Preserving our Humanity

and thoughts on containment

Fall is upon us here in Alberta, and the late blooms in the garden and the leaves changing their colors are bringing me joy. While I hate to give up my sandals for closed-in shoes, I am all for cozy sweaters and socks. Each season requires us to release some things and embrace others. Here’s to embracing the coziness of fall, the vibrant colors, the fresh bracing air, and the reminder that even as we enter that final quarter of 2024 we can still begin again.

Even as I quietly enter this new season and contemplate the subtle changes, I realize so many have had catastrophic change come upon them. On my heart are those who are trying to breathe again after flooding, mudslides, bombings, fires, and devastating diagnoses.  It is good to allow our hearts to break for others, to, in some small way, enter into their pain, to intercede on their behalf.  May our hearts remain soft and so preserve the beauty that dwells within us. And may God have mercy.

I have a beautiful story to share with you from our recent stay in Toronto. Our oldest daughter lives downtown, in a typically small apartment, so we stay nearby in an Airbnb and spend a lot of time walking.

One morning, my husband and I stood at the corner waiting for the light to change so we could cross. Cyclists also waited close to the curb. When the light turned green, one cyclist, in his eagerness to get going, ran into the one in front who had a small trailer full of apples attached to the back of his bike. The cyclist upset the literal apple cart!

Like a scene from a movie the apples went bouncing and rolling all over the intersection. Cars waited. When it was clear that the vehicles were not entering the intersection, almost every pedestrian ran out to rescue the man’s apples. All strangers, of different ages and ethnicities stepped in to help. The one who caused the commotion parked his bike and joined in the rescue. He picked up the final apple off the road, carried with both hands and solemnly placed it into the cart on top of all the others. It felt like an offering and an apology. Moments later the cars filled the intersection and the pedestrians went on their way. The only evidence that this sacred moment occurred was a little bit of apple juice staining the road and a renewed spring in my step and a little more hope in my heart.

Writing about this scene later in the day cemented it into my memory and became what I remembered from that day. Recording it on paper was a way of savoring the goodness I experienced. It’s so easy to hang onto the negative and forget the beauty and goodness – I want to save the goodness. It has been scientifically proven that our joy increases as we rehearse the good in our lives.

Do you have a practice to help you savor all that is good in your day?

When we traveled to see our daughter in Toronto, my husband and I also went to see my parents in another city in Southern Ontario. During our whole time there, the weather was sunny and hot;  it felt like summer had been extended for a couple of weeks, which was a treat.

Lately, when I visit my dad, I never know whether or not he will know me. Alzheimer’s has taken so much. When I walked in to the cognitive care unit at Bluewater Health, I wondered what kind of reception I would receive. I braced myself for the very real possibility of a blank stare. I went up to this new version of my dad—shrunken and in a wheelchair—grabbed his hand and said, “hi Dad”! Immediately his eyes lit up and a smile formed on his face and he said, “Oh it’s you! I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Those few words seemed the most beautiful to me in that moment. He did not need to know my name, he just knew we were connected, bonded by familial love.

I posted this on social media after spending time with my Dad,

One of his best features is
The laughter lines.
Excavated over years
Of teasing and laughter —
An overflow of joy.
 
It’s hard to see that his face and eyes do not light up in quite the same way as they used to.
Confusion has taken over
and his memories have eroded,
Washed away like the coastline.
 
I look in the mirror and often see
Glimpses of similar lines forming on my face.
This is a legacy I gratefully accept.

I was thinking recently of the fear I have of life getting smaller and being contained in ways I would not choose. This train of thought was no doubt prompted by this visit to my elderly parents and another birthday in the books for me.

The fear of being contained, restricted, or silenced is very real. I have always been claustrophobic, but this is something different. I recall the tight chest, nervous energy, and difficulty focusing during the season of lockdowns. It was like a slow suffocation.

I have watched as my parents’ lives get smaller and more restricted — they hardly left the house for years. I feel my heart rate rise and my breathing become shallow as I think of them and what life might look like for me 25 years from now.

My dad is physically restrained in a chair by day, and his bed by night. His mind has closed in. I see his hands grasping, pulling, and fidgeting and wonder if he is feeling this sense of suffocation. Does he feel trapped in a body that refuses to walk and a mind that no longer accesses memories or words? Does this contribute to his unsettledness?

My mom and my friend are both in the process of giving up their driver’s licenses and just the thought of it is enough to set me on edge. It takes great strength to willingly give up this freedom.

I wonder as age changes me and my capacity shifts if I can gracefully accept limitations as a possible gift and not a curse. Containment does not have to mean I am diminished; it could also mean that I am held. Limitations may keep me securely in my lane, saving from living a life meant for someone else, and rescued from perpetual distraction.

I do admit I want the freedom to come and go as I please—to be independent, and to be heard. Even as I write these words, I realize my privilege and ableness. I have never before considered what it might mean to be in a body with different capacities than I am accustomed to.

As I sit with these reflections, I pray they will lead to a willingness to see and empathize with others and to surrender when the time comes to the necessary, and maybe even good, changes.

TO READ OR WATCH

For Our Daughters

This one is difficult to watch, but is very pertinent to all the sexual abuse that is being exposed within church settings. It is a short but powerful video calling for greater transparency and justice.

My writer friend, Cathy Fort Leyland, has written a wonderful book entitled, Whispered Wisdom: Listening to God One Word at a Time. It is a unique devotional with each entry centered on one word. Cathy invites us to go deep by asking thoughtful questions. She is a trained spiritual director and reading her book is like having a session with her each time. One line that stood out for me recently was, “Comfort zones serve a purpose but they can’t be our permanent address”. Welp! Cathy helps the reader listen to what God might by saying rather than telling you what he is saying which I deeply appreciate. You can find it on Amazon.

As we enter October, the month of Thanksgiving for us Canadians, here are some words to hold onto.

“Do you know that no matter what, you are held? Mysteriously and benevolently, you are held. Your job is to give in to this held-ness instead of trying to squirm away so you can go prove how worthy you are.”

Leeana Tankersley from her book Always We Begin Again.

Wishing you a beautiful October friends,

It is my intention to always offer my writing as a free gift to you. I am grateful that you continue to read my words.

If you find these reflections helpful or encouraging, I would so appreciate it if you would consider:

•      Clicking the little heart at the bottom; this helps other readers find me.

•      Leaving a comment; this too increases visibility and is a great encouragement to me. (it reminds me that these words are not just getting lost in the ether!)

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