Love is an emotion. A very powerful one at that. When one thinks of love, all kinds of things come to mind. Movies perhaps, like Casablanca, The Way We Were, Ghost, Pretty Woman, Gone With the Wind. Or maybe a song, like “Baby I Love Your Way” by Peter Frampton, “All Out of Love” by Air Supply, “Best of My Love” by the Eagles. Or memories of the ’60s may evoke feelings of love  – Haight-Ashbury, hippies, flower power, make love not war. Without love, where would we be?

Our early love affair with our parents would’ve had a major influence, one would think, on how we would love in our adulthood. It would also have had an impact on our relationships with our friends, our lovers and later on, our own children. Mother Teresa once said, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”

Love has the power to move mountains. It can cause great men to weep, and it can bring those same men to their knees. Love can change everything. It can change how you see the world and how the world sees you.

Love has inspired men and women all over the world to create and to spread their wings where once, perhaps, they would not have had the courage. Love has been sought after by great poets, singers, writers and directors.

Love is defined in the Webster’s dictionary as a strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties, maternal for a child; attraction based on sexual desire, affection and tenderness felt by lovers; affection based on admiration, benevolence or common interests.

Love is what makes the world go ’round, or so the saying goes. It is one of the most powerful emotions known to man. It encompasses so many different realms, yet is so simple. Love is the one emotion that is difficult to define. In fact, in some cultures, there is no word for love. Therefore it can be said that love has many different meanings for many different people.

What’s love got to do with it? I can only conclude that love pretty much has to do with anything and everything, and anyone who is good and kind and joyful. Love is for those of us who are hopeful and happy. It gives us strength, power and the courage to continue on this journey we call life.

Photo Credit

Photo courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

My mother was a music aficionado.

She was a woman of many talents.

She was a woman who lived through many horrors during her lifetime.

Prelude

When my mother was a very young girl, her appendix ruptured. It was a life and death situation. Back then, there was no such thing as antibiotics. And so, when peritonitis set in, her family prepared for the worst. But she survived, though the next three years would prove extremely challenging. She was sick and confined to her bed, unable to do any of the things her friends were doing.

When she finally became well, her mother was diagnosed with cancer. My mother looked after her through her illness until she died. My mother was just sixteen. She never complained, just did what needed to be done, which now was to look after her father and siblings. Her father then took to the bottle, so my mother was again left to manage things at home. This was during the depression. He had his own business but it quickly dissolved due to the drinking and gambling that he and his brothers were involved in. In time, the family was evicted from their home in Toronto, left out on the street with only what they could carry. As fate would have it, my mother’s aunts, who were all spinsters and lived together, took the family in. And so, they were saved yet again from another disaster. At least they wouldn’t starve. (The aunts were always a part of my mother’s life – several years later, one of them would move in with my mother and father in Montreal.)

Largo

So this woman, my mother, eventually married my father Arthur and they had six children. Two of them died – one of spina bifida, the other was a stillbirth. Another child, my older brother Paul, was intellectually handicapped.

My mom had many hobbies and talents. Apart from being a wonderful cook, she was a fabulous entertainer and would throw the best parties in town. She could sew and knit, and could grow anything, anywhere. She could also run a business. She was what many would call a woman of courage and determination and was, in so many ways, ahead of her time. She was a woman whose strength helped build many essential services in the West Island community of Montreal. She was given several awards over the duration of her lengthy career, including the distinguished Order of Canada.

She could also be stubborn and opinionated.

Adagio

At 85 my mother fell into the dreadful hands of a very subtle enemy. That enemy was dementia. Or was it Alzheimer’s? It doesn’t matter what you call it, it has the same impact. She was no longer the woman she used to be. And it all seemed to happen so fast, almost like it happened overnight. It didn’t though, it was a slow process over several years. We, the family, (my mother included) just didn’t want to see it.

Because she was afflicted with dementia, my mother could no longer speak to me the way she used to. I cried more often than not when I left their apartment. My father looked sad and lonely though he never left my mother’s side. She was in a world all her own. She believed there were several apartment buildings that she lived in. They all had the same furniture, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how they got the furniture from one apartment to the other. This was her mind playing tricks on her.
She had supper with her dead father as well, who she feared, though he’d been dead for fifty years or more. She was often visited by those that were long dead. She carried on, telling amazing stories about their demise, stories of suicide and train wrecks. Sometimes she spent her days just thinking, wondering about things like butter tarts and how to make them. She hadn’t cooked a meal in a long time and at this point, wouldn’t know where to find the stove or how to turn it on.

My mother was always running away a lot. She would leave the apartment when my father was resting, and would be brought back home in the dead of night. My father took to putting furniture in front of the door so she couldn’t escape. She would leave the building and go looking for people and things and places that no longer existed. She wandered in the night looking for something, agitated and suffering, her mind playing tricks on her as she walked like a zombie in the night, shuffling along, looking for peace. My father didn’t want to place her in a home, he wanted to look after her. I called, though, and talked to the social worker about getting things in motion, against my father’s wishes. I was depressed, anxious and worried about them both, about what they were going to do. How could they find some peace? This was not how you should live out the end your life. This was not the way it should go.

My father, at 88, continued to take care of my mother, as she was unable to do the things she should’ve been able to do on a daily basis. Without him, my mom would be lost. She would forget to eat or shower or take her pills. She would be lonely without him around, a ship lost at sea. My father would be lost without her too, as she was his life. He knew that he had to get up every day and start all over again because he knew if he didn’t my mother would not be able to handle the day-to-day tasks. My father lived with a woman who repeated things over and over. She confused him and often thought he was someone else. She ran away from him thinking he was a stranger. Yet he comforted her even in her confusion.

We had to bring my mom to the hospital one night because she was up wandering around again. My dad followed her until six in the morning. He couldn’t do it anymore, so he called me. My husband and I went over and took my mom to the hospital but there was nothing wrong with her, just that she was no longer my mother. She was another woman who I didn’t really know very well. She was repetitive, and spoke in low tones about odd things. My mother was gone somewhere. I got glimpses of her; snippets of her personality.

Where would it end? Well, for my parents it ended on July 31st, 2006 when, after a very long and difficult day with my mom, my father had a shower at midnight and fell asleep on his bed. Exhaustion had overtaken him and he crashed, literally, that night onto the floor. It all happened in seconds, and as he lay on the floor in pain he asked my mother to call the ambulance. When he told her to dial 911 she went to phone but then forgot the number. Finally she managed to get help.

Within days their lives changed drastically. My father had broken his hip and underwent surgery. He then had to go to rehab. My mother spiralled further down the rabbit hole as the stress of the situation took its toll on her mental health. We waited for social services to find a bed for her in a nursing home. Sometime later a place became available and my sister and I took her. It was a difficult and emotional ride to that nursing home, one I won’t soon forget. My mom had no idea where she was going, and probably didn’t really know where she was. It was hard to figure out what she understood or knew.

My father did well in rehabilitation and was released six weeks later, back to the apartment he used to shared with his wife. He tried to come to terms with her illness. He felt guilty for falling and for putting the whole placement process in motion. My father was a man who never forgave himself for anything, even though it would no doubt have come to placement eventually. He wouldn’t have been able to look after her for much longer. The stress alone would have done him in.

So they were separated now, emotionally and physically. He visited my mother as often as he could, but it wasn’t the same. It’s not like having your loved one with you ’til death do you part. He missed her. He worried about her. How my mother felt, who could tell. She talked less, and when she did, she asked questions like “how did you cross the ocean? “ She couldn’t put sentences together.

Grave

My mom’s life changed dramatically that night on July 31, 2006. Since that time, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away a year later on April 27, 2007, after a valiant fight on his part. I was told by the nurses that my mother wept that afternoon at 3:15pm, as though she knew on some level that he was gone. But she never asked about my father. She fell deeper into her own world and spent all her time in a wheelchair.

Where did my mother go? I knew she was there, some part of her, frustrated that she couldn’t get the words right. She would look at me with those beautiful blue eyes of hers, searching my face for some sort of recognition as I searched hers, hoping for her to give me one last piece of advice, one last gem of wisdom, one last gift of  “I love you”.

Many are struck with this disease, one that takes your loved one away from you and leaves you with the shell. How do you deal with that? It’s a disease that affects the family and has such an emotional impact. How does the person feel who has the disease I wonder? I guess we’ll never know. But I wish I knew where my mom went. It would be nice to call her and ask her if I can freeze lemon tarts, or is it alright to use a bundt pan instead of a cake pan to make a raisin cake.

My mother lived until July 2011. She was 90-years-old. The last years of her life were not what you would call quality, but she had a good life.

My mother was not one to give up easily!

Photo Credit
Photos courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

Why Experiences Trump Material Goods

When you give an experience gift, you are doing more than giving material goods to add to his collection. You’re giving something that is going to excite him, something that could potentially help him out. The sound of sporty cars whipping around the raceway, the sensation of free-falling through the clear sky, or the delicious aromatic flavours of freshly prepared gourmet cuisine. This is what he is going to remember down the line.

The Modern Man’s Need for Connection and Growth

The modern man seeks more than mere success. He wants relationships that matter. He requires depth, and he hungers for self-actualization. He has cobbled together a life from family and work, friendship and sometimes solitude. Now he wants more. An opportunity for deeper experiences and lasting growth. His time behind the wheel of a rare sports car, his conversations with newfound friends on a cycling adventure, or his meeting with the engaging owner of a boutique winery— all of these are things he might be seeking.

Giftory knows the Modern Man. Book a gift from Giftory’s collection of experiences for men, and give the Modern Man in your life something he will remember his whole life.

A Gift That Keeps on Giving

There are many reasons experience gifts are a great idea. People remember experiences. You can remember the time when you and your best buddies rode your bikes across town and came upon a part of it that you had not seen before. You can remember the sound of the wind and the waves when you first went sailing on a large sailboat. The freedom found in snorkelling on that vacation to Hawaii. You remember how you felt!

More importantly, it brings you closer to the person you love. Having experience by either doing them or hearing about them can also make us feel close to people. Think of any experience you can give that will bring him a truly fulfilling experience, and let him know you that know how to support him in a positive way.

Giftory helps you find the perfect experience. With a quick look at their site, you can find the perfect gift of experience you are looking for and ensure he will get a gift he will always remember and be grateful for.

Tailored Experiences for Every Man

Not every man is the same, so Giftory has experienced gifts of all types. An outdoorsy man may love a day of off-roading, while the foodie may look forward to a luxurious dining experience or a chef’s class. Whether you are shopping for a history enthusiast, a world traveller, or another type of guy, simply match the experience gift to his personality.

Giftory makes it easy to shop experience gifts with its range of options — and you can be sure each one will make a perfect gift for your man. That’s because the brand offers something more than other gifting options. Giftory knows that experience gifts take a little more work to pick and gift. Men connect with the things they are interested in, and Giftory’s experiences and gifts were handpicked and curated for that purpose.

Making Memories That Last a Lifetime

The gift of an experience like learning a new skill, a hot air balloon ride, a Hawaiian helicopter tour, or any gift that will get him away from his daily routine for even just a day is priceless, and builds treasured memories that will stay with him forever.

Photo Credit

Photo is by wine limos from Pixabay

Some people say that a word or two
Of I love you’s can tell a mother
She is loved, but how do you truly
Thank a woman who raised
Held
Supported
Comforted
You

A few cards, here and there
A gift, one or two, maybe more
Maybe just a dinner, overtime more
Than a few Sunday dinners,
adding up to many
Here and there

Memories of times laughing shared
A story of resilience, perseverance,
Triumph and through it all words
To create the same in you

A mother wrapping little gifts
To fill bottoms of Christmas trees
Painting houses,
Baking bread,
Knitting love into sweaters
Making soups and stews
Left on the doorstep
To make a long day at work
Just a little easier

Long conversations about nothing
And sometimes somethings
But always listening
Always just listening
Even late in the night
When hours escape her sleep

Sometimes a word or two can say I love you

But thanking a mother
Supportive listener
Fierce  protector
Seemed impossible but today through
Poetry I express my gratitude 

Photo Credit

Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay

My husband has been dead now for almost a year. He had lung cancer, which eventually went to his brain. He had been so ill for so long; five years, in fact. He fought the good fight. A soldier, a warrior of death and dying. But it took him in the end, and along with him, a part of me too.

In the beginning, at the first meeting with the surgeon, I thought it would be a piece of cake for Brian. He was strong. We’ll just remove that little sucker, it’s so small, and that will be that. But five years of clinical trials and chemo and immunotherapy did nothing but steal my husband away from me, from his family and friends. He was no longer the man he used to be. I would find myself sobbing, knowing that recovery was not something that would be a part of our future, that our love for one another was not going to save him. It would not save us. Life would forever change. How naïve we were back then.

With each passing day, with each phase of the moon, we fought on. Days became nights and still my husband crawled, pushed and inched his way into the next day, to the next treatment, to the next appointment. This went on for five years. Can you imagine that? I still can’t believe what we went through. The waiting and waiting to see the oncologist. The waiting for results. It was enough to break anyone. It was enough to crush anyone’s soul. And yet he kept going back, and little by little both of us lost our souls in the fight. My husband, in pain and sick and tired, sleeping for hours on end, the endless side effects crippling him. The drugs, the radiation on his brain, killing cells that would never fire up again. A nightmare is what it was. A very sad and dangerous nightmare. He was living his and I was living mine. How will we live, what will happen to both of us? How can I keep doing this? How can he?

Last March, several events led to his being rushed to the hospital. In emergency, the oncologist on-call informed my son and me that my husband had two weeks to two months to live. His cancer was in the brain. Of course, to me it explained everything – his behavior, his loss of words, his balance, his blank stares into space. His own oncologist kept telling me there was no cancer in his brain. Well Doc, go back to medical school because your colleague disagrees and you were so very wrong. My son broke down that night, having heard the words we all hate to hear, that our loved one has little or no time left. There was shock and panic and despair. I had my friend, my lover, my everything, taken from me. I was alone. Yes, I had my children, sure, and wonderful and sympathetic friends. I’m grateful for them and for my children, but they couldn’t fill the void that was left, the loneliness that engulfs you and swallows you whole. Your soul is left in the dark and is unable to see the light. The tears and the screams of pain, the pain that rips your heart open, that leaves you shattered like broken glass. There is no other pain like the loss of the person you loved forever and ever.

And so, after several months of grief and sorrow, I thought I’d go to a medium. That way I could talk to Bri again and we could connect. I found a woman who was recommended to me by a friend. She was lovely, and told me Brian was happy on the other side, that he was fishing and had no pain. I felt a sense of relief, a sense that he was still with me. He is living his best life on the other side. But in some ways it made me sadder because I wanted him to be with me, to really be with me, by my side, home when I got home from work with a kiss and a hug. I wanted him to dance with me again in the kitchen and hold my hand and make jokes and laugh and for us to just be together. And sure, mediums can say all they want that he’s with me, and it’s a comfort, but is he? No, he’s not. He’s dead. I hope his soul lives on. I know he lives on in my heart. I whispered in his ear on his deathbed, a line from It’s a Wonderful Life: “I’ll love you ’til the day I die!” I just wish he could be here with me right now, beside me.

So I cling to what the medium said to me, that my loved one is happy and is with his relatives that have gone before him. I pray that his soul is happy, that his energy is free-floating in the universe and giving positive energy to me and to his kids and to those he loved. Mediums and tarot card readers tell me he’s doing all that. The mystics would say he lives on, and of course he does in my memories and in the memories of my children. He lives on in their dreams.

Perhaps one day I’ll find a medium that will really blow my mind and make me feel like Brian is in the room again. Until then, I have my memories, and that’s enough right now for me to keep him alive in my heart.

Photo Credit

Photo by Martha Farley – all rights reserved

It’s been over two months now, over two months that you’ve been gone, your ashes buried beneath the earth. I haven’t been back to the cemetery. It’s too hard. One day I will. But not today.

Today I’m somewhat in denial. Somewhat lost, still, in a world that’s not mine because you’re not here with me. And you’re always with me. Or you used to always be with me. I’m in that space that has room for one. I want you to join me. Where are you? I’m in this void, this empty space. There’s no laughter here. You took that with you too. Oh, one day I may laugh again, I mean really laugh and feel it. But not today.

You were sick for so long. Five long years of chemo, radiation and immunotherapy. So many promises. Oh, the doctor said the cancer is gone. No cancer, yay. We all shout out with joy, only to find months later the cancer is back. The cancer touches you and it never lets you go. It’s my enemy, my nemesis. It, that shitty cancer, kept me from you. It took your spirit, your strength and your desire to do anything but sleep. Some of those days were good, when you didn’t feel too sick or too tired or too depressed. Right up until the end you fought that cancer, even though you were so far gone I’m sure you didn’t even know what was going on with your mind or your body. But you never let go of life, of those small things that turn into big things. Those smiles when your children and grandson would arrive. Those spontaneous dances in the kitchen. The kisses you gave me and the hugs that felt like you’d never let go. You fought like hell to hold on to the life you had and the people you loved. You didn’t back down, ever. One day at a time. I, on the other hand, worried. That was my job. I worried about you, I worried about our future, I worried about my own health. I worried you would fall or have a stroke, or that you’d die without anyone by your side, without someone to hold your hand and help you to be calm. I spent several hours a day, I’m sure, in a constant state of worry. A lot of good it did us. The worrying, I mean. All that energy spent. It filled my days.

Yet in the end, it played out as it should have. Or sort of. You fell and I couldn’t get you up. With all my heart and soul I wanted you to get up and get back into bed. I wanted you to stand up and feel your strength, but you couldn’t. You were too sick, too far gone for a miracle. I only had to make the call and I knew it would be the end. I didn’t want you to go to a nursing home. The doctor said you had no cancer so it must be dementia. Oh, how little these doctors know or how little they want to share with their patients. Dementia, my ass. I knew all along. Even though it was told to me a hundred times the cancer was gone, I didn’t believe it. I wanted to, and I was happy you believed it. Why wouldn’t you? You’re young, were young, we still had so many years of life together that we could’ve embraced and enjoyed. But it was brain cancer, and it wasn’t long before we had to say goodbye to you, the children and I. Thankfully you weren’t in a hospital but in a beautiful palliative care centre near our home. It made such a difference for you, and for us. You were so well looked after and so peaceful. No more falling, no more pain, no more running to hospitals anymore. Just like that, it was over.

Just a little over two months now you’ve been gone. But I saw you in my dream. You looked so handsome and healthy. We hugged, you asked how the children were. My beautiful blue-eyed boy. I miss you every day, every hour, every minute.

I went to see a medium, a spiritual guide. I had to know if you were okay, if you weren’t too shocked to find yourself on the other side. You weren’t really aware of how sick you were and I worried you would be afraid. I had to know if you were safe and happy. She said you were aware of what was going on but on another level. She said you were thankful and grateful for all I did for you. Those were our vows. In sickness and in health. She said you were fishing (I smiled when she told me that) and she said you felt bad we didn’t get one more trip on the books. You also said you felt like your duties as a Dad hadn’t been finished. You were the best Dad ever, my love. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.

I just wish you could’ve held off on the whole dying thing until maybe we were in our eighties. I was told by the medium that our fate is pre-destined, that we choose it. All that talk about dying young. I guess on some level you always knew, didn’t you. Sixty-four isn’t young but it’s young when you’re sixty-four.

I watched a video today of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. That was such a magical night. Shannon and George sang “We’ve Only Just Begun” as you and I danced in our back yard surrounded by our children and our family and friends. I cried. I do a lot of that. And then there were videos of the cottage, of you pushing our son Ryan off the dock and into the lake. It was funny and made me laugh. So many memories, so many wonderful times together. I’m grateful for those memories every day. 

I’m still in a void, but one day, just not today, I hope I can close up the hole that has ravaged my heart and really laugh again.

I hope we meet again, my love. When we do, I’ll know it’s you from the way the butterflies in my tummy will flutter. Your smile and your touch will fill that void, and we will begin anew.

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

He used to bring me coffee in bed
we would lie there and talk
starting our weekend mornings with a cup of java
was always the best
he used to squeeze my hand so tight
as we would take our walks here and there
holding hands like teenagers
he used to surprise me with special gifts on special days
flowers and jewelry and fabulous trips
he used to love me so tenderly
full of passion and joy, our love always so strong
he used to make me laugh
so much laughter, his humor infectious
the things he came up with would make me roar
he used to share his secrets with me and I with him
my best friend, my confidant
I always knew he was there
he used to look after me
when I was sick or tired or both
he would pick up and carry on
ever so quietly, things got done
he used to say things that I was thinking
we could say the same thing at the same time
our minds working together
he used to smile at me from across a room
that gave me shivers, and made me smile too
he used to spend so much time with our babies
tending to them, loving them
helping them grow, nurturing
he used to make my lunches, he would cut off the crust
and cut the sandwich in triangles
he used to watch sentimental movies with me and we’d cry
and then we would make fun of each other for crying
he used to lose sleep while going to our children’s events
hockey and plays, graduations and birthday parties
he used to work nights and so our car was always clean in the winter
driveways were shovelled before we all left
he used to always love dogs
from Kimmy to Trinity, our barking dog
whom he loved like one of his kids
he used to love to scare me
popping out of dark corners and yelling
was one of the things that had him in stitches
he used to laugh and joke
and find the humor in most things
he loved to laugh
he used to be
my husband
my friend
my lover
he is gone now
I miss him terribly
already 
he used to be…

Brian Alexander Page 
July 15th, 1958 – April 1st, 2023

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

This was what we did when we were young and foolish and had no plans for the future. It was during one of these nights that I met a young man. He was nineteen at the time. I saw him standing at the entrance to the bar under a stark bright light. He stood there for some time before he walked toward our table. I was a regular at this bar, and knew pretty much who was who. I hadn’t seen this young man before, and I was so taken with him. He was attractive, in a bad-boy kind of way. He had long hair, clean, and obviously blow-dried to perfection. His eyes were a piercing blue and he had a warm, delicious smile that melted my heart. He was boyish, yet had a manly presence about him. He was tall and carried himself with purpose. 

The girls and I shared the same table every weekend. This was our favorite bar, a bar where the music was loud and the beer on tap. We knew pretty much every waiter in the place by name. Lionel and Maurice were two of our favorites. Lionel was more serious and probably wondered what each of us would make of ourselves, and if his children were doing the same thing – drinking their young lives away in a dark, smelly bar, weekend after weekend. Maurice was the opposite. The man was clearly out to make money and he must have made a bundle in tips in that place, night after night.

On this particular night, when this blue-eyed boy walked in, my heart raced. It skipped a beat. I felt like I’d known him forever. He captured my heart. There was a sweetness to him, a calm that was mysterious in some way. I felt like we’d known each other before. Perhaps in a past life we’d been lovers, in Rome or Paris, somewhere romantic where our love had been extinguished by prejudice or pride. But we found each other again.

We were the tail end of the boomers and there were a lot of us. In our town, the bars were plenty and the beer was flowing. We were young and stupid and our hormones were soaring. Maybe we were looking for something? What it was I still, to this day, have no idea. It was 1978 and we had our whole lives ahead of us. What do you do with yourself at that age? You rebel. You squirm and carry on like a crazy person until you figure it out. You go through the pain of being lost, of being nobody. You look for love. You look for a way to be carried through the journey that is life, that’s so terrifying at that young age.

I found love. With him, the blue-eyed boy. Our relationship went on for many years without a commitment until we were married in 1984. I married this young man on the premise we’d have a good life together. I married him because I loved him with all my heart and knew that love conquered all. I knew that he loved me too, just as furiously, and that we’d find a way to make a life together.

Through thick and thin, we’ve lived almost forty years, side by side. We’ve conquered addiction, loss, and sorrow. We’ve raised two beautiful children, a son and a daughter, who contribute to society and who, in their own right, have made a mark on the world. And to our delight, we have a beautiful grandson who is our pride and joy. Not bad for a couple who met in a bar. Who could predict what our future would hold? It’s been a life of laughter and love, a life I would not trade for fame or fortune. The connection this blue-eyed boy and I have is far more precious than anything I can think of in the world today.

Now in our sixties, we are on a different path. This path is one of solace and silence. A path that neither he nor I would ever have chosen, yet here we are. He’s living with stage 4 lung cancer. My, how things can change within minutes; how life can look so different when struck with the idea of mortality. I still see the blue-eyed boy, looking at me with hope and love. We carry on with the knowledge that time is an enemy we cannot deny, and each day we are grateful. Grateful to have each other, to have someone to cheer us on when it seems we’re all alone.

All those years we’ve left behind us are the years that made us who we are today. My blue-eyed boy is still as handsome and sweet as he was when I first met him. Although we’ve changed quite a bit over the years, I still see that young man and am thankful for this life we’ve built together.

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

Despite such a diverse spiritual background, some of his greatest rediscoveries, involved key Christian teachings – describing his efforts to understand, like, “… striking a match in a dark immense cavern, which flares up and then flickers out.”

In reviewing these thoughts in his book ‘Jesus Rediscovered’ (1967), I have taken these rediscovered truths and their application for today’s skeptical twenty-first century.

I met the celebrated man himself, in 1978, when he taught as ‘Distinguished Visitor’ at Canada’s Western University. Upon shaking hands, his face seemed to beam as he offered to shake hands again. I don’t know who was the happiest, but as he explained, it felt so joyous. I agreed!

Worship defeat, not victory; failure, not success.

It seems to me I’ve learned more from my failures than from my successes. The sting of defeat is not soon forgotten.

The idea of “worship” is simply a way of guaranteeing lessons are learned, and failures aren’t lamented.

Otherwise, it’s a slippery slope to success because of its reliance on self-assessment. This leads to the temptation of comparing ourselves to others.

Not even Jesus did that: never saw the need. He saw his role as serving others.

In his book and TV documentary – ‘Something Beautiful for God’ – Mother Teresa’s view of life was to treat everyone with love: by seeing Jesus within them.

Worship surrender, not defiance.

Every day, we have a choice: to fight or forgive each other. We can help others along the way with kindness, gentleness and respect – expecting nothing in return.

Or, we can take a death grip onto our defiance (including pride, arrogance, excessive anger, greed (and much more.) If we don’t surrender to the love within us, doesn’t that make us self-defiant rebels? It’s a decision, not a discussion.

In the1960s, churchgoers were criticized for their satiety… even in a world of acute loss. Today, we’re getting even more remote as we live beyond fullness.

Now, safe in the confines of our home ‘pews’, we take in the daily news of third world refugees escaping their war-torn countries… often with only the clothes on their backs… facing starvation.

Domestically, there are increasing needs and concerns re: food-banks, the environment, adequate housing, and care for the addicted and mentally ill. Thousands have decided to volunteer their time: using the discipline of self-denial.

Worship weakness, not strength.

Mastering, not masking our mistakes or weaknesses, will lead to tomorrow’s successes. Instead of feeling alone with your weaknesses today; you’ll have a joyous soul to share with others, tomorrow.

Turning weaknesses into strength!

Personally, I don’t know all the answers. But, I know if I’m coming from an honest place, I’ll be okay. For me, I’ll always remember that double handshake with Mr. Muggeridge… so pure and wonderfully spontaneous. May that always be my way!

“I’m gonna say hello to my neighbour,
Greet him with a smile.
Shake the hand of a stranger,
Sit and talk for a while.”
~ Today I’m Gonna Try and Change the World by Johnny Reid
Watch on YouTube

That’s the way I figure it. FP

Photo Credit
Photo is from Max Pixel

First published at fredparry.ca

Guest Author Bio
Fred Parry

Fred Parry lives in Southern Ontario. He is a lover of people and a collector of stories, music, wisdom, and grandchildren. His raison d’etre? “I’m one of those people who believe that if my work serves the common good, it will last; if not, it will die with me. I still believe that’s true.” Fred spent ten years as a columnist for Metroland Media Group – a division of the publishing conglomerate Torstar Corporation.

His book, ‘The Music In Me’ (2013) Friesen Press is also available via Indigo / Chapters.

Blog / Website: www.fredparry.ca

Partially hidden among the larger headstones, the deer got to their feet as we walked towards the grave site. But, as we spent time in quiet contemplation, one of them laid back down again. They seemed to understand our sadness and that we meant them no harm. Especially for Linda, the ultimate animal lover, this seemed so appropriate.

Unfortunately, she was not able to fight off this second bout of cancer in recent years. And, after saying that he was hanging on by a thread with her passing, Don died just days afterwards. Linda efficiently handled all the couple’s business affairs. But, everything was password protected on their computer. And, without any handwritten information or phone-book, he couldn’t access anything or call anyone. He felt so lost.

I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation (like dementia) given for his death; but, I believe he could also have died from – what used to be called – a broken heart.

We were unable to attend the brief burial service held earlier that day. Yet, attending by ourselves – along with our two new furry friends – felt perfect for us. During our last phone conversation Linda, not normally one to share her feelings, uncharacteristically told us how much she loved us. It was as though she decided to draw family and friends ever closer to heart.

Thinking back, I wondered if it were possible that God’s nature was channeling Linda’s and Don’s spirit through those two deer. I know, to some, this will sound silly; or, maybe naïve to others. In their own ethereal way, their presence seemed to be saying, “Don’t grieve. We’re at peace now.” To me, all the love in the universe is ours… like a never-ending river of life flowing through us .

However, it occurs to me, we tend to put “Life“ on trial – without giving it a chance.

We demand what we want from life instead of accepting what life has to offer. When we don’t get it, we try to run things on our own. Yet, running against the wind in some self-defeating manner is not a long-term strategy for living.

We know love when it’s given, but we can’t help our paranoia. For some reason we find it hard to acknowledge love’s impossible solutions. So, by expecting the worse we are strangely validated when it comes… like being programmed not to trust others. But, contrary to our efforts it dawns on us: we need each other’s help and kindness.

Life really is the master and it demands a grateful heart. We’re free to dismiss or condemn it, but experience shows how circumstances can change and worsen as we harden our attitudes. Plus, we run the risk of losing the good things we’ve actually gained. The hardest lesson? Seeing in the mirror what we’ve become without love.

As psychologist Wayne Dyer said, “If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

“No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go.”
~ Watching the Wheels by John Lennon – Watch on YouTube

That’s the way I figure it. FP

Photo Credit
Photo is from Pixabay

First published at fredparry.ca

Guest Author Bio
Fred Parry

Fred Parry lives in Southern Ontario. He is a lover of people and a collector of stories, music, wisdom, and grandchildren. His raison d’etre? “I’m one of those people who believe that if my work serves the common good, it will last; if not, it will die with me. I still believe that’s true.” Fred spent ten years as a columnist for Metroland Media Group – a division of the publishing conglomerate Torstar Corporation.

His book, ‘The Music In Me’ (2013) Friesen Press is also available via Indigo / Chapters.

Blog / Website: www.fredparry.ca