The Twisted Post

At the end of our daughter's driveway sits a cluster of mature cedars, a once stagnate piece of property, now transformed into a magical tree house setting for our six-year-old grandson, Thatcher (T). What if we were able to change the stagnate parts of our world into something extraordinary as well?

Each day after school, excitement filled the air as T bolted down the driveway to greet his Pap and inspect the tree house progress. In his little world, the tree house represented a big wood LEGO project, and those daily interactions were often priceless. But none was more precious than the day he picked up the level and began to shake it vigorously. "What's this used for, Pap? And why does the bubble move back and forth?"

Derick playfully wrested the level from T's hand and lodged it up against a nearby post. "See how the bubble sits in the middle? This one is considered to be a perfect post to build on." 

 "Huh, okay Pap."

Now our grandson tends to be a bit obsessive when he learns something new. So this new-found "bubble in the middle" revelation sent him on a mission, where he lunged from post to post, to make sure all had passed the test. But it wasn't long before he spun around and yelled, "Oh no, Pap! This post is twisted! The bubble isn't in the middle! You have to get rid of it!"  

"Yes, I agree this post is different from the other ones, Kiddo. But I decided to build around it because, well, it's sturdy and remains an important part of the solid foundation. Besides, it'll add character and uniqueness to your tree house."  

A valuable teaching/learning moment that day perhaps helped our grandson better understand the concept that—in the (grand) scheme of things—being different is okay.

Imagine what life would be like if we lived by the principle that although we are different from one another (or don't fit a particular mold), we can still be a pillar of strength and character, built into a foundation of inclusiveness. 

Unfortunately, though, throughout history, humanity (including inside the walls of religion) has struggled with this view of "perceived" perfection. And while my tree house story is light-hearted, some of life's teaching moments aren't. 

Take the biblical account of the religious leaders who denounced Christ, for example. To them, He was seen as a threat to their power, a false prophet, not worthy of the religious rite that they had perfected. Primarily, He was seen as a twisted post, spreading a different message forward for God, effectively putting their foundation off level.

Christ had tilted the bubble of the religious leaders so far off center that they started to plot against him, instead of building around Him, eventually pushing the ruler of the times to crucify Him, so that they could remain inside a non-inclusive and unchangeable bubble. It was indeed a historical teaching moment because Christ's resurrection burst their view of God, wide open.

In reality, Christ became the only perfect corner post of the Christian faith, and His life story reminds us that if we choose to follow him, we become the "light of the world." In other words, we become the way the world sees God. But yet, we remain divided. And the thing is, whether our conflicting views fall left or right of center, divisive rhetoric has never generated light in the world. Instead, it fuels hatred. 

Christ, on the other hand, taught us to show patience when dealing with our differences; He taught us to show kindness and mercy, to look after the poor, to control our anger, and to recognize that the Kingdom of God has a place for ALL who sincerely seek it. 

As Christians, we envision our stagnate divisive world transformed into one of beauty, through the extraordinary teachings of Christ. After all, He provides us with the tools to build unity, right? 

So let’s continue to be twisted and stretched, to allow our light to remain a representation of His goodness. In turn, we may add to His foundation—one twisted post at a time—through the people we impact.

The Long Goodbye

"The long goodbye" originated from the former first lady, Nancy Reagan, regarding her husband's long battle with Alzheimer's. Many caregivers and their families have since used this phrase when describing their journey with dementia because the roadmap forward is very vague and unique to the individual travelers.

I write on this dedicate topic not to minimizes its prognosis in any way, but in hopes of bringing some level of comfort and awareness to those who may find themselves engulfed by dementia's emotional rollercoaster. And my approach is twofold : (1) To share a piece of what I've witnessed throughout my own experiences. (2) To help others recognize the role grief and loss contributes in the long goodbye.

Having worked with dementia patients throughout my career in long-term care, as well as having witnessed a dear friend's life unfold with this illness, gave me a firsthand look into the different degrees of losses and grief that were present for caregivers and their families. And although its progression varied from person to person—depending on which type was diagnosed (the most common form being Alzheimer's), I'd not witnessed any loss more painful than the loss of normalcy in their interactive relationships.

For instance, impairment progression brings with it immense changes and challenges to one's personality such as confusion and bouts of agitation, which can become physically and emotionally taxing for everyone involved, in particular, the spouse. On the positive side: These relational changes usually happen over time, with many periods of normalcy in between.

However, due to the unpredictability of this illness, it's impossible to know what yours or your loved one's experiences will be like.

For me, unlike when I worked with patients in the latter stages of dementia, where they were severely impaired, and full-time care was required, I was involved right from the get-go with my friend's prognosis. For the first five years, there was hardly any change in our relationship. Furthermore, even when his memory did decline (because of our thirty-two-year history together), I was fortunate enough to be able to help him piece together positive events from his past, where he and I'd often found commonality and laughter.

During impairment progression, reverting to the past more so than living in the present is not an uncommon occurrence for your loved one, nor is it unusual for a significant other to want to keep them attached to the present—as such we are always adapting our communicative approach. And sharing memories through this communicative approach is one of the treasures in the long goodbye, for the reason that memories are the foundation of who we are; therefore, the positive ones need to be cherished as a precious gift.  

Think about it: Who better to bring shared memories into the present for your loved one than you. Whether that's helping them navigate their own or whether you are the voice that carries the conversation for them, your memories will always be the love connection that binds.

Unfortunately, though, there will be other times when dementia—like a thief in the night—will rob valuable pieces of your loved one's past, leaving you grieving over the relationship that once was.

And while grief is a personal experience, and everyone will cope with it differently, at their own pace, it's important to understand that grief is very much a healthy and natural response to the many painful losses you will experience on this journey. Don't be afraid to permit yourself to grieve, because (all too often) grief gets misunderstood and overlooked, causing emotions to mask beneath the day-to-day challenges, which can become unhealthy for one's well-being.

Last but not least: Be kind to yourself. Don't try and make the journey alone. Lean on the people you trust as well as seek professional help when/where you need it. Also, reach out to others who have gone through similar experiences. No doubt your "long goodbye" is unique, but you will be surprised how much your stories will have in common. 

Legalism/Perfectionism to Grace

In 2004, I accepted Jesus into my heart. There was no mistaking that His love had flooded my soul and that His joy was in me, but instead of taking on my new identity and new nature, I still clung to  the "old self."

You see, I was a perfectionist, and ( as a result) I approached Jesus with a legalistic nature. I knew that Grace alone had saved me. I knew that His love couldn't be earned—because scripture revealed it to me. But yet my perfectionist mentality still fueled a notion that I needed to receive His approval and forgiveness through performance and rule-keeping. And when I couldn't measure up to what I thought was God's expectations of me, I was left feeling inadequate and frustrated.

When we approach God with a legalistic/ perfectionist mindset, that's what happens: We try to earn His approval with our imperfect actions. We have a belief that our salvation depends on how well we perform and how well we uphold all the rules. We become judgmental and critical of others. Legalism/perfectionism, therefore, robs us of our peace and joy, because it emphasizes the external to the neglect of the internal.

Jesus' message clearly illustrates this in Luke 11:37-54. The Pharisees and the teachers of the law had become more concerned with their traditions and human-made rules than the Word of God. They had burdened others and left them feeling ashamed and condemned when they didn't quite measure up. They taught that the only path to the knowledge of God was through the gates of legalism, yet, they didn't enter these gates—themselves. Instead, they had a heart that desired power rather than equality for God's people. Their self-righteous desires blinded them from seeing the Son of Man as nothing more than a threat to their power, as opposed to a grace offering for the sins of all humanity.

Someone once said to me: "We shouldn't abuse God's grace in our lives or use it as a means to continue in sin." And I agree. We no doubt need to have a balance between grace and the law, and that's where the Holy Spirit comes in: Christ left a beacon of light in our heart so that we may know which way to turn; a means to prayerfully grasp the grace of His forgiveness so that we can move forward and fulfill His purpose. Grace, therefore, is an unmerited favor that sets us free from a legalistic mindset. It doesn't have to be earned or worked by performance. It's freely given. All we have to do is show up and receive it—and once we do—it opens up a whole new world of Christ's knowledge in our lives.

Christ's transforming truth and power not only continues to refine me today, setting me free to extend His grace and forgiveness to others as He so freely gives to me, but it's also teaching me two of life's most important lessons: Humility and Love.

How about you?

Are you struggling with perfectionism?

Is legalism suffocating your faith?

If so, why not allow Grace to cover you with this affirmation: "My child. It's okay that you are not perfect. I love you in spite of your imperfections. I love you not based on any performance that you do. I love you simply because you are my unique, one-of-a-kind child, whom I chose as a work in progress."

Age is just a Number—not a Bummer

So often when we think about the aging process, we associate it with a negative vibe: More wrinkles, more gray hair (or no hair), loss of memory, a decline in health, a decrease in energy, etc.

But how different would our perspective be if we looked at age as just a number rather than a bummer?

I realize there are always going to be circumstances that shatter our outlook on life, where we drift in and out of periods filled with fear, disappointment, and frustration. However, if we can adapt to each stage and understand the changes and limitations it poses to our well-being, it will, in time, enable us to look through a different and more positive lens.

It's a proven fact that the mind has a great deal of power over how we age. It can give us the ability to age gracefully, or it can provide us with the potential to speed up the process, mainly aging us long before our time. That's why it's so important that we not only strive to live a healthy lifestyle, but we must find ways to de-stress and banish the negative mindset as well.

I turned 59 in February, and I can honestly say I feel younger than I did ten years ago. Retiring early—almost four years ago now—and cutting out work-related stress has helped, but my most significant change revolves around a more positive outlook. Thank you, Jesus!

And while faith is (no doubt) the engine that drives my new outlook on life, delving into self-education topics relating to the human psyche has made me aware of just how much my past had caused me to live in a cynical mindset.

On the whole, I was someone who saw the glass half-empty. But thankfully, I am now someone who has evolved into seeing the glass half-full, and recounting my past isn't a bummer anymore; it's merely a reference point to the path that I now find myself on.

None of us know what the future holds. But—in the grand scheme of things—we know that God is the healer of old wounds, the keeper of the "book of life" in which age is just a number. So until the Creator calls us home, let's not age before our time; instead, let's strive to age gracefully in body, mind, and spirit.

Finding the Rainbow in Grief

Just as the many faces of grief represent some of life's darkest hours, for me, a rainbow is a symbolic reminder of how God's light pierces through the darkness and offers hope beyond the storm.

Do you know there are ultraviolet and infrared light/colors present in a rainbow? But the naked eye can only pick up the seven colors of the spectrum: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.

Let's assume the vibrant colors of the rainbow symbolically express the layers of beauty life has to offer, and the colors not seen represent the segments of adversity we face. After all, life isn't always beautiful. There are periods of time when it can be cruel and littered with hardships, and losing a loved one is one such hardship.

Those of us who have walked (or who are walking) through the valley of grief, know it's impossible to see anything colorful in the rawness of grief. We find it hard to believe there will be better days, brighter days ahead.

And while there's no timeline for grief—life, however, cannot go forward until the storm within us begins to subside. Only then will the rainbows vibrant colors slowly filter back into our lives. No doubt we will see them in a different light, but through perseverance and God's guidance, the hurtful memories will fade, and we will find a pot of gold within the treasured memories of our loved one.

I know this to be true in my own life. I will never forget the dreaded phone call that forever changed me. Losing my mom of 56 years to a massive heart attack (in August of 1987) plunged me into a dark place, where grief virtually took me down an unhealthy road toward a mental breakdown.

I couldn't see the beauty of the rainbow anymore. I was being sucked into, what felt like, a whirling vortex, void of color. I tried each day to kick into survival mode, to put one foot in front of the other for my four-year-old daughter and five-month-old son, leaving me little time to give attention to what was, indeed, happening inside my body. There was no checklist to help me navigate through grief, no access to grief resources like we have today. Besides, it was as if grief and depression carried a greater stigma back then—an awkwardness—you might say, which made it even harder to admit that I needed help.

But with hindsight comes perspective: My near breakdown was a breakthrough into the window of my grief, the beginning of my healing process.

In our unique way, we will forever mourn our loved ones. There will always be a part of us that feels sadness over their loss. Having said that, though, as they continue to live on in our heart, we will be able to enjoy the beauty of the rainbow once again—through the many memories we'd shared together.

The Climb

Born and raised in Newfoundland, Derick and I frequently took our two children back to visit family still residing there. And although we visited during various times of the year, I would say that July and August are the most popular to witness the island's vast beauty, and one of its gems is Gros Morne National Park, with the mystical Gros Morne Mountain rising out of its midst.

It's been more than two decades since our families' summer vacation led us on an adventurous, seven-hour journey to conquer this often fog-shrouded mountain, testing our endurance and perseverance along the marked path en route to the summit and back down again.

I still vividly remember the strenuous climb up through the gorge, and how painful and daunting it was for me. I moaned and groaned and gasped for air as I climbed over boulders, literally, on my hands and knees. My sore stretched calves had me resting every five minutes, and each time I contemplated quitting.

You see, I wanted the splendor of the mountaintop that awaited me, but I didn't want to do the hard work it entailed to get there: I wanted comfort. I wanted the easy way out. But thanks to Derick and our two children for urging me to keep going, the most spectacular view stood before us on the summit that day. From the broader viewpoint of the mountain, we were also able to capture a better perspective on how far we'd traveled, and it certainly gave us a different outlook than the forested area below.

However, after every mountaintop event in life, there's a valley in which we must descend. And it wasn't long into ours before we were temporarily forced to huddle together when a fast-moving rainstorm came upon us and produced a dense fog cover over the mountain. It not only dampened our summit experience, but it also turned the rocky terrain into a slippery, treacherous mess, heightening our sense of urgency to reach the base area safely.

But whether we are literally or figuratively climbing a mountain, both have pain and hard work involved. Because not unlike my mountain climb expedition, there have been times in my Christian journey where it felt like I was crawling along, times when I wanted to quit, times when I wanted it to be more comfortable, and times when I felt shrouded in a fog, not knowing my way out.

I am sure we can all relate to the many challenges life brings and to the fact that these challenges can—for a short time—veil our inner beauty, and even test our faith. However, there's no better way to weather the storm than to huddle together with those closest to us, to help us come to terms with our circumstances and regain our footing.

So often, though, our initial response is to pull back and try to face things on our own, and while this may be okay for a period, we aren't created to climb alone. Instead, Christ's calls us to encourage one another, to build one another up, and to give one another that extra support along the, sometimes, rocky path of life.

As we celebrate our faith and give thanks for the miracle of the Cross this Easter, let us also call to mind our humanness, to recognize that (just like us) Christ's closest followers had times when they were shrouded in a fog of doubt and fear. But the illustration of Him stumbling and crawling up the incline with the burden of the cross/world on His shoulders is one of redemption. He rose again to offer His grace, love, and forgiveness to a world that was and still is in desperate need of hope and guidance for all phases of life's climb, en route to the final summit (Heaven).

How will you climb?

A Life-Changing Mission Experience

In the summer of 2005, I embarked on my very first mission trip, with the local church I'd attended at the time.

Weeks leading up to it, I’d heard testimonies about how the mission field was a life-changing experience, but I still couldn’t grasp what my own experience would look like, nor did I have any expectations to be used by God in any particular way. All I knew was that I was stepping well outside of my comfort zone and into the poverty-stricken region of Galena, Mexico.

The first leg of the journey landed us in Austin, Texas, where we’d spend a few days getting acquainted with our American mission partners. From there both teams would board a bus and trek across the Mexican border en route to our missionary facility in Galena, our base camp.

In the days to follow, what impacted me the most, however, was when we branched out and spent time with the people living in the secluded mountain villages.

I remember our first drive up through the mountains, and how breathtaking it was. But the plight of its inhabitants would soon overshadow the scenic view. Dirt roads. Run-Down shacks with no hydro or running water, to a gentleman greeting us on his donkey, had left the scene before me so surreal; it felt as though we’d time-warped back to an earlier century.

And although it was heartbreaking to see the children and their families living in some of the most desperate situations imaginable, amidst their rugged conditions, I couldn't help but observe how materialism was of no essence to them. What mattered most was the fundamentals of life, such as food, clean water, shelter, and some form of health care. It was all of the things I had taken for granted back home in Canada.

Mother Teresa once said: “Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.” This gift was, undoubtedly, present in Galena. Because despite the language barrier, the mutual gift of a gentle spirit and a loving simile was witnessed amongst the local people and us, daily.

I still visualize the children running to greet me with their big smiles, as well as the communicative expressions we all shared with the Mexican people at our evening worship services. It was some of the most memorable interactions that captured my heart and remains with me to this day.

I often think about the impoverished people in the Galena region, and about their spiritual progress and well-being. Because it was evident that the battle against the powers of darkness lurked in the shadows of their city and villages, including the common practice of witchcraft.

In hindsight, my mission experience was indeed life-changing. It not only gave me a new perspective on what it truly means to be content, but it made me realize that whether we're involved in missions abroad or here at home, it's the work that Christ calls us to.

The Christmas season is fast approaching, and as we celebrate the birth of Christ, the Greatest Missionary of all time, let's continue to look for opportunities to brighten the lives of the less fortunate amongst us.