Grandpa
I can't believe that it has only been three weeks since that magical night when I sat with my grandpa, drinking tea and watching the football game. I knew that our time together was precious and the moments were fleeting, but I didn't think that he would be gone so quickly.
I am thankful, however, that the kids were able to see him on one of his last good days - we showed him my IPad and he wanted to buy one on which to type his memoirs. I thought it would be a great idea to buy him a handheld voice recorder - much easier than typing, but by the time I took it out to him, only one week later, he didn't have the strength to use it. I don't think even he realized how quickly this terrible disease was going to take him Home.
He went into the hospital last Saturday (was that only five days ago?), and I had seen him Friday and Sunday, but the difference in two days was so noticeable; I knew there wasn't much time left. However, I had a vision on Saturday morning (driving home from kickboxing, of all things!), and it was of my grandma standing next to Jesus, asking, "Can he come now?", but Jesus responded, "It's not time yet" and my grandma, being patient as always, just waited.
That was such a comforting moment, not because I knew we had a few more days with grandpa, but because I realized at that point how God's timing is perfect, and He has a plan, whether we understand it or not. Some members of my family have discussed assisted suicide and how it would have been appropriate in grandpa's case, because he wanted to die, but he also believed in a God that is far wiser than we could ever hope to be, and he would have accepted whatever God was handing to him.
When I visited the hospital on Sunday he was somewhat coherent, squeezing my hand tight and asking for water when his strength would allow, and I told him that I had seen grandma with Jesus and she was waiting for him, but that Jesus said it was not yet time. The last thing I said to him was, "Grandma's waiting for you, you'll be with her soon, you're the best grandpa I could have ever hoped for. I love you grandpa," and he responded, almost in audibly, "I love you Jo." He then fell asleep and we left the hospital shortly after.
I had thought about returning to the hospital, but I think I just wanted to have my final memory of my grandpa being that quiet little, "I love you Jo.", something to hold in my heart forever.
And the thought of his reunion with his beautiful bride makes my heart happy, for he will dance with his beloved for all of eternity.
I love you grandpa.
I am thankful, however, that the kids were able to see him on one of his last good days - we showed him my IPad and he wanted to buy one on which to type his memoirs. I thought it would be a great idea to buy him a handheld voice recorder - much easier than typing, but by the time I took it out to him, only one week later, he didn't have the strength to use it. I don't think even he realized how quickly this terrible disease was going to take him Home.
He went into the hospital last Saturday (was that only five days ago?), and I had seen him Friday and Sunday, but the difference in two days was so noticeable; I knew there wasn't much time left. However, I had a vision on Saturday morning (driving home from kickboxing, of all things!), and it was of my grandma standing next to Jesus, asking, "Can he come now?", but Jesus responded, "It's not time yet" and my grandma, being patient as always, just waited.
That was such a comforting moment, not because I knew we had a few more days with grandpa, but because I realized at that point how God's timing is perfect, and He has a plan, whether we understand it or not. Some members of my family have discussed assisted suicide and how it would have been appropriate in grandpa's case, because he wanted to die, but he also believed in a God that is far wiser than we could ever hope to be, and he would have accepted whatever God was handing to him.
When I visited the hospital on Sunday he was somewhat coherent, squeezing my hand tight and asking for water when his strength would allow, and I told him that I had seen grandma with Jesus and she was waiting for him, but that Jesus said it was not yet time. The last thing I said to him was, "Grandma's waiting for you, you'll be with her soon, you're the best grandpa I could have ever hoped for. I love you grandpa," and he responded, almost in audibly, "I love you Jo." He then fell asleep and we left the hospital shortly after.
I had thought about returning to the hospital, but I think I just wanted to have my final memory of my grandpa being that quiet little, "I love you Jo.", something to hold in my heart forever.
And the thought of his reunion with his beautiful bride makes my heart happy, for he will dance with his beloved for all of eternity.
I love you grandpa.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Moments in Time
We are on this planet for such a short period of time, and when we look back on our lives, there will be moments that we remember more than any other. There are moments that, when you are experiencing them, you just know they are special.
I had one of those moments on Saturday night. Elizabeth had a gymnastics practice in Sherwood Park, and rather than watching a bunch of people twirling and tumbling for two hours, I decided to go visit my grandpa. I called him up, having to cut the phone call short because he couldn't hear what I was saying, but I did know that he was thrilled that I was coming over.
As I arrived through his front door, the first thing I noticed was his new chair. Since he returned from the hospital, he has been sleeping in an old green recliner, the one that was in my grandparents' basement forever, because he was too uncomfortable sleeping flat on a bed. That chair was old and hard, and I don't know how he slept in it (apparently, not very well). His new chair, however, was like a fluffy cloud of comfort, and I could see the happiness on my grandpa's face, joy that I hadn't seen in a long time. The chair has a remote control so that he can lie back or stand up with no effort, and he said he hadn't slept so well in years.
We sat in his little room and watch the football game, eating cashews out of his big jar from Costco, and I asked if he felt like a cup of tea. He exclaimed, "I was just thinking how nice a cup of tea would be!" I boiled the water, loaded the tray with sugar and a cup, and brought it over to his chair. He sat and drank tea with a smile, and for a moment I forgot all of the stresses of the past year; it was just me and my grandpa having a cup of tea and watching the football game.
As I left, I gave him a hug as I always do, but this time he held me close for a long time. He said, "Do you remember going to the Yukon?" (I didn't, since I wasn't yet three years old.) He continued, "You sat in the back of the trailer and looked at me and waved. I have so many good memories; I have lived a good life."
My grandma often had spoken about that day that we left for Whitehorse, how I just looked at them both as we drove away. My grandma and grandpa both lived full and happy lives, their legacy continuing on with children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. The moments that they are likely remembering are the moments that truly mattered in their long lives.
And I ask myself: What are the moments that I want to remember?
I had one of those moments on Saturday night. Elizabeth had a gymnastics practice in Sherwood Park, and rather than watching a bunch of people twirling and tumbling for two hours, I decided to go visit my grandpa. I called him up, having to cut the phone call short because he couldn't hear what I was saying, but I did know that he was thrilled that I was coming over.
As I arrived through his front door, the first thing I noticed was his new chair. Since he returned from the hospital, he has been sleeping in an old green recliner, the one that was in my grandparents' basement forever, because he was too uncomfortable sleeping flat on a bed. That chair was old and hard, and I don't know how he slept in it (apparently, not very well). His new chair, however, was like a fluffy cloud of comfort, and I could see the happiness on my grandpa's face, joy that I hadn't seen in a long time. The chair has a remote control so that he can lie back or stand up with no effort, and he said he hadn't slept so well in years.
We sat in his little room and watch the football game, eating cashews out of his big jar from Costco, and I asked if he felt like a cup of tea. He exclaimed, "I was just thinking how nice a cup of tea would be!" I boiled the water, loaded the tray with sugar and a cup, and brought it over to his chair. He sat and drank tea with a smile, and for a moment I forgot all of the stresses of the past year; it was just me and my grandpa having a cup of tea and watching the football game.
As I left, I gave him a hug as I always do, but this time he held me close for a long time. He said, "Do you remember going to the Yukon?" (I didn't, since I wasn't yet three years old.) He continued, "You sat in the back of the trailer and looked at me and waved. I have so many good memories; I have lived a good life."
My grandma often had spoken about that day that we left for Whitehorse, how I just looked at them both as we drove away. My grandma and grandpa both lived full and happy lives, their legacy continuing on with children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. The moments that they are likely remembering are the moments that truly mattered in their long lives.
And I ask myself: What are the moments that I want to remember?
Monday, September 9, 2013
Rhymes With Dancer
It seems like through every stage of life there is a season. When we are in our 20s it seems like everyone we know is getting married. Then soon comes the season of children, when everyone we know is pregnant or chasing toddlers around their house. That gives way to the season of school, soon to be the season of graduation and then the season of going to the weddings of our children and their friends. Generation after generation, the seasons continue.
But there are new, sad seasons that also come with age - the season of losing grandparents. I was lucky enough that my parents were young when I was born and I had a full set of grandparents and I had two great grandparents. As I grew older, my friends started losing their grandparents, and then there was the inevitable season of moving the grandparents, and it seemed like everyone I knew was dealing with immortality in their families in some fashion.
And now I seem to be at the age where the season of cancer is dwelling like a black cloud behind a closet door. My first friend with cancer was diagnosed last week, and the prognosis is poor. I cried and prayed for her, for it was not fair - she has always given so much of herself to others. My cousins' grandma had breast cancer at 91, but sailed through a surgery and now seems to be okay. But my poor grandpa, so sad and lonely for the past few months, has now been sledgehammered with another tragedy - possible pancreatic and liver cancer.
He has taken the news well, but even at the age of 89 his mortality staring him in the face is a frightening prospect. Yes, he will see grandma soon, but he wanted to write his memoirs, and now there will be so little time. He wants more coffee time with the boys, more time with his books and maps, and more time with his precious family. I thought we would have so much more time together, but it is looking like God has a different plan.
The seasons will continue to come at astonishing velocities, as I watch my parents, now in the season of losing their own parents. I am fearful of the pain and suffering to come, which is why there is only one way to get through this mess of life - by handing it all at the feet of Jesus.
But there are new, sad seasons that also come with age - the season of losing grandparents. I was lucky enough that my parents were young when I was born and I had a full set of grandparents and I had two great grandparents. As I grew older, my friends started losing their grandparents, and then there was the inevitable season of moving the grandparents, and it seemed like everyone I knew was dealing with immortality in their families in some fashion.
And now I seem to be at the age where the season of cancer is dwelling like a black cloud behind a closet door. My first friend with cancer was diagnosed last week, and the prognosis is poor. I cried and prayed for her, for it was not fair - she has always given so much of herself to others. My cousins' grandma had breast cancer at 91, but sailed through a surgery and now seems to be okay. But my poor grandpa, so sad and lonely for the past few months, has now been sledgehammered with another tragedy - possible pancreatic and liver cancer.
He has taken the news well, but even at the age of 89 his mortality staring him in the face is a frightening prospect. Yes, he will see grandma soon, but he wanted to write his memoirs, and now there will be so little time. He wants more coffee time with the boys, more time with his books and maps, and more time with his precious family. I thought we would have so much more time together, but it is looking like God has a different plan.
The seasons will continue to come at astonishing velocities, as I watch my parents, now in the season of losing their own parents. I am fearful of the pain and suffering to come, which is why there is only one way to get through this mess of life - by handing it all at the feet of Jesus.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Some Enchanted Evening
It has been a wonderful summer, full of activity and travels, but it has also been tough to live without the rock of our family, my grandma. Every day I think about her and every Sunday the skies open up during worship and I can feel her looking down, and I cry, happy that we sing in the dark and no one can see my tears.
I am so sad for my grandpa; I saw him today and he is so heartbroken. I don't think anyone of us can imagine what it is like to lose someone you have know for over 69 years. I was lucky enough, a couple of weeks ago, to hear him tell the story of when they met. I had heard it in pieces before, but never in so much detail, and his eyes shone as he spoke of that night.
Grandpa was in Canada on duty for England in the Second World War, and he was stationed at Penhold in early 1944. On Saturday nights, busses full of young ladies from Red Deer would travel to the base and the young ladies and the soldiers would dance the night away. One February night, my grandpa, barely 20 years old, spotted a beautiful young lady across the room and couldn't believe she wasn't dancing with anyone. He asked her to dance, and they spent the night together, dancing slowly and quickly, all of the dances of that era, and he said she was such a good dancer.
At the end of the night, she went back to the bus, and he followed, not wanting her to go, and he said it was a cold night and he didn't have a jacket on. She was wearing a big fur coat, and she opened it up and wrapped it around him. He said that was it, and he knew he would marry her. She came back in the bus every Saturday, and after 5 or 6 weeks of dancing, he asked her to marry him. Her response was, "I'll have to ask my mum", to which he replied, "Aren't you old enough to decide? Do you want to marry me?", and she said, "Yes, I think so, but you'll have to ask mum." Obviously her mother said yes, because they were married soon after, on May 12, 1944. They rest is history.
When I was younger it was my grandma with whom I had long chats, and my grandpa and I would talk about soccer or play crib. Now I just visit to sit and listen to him, and some days, like a couple of weeks ago, he is in good spirits, full of happy memories. But today, he started to cry as he thought of her, and as I touched his shoulder, I realized how thin he had become, and how lonely he has been.
As I listened to the message today about the Holy Spirit, I prayed so hard for the Holy Spirit to comfort him, and I hope that my grandma visits him tonight and they can dance the night away just as they did on that cold February night 69 years ago.
I am so sad for my grandpa; I saw him today and he is so heartbroken. I don't think anyone of us can imagine what it is like to lose someone you have know for over 69 years. I was lucky enough, a couple of weeks ago, to hear him tell the story of when they met. I had heard it in pieces before, but never in so much detail, and his eyes shone as he spoke of that night.
Grandpa was in Canada on duty for England in the Second World War, and he was stationed at Penhold in early 1944. On Saturday nights, busses full of young ladies from Red Deer would travel to the base and the young ladies and the soldiers would dance the night away. One February night, my grandpa, barely 20 years old, spotted a beautiful young lady across the room and couldn't believe she wasn't dancing with anyone. He asked her to dance, and they spent the night together, dancing slowly and quickly, all of the dances of that era, and he said she was such a good dancer.
At the end of the night, she went back to the bus, and he followed, not wanting her to go, and he said it was a cold night and he didn't have a jacket on. She was wearing a big fur coat, and she opened it up and wrapped it around him. He said that was it, and he knew he would marry her. She came back in the bus every Saturday, and after 5 or 6 weeks of dancing, he asked her to marry him. Her response was, "I'll have to ask my mum", to which he replied, "Aren't you old enough to decide? Do you want to marry me?", and she said, "Yes, I think so, but you'll have to ask mum." Obviously her mother said yes, because they were married soon after, on May 12, 1944. They rest is history.
When I was younger it was my grandma with whom I had long chats, and my grandpa and I would talk about soccer or play crib. Now I just visit to sit and listen to him, and some days, like a couple of weeks ago, he is in good spirits, full of happy memories. But today, he started to cry as he thought of her, and as I touched his shoulder, I realized how thin he had become, and how lonely he has been.
As I listened to the message today about the Holy Spirit, I prayed so hard for the Holy Spirit to comfort him, and I hope that my grandma visits him tonight and they can dance the night away just as they did on that cold February night 69 years ago.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Grandma
My grandmother passed away in the early morning of June 16, 2013, and at the time, I wasn't sad. I had been to visit the day before, after my dad called because my uncle had told him he should come up right away. Things couldn't have been good, so as soon as my dad told me that, I headed to Sherwood Park myself, dropping whatever plans I had for that afternoon.
I walked into their room and my grandpa and aunt were there; my grandpa was busily working on a painting and couldn't hear my knocks, but my aunt did. My grandma lay in the bed, eyes closed, breathing shallow, and I took her hand. I talked to her for a while, laughing about the past, praying as tears rolled down my eyes, knowing this was going to be the last time I saw her. I recited Psalm 23 and the last thing I said to her was that she would see her sisters Joan and Jerril soon, and to say hi to Jesus.
When my aunt called me at 7:12 the next morning, I was on Skype with my sister, but I wasn't surprised at the phone call. I had awoken with a start in the night, knowing that God had finally sent his angels down to take her away. They allowed my grandpa to say one last goodbye in the morning as he rose to use the washroom, and he prayed for them to take her, and they did. Those same angels that I prayed for God to send to my grandpa to protect him during his surgery a year ago; and he woke up from his surgery, family waiting in the room, and said, "The angels on my shoulders took care of me."
The Sunday that my grandma died was Father's Day, and it was business as usual. We went to church, went for brunch at the in-laws, but all the while I felt a hole in my heart, like a piece of me was gone. I can't imagine how my grandpa felt and still feels. But there didn't seem to be any tears left; maybe I cried them all away as I saw her wither from my grandma in late February to a frail old lady by June. It was so little time, and it happened so quickly.
But I had so many wonderful years with her, and maybe that's why there were no tears. Thankful to God for giving me such a wonderful grandmother. I spoke at her funeral without a tear, wondering why I didn't feel like crying, but it wasn't a sad occasion, it was a happy one, because she had left her broken body to be in the Glory of Jesus. Who could cry about that!
The hole has remained, and I wondered why I hadn't dreamt about her. I dreamt about Scott's grandma the night after she died and she told me how wonderful heaven was, and she was so happy. I thought grandma might visit me once in a dream and tell me that she was okay. And last night I did dream about her; I dreamt that I was at their house in Sherwood Park and she was on the phone, and I tried to tell her that she was calling from Heaven but she didn't believe me and hung up on me.
It was so good to hear her voice, but I'm feeling that hole in my heart again.
And tears on my face.
I walked into their room and my grandpa and aunt were there; my grandpa was busily working on a painting and couldn't hear my knocks, but my aunt did. My grandma lay in the bed, eyes closed, breathing shallow, and I took her hand. I talked to her for a while, laughing about the past, praying as tears rolled down my eyes, knowing this was going to be the last time I saw her. I recited Psalm 23 and the last thing I said to her was that she would see her sisters Joan and Jerril soon, and to say hi to Jesus.
When my aunt called me at 7:12 the next morning, I was on Skype with my sister, but I wasn't surprised at the phone call. I had awoken with a start in the night, knowing that God had finally sent his angels down to take her away. They allowed my grandpa to say one last goodbye in the morning as he rose to use the washroom, and he prayed for them to take her, and they did. Those same angels that I prayed for God to send to my grandpa to protect him during his surgery a year ago; and he woke up from his surgery, family waiting in the room, and said, "The angels on my shoulders took care of me."
The Sunday that my grandma died was Father's Day, and it was business as usual. We went to church, went for brunch at the in-laws, but all the while I felt a hole in my heart, like a piece of me was gone. I can't imagine how my grandpa felt and still feels. But there didn't seem to be any tears left; maybe I cried them all away as I saw her wither from my grandma in late February to a frail old lady by June. It was so little time, and it happened so quickly.
But I had so many wonderful years with her, and maybe that's why there were no tears. Thankful to God for giving me such a wonderful grandmother. I spoke at her funeral without a tear, wondering why I didn't feel like crying, but it wasn't a sad occasion, it was a happy one, because she had left her broken body to be in the Glory of Jesus. Who could cry about that!
The hole has remained, and I wondered why I hadn't dreamt about her. I dreamt about Scott's grandma the night after she died and she told me how wonderful heaven was, and she was so happy. I thought grandma might visit me once in a dream and tell me that she was okay. And last night I did dream about her; I dreamt that I was at their house in Sherwood Park and she was on the phone, and I tried to tell her that she was calling from Heaven but she didn't believe me and hung up on me.
It was so good to hear her voice, but I'm feeling that hole in my heart again.
And tears on my face.
Friday, May 3, 2013
The Old Folks
My grandparents have been in their Seniors' Lodge for a few weeks now, and I decided to go visit them today now that the madness of tax season is over. I told my grandpa that he could go out and run some errands while I hung out with grandma, and he was happy to oblige. Of course, he could go out and run errands anyway, and the nurses would check on my grandma, but it breaks my heart to think she could be one of those seniors who just sits in their chair for hours, dozing, staring, not doing anything. Her knitting and sewing days are long over - sometime it seems a struggle for her just to remember how to use a fork.
And so I sat, open box of Timbits beside her chair, and I watched as she dozed, coming in and out of dreams, and mentioning her sister Joan like she was there in the room with us. We didn't talk about anything; there's not really much more to talk about. She has moments when she can answer questions, but a lot of the time she pauses while her poor brain tries to comprehend, and sometimes what comes out of her month isn't even understandable.
When grandpa asked if I would stay for lunch, beaming in anticipation, I could read in his eyes that it would be so nice to have a welcome distraction for a few more moments. I told him I would have to see what was on the menu (I was worried it was going to be liver or cabbage), but to my surprise it was soup, ravioli and salad, and looked absolutely delicious. So he walked down to the office to buy me a ticket for lunch, and seemed so happy to have the company.
Lunch was very nice, sitting with a group of grandmas and grandpas, all very polite, some being spoon fed, and one who was having her 86th birthday (we had chocolate cake!). The nurses were fabulous, helping out wherever needed, making me want to change my career in midlife, wanting to make a different to people who had worked hard all of their lives and deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.
And as I sat with my grandparents, ages 91 and 89, I realized that everything else in the world could wait, and I told them I would be back to visit on Sunday.
They were thrilled.
And so I sat, open box of Timbits beside her chair, and I watched as she dozed, coming in and out of dreams, and mentioning her sister Joan like she was there in the room with us. We didn't talk about anything; there's not really much more to talk about. She has moments when she can answer questions, but a lot of the time she pauses while her poor brain tries to comprehend, and sometimes what comes out of her month isn't even understandable.
When grandpa asked if I would stay for lunch, beaming in anticipation, I could read in his eyes that it would be so nice to have a welcome distraction for a few more moments. I told him I would have to see what was on the menu (I was worried it was going to be liver or cabbage), but to my surprise it was soup, ravioli and salad, and looked absolutely delicious. So he walked down to the office to buy me a ticket for lunch, and seemed so happy to have the company.
Lunch was very nice, sitting with a group of grandmas and grandpas, all very polite, some being spoon fed, and one who was having her 86th birthday (we had chocolate cake!). The nurses were fabulous, helping out wherever needed, making me want to change my career in midlife, wanting to make a different to people who had worked hard all of their lives and deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.
And as I sat with my grandparents, ages 91 and 89, I realized that everything else in the world could wait, and I told them I would be back to visit on Sunday.
They were thrilled.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
House of Comfort, House of Love
My grandparents have officially moved into a Seniors' Lodge this week, and while it is the best place for them to be, I have to admit that I never wanted this day to happen. The memories have been flooding back from my childhood: Kentucky Fried Chicken dinners with the family (back before it was KFC), fall parties, hundreds of Sunday roasts, and a door that was open anytime.
I remember a few times when my life was a little stressful - during exams, during tax season, or just personal things going on, and it was so easy to make the drive out to the little bungelow at the end of the street. Grandma and Grandpa would be there with smiling faces, cookies on the table, crossword puzzle open, and I could just sit and chat, and let whatever troubles I was having melt away.
In recent years, there have been more concerns about my grandparents than anything else - grandma losing her memory, grandpa losing his hearing, and just plain old age taking over. There was lots of discussion that they should move, but grandpa wouldn't budge, even when he ended up in the hospital, and in hindsight I now see that he was right to keep grandma at home, even at the expense of their health.
Since grandma entered the hospital on March 2, the change in environment and lack of familiar surroundings has caused a downward spiral that I would have never anticipated. In one month she has gone from, "Hi Jo" to "Who's there, oh, hi Jo" to even more delayed recognition. My last visit was nice, but also sad, as she was tired and difficult to understand, and I put her to bed as I had back on March 6, thinking of how our roles have reversed since my childhood. The past year may have been hard for us on the outside to deal with, but it allowed my grandparents to enjoy their time together, and kept my grandma in the stable environment that she needed. Now I wonder if she'll ever bounce back.
It's so easy to cry when I think of the memories of that house - the overnight stays (that sometimes turned into three nights), the summer I stayed in the basement when I was working at the University, Christmas, the first time I took Matthew there, all of the weeks I visited when the kids were little, climbing the trees in the backyard, eating fresh rhubarb out of the garden, and the smell of the lilac tree in the summer.
But then I remind my selfish self that no matter how badly I feel, my dad, aunt and uncle would feel even worse seeing their childhood home being emptied, and my grandpa would feel even worse than that. It's a time to come together as a family, not wallow in my own pity party. I have years worth of fabulous memories and I am so thankful for that.
I remember a few times when my life was a little stressful - during exams, during tax season, or just personal things going on, and it was so easy to make the drive out to the little bungelow at the end of the street. Grandma and Grandpa would be there with smiling faces, cookies on the table, crossword puzzle open, and I could just sit and chat, and let whatever troubles I was having melt away.
In recent years, there have been more concerns about my grandparents than anything else - grandma losing her memory, grandpa losing his hearing, and just plain old age taking over. There was lots of discussion that they should move, but grandpa wouldn't budge, even when he ended up in the hospital, and in hindsight I now see that he was right to keep grandma at home, even at the expense of their health.
Since grandma entered the hospital on March 2, the change in environment and lack of familiar surroundings has caused a downward spiral that I would have never anticipated. In one month she has gone from, "Hi Jo" to "Who's there, oh, hi Jo" to even more delayed recognition. My last visit was nice, but also sad, as she was tired and difficult to understand, and I put her to bed as I had back on March 6, thinking of how our roles have reversed since my childhood. The past year may have been hard for us on the outside to deal with, but it allowed my grandparents to enjoy their time together, and kept my grandma in the stable environment that she needed. Now I wonder if she'll ever bounce back.
It's so easy to cry when I think of the memories of that house - the overnight stays (that sometimes turned into three nights), the summer I stayed in the basement when I was working at the University, Christmas, the first time I took Matthew there, all of the weeks I visited when the kids were little, climbing the trees in the backyard, eating fresh rhubarb out of the garden, and the smell of the lilac tree in the summer.
But then I remind my selfish self that no matter how badly I feel, my dad, aunt and uncle would feel even worse seeing their childhood home being emptied, and my grandpa would feel even worse than that. It's a time to come together as a family, not wallow in my own pity party. I have years worth of fabulous memories and I am so thankful for that.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Lines
Last week we were fortunate enough to be vacationing in Disneyland, and were also fortunate enough that it wasn't too busy and the lineups were pretty short (we walked right onto many rides). One ride that wasn't very short was the lineup for the new Radiator Springs Racers ride. I had been watching crowd trackers and knew that the lineup for that ride is typically 2-3 hours, so when we arrived at the park and saw that it was "only" 90 minutes, we jumped into line (much to Matthew's chagrin). It actually only would have taken about 75 minutes but there was a breakdown, so that slowed things down a bit. However, we were fortunate - a guy I talked to later in the trip had been waiting 70 minutes in line one day, the ride broke down, and the whole crowd had to leave the lineup - I think Matthew would have had a major meltdown if that would have happened to us.
I've seen many complaints about the lines in Disneyland - in the summer it seems like 45 minutes is a short one. However, we need to get a little perspective....we're waiting in lines for rides people! We have the money to enter the park in the first place (getting pretty pricey, let me tell you), money to spend $50 on lunch, money to spend $3.75 on a measley churro (essentially a long mini donut). We should be thankful that we have the opportunity to wait in such a line!
Last night was a very busy night at the Mustard Seed - the wind chill was brutal and it's getting towards the end of the month, so people are running out of money. When I arrived at 7 the place was packed and there were people waiting to get in - some people would have waited at least an hour just to get food. When dinner was over and coffee was served, it was a half hour wait to get something from the coffee bar, and when we served leftovers, the line just grew longer.
I reflected on the long line as I stood behind the coffee bar frantically trying to serve everyone (luckily I had some help from one of my buddies from the community). I can't imagine waiting that long with a grumbling stomach and a tired body, let alone waiting in the cold. An then I thought of the children in Rwanda who walked for six miles and stood in line for food....because they didn't know when they would eat next.
We should be thankful for every line were are blessed to be standing in.
I've seen many complaints about the lines in Disneyland - in the summer it seems like 45 minutes is a short one. However, we need to get a little perspective....we're waiting in lines for rides people! We have the money to enter the park in the first place (getting pretty pricey, let me tell you), money to spend $50 on lunch, money to spend $3.75 on a measley churro (essentially a long mini donut). We should be thankful that we have the opportunity to wait in such a line!
Last night was a very busy night at the Mustard Seed - the wind chill was brutal and it's getting towards the end of the month, so people are running out of money. When I arrived at 7 the place was packed and there were people waiting to get in - some people would have waited at least an hour just to get food. When dinner was over and coffee was served, it was a half hour wait to get something from the coffee bar, and when we served leftovers, the line just grew longer.
I reflected on the long line as I stood behind the coffee bar frantically trying to serve everyone (luckily I had some help from one of my buddies from the community). I can't imagine waiting that long with a grumbling stomach and a tired body, let alone waiting in the cold. An then I thought of the children in Rwanda who walked for six miles and stood in line for food....because they didn't know when they would eat next.
We should be thankful for every line were are blessed to be standing in.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Hot Yoga
I wasn't really planning on making the jump from warm to hot yoga so soon, but Elizabeth went home with a friend from church today, and rather than picking her up in Leduc at 4 and returning to Leduc at 8 for warm yoga, I decided to save some gas and take a hot class at 3 and pick Elizabeth up right after.
The room wasn't too hot - I didn't feel that it was much hotter than the warm room. However, not realizing that Sandra was the teacher, when she came into the class, I thought, "Oh no." Sandra is a crazy fitness instructor after my own heart - the first class of hers that I took (aptly named "Grunt and Groan"), I almost left the room because I thought I was going to puke (I didn't). Of course, I came back for more torture the week after.
Sandra's yoga classes are not much better - very quick transitions, lots of planks, chaterungas (I'm sure that's spelled wrong), and even deep squats. I wore a headband and there was still sweat dripping down my face, and my arms and legs were slippery with sweat. However, after it was over, I realized what a good workout it had been, and hadn't been hard on my body like other "good workouts" tend to be.
So, the Crazy Sandra Hot Yoga class has just become another piece of my toolkit - a way to stay in shape that can be sustained over the long term (rather than my usual "go way to hard for a few months and then burn out"). It feels good to treat my body well rather than the abuse I have given it over the last many years - and as I get older, I sure can feel the effects of those years of abuse....and now I am trying to reverse those effects.
And an even better side effect....I'll sleep like a baby tonight!
The room wasn't too hot - I didn't feel that it was much hotter than the warm room. However, not realizing that Sandra was the teacher, when she came into the class, I thought, "Oh no." Sandra is a crazy fitness instructor after my own heart - the first class of hers that I took (aptly named "Grunt and Groan"), I almost left the room because I thought I was going to puke (I didn't). Of course, I came back for more torture the week after.
Sandra's yoga classes are not much better - very quick transitions, lots of planks, chaterungas (I'm sure that's spelled wrong), and even deep squats. I wore a headband and there was still sweat dripping down my face, and my arms and legs were slippery with sweat. However, after it was over, I realized what a good workout it had been, and hadn't been hard on my body like other "good workouts" tend to be.
So, the Crazy Sandra Hot Yoga class has just become another piece of my toolkit - a way to stay in shape that can be sustained over the long term (rather than my usual "go way to hard for a few months and then burn out"). It feels good to treat my body well rather than the abuse I have given it over the last many years - and as I get older, I sure can feel the effects of those years of abuse....and now I am trying to reverse those effects.
And an even better side effect....I'll sleep like a baby tonight!
Friday, February 1, 2013
I Said No!
I am fortunate that I love the career I have chosen to support my family. I get to work with numbers all day, I get to meet with great people, and I get to give lots of free advice. I'm a CA, and anyone who knows anything about accounting knows that this time of year gets stupidly busy.
Even though I love what I do, I've had a nagging feeling, or maybe a nagging from the Holy Spirit, that God has bigger plans for me in His kingdom, and while accounting is great to pay the bills, it's not serving His Purpose. Of course, I'm still waiting for the dream in which I am hanging out with Jesus and he tells me, "Jo, your Purpose is......." - somehow I don't think that's going to happen. What I do know is that every time I have accepted a new client in the past few months, a little voice says, "Do you really need another client? Don't you have enough? Where do I fit in if you become consumed with work?" It seems as if there is a neverending supply of people out there who need accountants, and I was starting to worry that if I didn't start saying no to people, that I was going to become one of those accountants that I always complain about - accountants who don't have time to give great service, accountants who lose track of who their clients are, accountants who don't seem to care.
I was also worried that work was going to start consuming my life again, like it did when I worked in the city, and I sure didn't want to relive that nightmare!
But last night, I received a phone call from someone who needed their taxes done, and without thinking, I just said, "Unfortunately, I've taken on all of the clients I can this year." There! Done! No lightning bolts shot down from the sky, the house didn't rumble and shake, my head didn't explode, I just said no, and that's it.
I felt a little guilty afterwards, but then, driving to pick up Elizabeth from gymnastics, the message become loud and clear: You will now have enough time for Me. You will now have enough time for your Mission. I have put certain people in your path to show you how much you can care. Time to get to work.
I have lived too long in a life where work has defined me, where a new client feeds my ego (they want ME!), where work makes me feel important. I still love what I do, but I do it to pay the bills, and there is so much more to be done.
Wow God, you sure work in amazing ways!
Even though I love what I do, I've had a nagging feeling, or maybe a nagging from the Holy Spirit, that God has bigger plans for me in His kingdom, and while accounting is great to pay the bills, it's not serving His Purpose. Of course, I'm still waiting for the dream in which I am hanging out with Jesus and he tells me, "Jo, your Purpose is......." - somehow I don't think that's going to happen. What I do know is that every time I have accepted a new client in the past few months, a little voice says, "Do you really need another client? Don't you have enough? Where do I fit in if you become consumed with work?" It seems as if there is a neverending supply of people out there who need accountants, and I was starting to worry that if I didn't start saying no to people, that I was going to become one of those accountants that I always complain about - accountants who don't have time to give great service, accountants who lose track of who their clients are, accountants who don't seem to care.
I was also worried that work was going to start consuming my life again, like it did when I worked in the city, and I sure didn't want to relive that nightmare!
But last night, I received a phone call from someone who needed their taxes done, and without thinking, I just said, "Unfortunately, I've taken on all of the clients I can this year." There! Done! No lightning bolts shot down from the sky, the house didn't rumble and shake, my head didn't explode, I just said no, and that's it.
I felt a little guilty afterwards, but then, driving to pick up Elizabeth from gymnastics, the message become loud and clear: You will now have enough time for Me. You will now have enough time for your Mission. I have put certain people in your path to show you how much you can care. Time to get to work.
I have lived too long in a life where work has defined me, where a new client feeds my ego (they want ME!), where work makes me feel important. I still love what I do, but I do it to pay the bills, and there is so much more to be done.
Wow God, you sure work in amazing ways!
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Improvement
Since I'll probably (hopefully) look back at my yoga progress with chuckles, I thought I should comment on the improvement I noticed in my second Warm Yin Yoga class. Last week our first pose was a wide-legged child's pose, knees apart towards the outsides of the mat, leaning forward with forehead down and arms stretched out. I couldn't last the entire pose without bringing my knees together - it was to much for my hips to be in that wide pose for that long.
However, this past Sunday I managed to stay down in child's pose for the duration! Near the end I had to employ some breathing techniques (thanks Joyce!), but I made it. Joyce (my yoga instructor) also commented this morning that she can see my hips opening a bit....yay - I love to see progress!
Interestingly, since Joyce has been receiving complaints about her Yin poses, she didn't do any this morning, and I felt out of sorts for the entire hour. There must be something about Yin that grounds me for the day....I'll have to look into that. I've ordered a book on Yin - should go well with my Essential Ayurveda book. Speaking of which, it's from that book that I found the best advice ever:
Do less
Be more
However, this past Sunday I managed to stay down in child's pose for the duration! Near the end I had to employ some breathing techniques (thanks Joyce!), but I made it. Joyce (my yoga instructor) also commented this morning that she can see my hips opening a bit....yay - I love to see progress!
Interestingly, since Joyce has been receiving complaints about her Yin poses, she didn't do any this morning, and I felt out of sorts for the entire hour. There must be something about Yin that grounds me for the day....I'll have to look into that. I've ordered a book on Yin - should go well with my Essential Ayurveda book. Speaking of which, it's from that book that I found the best advice ever:
Do less
Be more
Monday, January 14, 2013
Warm Yoga
Everyone who knows me would agree that I am not a person who should be put in a hot climate. I get fidgety, irritable, and downright cranky. When friends are discussing their plans to go to Mexico or Cuba for a winter getaway, I just dream about going to the mountains and walking around in the crisp, cool air. It should come as no surprise that this new craze known as "hot yoga" scares the bejeebers out of me!
However, as is usual in my life, logic always triumphs over fear. I am currently taking two yoga classes a week here in town, and long for the day when my body doesn't feel broken down. My trainer told me the tales of her hot yoga experience, and while the thought of moving around in a room heated to 38-40 degrees is not my idea of a good time.....EVER, I thought that maybe the "warm yoga" (a mere 32-34 degrees) might be okay. So my friend and I headed down the highway to a Sunday night Warm Yin Yoga class.
If I could sum it up in one word.....AMAZING.
And in a few words.....why didn't I start doing this years ago?
Our instructor had a voice like maple syrup - flowing, dreamy, calming. Her postures were simple, yet effective, and very gentle. The air was hot, but I found it comforting, almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket. At the end, as everyone else was leaving, I just lay there, enjoying the silence and the heat. The class went by too fast and I can't wait until the next one.
I came home so relaxed and slept very well. I awoke at 5:15 feeling great and rolled out of bed for an am bootcamp-ish class. If Jo from two years ago visited Jo today in a time machine, she would not believe what I am about to say.
I think I prefer the yoga class.
However, as is usual in my life, logic always triumphs over fear. I am currently taking two yoga classes a week here in town, and long for the day when my body doesn't feel broken down. My trainer told me the tales of her hot yoga experience, and while the thought of moving around in a room heated to 38-40 degrees is not my idea of a good time.....EVER, I thought that maybe the "warm yoga" (a mere 32-34 degrees) might be okay. So my friend and I headed down the highway to a Sunday night Warm Yin Yoga class.
If I could sum it up in one word.....AMAZING.
And in a few words.....why didn't I start doing this years ago?
Our instructor had a voice like maple syrup - flowing, dreamy, calming. Her postures were simple, yet effective, and very gentle. The air was hot, but I found it comforting, almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket. At the end, as everyone else was leaving, I just lay there, enjoying the silence and the heat. The class went by too fast and I can't wait until the next one.
I came home so relaxed and slept very well. I awoke at 5:15 feeling great and rolled out of bed for an am bootcamp-ish class. If Jo from two years ago visited Jo today in a time machine, she would not believe what I am about to say.
I think I prefer the yoga class.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Yin Yoga
I am not a huge fan of yoga, but I am logical enough to know that there are huge benefits, especially for an aging body. I am therefore taking two yoga classes a week, and last night was introduced to Yin Yoga.
Gak.
I don't know much about Yin Yoga, other than it is good for facsia and connective tissue, poses are held for a long time, and oh yes, one more thing.
IT HURTS. A LOT.
I am writing this account in the hopes that I can look back on it in a year and chuckle, but I sure wasn't chuckling last night. To start with, I couldn't even get my feet into the right position, the instructor had to come over and help me, so with her help I was able to get my legs in a contorted position. Then she was expecting me to sit back. My butt cheeks were supposed to be touching the floor. I think the entire volume of the World Book Encyclopedia could have fit between my butt and the floor. So she put yoga blocks underneath so I could somewhat sit. Then she told me to lean forward.
I looked at her like she was crazy, and showed her that I wasn't able to lean forward. She then pulled out a huge bolster that I had to rest my head on. The whole time I was supposed to breathe, but I spent my time cursing my poor flexibility. I felt like a big loser with my blocks and bolster while everyone else in the class was leaner forward, and yes, with butt cheeks on the floor. Getting out of the position wasn't much easier. And to top it all off my hips hurt when I woke up this morning.
However, I am determined that this Yin stuff will get easier each time I do it, and off I go tomorrow morning to try it again. We'll see if it seems to be any better.
Somehow I doubt it will.
Gak.
I don't know much about Yin Yoga, other than it is good for facsia and connective tissue, poses are held for a long time, and oh yes, one more thing.
IT HURTS. A LOT.
I am writing this account in the hopes that I can look back on it in a year and chuckle, but I sure wasn't chuckling last night. To start with, I couldn't even get my feet into the right position, the instructor had to come over and help me, so with her help I was able to get my legs in a contorted position. Then she was expecting me to sit back. My butt cheeks were supposed to be touching the floor. I think the entire volume of the World Book Encyclopedia could have fit between my butt and the floor. So she put yoga blocks underneath so I could somewhat sit. Then she told me to lean forward.
I looked at her like she was crazy, and showed her that I wasn't able to lean forward. She then pulled out a huge bolster that I had to rest my head on. The whole time I was supposed to breathe, but I spent my time cursing my poor flexibility. I felt like a big loser with my blocks and bolster while everyone else in the class was leaner forward, and yes, with butt cheeks on the floor. Getting out of the position wasn't much easier. And to top it all off my hips hurt when I woke up this morning.
However, I am determined that this Yin stuff will get easier each time I do it, and off I go tomorrow morning to try it again. We'll see if it seems to be any better.
Somehow I doubt it will.
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