Come Close and See by Bob Jones

Invitations to special occasions mean we are welcomed to embrace the milestone moments of those that matter most to us. 2022 was a year of invitations to grandkids’ birthdays, friends’ wedding anniversaries, 60^th b-day parties, colleagues’ farewells, opportunities to preach, and the ordination service of a friend we’ve worked and travelled with for over a decade. Jesus offered a personal invitation – come to me.

Looking in the rear-view mirror and capturing what that “Come” has meant in 2022 for our family, distills down to two words— "carefree" and "caregivers".

 

Two Became Three

 

In May my 91-year-old mother-in-law fell and broke her neck. Mum lived on her own in the country just outside Truro, Nova Scotia. My wife, Jocelyn travelled home and spent nine, long weeks supporting her in recovery. The experience was the catalyst that moved mum to list her home for sale in August. She called us in September to let us know the house sold and announced she would come to stay with us in St Albert. Jocelyn asked if she meant until Christmas or for good? For good. OK. She sold most of her furniture, the rest was packed in a U-haul, and she moved to Alberta on October 21^st. Two became three.

 

Mum gets all the credit for making a quantum change in her 90's. She moved from living alone in a house her husband built 48 years ago, to confining her private space to an 8 x10 bedroom. She has the run of our home but you can imagine she's not doing much running. Seniors living with a more senior citizen is an interesting arrangement. We’ve been empty nesters for 12 years. Mum has been a widow for two years. That’s long enough to have deeply formed preferences. So, all three of us have had to die to what was and slowly shift to what would be.

 

Discipleship

 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his classic book, The Cost of Discipleship, wrote,

 

“When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”

 

Bonhoeffer explained in detail that this is not, for most Christians, a literal death, but rather a death to self. When we follow Jesus, we choose to die to our selfish desires, our need to win, or our urge to control. We lay down our lives before God so that we might receive them back from him imbued with new purpose and power. To be sure, the call of Jesus to die to ourselves is not an elementary one. Yet in losing our life to Jesus, we end up finding it.

 

So far we are finding peace in a shared space. There has been no heartburn over who controls the TV remote, or sets the thermostat. Mum doesn’t need a lot of care. And we are careful to give each other privacy. Others have shared stories of how they thrived in the same situation.

 

Gratitude

 

Jocelyn is the primary caregiver for her mom. This role reversal is an expression of gratitude.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: “In ordinary life we hardly realize that we receive a great deal more than we give, and that it is only with gratitude that life becomes rich.” We live and die indebted to others who deserve our gratitude. 

Life is rich. We're grateful to experience Jesus' invitation to come and be carefree caregivers.

 

There are other Inscribe writers who are caring for elderly parents. What are you learning about yourself and your faith?

 

Bob Jones writes to grow hope, inspire people to be real, forge an authentic faith in Jesus, and discover their life purpose. You can follow his writing at REVwords.com

Showing Up Says It All by Bob Jones

Our mile long procession neared the cemetery. Riding shotgun in the lead car was my vantage point on a cold November afternoon. I had time to observe the trees lining the rural road, bereft of all greenery. Their lifeless branches matched the sombre mood of those traveling to a graveside to lay a nine-year old boy to rest. His twin brother proudly served as a pallbearer, helping to carry his sibling.

My mind was stripped bare by the sudden and tragic passing of a child I had never met but now could not forget. Family, friends and children huddled together against the chill under a grey sky. All ears were on this minister listening for words that could somehow make sense out of the senseless.

That’s when I am laid bare.

Words fail and the ones that do come sound hollow in my mind.

But speak I must.

With the words come tears.

We bow in prayer.

“Our Father in heaven…”

The casket is lowered into the earth.

Classmates of the boy have written loving words on strips of paper that they attach to ribbons tethering green balloons – his favorite color.

Together the students count down from 3 and set their balloons free.

We return to our vehicles, faces and hearts numbed by the cold.

Afterwards, a reception graciously hosted by the family, offers hot drinks, homemade sandwiches and baked goods – comfort food. “Thank you for your help. You were comforting.”

When words fail, showing up says it all. Laid bare of adjectives, nouns and verbs presence is a gift that speaks clearly.

To write with presence is the outcome of vulnerability.

Brene Brown observes, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.” (Daring Greatly)

There is more than a little comfort knowing that showing up gives opportunity for new leaves to sprout again.

Trees, barren of leaves in November are not without hope. Springtime will come. Sprouts will green up.  Life will come.

Writers, barren of words in the Novembers of our souls, are not without hope.

Write on.

Robert (Bob) W. Jones is a recovering perfectionist, who collects Coca-Cola memorabilia and drinks Iced Tea. His office walls are adorned with his sons’ framed football jerseys, and his library shelves, with soul food. He writes to inspire people to be real, grow an authentic faith in Jesus, enjoy healthy relationships and discover their life purpose.

Did I Forget to Remember? - Linda Aleta Tame

"If you have to do it anyway, you might as well enjoy it." My mom is 93 now, and is still practicing her practical proverb. Launching from that springboard, I learned to love winter. I live in central Canada where the winters can be extremely cold, with icy streets and huge snow drifts. People here usually love to hate winter, and I was one of them until I remembered Mom's advice. I started to list the things I appreciated about winter: Christmas, the cozy warmth that hugs me when I come in from the cold, no mosquitoes, being snowed in with my reading and writing, and so on. I determined to love winter, and now I do!

I used the same technique with waiting.  Waiting is something I'll always have to do, so I might as well enjoy it.  I now love waiting.  It's the only time I get to do nothing without answering to anyone for it.

Since it's November again, I had to face the dread of it.  It's gray, windy and cold, and here on the prairies, the trees have turned into brown sticks.  I've learned to love all the other months, even January, which is now my hibernation month, but November?  What's to love about it?

This year, I've learned to love it.  My best friend's birthday is this month, and I love her to pieces.  But, November is important for something even greater than that, and how could I have forgotten to remember.  No, I really didn't forget to remember, but I did forget that loving November means loving people for the sacrifices they've made and continue to make on my behalf.  I am so grateful for the freedoms I enjoy that came at the expense of our soldiers and their families.  November comes every year anyway, I might as well enjoy it.  Thankfully, I am free, protected and alive so, now and forever, I will love November.