What have you been doing on National Truth and Reconciliation Day?

I've been wearing an orange shirt and reading, reading, reading. And listening to radio programming featuring the work of Indigenous musicians and authors. And spreading the word on social media about Indigenous Canada, an excellent course I took through the U of A back in the spring, which has been helpful in my understanding of many issues facing my inner city faith community's members. And arranging Sunday lunches for the homeless ones who will visit us there in the month of October. 

If you feel like reading, reading, reading, here's the link from Raven Trust, an organization that I support because they are land and people defenders. Their website absorbed a good portion of my day.

https://raventrust.com/reconciliation-is-a-verb/ 

I particularly liked what Ryan McMahon has to say, short and straight to the point:

Calling yourself a treaty person, doing a land acknowledgment: that is not reconciliation. Pick one action you know you can stick with in your life, and find people to bring along on your journey. If you have a strong heart, come to the front of the line. If you don't, get in line, and we'll get there. Show up. Be on the ground. Give your energy. Every single choice you make is reconciliation: there is no handbook.

I also appreciated this Maclean's Magazine article about Finding David Lightning, sent to me by my eldest. In my days as a teacher in Ponoka, I taught a youngster who was probably related to the Ermineskin Lightning family, possibly a great grand-nephew to David Lightning.

What are you doing on National Truth and Reconciliation Day? What have you learned that you didn't know before? What are you planning to learn and do in the weeks and months to come? I'd really love to know... please leave me a comment if you like...

Sunday Reflection: How to do a "deed of power"

Today's reflection is brought to you by

Mark 9:38-41.

O God,

you invite us all

to do your will,

to do the right thing.

And your son,

our brother,

Jesus, 

talked about

the one who follows him 

as someone who does a

"deed of power."

It's easy for us to think

that we can't do 

those Jesus kinds of things --

healings, 

exorcisms,

or calming storms.

But is Jesus telling us today

that we are selling ourselves short?

If giving a cup of water

to a thirsty soul

is notable 

in Jesus' books,

could getting vaccinated

to protect the vulnerable among us

also be a deed of power?

Could holding a door for a stranger?

We just don't think that way. 

We look to the miraculous 

as deeds of power.

But could seeing

and acknowledging

the pain and struggle 

of those among us who are hurting

help lead to healing?

Could praying for the sick

make a difference?

Could it be that

listening to angry souls 

express their rage and hurt

might be a deed of power?

Could acting upon 

what caused that hurt and rage

be necessary to exorcise

the injustices 

that have wounded 

so many among us?

Could just being present

to those who feel isolated in their anguish

help to calm their storms?

O God,

show us

where we can be your instruments

and do your deeds of power,

even when 

they are less miraculous than we think;

even if 

they seem beyond our abilities.

+Amen

* * * * * * *

Please, if you have a spare prayer, say one for the healing of my youngest, Jay, who will undergo surgery tomorrow. Thanks.

Sunday Reflection: The birthday girl's prayer

Today is the birthday of Michelle, our Oskapewis/helper at The Community of Emmanuel/Inner City Pastoral Ministry. She led our Standing Stones service this morning, and the prayer and scripture she chose really moved me. Even more wonderful, she planned, collected volunteers, and held a barbeque for the folks who hang around the Bissell Centre -- a great way to celebrate a birthday! 

I can't begin to tell you about her inspiring words this morning, but I will share that she encouraged us all to name four truths that we rely on in our lives. I think that the ones I rely on most are encapsulated in the prayer and the psalm below. Beautiful words for a beautiful Sunday:

Great Spirit, God, Creator of all,
I welcome you into my heart, mind, body and soul.

There is always room for you here.

Grant me the wisdom to heed my inner voice

And the strength to stay grounded while I sing my sacred song.

Guide me down my chosen path.

Give me the courage to pursue my options.

I am thankful for the lessons and grateful for my struggles;

I have not forgotten what has brought me to where I am today.

Open my heart to the healting wholeness of nature;

We are all related, and through this I will find peace.

Great Spirit, God, Creator of all,

Cleanse my spirit and wash my heart.

There is always room for you here.  AMEN, hiy hiy.

From Psalm 139:

O God,

you search me and know me,

you know when I sit down

and when I rise up;

you discern my thoughts from far away.

You search out my path 

and my lying down

and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

God, you know it completely.

You hem me in, 

behind and before,

and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

it is so high that I cannot attain it.

Where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven,

you are there;

If I make my bed in hell,

you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, 

"Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light around me become night,"

even the darkness is not dark to you;

the night is as bright as the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

For it was you who formed my inward parts;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, 

for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

that I know very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes beheld my unformed substance,

In your books were written all the days that were formed for me,

when none of them as yet existed.

How weighty to me are your thoughts,

O God!

I try to count them --

they are more than the sand;

I come to the end --

I am still with you.

My you feel God's presence in the week ahead, that God can be relied upon, no matter the results of the tomorrow's election!

And I pray Creator's blessings on our birthday girl, too.

Saving the Eastern Slopes

This past weekend, my love and I were invited to a gorgeous part of our province known as the Eastern Slopes of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Nordegg. You may have heard a fair bit about the Eastern Slopes lately if you live in the west, as a lot of musicians, ranchers, environmentalists, First Nations leaders, and ordinary joes and jills like me have been raising a bit of a ruckus about protecting them.

The Alberta Government quietly changed its coal policy back in June of 2020, and has granted too many coal leases to foreign companies, who will come and strip mine the coal beneath our mountains, leaving a huge mess and allowing all sorts of other chemicals (like selenium) to be released and washed down the slopes into our creeks and rivers. Even one lease is too many.

Before I rant any further, let me show you the beauty that Lee and I enjoyed for the last two days:

A view of ranchland...

Those amazing, wispy cirrus clouds...

The North Saskatchewan River on its way to our hometown...

A gorgeous picnic site overlooking so much beauty...

This last picture is of the North Saskatchewan River as it flows toward Rocky Mountain house. It's the river that supplies water to many cities and towns on its way to join the South Saskatchewan River and flow on towards Hudson Bay. Unfortunately, one of the coal leases people like me are opposing is situated just on the other side of the slope going up from the river on the left side of this picture. 

So this morning I wrote a letter to the people in charge of Alberta's Coal Policy, to let them know that they need to change their policy, period. If any of my readers are interested in adapting what's below to send their own letter to the Alberta Government's coal policy strategists, I'd highly encourage it, as they are accepting emails and submissions until September 19th, and the more of us who speak up, the more likely they are to listen. 

Even if you're not from Alberta, feel free to send an email to  energy.coalpolicy@gov.ab.ca. Especially if you live downstream! The fact of the matter is that coal projects in Alberta aren't really necessary, but they'll affect people all over the globe if we don't get a handle on coal-burning caused climate change. Every person on our planet is part of the web of life affected by short-sighted decisions that allow for coal leases.

Here's my version of the letter, but it's always good to personalize your own! 

To whom it may concern,

My husband and I just spent the weekend in the Nordegg area, and feel more than ever that the Eastern Slopes of the Rockies need protection from coal projects. We want you to revoke coal leases to protect the water that comes from those slopes through the North Saskatchewan River to so many Alberta communities, ours included. 

The use of coal for industrial processes is already severely reduced as scientists, metallurgical engineers and technologists find less fossil-fuel intensive ways to power industry worldwide. Destroying the beauty of our province now when coal is almost a thing of the past is sheer stupidity.

The AER made the right decision regarding the Grassy Mountain Mining project. I ask you to please put a halt on ALL other coal projects immediately, to protect our water and save our planet from further environmental devastation and climate change. Albertans like me are depending on you to do the right thing!

Why not make yourself a cup of your favourite beverage and send the coal policy folks a note of your own?

Sunday Reflection: A special prayer in the month of creation

I know it's only Saturday, but instead of a Sunday reflection, I'll just post an advance invitation to join our ecumenical online Prayer for Creation that is happening at 7 pm MST on Sunday September 12th (tomorrow). We'll pray with scripture, silence, and the songs of Taize. 

I was really hoping we'd be able to pray together in person, but with covid numbers as high as they are in Alberta, it's probably better to refrain from gathering to protect those who are unvaccinated, not to mention those who are. I also like including those who aren't in the Edmonton area via livestream.

I'm grateful that Pope Francis wrote his letter to the whole world, Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home, and I'm still wishing that it would receive more attention and action, especially in light of the many climate disasters our world faces -- wildfires, hurricanes, floods and so many other coming concerns that we can't foresee. Our air is clear of smoke in Edmonton right now, but that doesn't mean we can't pray for creation and act to reduce our impact on its climate. I've written at length on the Pope's Encyclical in these moodlings, and am doing all that I can with regard to living simply, though there's always room for improvement!

But for now, let's pray together. All are welcome, and if you miss the prayer, it will remain online for the rest of the month of Creation, which ends on the Feast day of St. Francis, October 4th... It's a very meditative and peaceful prayer that could be good to wind down with after a busy day...

https://www.facebook.com/events/1247853455642809

Gathering sage -- and reciprocity

Sage is an important medicine at Inner City Pastoral Ministry because it is used to begin every Sunday morning service for the Community of Emmanuel who gather to pray. Michelle, our Oskapew/helper, lights a bit of sage in her abalone shell and invites us all to come forward to smudge, or "pray with smoke." 

When we smudge, we ask Creator to be with us and bless our physical selves and our perception of and interaction with creation through our senses, bodies, and spirits. It's a deeply meaningful ceremony for all of us who are present, and it's rare to begin a Sunday at ICPM without it.

Which means that gathering a fair bit of sage for our community is necessary before winter comes. So on Tuesday, seven of us travelled to Sacred Ground on Alexander First Nations' land to pick medicine. We travelled up a rutty track into a field where we could see the remnants of sundances and sweat lodges that hadn't yet returned to the land. Michelle donned her ribbon skirt and lit the smudge, and we all prayed. Then we each took a handful of tobacco to offer to the earth in exchange for the sage we gathered. 

Can you spot my companion?

We spent about 40 minutes in silence as we moved through the long grasses, scattering tobacco and meditatively picking sage above the ground, trying to leave the roots undisturbed so the plants could grow again next year. My only companions were the grasshoppers who bounced around my feet as I moved. 

At one point, I laid down and thanked Creator for the experience of being surrounded with quiet, with only the sound of a light breeze through the grasses and the smell of sage in the small bundle I'd gathered. I imagined the area full of people at a Sundance, praying through days and nights, and the sun broke through for a minute or two. 

Holy Ground indeed, that gives medicine and a deep sense of calm as it accepts our gift of tobacco.

When we regathered, I realized that my bundle of sage was pretty small (maybe I'd been too meditative?), and Michelle realized that we'll need to do a lot more picking to have enough for each Sunday until next year's sage gatherings. As Tuesday morning didn't work for everyone who wanted to attend, more trips to gather are in the works, and next time, I hope to gather a larger bundle.

The sage-gathering reminded me of Indigenous peoples' understanding of the value of reciprocity, of giving even as we receive gifts from the land, and has given me pause as I walk into my own garden. North Americans like me don't often think about how we treat our garden plots. Too many of us think about yield over how we can return benefit to the land and its creatures, using herbicides and pesticides to "keep things under control," forgetting the life forms that are destroyed by such chemicals.

True, I've stopped using those kinds of "controls," and conduct a little garden blessing every spring, burning the previous year's Palm Sunday palms (cedar branches since covid) and carrying the remnants to all corners of my garden. I ask for blessings on its growth for the season, and give thanks for the nourishment it provides us through an abundance of fresh vegetables and preserves. I also give the soil a healthy amount of compost every autumn. 

But on Tuesday, I realized that perhaps I need to change the focus of my garden blessings, and spread them around throughout the year. Perhaps it's time to go out and get some tobacco, too, to offer a little in thanksgiving and reciprocity each time I harvest, to return a little something to creation and Creator for the many benefits that come to me out of the soil's generosity. And there are probably other ways that I can give back to my Indigenous sisters, brothers and others -- in reciprocity for the fact that I have lived and grown on lands that were wrongfully taken from them over centuries. Being present with them at ICPM is just a small beginning.

Perhaps small beginnings in reciprocity could help us all to notice more often how it can overflow into the rest of our interactions with the world as well. A smile for a smile. A compliment for a compliment. A full birdbath or bird feeder for the delight of birdsong. The beauty of a spider's web in return for the willingness to live and let live. And a sharing of my produce, somehow, with my inner city community, though I'm not sure how to do that in these covid times. There must be a way. Maybe next year I can grow more cucumbers and cherry tomatoes for them!

One thing is certain, it's possible to incorporate more awareness of where we can practice reciprocity in our lives. As one of my favourite sayings goes, "start small, but make a start."

It takes a long time to grow an old friend

Cathy -- in navy over gold

The subject line above has been in my head for the past few days, ever since a special package arrived in the mail from my best friend. It contained that subject line, written in the "50 years" anniversary card pictured below (marriage crossed out and overwritten with friendship), with a hand-written letter, and 38 typed pages of letters from our past, a labour of love on Cathy's part.

Cathy and I met in Plenty, Saskatchewan, on the first day of Grade One, September 1, 1971, which means that we have known each other for 50 years as of today. The package of typed letters she sent is a perfect tribute to our friendship as it has developed over the years, containing hints of how we developed into the soulmates we are now. I am so proud of who she is! And who I am. We have grown into pretty amazing women, and have supported each other through many challenges along the way.

It's amazing to me that our friendship exists at all. We barely knew each other for three years before I left small town Saskatchewan for Edmonton in October of 1974, and if it wasn't for Cathy's grandparents living in Old Glenora here in the city and her family's regular visits to them, our friendship would have ended before it really began. It's impossible to express what our connection has meant to me, except to say that I am deeply grateful for Cathy's presence throughout my life. 

Me - in gold over navy

Our heartstrings are tied together in so many places and events in our lives, beginning with the Saskatchewan prairie that was etched into our souls in our formative years, and more recently, in exploring the beauty of Vancouver Island where she now lives. Our trip to Taize together five years ago is one of the highlights of my life, and I can't walk Shadow-dog past the Edmonton Folk Fest hill without remembering a magical day with her there.

We grew up living parallel lives in many ways (seen even here in our reversed Grade One school picture clothes!), sensitive young girls who felt as if we were on the fringes of our classmates' social groups, blossoming in our own ways in our university years, involved with Camps for people with disabilities, and growing into our spiritual selves. 

We saw our first Edmonton Oilers game together, cheered each other on through university and the establishment of nursing and teaching careers, and consoled each other through broken romances and challenging work situations. For all but 5 years when we lived in the same place (and enjoyed an Opera subscription together), letters and emails have been the mainstay in our friendship, though Cathy has also made long trips to Edmonton for weddings, baptisms, first communions, confirmations, graduations and a surprise housewarming!

With 1,296 km between our two homes, we don't get together often, but even covid has carried a gift for us in its hands. Cathy leads an online early Saturday morning 5Rhythms dance/meditation group, and Zoom has allowed me to enjoy dancing with her and a dozen of her friends most weekends, feeling the connection between body and spirit -- and the friendship connection.

When we celebrated 40 years as friends, we daydreamed about going to Milan's Amphitheatre to see Giuseppe Verdi's Aida (with real live elephants!) for our 50th anniversary, but here we are in this covid and climate change conflicted world, not wanting to make either situation worse by a frivolous celebration. So we will mark our 50 years of friendship quietly with those 1,296 km between us... perhaps with a glass of wine together via Zoom. 

Because really, every time we connect, read each others' letters, or chat on the phone, it feels like a celebration to me!

Happy 50th Anniversary of Friendship, Cathy! And yes, a letter is in the mail!

Sunday reflection: Grace is enough

This morning at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, Farley struck again with a deeply moving song that dovetailed nicely with our reading from the beautiful biblical love letter that is the Song of Songs. It was the one that reminds us how God is the lover of us all, looking through the lattice, seeking us out and reminding us we are beloved, inviting us to "come away, my fair one, my love." 

Grace is with us, especially if we choose to believe that God is a benevolent provider rather than an unforgiving one. Farley slightly changed the street names to fit our part of the country, and invoked Our Lady of the inner city.

No matter where you find yourself or how you feel about yourself, God the Lover reaches out for your hand, offering love and grace. I hope you enjoy this song, Say Grace, by Gretchen Peters...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JtdJ4u4rUNg

The case of the missing budgie

From a series of texts to our daughter, who was away for a weekend in the midst of housesitting stints for us this summer, and whose budgie is named Charlie: 

The Case of the Missing Budgie

Charlie had a good day today. Or, at least, it ended well.

He listened to CKUA Radio, chirped happily, nibbled his food, and preened himself.

Mom and Dad spent most of the day in the basement, dismantling the play room. They were very hungry by six o'clock, so they decided to go pick up some teenburgers.

When they returned, Shadow was barking in one of the back bedrooms, but came running to the back door as usual. Mom went to say hello to Charlie in his cage by the front window, and found the cage open and the bird gone!

The search was on. The burgers got cold.

And the budgie was nowhere to be found.

Every corner of the house was checked, baseboards, curtains, houseplants, shoes, behind every desk and piece of furniture. Even the ceilings, and top shelves of every cupboard and closet.

EVERYWHERE. UPSTAIRS. DOWNSTAIRS. No budgie.

Shadow-dog was viewed with suspicion, but of course, he wasn't telling.

Dad and Mom had promised to deliver one of the play room toys to a nephew and niece for their little one at 7:30, and still hadn't found Charlie by 7:15. So they took the dog and made the trip, hoping Charlie would come out of hiding while they were gone. 

During the drive, Mom, who was very worried, said, "Come on, St. Anthony, finder of lost things, help us out here. And you too, St. Jude, patron of hopeless cases." Dad said, "What about St. Francis?"

"Yup, him too."

There was a nice little visit with the relatives, and Dad and Mom drove home, plotting how to search every inch of the house for Charlie if necessary.

When they got back at 8:30, Dad started searching in his office, and Mom was shaking out the freshly washed bedding in the guest room, when Dad walked into the dining room and said, "Here he is!"

Charlie was contentedly sitting on the "wanderer" plant at the dining room window. There were budgie-bite-sized chunks missing out of one of its leaves.

Mom had looked at the top shelf and not noticed him on the next shelf down at supper time. We figure that he was hiding behind the plant, watching us eat supper, but too frightened by his sudden escape to make a peep, even though we chirped and whistled and "Heyyyy Birdie"-ed our way through our burgers.

Mom gently picked Charlie up and put him into his cage. Then she tied it shut with a twist tie.

Thank you, St. Francis, and all you other guys.

Pear tree blues

This spring, I noticed that our pear trees were not their usual happy selves. Not long after they were full of blossoms, many of the new leaves that followed the flowers turned brown, and clumps of them curled toward the ground. Alarm bells really began to ring in my head when, after the first windy day in June, our yard looked like autumn had arrived. The heat of early July only made the trees look sadder yet.

So I called an arborist who came to see what was going on. He confirmed my worst fears -- that both of our pear trees were suffering from Fire Blight, and that he had noticed other trees in the area with the same malady, including our neighbours' apple trees next door. Fire Blight is caused by a bacteria that is easily spread by birds flying from tree to tree.

The arborist suggested that we allow him to inject the tree with a bactericide that will act systemically and hopefully get rid of the blight, a better option than full tree removal, at least until we know the trees can't be cured. It's been successful in other places, and it was our only hope to save the trees.

Unfortunately, the injection happened sooner than expected. We were away, and unable to water our trees as recommended to improve the uptake of the "medicine." I gave them a good watering once I got home, but was it too little too late? I'm still feeling a bit worried about our trees and their wonderful fruit, and because of the bactericide, we can't eat or share pears this year or next, until the trees are pruned sometime in the winter of 2022-2023.

If you've ever sat with me in the shade of the pear tree outside my kitchen window on a sunny spring, summer, or autumn day, or tasted the delicious little pears, you'll understand my pear tree blues. It's a gorgeous little tree that provides a lot of beauty to our yard, and jams and loaves that we enjoy all year round. All we can do now is live in hope that both trees will recover, and we'll continue to enjoy their shade and taste that sweet fruit again in two years or so. 

So this post is a momentary lament, and an apology to those who enjoy our pears each fall. I'll keep you posted on our trees' progress, and hopefully, the news will be good!

Sunday Reflection: Blessings in a time of crises

The Christ Candle this morning,
imperfect but shining brightly

This morning, the pastor of the Community of Emmanuel at the Inner City Pastoral Ministry gave a wonderful reflection on a section of the sixth chapter of Ephesians that has always had too much military metaphor for my liking. It's a piece of the bible that is often headed with a phrase like "The Armor of God." Sorry, but the God I know is anything but military. Our Creator is a lover, not a fighter!

So I really appreciated Pastor Quinn's little story today about having sock-ball fights with his brothers when he was small (think snow balls, but all the socks in the house balled up instead). Being the youngest and at a distinct disadvantage, Quinn would find himself curled into a little ball and being pummelled with socks by his big brothers to the point that he was unwilling to rise and grab socks to fire back. He made himself small until his brothers gave up.

And isn't that how we feel when we are surrounded with bad news and negativity? Climate change, covid cases on the rise, the housing crisis, the opioid crisis, the turmoil in Afghanistan, Cuba, Haiti, Yemen and so many other places... leave us feeling powerless and ready to curl up into a ball to wait things out.

But in real life that's not what God wants us to do, and Paul offers us an alternative. I'm going to paraphrase a bit here, but Paul encourages us to stand up, to wrap ourselves in truth, goodness, and peace, and to live in the faith that our Creator has our backs.

As Quinn talked about the crises that surround us, my eyes filled with tears, but I blinked them away and noticed my little bracelet that our other pastor, Jim, had us make for ourselves last week during the service he led. 

Jim invited Community of Emmanuel members to string beads on a piece of yarn to wear on our wrists to remind us of our blessings. There was no yarn left near me, so I helped others to tie on their bracelets, and grabbed a few beads to take home and make one later. 

If I'd had the time, I probably would have put together an entire string full of beads, but more isn't always better. In the past week, I've come to the realization that blessings in my life often come in threes, and the trinity of beads on my wrist has represented dozens of those trinities in my reflections: family, nature, and the Community of Emmanuel; my three kids; the trinity formed by my sisters and I; beauty, goodness and truth; Creator, Jesus and Spirit; sun, rain and wind for my garden; body, mind and soul... and so many more...

So yes, though there are crises all around, there are also blessings to be found -- if I only remember to look for them.

Thank you,
God,
for the many blessings in my life.

When I am overwhelmed by grief
or struggles that seem 

beyond my strength to survive,
remind me of the beauty,
goodness,
and truth
with which you surround me.

Bless all those living in true turmoil and poverty.

Help us to find ways to care for each other,

and to let go of our small worries

so that we can do your will

on much larger scales.

Fill me with your peace
and help me to move forward in love,
to share what I know of your presence
with others who struggle.

+Amen

Sunday reflection: A call for help

A camp for the homeless behind where
the Community of Emmanuel meets

Today I had the privilege of singing "My Soul is Filled with Joy/Holy Is Your Name"* (Mary's Magnificat) for the Community of Emmanuel (God-with-us) at Inner City Pastoral Ministry. Farley played the chords of Wild Mountain Thyme on his guitar, and I did my best to lift up Mary's praise to the Creator:

"My soul is filled with joy

As I sing to God my saviour:

You have looked upon your servant,

You have visited your people.

And holy is your name

through all generations!
Everlasting is your mercy
For the people you have chosen,
And holy is your name."

Mary's beautiful prayer indicates that God sides with "the little ones" rather than the rich and powerful:

"I proclaim the pow'r of God,
You do marvels for your servants;
Though you scatter the proud-hearted
And destroy the might of princes.

To the hungry you give food, 
Send the rich away empty.
In your mercy you are mindful 
Of the people you have chosen."

In the inner city, where we often find small tent communities along fences near vacant properties, Mary's words come to life in a different way than in our suburban churches. As I handed out snack bags to some of God's chosen ones after our Community of Emmanuel service this morning, I marveled at the group lined up and waiting, most of them regulars who know each other from their time on the streets. Inevitably, when we get down to the last few snack bags, there's always someone who will give theirs up to the disappointed person who arrives just a few minutes too late to get one, or at least divide the contents of their own snack in half.

Once upon a time, I was afraid of the people of the inner city, probably because I was afraid they might want more from me than I could give, or because I sensed that they would pull me out of my middle-class comfort zone. But they have also showed me our Creator's presence in the ways they care for each other, and continue to remind me that Jesus encourages us to move out of our comfort zones to care for "the little ones."

At the end of August, our ICPM team is losing two very important people, Linda, our coffee-brewer extraordinaire, and Gord, our coffee runner, whose 200 caffeine-laden double doubles are extremely important to Sunday morning morale in the Boyle Street neighbourhood where we meet. Linda and Gord are moving on -- to care for people in other capacities, no doubt. So you can consider today's reflection a call for help.

If you or someone you know in the Edmonton area might be willing to take on coffee ministry for our Inner City Pastoral Ministry community, I'd love to hear from you. It's just a matter of joining us for our service on Sunday mornings, making the coffee, and delivering it down the hall to the front door so it can be passed out with our snack bags. The persons willing to do these behind-the-scenes tasks from 7:45 to 11 am fulfill a gentle and very much appreciated ministry in inner city life.

Consider this moodling to be a call to help the people God has chosen, our inner city sisters and brothers, in a very tangible way, by being a sign of God's everlasting mercy in the form of a cup of coffee made with love.

*original arrangement written by an anonymous musician and found in a 1978 UK hymnal, though David Haas re-arranged words and melody timing and took credit for it at some point...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYzJNXcoLUg

Praying at my compost pile

This morning I was busy sifting compost at the back of our garden when the cell phone in my pocket rang. PRIVATE NUMBER, the screen said. Usually I ignore numbers I don't recognize, but for some reason, at the last minute, instead of sticking the phone back in my pocket, I pulled off my dirty garden glove and hit the answer button.

"Is this the prayer line? My name is John, and I really need someone to pray with me right now."

I was very confused about where this call was coming from, but because of volunteering with the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul and Inner City Pastoral Ministry, and other experiences in my past, offering prayers for people in need comes pretty naturally to me, so I decided to go with the flow.

"Well, John, I'm not sure about which prayer line you were trying to reach, but I'm just standing at my compost pile sifting compost. I am also a believer, so I can pray with you if you like, if you don't mind that I'm covered in compost."

"Okay," John said, laughing. "You can keep sifting your compost, but I'm kinda struggling with a lot of things. How much time you got?"

"Plenty. What's on your heart right now that needs prayers?" I asked.

John told me how his wife recently left him, but didn't take her 80-something mother along with her, and how he's struggling to know what to do with the whole situation. So I listened, offered a prayer for hope, help and strength for him, and was suggesting that he check out some support services for seniors and their families when the call dropped somehow. I lifted my sweaty cheek from the phone and checked, but there was no number recorded, so I couldn't even call him back.

I have no idea where John found my number -- maybe it was a misdial? -- but as I finished my work, I found myself thinking about the last time I encountered a stranger while handling compost eight years ago. And I said a few extra prayers that John will find the support and help he needs, and a way through the pain and challenges he's facing.

God's got your back, John, wherever you may be.

A week in Jasper

Lee and I are celebrating 30 years of marriage this summer, and decided to mark the occasion by visiting Jasper, which was the first stop on our honeymoon so many years ago. It was a lovely week except for the ever-present wildfire smoke in Western Canada this summer. Our tent trailer filtered the air a little, but we did sleep and hike in our masks on occasion. 

We had intended to camp for ten days, but on the 8th day, the smoke got so thick that we could hardly tell that we were in the mountains. After breathing varying degrees of smoke for a week, we decided to head home early and give our lungs a break. 

Climate change is here, and we have no choice but to live with it, to accept the challenges it offers and the sacrifices it demands. In the middle of our week away, I participated in an Alberta Beyond Coal walk with our eldest, Christina, who is helping to spearhead the ABC campaign. 

We and a half dozen folks from Jasper strolled up and down Jasper's main drag with signs that say "Protect our Water," and on the whole, people were cheering us on. Nobody in Jasper wants to see rivers full of selenium or the strip mining of mountain beauty of the eastern slopes... but Hinton, a coal town just an hour away, is a different kettle of fish.

Since these moodlings are my way of recording some events in my life as well as sharing thoughts with readers, I post a few pictures and comments here that I can look back on to remember my 30th anniversary week. 

If you've never seen the Rocky Mountains, Jasper is a jewel of a place, worth a visit!

Pyramid Mountain and Lake in the smoke...

and on a clearer day...

Lee at Edith Cavell glacier...

Cavell Lake...

a happy couple...

hiking the long way around Old Fort Point with our kids...

A view of the mighty Athabasca...

my favourite tree...

Saskatchewan Glacier as seen from Parker Ridge on a smoky day...

Who is that masked mountain man?

Lake Edith...

my favourite trailer/home...

and heading for home...

I am grateful for a good week away.

August 2021 Seven-minute garden tour

Things have definitely progressed since my July 2021 Seven-minute garden tour. We've been away for the past two weeks, and I'm always amazed by how much things grow in such short periods of time. Especially those squash plants!

The weather has been pretty warm since we got back from the mountains on Wednesday, so I haven't done much more than water and pick a pail full of vegetables ready for harvest. Gotta love my 50-foot diet! 

These next few days will be good gardening weather, so in the mornings, I'll be weeding, trimming, harvesting and drying garlic, and collecting whatever else needs to be picked -- and hopefully, sitting under the shade of the pear tree in the afternoons, enjoying the sound of the fountain and the antics of the birds.

If you're in the neighbourhood, come join me! (and maybe you can take some organic veggies home with you!)

https://youtu.be/f7VS1pR3oJ0

Sunday Reflection: Kaffeeklatsch with God and Lidia

Good morning, 
God.

As you can see, 
Lidia's espresso
is still a part of my Sunday ritual,

so I'm sure you don't mind 
if I invite her to join us

under the pear tree
for this morning's quiet reflection.

Good morning,
Lidia.

I'm so glad you are a member of 
my personal communion of saints
who join God and me
for Sunday morning coffee.

I also welcome my grandmas
and other wise women
who are honourary members 
of my Sunday morning kaffeeklatsch
-- what other than a kaffeeklatsch

that includes espresso --

would my friend Lidia expect from
her "German lady" friend, 

as you always referred to me?

You know how much I loved espresso in your kitchen.

I still miss you,

Lidia,

but your coffee gives me comfort.

In today's Gospel reading,

Jesus calls himself

the Bread of Life.

(Bread and wine were what he had to work with.)

For me, 

bread and wine 

are delicious miracles in themselves.

And so is this good coffee, 

and the shade of the pear tree,

and God's presence in every last thing

right down to the sub-atomic level,

including the ongoing memory-presence

of you, 

Lidia,

and grandmas Eugenia and Dorothea,

and auntie Barbara,

and Aldona and Ruthie,

and all the other good women saints

who have rooms in my heart.

I am grateful.

Thank you,

God,

for this good morning,

and all the good women at our kaffeeklatsch.

Bless all those 

who are missing the kind of love and support

they need in these challenging days.

Bless all your people 

with the love, 

wisdom,

and strength we need

to truly care for one another

and this beautiful earth with which you gift us.

Mmmmm, 

and did I thank you

for the coffee?

+Amen.

Waiting for as long as it takes

I don't know who put this on the fence that surrounds the grounds of St. Joseph Seminary/Newman Theological College/Offices of the Catholic Archdiocese of Edmonton, but I thank them for their efforts. When I stopped to take this picture, another woman pulled up in her car, and we stood there, two strangers crying together. 

These little pink moccasins are likely a bit small for the Residential School children whose unmarked graves are in the news so much these days... but they can also represent the many little ones of all ages who have been lost in the years of the Sixties Scoop, and through all the intergenerational trauma that resulted from the last 200+ years of racist policies in Canada. 100% of our Indigenous community members have been living with that trauma.

All the Catholics I speak with can't understand why the Pope still hasn't apologized for the horrors inflicted by Catholic Residential Schools in Canada. Is it because he would then have to make apologies to Indigenous communities the world over? Well then, Pope Francis and patriarchy, get on with it. Those who are so deeply wounded certainly deserve more than an apology. How about some restorative justice work, too?

In the meantime, I want to sit with the survivors, listen to their pain, and wait for as long as it takes. 

P.S. If you're from elsewhere and don't know what I'm talking about, some of the school survivors told their stories in The Survivors Speak, a report from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, which can be accessed by clicking here.

Sharing with the birds

I had a gorgeous crop of Saskatoon berries that were coming along nicely. Looking them over last week, my imagination gave me enough to bake a pie, or at least to make a few dozen smoothies. I should have known better than to count my berries before the birds!

This year our garden has been a playground for three young crows, four noisy little blue jays, and probably a half dozen magpie juveniles (or maybe it's the same three who just visit at different times of the day). 

The jays are the youngest brood, and I get a charge out of how they overshoot their landings on branches and fences. Last week, I could have sworn the magpies were playing tag, or maybe "go in and out the windows" through my cucumber trellises! And the crows -- they seem quite determined to get the clothespins off the top panel of my lettuce and pea cage so they can have a feast on the unspoiled plants. It's a puzzle for them, one they have yet to solve.

On Sunday, I heard a lot of crashing in the Saskatoon berry bush, and when I went outside, I realized that the three crows had pretty much stripped the fruit by half even though most of it wasn't ripe yet. I shooed them away, but I'm guessing the blue jays and magpies finished the job -- this morning I went out and picked the half dozen Saskatoons that were my wee taste for this year. It's been so dry, I can hardly blame the birds for eating sweet juicy berries... but I have been keeping my birdbaths full so they can drink there! You'd think they'd honour the bargain.

I'm a bit sad that my berries are gone, but the youngsters have kept me company as I garden, and keep me laughing with their clumsiness and curiosity. The young crow in this picture often washes his food in the fountain before eating, but yesterday Lee exclaimed that he or she seemed to be using the fountain as a personal belly-wash station, sitting right on top of the little jet. To be fair, the sparrows do that sometimes, too. It probably feels good in this heatwave.

I guess I don't mind sharing my yard and a bit of produce in exchange for comedic entertainment, but next year I plan to find some netting for my Saskatoon berries before they're all gone!

A little goose parade

My eldest and I went on a couple of lovely walks on recent evenings near Chickacoo Lake in the Glory Hills west of Edmonton, during a dog/house-sitting stint for Christina's friends. We were looking at a map of the walking trails in the area when Christina suddenly said, "Don't move."

I slowly turned my head to see what was advancing upon us, but there was nothing visible... until I looked down. Two young Canada geese were puttering around our feet making funny little cheeping noises and nibbling on the grass. There were no other geese to be seen out on the lake -- just ducks, a blue heron, and numerous red-winged blackbirds.

Christina's experiences of geese have been on the unnerving side -- having a large goose come hissing and threatening with its baseball bat wings even once is enough to make the bravest soul keep a healthy distance. But these two at our feet weren't being aggressive in any way, nibbling grass and burbling to each other, analyzing Christina's toes for a minute or two. So we chattered at them for a few minutes, marveled at their seeming fearlessness, and then decided to walk further around the lake.

When we turned back for one more look at them, they were following us, and it soon became evident that they were determined to stay with us, waddling along at a steady pace. I'm not sure that they could fly -- they were small enough to be teenage geese, and their wing feathers looked a bit short. Not wanting to draw them away from their lake home and hoping that the parent birds would return, we turned back to try to accompany them to the dock where we first noticed them before they followed us up the hill.

Christina led the parade, and we eventually got them out onto the platform, then turned and high-tailed it back into the treed paths beside the lake. At that point, after all that walking, it seemed they were happy to return to the water.

I somehow doubt that it was pure curiosity that brought them to us -- I suspect people have fed them and they associate us two-leggeds with the idea of interesting food experiences. Another example of why we shouldn't feed wildlife -- as Christina says at the end of the parade video below, those two were a little too trusting.

Here's a little wildlife fix for you, friends... not that they were particularly wild.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81TgWMNzIUI

Patience for something beauty-full

My six-year-old blooming
Lionheart amaryllis

Some years ago, I asked a florist to send an amaryllis to my dear friend in Belgium as a Christmas gift. Gaby was delighted and wrote to me, saying, "she is very beauty-full!" So the next fall, I ordered a bulb for myself, and planted it so it would bloom for Christmas. And yes, she was very beauty-full!

She also managed to produce a roundish pod where one of the flowers had been -- because I transferred pollen between the blossoms with my fingers. I allowed the pod to ripen into a hard brown shell, and eventually it cracked and opened to reveal many black, flat and crinkly seeds about the size of a loonie (dollar coin here in Canada).

I turned to the internet for information about how to grow an amaryllis from seed, but all I could find was that they produce the plants in Florida, and it takes about four or five years from germination to flower stage. Wow, that long, I thought.

I was game to try for germination at least, curious what those flat black seeds would do. So I spread them out in a large-ish shallow pot, covered them with a fine layer of soil, and kept them well watered. Before long, the pot appeared to be growing fine grass.

That fall, I transplanted a dozen of the grassy plants into small pots and left them to grow in a sunny window through the winter. By the next spring, they looked like baby leeks, and I put a half dozen into four slightly larger pots and set them outside, bringing them indoors before first frost. The next summer, I kept only the three healthiest specimens. For three years, they spent their days in the sunny back yard or the south-facing kitchen window, depending on the season.

But last fall, as they were ending their fourth year, I cut the leaves from bulbs about the size of medium onions, shook the dirt from their roots, and put them in my basement cold room for a winter's nap with my original bulb, which has bloomed every year after its winter break. 

I promptly forgot about them all -- until after Easter!

The one that didn't bloom

In the middle of an episode of insomnia, I remembered! The next morning, I planted them in some good potting soil and set them out in our little greenhouse, where they put out some healthy looking leaves... and two of the three plants sent up a flower stalk! All that patience had paid off!

I gave one amaryllis to my sisters and one to my mom, and the flowers didn't disappoint! As Gaby said, they were "very beauty-full." Perhaps the third plant hadn't stored quite as much sunlight as the other two, as it hasn't blossomed. Maybe next year!

The lesson I am taking from this is that people are like amaryllises. We all grow at our own pace -- especially when it comes to discovering and accepting the truths of life. For some people, it takes much longer than others. 

In this season of uncovering many painful truths about Canada's colonial history and its myriad injustices against our Aboriginal Peoples, we need to be patient with one another, not to give up on each other. If we can bring each other along with gentleness, kindness, atonement, forgiveness, and healing, hopefully we can all bloom together into something very beauty-full.

Please pray with me for that, and let's all do what we can to further reconciliation...