God will not be distracted

I reconnected recently with a friend. It's been about 8 years since we spoke and now she lives in one city and I in an other. It happened 'accidentally' when she selected my name on Facebook instead of someone with a very similar name.

We started trading emails back and forth, reminiscing of days past and people we knew; some who've died, others we've both lost touch with,others who one or the other of us has kept in touch with. We've been updating each other, filling in blanks, sharing memories and news.

As we talked we also shared our favorite poems and quotes and one I mentioned was from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, titled 'Separation from Those we Love'.

I realized, when I searched for it to share with my friend, that I had only ever known part of the writing - the part he called 'first' - but there are three more parts to it of which I wasn't aware. Three parts which contain a powerful message, particularly valuable to me at this point in my life. I'd always thought of this writing as being about death and, in fact, had used it when my dad died. But when you read all four parts it becomes apparent that it can also be about the loss of friendship and that is what I dealt with this past summer.

My friend wrote in one communication "I believe in no accidents in life" and I think perhaps she's right. Perhaps it was not an accident that we reconnected, that I searched for and discovered something that is reassuring and comforting, that I have a rekindled friendship just as one has faded away.

I believe that there are no coincidences - that a coincidence is, in actuality, God's way of trying to get our attention. I think that's what this all is. 

Here's the treatise in its entirety

Separation from Those we Love

First: nothing can make up for the absence of someone whom we love, and it would be wrong to try to find a substitute; we must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first, but at the same time it is a great consolation, for the gap, as long as it remains unfilled, preserves the bonds between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; he doesn’t fill it, but on the contrary, he keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain.

Secondly: the dearer and richer our memories, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude changes the pangs of memory into a tranquil joy. The beauties of the past are borne, not as a thorn in the flesh, but as a precious gift in themselves. We must take care not to wallow in our memories or hand ourselves over to them, just as we do not gaze all the time at a valuable present, but only at special times, and apart from these keep it simply as a hidden treasure that is ours for certain. In this way the past gives us lasting joy and strength.

Thirdly: times of separation are not a total loss or unprofitable for our companionship, or at any rate they need not be so. In spite of all the difficulties that they bring, they can be the means of strengthening fellowship quite remarkably.

Fourthly: I’ve learnt here especially that the facts can always be mastered, and that difficulties are magnified out of all proportion simply by fear and anxiety. From the moment we wake until we fall asleep we must commend other people wholly and unreservedly to God and leave them in his hands, and transform our anxiety for them into prayers on their behalf:

With sorrow and with grief…

God will not be distracted.

~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The Invitation

This summer I performed a wedding for a young couple who had experienced a major life altering incident some months earlier.  The bride-to-be had been close to death in hospital just weeks after the grooms' mother had died.  They asked that the following be the reading at their ceremony.  It was quite lovely.

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for,
And if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
For your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have been touched by the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life's betrayals
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
Without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own;
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of
your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life from ITS presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "YES!"

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. 

     --- Oriah Mountain Dreamer

are you still carrying her?

Years ago I heard the following story at a motivational business seminar. It stuck with me and I've used it many times.  It's called 'Muddy Road'


"Tanzan and Ekido were once travelling together down a muddy road.  A heavy rain was falling.  Coming around a bend they met a lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash, unable to cross the intersection.  'Come on girl' said Tanzan at once.  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her over the mud.  Ekido did not speak again until that night when they reached a lodging temple.  Then he could no longer restrain himself.  'We monks don't go near females' he said to Tanzan, 'especially not young and lovely ones.  It is dangerous.  Why did you did that?'


"I left the girl there," said Tanzan. "Are you still carrying her?"

The Summer of 2010

Even though I haven't had school age children for many years I still tend to think of the day after Labour Day as the start of a new year.  Far more than January 1st, September is the beginning for me.

And thank God for that because I'm so thankful that this summer is finally over and a new year is about to begin.

I started the new calendar year - December 31st actually - by getting a puppy.  Bailey was a 3 month old Golden Retriever when I first met him and I fell in love the moment I first hugged him.

Bailey was my first puppy.  Our previous dogs were adults we got from the pound.  But awe thought that a puppy would be easier to assimilate him into a family of cats which is how Bailey came to join our family.  So how'd that go???  Not so well, but it didn't really matter - Bailey ruled the roost - over the four cats and my son's Lab.  

I learned a lot about bringing up a puppy.  I learned that puppies pee an enormous amount!  I learned that they have very sharp teeth and that they like to chew.  I also learned that Golden Retrievers like to eat things and so "leave it" was a phrase I used a lot with Bailey.  We got pretty good at putting things away and keeping them out of his reach. 

Unfortunately, we didn't realize that he was tearing pieces off his blanket and eating them.   Nor that he had gotten one of those rope toys totally unravelled and partially swallowed.  One of those pieces - blanket or rope, the docs never figured it out - blocked his small intestine.  After three unsuccessful surgeries we had to let him go. 

We had taken him to the OVC in Guelph for the final two surgeries.  They, everyone at OVC but particularly Dr. Michelle Oblak, were amazing.  They tried their best to save Bailey, but when they couldn't they helped us to give him a good death.  Dr. Oblak - Michelle as she came to be known to me - had settled Bailey on top of a large, white, lambswool blanket and then covered him with another blanket before we came into the exam room.  He tried his best to stand up when we came into the room but it was beyond him.  He lay back down on the mat and I sat beside him.  After I said my goodbyes Michelle gave him the final injection; I held him in my arms - all 75 pounds of him - as his Bailey-ness left his body.  My beautiful boy.

Bailey had his first surgery on August 3rd and we said goodbye on August 11th.  During those 9 days I also found myself struggling with the realization that a friendship I had valued for about 15 years was over.  Not only that, I felt that the entire 15 years had been based on deception and duplicity. That loss - both of the real friendship and what I had believed to be the friendship - felt like a death.  And then to lose Bailey a few days later was almost too much. Two deaths - one literal, one figurative.  I was desperately sad. 

After Bailey's death at only 11 months old, I honestly didn't think that I would ever get another dog.  I seemed to be facing too much loss and I simply didn't think that I could risk loving and possibly losing yet again. I was so, so sad. 

I missed my beautiful boy so much and, although I didn't think of replacing him, I realized that I needed another dog.

So I got Dillon.  A 7 week old Irishdoodle.  I couldn't see myself getting another Golden Retriever - it would seem almost 'insulting' to Bailey.  As if I was replacing him.  I know he was "just a dog" but he was MY dog and I wanted to honour his memory.  So another Golden Retriever wasn't an option.  But I came across a litter of Irishdoodle's on kijiji and .... the rest is history.

Dillon means 'faithful companion' (Bailey got his name because he ran towards a Bailey's Irish Cream bottle instead of a bell - otherwise he would have been named Belvedere!!!).  I still miss my beautiful boy but I do love Dillon.

So, a new year begins tomorrow and while Bailey's memory lives within me (and I still call Dillon 'Bailey' lots of times) I'm not quite so sad as I was a month ago.  

 

The Parable of the two wolves ....

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves that dwell inside each and everyone of us.

“One is Evil.

It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

The other is Good.

It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute, and then asked his grandfather:

“Which wolf will win ?”

The old Cherokee simply replied:

“The one you feed.”

July 8th

Today is July 8th, 2010.



6 years ago today my mother died.



2 years ago today my father died.



Exactly 4 years apart.



Mom was 83 when she died. Dad, 95. We had them a good long time. But not long enough. Never long enough.



You'd think that - since they died 'old' - the pain of missing them might be somewhat lessened. Of course I don't know what the pain is like when you lose a parent earlier but I can tell you that the lose of a parent at any age is heart-breaking.



I walk Bailey every evening past a house where an elderly couple sit on the porch and greet every passerby. They look nothing like my parents (although I have the suspicion that the Mrs. might be suffering from Parkinson's as did my mother) and yet each time we speak my heart aches a bit more than normal. Because they're old? Maybe. Because they're together and I sense they are always together? Perhaps. But I know and see a lot of elderly people every day who don't make my heart ache and magnify my loss. What is it about these two I wonder. Maybe it's just the passing of time.




Not long before Dad died we had a very funny interaction related to a book I'd loaned him. He was really put out about the ending. When I arrived one Sunday afternoon Dale, my sister, met me at the door and said "HE wants a word with you". She refused to tell me what was going on but she had a sly smile so I knew it was going to be a good one. Like the time he harranged me over and over about the headband I was wearing. My headband he hated, Dale's eyebrow peircing got ignored!



But I digress. That particular day he made me read the last few pages of the book out loud and then give him my interpretation (which was the polar opposite of his own). He never did agree with how I had interpreted it and he never quite forgave me for an ending he really didn't like. I didn't WRITE the book, I told him - I simply loaned it to you! Didn't matter. I was the conduit and he was pissed.



Because he was 95 you're thinking? No, because he was - had always been - wonderfully eccentric. And this exchange came to mind recently when I finished reading the next book by that same author. OMG, I thought to myself, thank god he's dead because he would have HATED me over this ending!!!



They've been together again now for 2 years - married for 63, together in eternity. Those 4 years without her were hell for him - although my sister and brother-in-law filled every one of those days with love and laughter it just wasn't the same without her.



Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad. Miss you always. Love you forever.

That's right ..... we bad.

Many (many) years ago I worked with a girl named Vera. Her ancestry was Russian and Vera in Russian it looked like (using the alphabet I was familiar with) B-E-P-A. And so her nickname was Bepa. Mine was Neecy. A spin on my real name. So there we were - Bepa and Neecy. And what an unlikely duo we were.

I was about 27, she a bit younger. She was single and care free. I'd been married since I was 20 and would, over the course of your friendship, become pregnant with twins. Said twins now the same age I was when I met Bepa. So this is a tale of long ago.

She was the free spirt I wasn't. The free spirit I probably wanted to be. I'd left my parent's home to move into my marriage home. She'd left her parents home as a very young teenager and managed on her own for years without their - or anyone's - help. She drove a beat up old VW beetle. I can still remember looking down and seeing the road rush by beneath my feet through the rust that was holding the car together. I was the law abiding worrywart always concerned about the possibility of a parking ticket when she parked that thing wherever she could squeeze it in. 'No Parking' sign? Who cares. Curb? No worries. And oddly enough I don't ever recall getting a ticket.

She introduced me to Sangria and salsa. Hot hot hot. OMG I remember the first time we went to her favorite Mexican restaurant. There on the table was a bowl of salsa and some tortilla chips. 'It's pretty hot' she said. 'Oh, I like spicy food' I replied and took some. 'Pretty hot' was her euphemism for excruciating pain I think. She laughed like hell as I gasped and tried to drown it with water - a useless attempt I came to realize.

God, she could laugh. We laughed together all the time. That's what I remember most about our friendship. The laughter. And the acceptance. Because there wasn't anyone quite so opposite as me from Vera. And yet she accepted me just as I was. True friendship.

You couldn't tie her down and so after a while she left the hospital where we both worked and spent a year in Australia. I sent her 'care packages' of things she loved and couldn't find there. Peanut butter was a key item as I recall. Vegemite just didn't cut it for her!

And then she spent some time in Hollywood. I don't remember her wanting to be 'a star' but she was in Hollywood and when she was there she met Richard Pryor.

One of our favorite movies was Stir Crazy, with Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder. We loved that movie and were forever quoting lines from it (remember, we WERE in our 20's!). Our favorite line was from the scene where Richard & Gene were going to jail. 'What are you doing?" Gene asks Richard as they're on their way to the holding pen. "I'm gettin' bad' replies Richard. And so they both 'get bad'. And their bad was hysterically funny. 'That's right' says's Gene to the group in the cell 'we bad'.

And 'that's right, we bad' became our slogan, Vera and I.

And so, when she had a chance to meet Richard Pryor Vera asked him to do a 'we bad' for her friend Neecy in Toronto. And he did. I have a 'we bad' vicariously through Vera Maiden.

We lost touch some time after that. Vera returned from her travels and I was pregnant with my boys. The gap between us seemed too large and we drifted apart. But wherever she is today I hope that she has fond memories of our time together as I do
.
Here's to a wonderful - and far too brief -friendship.

That's right. We bad.