Ten Summer Tree

For the past ten years,

I’ve watched a slim young tree pass through the seasons

on the other side of my kitchen window.

It shades my house in summer,

drops yellow leaves in fall,

and stands silent through long Alberta winters.

When the world opens its eyes in spring,

my tree wakes up to produce tiny green buds.

Its neighbors quickly move into full-leafed glory,

but my tree gets stuck in the tiny-bud stage.

During the tree’s first few springs, I concluded, at this point, that the tree had died.

But, just when I’d given up,

the miniature buds would dramatically unfurl into a grand green canopy overnight.

This month... this week... today...

after a winter that was even longer than usual,

trees everywhere are waving leaves in celebration,

showing off pink and white and red blossoms,

and casting sweet, indefinable scents onto the air.

My tree has no blooms and casts no scents, sweet or otherwise.

Its bits of green are still tiny.

But, because of our years together,

I know my tree is growing and preparing.

It just doesn’t show off the work til it's complete.

As I wait for the morning when I’ll see the fruit of my tree’s hidden labor,

I feel my life is like my ten summer tree.

I’m in a year of professional limbo, accented by months of intriguing health issues.

It feels like winter –

all my leaves fell off months ago,

and I’m waiting, dormant, to see what life will bring out in spring.

I know my tree will soon explode into green for its tenth summer,

because I’ve seen it happen nine times before.

God has already guided and provided for me in many seasons,

so I trust Him to do it once again.

As long as my winter lasts,

through weeks of wondering and days of waiting,

I'll choose to trust Him.

I will trust that,

once again,

He'll show me a new path to take,

give me strength to do what needs to be done,

and use my life to offer good and beauty to the world.

-- Reenie

Not Relationship Material?

People familiar with autism and Asperger Syndrome -- as well as those who aren't -- may enjoy a movie I watched recently.

The title character of Adam is a young man who lives alone in New York, and works as an electronic engineer.

A pretty young teacher-writer named Beth moves into Adam’s apartment building and begins to build a friendship with him -- at least, she wants to. Sometimes it seems he wants to be her friend, too. Most of the time, his actions make no sense.

When Adam tells her he has Asperger Syndrome, she tries to convince herself he’s “not relationship material”. Instead, when she researches AS, she understands a little better how she can relate to him.

And, as you’ve already guessed, Adam and Beth fall in love.

I enjoyed Adam’s sweet, surprising storyline.

Hugh Dancy does a convincing job of playing a man with AS – minimal eye contact, social awkwardness, a rigid adherence to rules and routines, and difficulty picking up social cues.

Beth, played by Rose Byrne, responds to Adam with compassion, along with a genuine desire for him to love her in return. Her gently persistent love for him is a comforting reminder that people who have AS can be deeply treasured by others, and can give care, encouragement and love in return.

I was encouraged by the movie’s messages that people who have AS can overcome social and emotional challenges, form mutually meaningful relationships, and make valued contributions through their work.

Adam will lovingly introduce many people to the challenges of living with Asperger Syndrome, although, unfortunately, some will then be falsely-confident they know everything there is to know about it.

I must also say that, as one expects from Hollywood, this movie doesn't support all of my relational values.

Nevertheless, Adam is worthwhile, heart-warming entertainment for anyone who applauds people who overcome every kind of challenge.
--Reenie

The Truth Will Out

Four-and-a-half weeks ago,

when a mild headache suddenly exploded into head-clawing pain,

I called 911,

and earned an ambulance trip to the hospital.

It was the third time in my life,

all in less than a week,

that I’d experienced that kind of pain.

Calling 911 on myself,

and the ambulance ride --

those were brand new.

Both the male and female paramedics seemed competent,

and, as far as I could tell, they did all the “right things”.

But of all the medical professionals I’ve encountered in past weeks,

they weren’t exactly the kindest.

They were somewhat brusque,

dismissive of my pain and fear,

and surprisingly oblivious to the comfort it would have been to have a loved one near.

As we rocketed over bumps and potholes,
I lay writhing on that narrow bed
gripping the bedside as tightly as possible with my IV hand.
The first medications they administered did nothing to relieve the pain.

My eyes covered due to extreme light sensitivity,

I could see nothing but darkness.

When we’d started our trip,

I’d called out,

“Is anyone back here with me?”

The male medic told me he was,

but even with the assurance of his presence,

I felt alone and terrified.

A few moments later,

after carefully considering it,

I asked the medic if he would hold my hand.

He responded with some surprise,

“You want me to hold your hand?”

To his credit,

he took two of my fingers –

the only ones not occupied with IV and monitor and clutching the bed --

and grasped them in his glove-tipped ones.

Only for a second, though,

for he soon excused himself.

“I’m just trying to get some paperwork done.”

So I released my reluctant comforter to do his paperwork.

In due time,

he finished his paperwork,

his driving-partner delivered us safely to the hospital,

and they handed me over to the care of Emergency Room staff.

Days later,

when I was safe at home, recovering,

the memory of the hand-holding incident floated up to me.

I’d been in so much pain.

so distraught,

so desperate for comfort!

The memory of the paramedics' dismissive tone makes me ask myself:

how many times have I,

as I teacher,

dismissed a child's emotional needs

because I had to "get paperwork done"?

Now that I’ve returned to the classroom,

that question is with me every day.

At the same time,

the memory of that night brings laughter,

for it hints at something I thought was long-hidden:

Regardless of my claims that I’m an independent, single woman,

despite the fervency of my assurances
that I’m delightedly content with my single state --

I’ll go to extreme measures to have a man hold my hand. :)

-- Reenie

Words from the Wise

My friend, J, celebrated her 65th birthday last week.

The first 65 years of her life have included living with a spouse who had a long-undiagnosed mental health issue, and who then had a massive stroke that left him with severe disabilities and needing consant care.

About her husband's stroke, J said, "Someone said to me, 'What a tragedy,' but I said to her, 'I prefer to call it a challenge, rather than a tragedy. A tragedy looks back, but a challenge looks forward.' "

Then my brave friend mused, "When I look back, I think the most valuable things in my life were the hard times. Those were the things that enabled me to relate and bring comfort to other people when they're going through their own hard times."

Wise words from a courageous woman. I hope I can speak so boldly when I turn 65.

-- Reenie

Invisible Mothers
A week from today,
     we’ll send sweet cards,
     make long-distance phone calls
     and buy bunches and bunches of flowers.

Many mothers will be honoured and praised and cheered.
They deserve every bit of that, and a whole lot more.

But there are women among us,
     also mothers,
     who won’t receive cards,
     flowers,
     or phone calls.

These women won’t receive praise or honor.
No one will rise and call them blessed.
They're invisible.

They are women who used to be mothers,
     but lost children -- to death, to marital break-up, to estrangement, to abduction.

They are women who gave their hearts and lives to raising children,
     but received only pain in return.

They are women who tried to become mothers,
     but were stymied by infertility, miscarriage, or failed adoption....or all three.

They are women who gave birth before they were ready to be mothers...
     and placed their children for adoption,
     so their child could have a mother...
     and another woman could have a child.

They are women who were unexpectedly pregnant and chose to abort their babies...
     and have carried guilt and sorrow every day since.

They are women who dreamed, expected, and longed to be married and have children,
     but for whom God had other plans.

They are women who quietly, lovingly, sacrificially mother other people’s children...
     and are called aunt,
     big sister,
     teacher,
     caregiver,
     and friend
     but never ever “Mother”.

They are women all around us.

     We see them every day.
     We admire them.
     We laugh with them.
     We benefit from what they do.

But, somehow, on Mother’s Day,
     they slide into the shadows.

They are Invisible Mothers.

This Mother’s Day,
     let's pray God opens our eyes
     to see the longings, sorrows and sacrifices
     of all the mothers...
     even those who are invisible.

-- Reenie

I Don't Want to Forget

I’ve learned some fresh lessons over the past weeks of illness.

I’ve gained a clearer understanding

of how isolating and emotionally debilitating chronic pain is,

and have a new heart-deep empathy for my friends

who deal with invisible pain every day.

My eyes have been opened

to the speed with which sickness or injury

can squeeze a busy, independent, productive, out-going life

into an existence of uncertainty, frailty and fear.

I’ve been jolted alert to the reality

that much of what I usually consider essential-to-my-schedule

is so very, very non-essential.

And I've learned that rest is essential...

as well as wonderful.

I’ve learned that

the presence of God with me is real,

even, or perhaps especially,

when I'm too confused to think anything except,

“Lord, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.”

I’ve realized over and over again

– as my friends and family members "dropped everything" to take care of me

--that those who say they love me,

really truly do.

And that I have friends with whom I can entrust my life.

Today,

three weeks since my illness began,

I'm cautiously hopeful that I’m starting to get better.

I believe I am getting better.

I fervently pray,

along with those who've prayed so fervently for me... 

that I'll soon be completely, fully well.

When I'm well once again,

when I'm strong,

when I'm productive,

and when the calendar events press in once again...

I'll celebrate my new gratitude for the simple gift of life.

And when I'm well,

when I'm celebrating life...

I pray I remember the lessons I learned in the darkness.

-- Reenie

Small Things Stack Up

I've been dealing with a significant health challenge lately.
In my recent crises, I've noticed that it's small things that make a big difference...
...the quick ride a friend gave me to Urgent Care
...the quiet voices of medical staff who knew my pain was sound sensitive
...the warmth of heated blankets
...the patience of a friend who wandered around the pharmacy, waiting for my prescription
...the concern of friends and family members who called, texted, emailed...and prayed
...the kindness of a neighbor and a friend who offered to do any errand I asked

Then a few days later....
...the thoughtfulness of my brother who met me before I left in the ambulance, although he couldn't "do" anything (he didn't know that being there for a few minutes was "doing" a lot)
...the persistence of the ER staff who repeatedly checked in on me, giving me medication after medication... after medication
...the patience of my sister-in-law, who sacrificed hours of sleep to watch me vomit, wait while I sat in a doped-out sleep... and then drive me home through a snowstorm
...the text from my young nephew who urged me to get better soon
...and his brother, who brushed the snowstorm off my car

And again...
...the kindness of loved ones who text, call, email
...the tenderness of friends who laugh when I laugh, listen when I cry, and put into words the terror I feel
...the faithfulness of those who pray for me
...the concern of those who take tasks off my shoulders and hoist them onto their own

Most of these (except my sister-in-law's loss of sleep) might be considered "little things".
Most don't require a big change in one's To Do List,
or a rearrangement of the day,
but these little things have made a big difference for me.

I'm so grateful for all these little things that shape my world into a comforting place.
Thank You, God, for filling my world with people who are willing to do these little things for me!

This isn't my poem, but it seems the long-forgotten author understood what I'm saying.
-- Reenie

The Little Things

Oh it's just the little homely things
The unobtrusive, friendly things
The won't -you-let-me-help-you things
That make our pathway light

And it's just the jolly, joking things
The never-mind-the-trouble things
The laugh-with-me-it's-funny things
That make the world seem bright.

For all the countless famous things
The wondrous record-making things
Those never-can-be-equaled things
That all the papers cite.

Aren't like the little human things
The everyday-encountered things
The just-because-I-like-you things
Make us happy quite.

So here's to all the little things
The done-and-then-forgotten thing
Those Oh,-it's-simply-nothing things
That make the life worth the fight.
-- Author unknown

Have You a Heart That’s Weary?

Have you a heart that's weary,

Tending a load of care?

Are you a soul that's seeking

Rest from the burden you bear?

Do you know, do you know, my Jesus?

Do you know, do you know, my friend?

Have you heard, have you heard, He loves you?

And that He’ll walk with you to the end?

Who knows your disappointments?

Who hears each time you cry?

Who understands your heartaches?

Who dries the tears from your eyes?

Do you know, do you know, my Jesus?

Do you know, do you know, my friend?

Have you heard, have you heard, He loves you?

And that He’ll walk with you to the end?

Words and Music by: Vep B. Ellia and William F. Lakey

From my weary heart to yours --

Reenie

Small, Dark and Handsome

16 years ago this spring,

I met a dark-haired, dark-eyed, terribly-handsome man,

and I loved him the moment I met him.

In those days, he was even shorter than I am,

and, I admit, quite immature,

but, in time, he overcame those challenges.

Now he towers over me by more-inches-than-I’ll-admit,

and is even more handsome than the day we met.

This special young man is my nephew,

my first and oldest,

and he was a thrice-given gift.

First, God gave him to his birthmother,

who realized that, as a single mom,

she couldn’t raise him as well as she’d want.

So, with a unique blend of love and heartache,

she gave him a second time...

by placing him for adoption with my brother and sister-in-law.

And, generously, on an ongoing basis,

my brother and sister-in-law give their son a third time...

by sharing him with me.

Four years after my oldest nephew,

another small, dark, handsome man joined our family.

He too was thrice-given --

by God, by his birthmom, and by his parents.

I am now the proud auntie of two handsome boys.

I lived for decades before they came to me,

but now I wonder how I could have felt life was complete without them.

My boys and I don’t share the same genetic history,

we have different racial backgrounds,

and my name is not on their birth certificates.

But I am their auntie,

and they are my boys.

I don’t do the hard work of training them,

feeding them,

or making sure their closets contain

pants long enough to cover their ever-growing legs.

But they are my boys.

They are not flesh-of-my-flesh

nor bone-of-my-bone...

but, irrevocably,

for good and for always,

no matter what,

they are my boys.

Nothing,

absolutely nothing,

will ever change that.

Every day,

I thank God for giving them.

Every day,

I’m grateful to my brother and sister-in-law for sharing them.

Today, I also want to say,

”Thank you, birthmoms.”

You made a choice.

For your sons' sake, you made a sacrifice.

Did you also know what a precious gift you were giving to us?

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Thank you for giving me my boys.

To learn more about adoption,

and attend an upcoming seminar
presented by Steven Curtis Chapman
and Focus on the Family,
please see http://www.endthewait.ca/tour/

-- Reenie

Step to The Front of the Line

We who are in Christian faith communities believe every human being is precious in God’s eyes because He made us in His image.

We believe our worth will never be diminished, no matter what other factors come and go.

We believe that people with disabilities and other challenges are as valuable to God as those of us whose challenges are less visible.

We nod fervently when we read that the Bible says God chooses to use people who are weak, for His glory. (1 Corinthians 12)

From early childhood, we’re taught to sing,

“Jesus loves me, this I know,

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong.

They are weak but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me....”

We cheerfully quote what Jesus said:

“Whatever you’ve done for the least of these, you’ve done for Me.”(Matthew 24)

So why...I ask you...Why-oh-why-oh-why do we so often not act that way?

Within my lifetime,

I've been delighted to see enormous improvements in how communities

accept and welcome people with all kinds of visible challenges.

I could give you a long list of agencies within my own city,

government-funded and otherwise,

who energetically,

passionately

work for the inclusion and benefit of people with disabilities.

I can’t tell you how deeply grateful I am for these agencies’ work.

What a difference they make for people with special needs

and for those who love them!

But it grieves my heart just as much

that there are still so few churches

who actively welcome people with disabilities.

We, who by the most basic statements of our faith,

declare that we value those who are weak,

often act like they have no worth at all.

We ought to be at the front of the line,

leading the way,

raising the bar,

setting the example.

What twists a knife in my gut is that,

instead,

we’re usually at the back.

And, oh --

we’re not just compliantly following along as someone else shows the way.

We’re often as-far-back-as-we-can-be,

dragged along with our heels dug in as-deep-as-we-can-dig-‘em.

Some of us even have even thumped ourselves down on the path,

refusing to move at all,

and making every effort to slow down anyone else who might like to move forward.

At my city’s local amusement park,

large and threatening signs prohibit queue-jumping.

Fortunately,

thankfully,

the Church is in a different kind of line.

In this line, we’re invited,

encouraged,

even urged,

to march up to the front of the line.

Yes, we have been late to do this,

but the good news is that it’s not too late.

So.

Let’s stand up for what we say we believe,

ask God to help us fix the attitudes we need to fix,

and pull our heels out of the sand.

Let’s march right up to the front of the line

and start leading the way.
-- Reenie