Ponderings

June 1 Being home

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 09:38:07 PDT

Bria, my 12 year old English Pointer, has blossomed these past four weeks. She's needed no drugs for her aching bones, she sleeps well, still needs to be lifted in and out of the truck, but is able to walk up and down stairs without help. Each morning I take the dogs to the beach at low tide when we have access to the sand packed firm by the weight of the water. Bria gallops across the sand. I can't remember when I last saw her gallop, probably in Hazelton. Peter says she's happy because she knows she's finally come home.

I feel the truth of his words, and wonder if he is also speaking for himself. The health problems which have plagued him these past five years seem to have disappeared, he too seems happy that he has finally come home.

I feel the truth of his words within my own self as well. I feel energized. Eating and sleeping deeply. There is joy in every day. My allergies seem to have disappeared. I feel a kinship with the world around me, I know my place within it, and it feels good. It feels right.

I watch my mother each day as she enjoys her home. The lethargy and dimness which marks her while in the hospital is replaced with energy, focus and engagement with her surroundings at home. Physical and mental acts that she struggles with come more easily. Her Alzheimer's prevents her from remembering what she did five minutes or five years ago ... but her body remembers familiar surroundings and easily resumes familiar rhythms and actions.

Home evokes visceral memory. Memory held deep within our bones. A spiritual geography which resonates with our deepest being, our deepest selves. An inner knowing which moves deeper than conscious memory. What the mind forgets, body and spirit remembers.

These past weeks I have been reflecting upon how memory informs identity. The cruelty of Alzheimer's disease, is that memory is stolen and the sense of self diminished. For my mother, memory is invigorated by familiar surroundings. I am realizing that the memory is deeper than conscious thought; memory is also held deep within our bodies. Embracing body memory is embracing life in ways which affirms who we are in our deepest selves. The sense of self blossoms and soars beyond disease and disability. Body, Mind and Spirit - inter connected, symbiotic.

The unexpected blessing I am finding is that in bringing my mother home, we have all come home, and at every level of our being, we are well.

The end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And to know the place for the first time. T.S. Elliot

View's Family Council beginnings

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Sat, 28 May 2011 06:18:44 PDT

The View's now have an official Family Council advocacy group for residents. I'm interested in learning more about the history behind the formation of this group. I've been told that families have been requesting a Family Council group for some years, yet only recently has their request resulted in a Family Council being formed. This implies an approval process, and I wonder what that entails, why has the request not been approved until now, and why the apparent change of heart in now providing approval. Questions for another day, meanwhile, the second meeting happened tonight with 11 people, including myself, in attendance.

I'm participating because I believe strongly in advocacy for those who are marginalized and vulnerable; people in residential care are certainly both. Advocacy by nature implies justice principles, and one can safely assume that advocacy would not be necessary within an institutional, social or political culture where justice principles were respected. Those principles, and the needs of the individuals affected, need to be expressed to be heard and honoured; within this there is a primary focus upon what is not working which I find unfortunate. We also need to hold up what is working well, so that this becomes a model of excellence for others to follow.

With that being said, the list of concerns brought to the Family Council is disturbing. The families identified several areas of concern with their loved ones care: we were then given 10 red dots with which to mark which areas we held the greatest concern. The areas identified, and the votes each received are as follows: Dietary-6, Evaluation Process-6, Inconsistency of Care-16, Low Staffing Levels-14, Low Staff Morale-1, Laundry-1, Food-10, Lack of Daily Exercise-8, Lack of Physio-11, Communication-20. The group agreed to focus on the top five.

I'm looking forward to being a part of this group as it unfolds. The members are a diverse group of people, what we have in common is a family member in residential care, and our passion for ensuring the best possible quality of life for our most vulnerable loved ones. There were many stories shared tonight. I heard frustration in those stories: frustration at not being heard, frustration with navigating the system, frustration with their lack of power to effect positve change. I also heard hope expressed in a belief that by working together, and in collaboration with other advocacy groups, that our voices will be heard and concerns addressed.

We also represent the next wave of residents. All of us are baby boomers, caring for elderly parents, and very much aware that in the not too distant future we will be the ones in residential care. We're fighting for the present needs of our loved ones, but also for our own futures within a health care system that is already overwhelmed and struggling to cope with the ever increasing number of people who need residential care.

Where we put our energy defines who we are, what we care about, and also speaks to our fears for the future.

Some links for reference:

BC Nursing Homes

Support Our Seniors

Keystone Elder Care

Tidechange

Senior Peer Counselling

Alzheimer Society of Canada

May 25-26 Birthday Blessings

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Fri, 27 May 2011 08:49:32 PDT

We've had a fun two days, Mom and I. Wednesday was another drizzly sort of day, so off we went to the Courtenay Paleontology & Local History Museum. Mom was initially hesitant to go, she's still a bit sluggish and finding it difficult to suit action to words. However, once she gets going there's no stopping her!

Mom at the museum

I'd love to see the security video footage for our afternoon in the museum. It's a small museum spread over two floors of what used to be the post office building, and holds an amazing abundance of fossils. Mom was absolutely enthralled. She went from display to display with such enthusiasm that she forgot about her walker; I ran along behind her with the walker! As I picture the image in my minds eye, I think we probably looked like a scene from an old Laurel and Hardy movie.

Mom at Anderton Gardens

Thursday was her birthday, 84 years young. Fortunately, we had some sunshine for most of the day, so we were able to take a trip to the Anderton Therapeutic Gardens. It's a lovely spot, run by volunteers who create sacred space for all ages and stages to enjoy; there's a meditation garden, bee and butterfly garden, an Alzheimer Loop, ponds, statues, gazebo's and of course, lots of flowers, trees and bushes. Mom got lots of new ideas for her garden at home, and was especially enthralled with the small Mason Bee hives wondering if we could create a similar bee space at home.

From the gardens we went back home. I had purchased a bouquet of Bernard Callebaut chocolate roses which I used to weigh down a helium birthday balloon. She had a lot of fun with the balloon, it festooned the kitchen table while we tucked into the chocolate roses. By this time, the rain had started again, so as we munched chocolate and drank our tea, she was filled with plans for the garden, inspired by the sights and fragrances of Anderton Gardens. The trip to the garden had also inspired memory, she told me the stories of previous trips she made to the gardens, remembering the early stages of its growth, commenting on the changes. The connections between memory and identify are so very strong, as we talked I could see her posture change, mental clarity and verbal articulation sharpening. The mantle of Alzheimer's slowly slipping to the background as she lives into her sense of self as a woman who loves to garden.

May 24 A Day of Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Wed, 25 May 2011 09:04:06 PDT

Mom's energy level still quite low today, but her mind seems sharper, more clarity evident in her words and questions. She heads straight to the garden swing when we arrive at the house, and I bring her water and a book to read.

Today I chose a book called "The Garden, Anam Cara" by Robin Craig Clark. A beautifully illustrated book blending poetry, prose and wisdom. It's a story of soul journey, with the theme of a garden as metaphor for transitions, connections, and spirit. Mom is enthralled with the book, and sits reading and reflecting for more than three hours.

"The Garden" has captured her attention, she laments that she finds it difficult to read the full book all the way through. Last year, I made a recording of the book, reading it aloud to share with parishioners who could no longer see well enough to read. I would lend them the book and the recording so that they could see the pictures and hear the written word spoken aloud to read the book on their own. When mom came into the house, I dug out this recording and played it for her. It takes 30 minutes to read the book aloud; Mom listened to the recording twice through. "There's many different ways to die," she says, "I don't want to die by losing my dreams."

“Wisdom begins with wonder” ~ Socrates

Dreaming is about hope and faith. Dreams project into the future the very yearnings of our hearts; our thoughts and actions of the day provide the threads with which we weave tapestries of our dreams in the night. It's intent followed by action which honours the soul, and the dreams feed the soul. Mom is hungry for dreams; hungry for soul food.

I ask her what she hopes for. She sits silently for long minutes; I begin to wonder if she's forgotten the question, but I sit silently as well and wait. "I hope for warm sunny days. I hope to see all that I've planted grow." She speaks so quietly I have to lean forward to hear. She pauses again, more minutes of silence as she gathers her next words. "I hope to sit in the sun and see my dreams come true."

I feel that the opportunity to live inside that hope is the greatest gift I can give her. And the greatest gift I have received from her is providing the space and place for her hopes and dreams to come true. When we live inside the hope, our dreaming souls live forever.

The flower smiled and whispered through her fragrance, 'the infinitesimal dream that we shall weave together will become a fabric with which to clothe all the kingdom of the sleeping and the dead.' page 48, "The Garden"

May 23 A slow day

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Tue, 24 May 2011 10:21:08 PDT

Mom greeted me waving with both hands and calling out my name. "you're here! I wondered if you were coming or if I was dreaming!" I had found her walking the halls with her walker, she was trying to figure out why her shoes didn't feel right and asked me to see what was wrong. I noticed that she had no socks on, and the tongue of her shoes was pushed down around her toes. We went back to her room for socks, I sat her down in the chair while I hunted through her drawers for them. She asked me to find her hankies, and a different pair of pants to wear for working in the garden today.

Her drawers are a jumble, so I decided to empty her closet and drawers to sort out the contents. I'd been looking for her "hippy" pants for more than a week without finding them, special pants that I had purchased for her with extra padding around the hips to protect from bumps or falls and asked that she wear every day. This seemed like a good opportunity to straighten out her clothes so onto the bed they went while Mom gently dozed in her chair. Now that I was with her, she's content, no longer anxious about where I am or her sore feet. Hospital staff seemed to be on high anxiety though, as they rushed in to see what was happening. It seems they are concerned that I might kidnap my mother, and viewed my sorting through of her clothes as a sign that the kidnapping was in progress.

No hankies to be found, all 40 of her labelled hankies appear to be missing. Did find the "hippy" pants and lots of socks, calmed the staff, folded and hung mom's clothes neatly in drawers and closet, and headed to the nurses station to pick up Mom's meds.

Picking up her meds is a new routine, started a few days ago when it was realized that because Mom's meds are usually given to her with her evening meal, and because she's been eating dinner at home each day, she's not been receiving her daily dose of Aricept and eye drops. Yesterday, I returned the bottle of eye drops to the nursing station as they were past their expiry date. Today, the new eye drops have not yet arrived, but I'm given her pills, crushed and held securely in a small plastic bag.

I'd been assuming that Mom's increased clarity during her days at home was a result of the combination of the connection to familiar and much loved surroundings triggering memory and sense of identity, and the effects of the Aricept which also serves to improve cognition. Finding out that she's not been receiving her meds these past weeks suggests that her improved cognitive abilities while at home is about the connections between familiar space, memory and identity; the Aricept has not been a factor. I have noticed over the past few days that she is slower moving physically and mentally, sluggish, more prone to nodding off in her chair, often confused and disorientated when she awakes from these little cat naps. Today is day 3 of regular meds, and an especially slow day for her.

I bring her straight to the garden and settle her on the swing. She says she's thirsty and hungry, telling me she's not been given her lunch. Did she not eat lunch today? Or does she not remember eating lunch? Either way, she obviously needs to be fed and watered before we do anything else, and I bring her cheese, fruit, crackers and juice. The food disappears quickly, but she's still quite thirsty and gulps down two more glasses of water.

Satiated at last, she looks around the yard and begins to plan her day. She wants to cut back the dead or dying blooms on the spring bulbs, she wants to sort through the big wooden box behind the shed that holds 15 years worth of accumulated plant pots. She likes having a container garden, and thinks there are pots in that box we could use to plant more tomatoes. She notices Tabitha's toys on the grass and says she'll pick them up before she gets into the garden work. She asks about the compost piles, saying they need some work and hopes that I know how to revive them. I tell her that I'm very good at creating active compost piles, after all, everything I know about composting I learned from her. She laughs and tells me that I better get started then!

She's coming back to life, and I enjoy watching her eyes light up, her enthusiasm for gardening, her dedication to nurturing and growing. I expect her to get up from the swing and get to work, but instead, she nods off, so I let her sleep. Bria curls up beside the swing, placing herself protectively between Mom and anything that might disturb her.

The day passes slowly. Mom has several more 5 minute naps during the afternoon. She seems to have difficulty in providing action to her plans for the day, though she articulates her self assigned job list in between each nap. I bring her a book to read, and more water. She does make a few trips around the yard, but it's late afternoon before she gets up the energy to do more than just looking at her yard, and naming the work to be done. The 5pm walk around the yard brings her to the container garden we've been planting, and asks me to bring her the hose so she can water them. She's briefly back in action.

A slow day for Mom indeed, and I wonder why.

May 20 a wee chat

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 23 May 2011 10:09:34 PDT

A wee glimpse into a chat with my mother, click here to listen.
(recorded with 'free' sound software, which means the name of the software occurs several times during the sound recording.)

May 23 Pondering Bureaucracy

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 23 May 2011 12:08:31 PDT

A few days ago, a staff member at the hospital took me aside to ask how things were going with my mother's days at home, and said, "I'm so glad you're here doing this for your mom. You're providing a place of sanity in a really insane situation." I was puzzled by these words and asked for an explaination. The staff member was not able to elaborate, but added, "Bureaucracies are selfish things, they really only serve themselves."

I still feel puzzled by this exchange, wondering about the back story, what is it that sits behind those words. The situation we find ourselves in is certainly complex, with so many players and so many levels of bureaucracy, so many different motives and perspectives.

The hospital has its own layers with hierarchies and processes that are not always clear. Multiple staff and disciplines, each coming with their own perspective and purpose. With the nursing staff, I am able to feel that we share a common purpose in working together for the best possible quality of life for my mother. With other staff, I'm not always so sure.

Add to this the ever looming presence of the PTO, with a focus on control through exercising the regulations which give them power. Respect and flexibiltiy are necessary components of working collaboratively or cooperatively - I have yet to experience any of these attributes. Mom & her husband own their house as "tenants in common", but with the PTO handling his affairs, my mother's access to her home has been fraught with bureaucratic obstacles, as well as no longer having full insurance coverage on her home or contents. And of course, there's also the health authority which has oversight of all people "in the system", with legislation that also gives them far reaching powers with limited requirements for full disclosure.

Ostensibly, we're all working together for the greater good of vulnerable people in our care. In practice, the bureaucracies work for their own benefit, bound by their own rules, obscurity of purpose, administrative objectives which creates a sameness. The indivdual is quickly lost in the tangle of these multi layered systems, and I can see the truth in the staff member's statement that bureaucracies are selfish things which best serve themselves.

bu·reauc·ra·cy–noun, plural -cies.
1. government by many bureaus, administrators, and petty officials.
2. the body of officials and administrators, especially of a government or government department.
3. excessive multiplication of, and concentration of power in, administrative bureaus or administrators. from http://dictionary.reference.com/

May 11 - A Gnomish Day

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Tue, 24 May 2011 10:48:42 PDT

The chanting of her address has become a ritual. As we drive from the hospital to home, and back again, the address has become a sing song chant. I hear delight in my mothers voice born of pleasure. I wonder if she's also responding to an awareness of the fragility of her residency. She was so unwilling to leave the house last August when I had her placed in the assisted living unit of the hospital. Although I know that was my only option at the time, she needed to be safe and she was no longer safe in her home, and I needed to go back to Alberta. She has been safe and cared for at the View's since then, and I am grateful. Having been removed from her home once, is the chanting of her home address a way to prevent having to leave again? I tell her that her house is for her to enjoy to her hearts content, she doesn't need to leave it as long as Peter and I are here to care for her.

Once in the house, she greeted the animals. She certainly has a way with them, they can't get enough of her, running to greet her, making themselves available for her affection. The dogs glare enviously at the cat who effortlessly jumps over their backs to land in my mothers lap.

A rainy day today, even during the interludes between showers, the wind makes it too cool for us to spend time in the garden. The wind is blowing the cherry blossoms from the trees, the wafting pink petals give the day a celebratory air. Mom decides to curl up in the armchair with a cup of tea and a book, with the window close by to gaze upon the day. She chooses a book called "Gnomes" originally published in the Netherlands in 1976. The book is all about the life, history, and daily practices of ... gnomes, the artwork is exquisite. (ISBN 0-553-01141-3; Peacock Press/Bantam Books; 1977; Will Huygen & Rien Poortvliet) Mom was riveted. Her tea was stone cold beside her as she read page after page of information, occasionally calling out to let me know of a fascinating gnomish detail.

At dinner she announces that she thinks the garden could use a few gnomes, and we'll need to start a veggie garden to make sure the gnomes are well fed. Her eyes are twinkling when she says, "anything the gnomes don't eat we can always make use of ourselves."

The planning for the garden is well underway as we munch through dinner. Root vegetables seem to be where we start. Mom wants lots of parsnips, carrots, onions, beets and potatoes. I smile and assure her that the very next sunny day we can start preparing the soil for planting. I wonder just how much planting we'll be able to do, the garden is overgrown with weeds, and is probably home to several gnome families by now!

dinner conversation - mom loves the fresh veggies

One thing I'm sure of, if Mom wants to plant a veggie garden ..... we're gonna plant a veggie garden. Peter suggests that we keep our eyes open for garden gnome decorations to supplement the angel statues. I ask Mom if she thinks gnomes and angels can co-exist peacefully in the garden, and she assures me that gnomes and angels can live quite happily together, but the bears may have to go.

(We have plywood sillouettes of a family of bears, they're painted black and are quite realistic. As much as mom is enjoying the angel statues, and seems to be wanting to add a few gnomes to the family, she views the bears with suspicion.)

I love that mom is planning ahead, I love that she loves being at home, and I love that I can be here with her. As I drive her back to the hospital, the sing song litany continues as she repeats her address, but this time she says she's not worried about forgetting where she lives, she's looking forward to coming back home tomorrow.

May 21-22 A Place in Time

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 23 May 2011 07:58:02 PDT

I'm intrigued by the total depth of Mom's patience. Not once in our days together have I seen her become inpatient with a task or situation. As I ponder this, I come to realize that being inpatient implies an awareness of the passage of time coupled with a dissatisfaction with the present moment.

Nature models patience. The seeds which lay dormant sometimes for years, waiting for just the right combination of events to sprout. Trees which grow slowly over centuries. Literally grounded and centred in the present moment.

Watching my mother at home feels like that. The familiarity of her surroundings binds her to both past and future, grounding her in the present.

Saturday was a cool and showery day, much too wet for Mom to be in her garden. On the spur of the moment, I asked her if she wanted to go for a drive, so off we went. We drove through Cumberland, an old coal mining town. She recognized the old buildings and shops, each one triggering a memory of a time and place. She expressed her surprise at the new homes and buildings, amazed at the new growth in the town. Her memories of the place feed the present moment, yet the place is not hers, so there are no implications for the future - only the past and the associated memories. Coming home again, she goes to her bedroom to sort through her clothes with infinite patience and care.

Each item of clothing is held up, the story associated with it shared, vocalized in the present moment, projected into the future. "I'll keep this sweater," she says, "this one is good to wear in the garden." The spirit of place and time, binding her to past and future, grounded in the moment.

Sunday brings a pause in the rainy weather, and after church in the morning we head to the garden for the afternoon, Mom's favourite place. We still have several small tomato plants to transplant into pots for her container garden. The hospital had a plant sale on Friday, where we purchased 15 small leggy tomato plants. When she sees them at the plant sale, she questions their survival. When we bring them home, she sets to work providing them with a place to grow and thrive. "we can save this one, it just needs good soil and some sunshine."

Mom spends the afternoon filling pots and buckets with soil for our tender seedlings. She's focussed on the now, a slow methodical task happening in the present moment to provide life for the future. When she is satisfied with the quality and quantity of soil in each pot, she asks me to put the plants in, and she carefully waters each one. She expresses concern about the cool nights and the tenderness of the seedlings, and asks me to help her make a plastic tent for each pot to keep them warm ovrnight.

We've now planted an abundance of tomatoes, lettuce, beans and basil. Memory is tied so closely to identity, and it is the memories evoked by the slow, repetition of familiar tasks in a familiar place which grounds her in the moment, binds her to past and future.

May 19 Good Stones - Bad Stones

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Fri, 20 May 2011 07:37:53 PDT

We are so blessed by these warm sunny days. The dogs enjoy their morning swim, I've begun greeting the day with yoga on the rug I put on the lawn for Mom's garden nest, and Mom is able to spend the day outdoors.

She likes to change location occasionally, so today I set up the patio table and umbrella. It's on the opposite side of the yard to the garden nest, and Mom takes full advantage, walking from patio table to lawn swing and back again several times during the day. Autonomy and freedom of movement in a place that you love is important.

One each trip back and forth, she takes time to detour. She enjoys the Harley, and spent some time today just buffing up the chrome, and admiring the bike. She wonders aloud about going for a ride, but then quickly shakes her head, saying that she's too old to go for a ride, but not too old to enjoy looking!

Mom also detours to the garden to pull a weed or two, or to pick up any small stones that have crept into the garden beds. "Oh these stones," she says, "where do they all come from?"

She brings one of the stones back to the patio table, and ponders it for a while. "You know, it's not a bad stone just because it's in the wrong place. It could be a good stone if it was put somewhere else."

We sit silently with those wise words for a while. I feel the truth of what she is saying. Things happen to all of us, some expected, some not. Some we enjoy, some we don't. Some are challenging, others are joyful. The things that happen are changed by how we respond to them. Rather than viewing the stones in our path as "good" or "bad", our lives are enriched by seeing them as stepping stones rather than obstacles.

It all depends where we choose to put them.

May 17 Sunshine and New Growth

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Wed, 18 May 2011 07:35:37 PDT

The day dawned bright and beautiful. I began the day by bringing the dogs to the beach for our morning stroll. Bria (the english pointer) is aging, her old bones and slowly spreading hips makes it difficult for her to navigate rocky ground or piles of driftwood, so I choose beaches with easy access and gentle footing. Her wobbly, stumbling gait is transformed into a smooth gallop as her feet find the sand she can run on comfortably. She pays for this exuberance later, and sleeps in the sun all afternoon to recuperate.

Mom and I go to the local plant nursery where she gallops around with her walker, choosing the plants she wants in her garden. I ask her to choose bedding plants, not seeds, so that we can enjoy some instant gratification for our days labour.

When we were planning the garden, Mom wanted flowers, lots of flowers, but anguished over that choice saying that it would be better to grow food. Now that she's at the nursery, she chooses chives, parsley, lettuce and tomatoes. A salad garden.

I know she had wanted a garden the way she remembers gardening. A plot of earth, flat on the ground with neat, long rows of veggies. I also know that her vegetable garden plots are so very overgrown with weeds and grass that it could take all summer just to prepare them for planting. I'm also aware that kneeling on the ground to work with the plants is more than she is physically able to do these days. Her old bones are wobbly, her gait uncertain. She needs easy access and gentle footing to blossom.

Mom has lots of buckets and pots stacked behind the shed, so while we're at the nursery I buy bags of potting soil for a container garden. Back at the house, Mom's anxious to get started, so I set up one of Peter's work tables on an old carpet that I've put on the lawn. Mom can stand and move around the table easily with her feet on the carpet; the table keeps the plants, pots, and soil at waist level and easy for her to work with.

She's methodical in her approach. The soil has to be just right, and she takes one cup of potting soil at a time and puts it in the waiting pot. Then, her fingers comb the soil, picking out any lumps and bumps, "flotsam and jetsam" she calls it. She's focussed, intent on the task, and spends four hours just putting soil into the pots. It's the journey, not the destination after all, so I take the fragile bedding plants and put them in the shade so they will be ready when Mom is ready to plant. I bring water to keep Mom hydrated while she works in the sun, and lather her in SPF 30 sunscreen.

Tabitha, who takes her job of keeping Mom safe very seriously, eventually realizes that Mom is not moving from the gardening table, and moves into the sunshine to watch Mom from a distance.

It's 530, Mom is still working on the soil, but the soil is now within inches of the top of the pots, so I ask her if she would like to put the bedding plants in. She's still focussed on the soil, so I put the plants in their pots while she continues to work the soil through her fingers.

The rich new soil provides new life, and I realize the new life is not so much in the bedding plants, but in the fingers which comb the soil. Grounded. Content. Blooming.

May 16 Re-Membering

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 16 May 2011 19:59:14 PDT

Memory is such a fragile thing. I'm intrigued by what Mom remembers, images, ideas, people and events that remain clear in her mind. Her long term memory works well, short term memory is more unpredictable.

I phone the hospital to let them know I would be picking mom up at 930 am to bring her to church, and asked that they have her ready. When I arrived and let her know we were heading to church, she wanted to change from her sweatpants into something a bit nicer for church. While she was getting dressed, she asked if Megan would be coming with us. Wow - she remembered that we had spent yesterday together. She remembered seeing the church from the window of the restaurant we had dinner at last night. She asked if Peter was coming with us to church today. She wanted me to promise we would come to the house after church, and spend the day here. "daytime at my house." she says, "nightime at the hospital."

Off to church we went. What a blessings to just receive worship! A lovely service, and Mom held onto her bulletin, following along, joining in on the liturgical responses, singing along with the hymns. Mom was delighted to see Maggie again. I was bringing Mom to church last summer when I was here; Maggie was on holiday then so we didn't see her at church. Mom remembered that Maggie wasn't there last summer, and expressed her delight that Maggie was back in the pulpit.

Mom mentioned the worship service several times during the day. She spoke of singing her favourite hymn, of the number of people at church, and asked me if I could bring her to church every Sunday.

It was a day of remembering; literally re-membering her life. Putting the parts of her life together with each re-membered moment. Being in her own home creates the connections she needs to her memories. She pointed out all the furniture Jack made for her, and a few items made by Edgar. I questioned the latter items, as I thought Jack had made them. Mom was able to talk in some detail about Edgar, and the circumstances around each carved item. She sorted through the clothes in her room, wondering which items to keep or toss. We sorted through the sheets together, and she talked about having way too many, wondering what to do with the excess.

i've put the china cabinet in her room, filled with knick knacks and ornaments. She's delighted that Peter fixed the light in the cabinet, and hooked it up to the switched plug - mom can turn it on just by flicking the light switch. She shared with me the story behind each ornament, each figurine.

This time is so very precious for her. Alzheimer's is a progressive disease: there is really no way of knowing how much time Mom has left to re-member and to enjoy, but I do know that those days are numbered, and I'm so very grateful that I am able to be here with her so that she can have this time. So that we can have this time together.

It's about living with dignity and respect. It's about being able to make choices about our lives, and having those choices respected. It's about living into the wishes that come from the heart. It's about enabling the fullness of life to the woman who first gave life to me.

May 14 Family Day

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 16 May 2011 08:03:34 PDT

One of the great delights of being in Comox is the opportunity for family time. Much of the summer is already booked with visits, taking advantage of summer holidays from school for Mom's great grandchildren. Today we enjoyed a visit with my daughter Megan and her partner Joe. Mom recognized Megan, and remembered her name. Remembering Joe was a bit more challenging for her.

The day was overcast and a bit cool, so we were unable to spend time in the garden. We visited together in the house for much of the afternoon, then off to the Bamboo Inn for a buffet dinner. Mom is so funny about eating out, she says not to waste money buying her a meal, she claims not to be hungry. The smorgasboard worked well for her, I brought her small plates of food which she promptly devoured. Keep it simple is a motto that works well for Mom. For not being hungry, she managed to consume a saucer of fruit, 2 saucers of chowmein, 5 won ton dumplings, a saucer of rice, followed by 4 scallops carefully given to her one at a time. Then she had dessert!

She was very alert and present during the day. She asked questions, and responded to the answers with appropriate comments. She joked and laughed, and really seemed to enjoy being at home with family; she seems to have let go of her fear that J will suddenly appear and put an end to family time for her. She fussed over sleeping arrangements, finally offering to sleep at the hospital so that Joe and Megan could use her bed. She was amazed to learn that Joe and Megan were driving home that night, and touched that they would make the trip from the lower mainland just to spend time with her.

We brought her back to the hospital a bit earlier than usual, as much fun as the day had been, I could see that all the extra conversations and activity had tired her. It also stimulates her. With each passing day her cognitive functions seem sharper, more acute. The Alzheimer's meds combined with the familiarity of her house and family combine in ways that are truly life giving for her.

Her house seems to be the context in which her memory functions the best. Each nook and cranny, being at the kitchen sink, standing at the stove, or wandering around the garden connects and grounds her to memories and ritual.

She's wanting to spend more and more time at the house, and seems anxious at the hospital, waiting for me to come and pick her up. Eager for time at home. And today, she had a home filled with love and family. What could be better than that!

May 13 Full Circles

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Sat, 14 May 2011 15:43:10 PDT

Waves move in circles. Wind moves across the surface of the water, the water resists, and the force of resistance moves the water down, up, then around. The stronger the wind, and the larger the body of water, the steeper the waves. The motion of the waves gives the appearance of sequence, and motion. Actually, the water stays in one place – changing shape, but not position. The only real movement of the water is the rhythmic breathing in and out with the tides.

Our lives are also a parody of motion, providing an illusion of sequence and movement. I am not life – life moves through me, up, down and around. We move in concentric circles together. My mother is not life – life moves through her, up, down and around. Illusion of motion, our lives change shape, but not position.

We set sail upon these waters, seeking forward movement. We tighten the mainsail, set the jib, and seek that ever elusive balance between opposing forces which creates motion. Wind blows us leeward; the keel resists, the energy of resistance moving us forward. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, thus the wind created by moving forward also creates a vacuum sucking us forever forward. We are both pushed and pulled, seeking balance and direction.

But what if there is no wind? Do we lose the appearance of motion? Is that what happens when Alzheimer’s creeps through our bodies? Do we become embodied within a drop of motionless water? Face to face with mortality, a time to pause in a place where the wind has ceased to blow. Sacred space. Sacred time.

My mother is in that place. She lives what she is, who she is. Creative tension between brain and behaviour creating the illusion of movement. Her motion creates small puffs of wind, breezes really, which both pulls and pushes forward. And then, a long pause.

Today was a day of breezes and pauses. Warm sunny days like today are the best, we can spend the afternoon in the garden. Mom curls up on the swing, alternately reading “Gnomes” and pondering. Then, up she gets, walking stick in hand and announces she is going to check on the garden. There’s so much work to do in the garden she says, the gardens are full of crabgrass and bluebells which have taken over in the fertile soil. Off she goes, checking each garden bed, poking the soil with her walking stick, using the stick to turn over small stones or to push pinecones from the beds to the lawn.

I too am curled up in one of the lawn chairs, reading. As mom walks around the yard, I watch her progress. She walks in circles, checking this garden bed, then around to check it again. She comes back to the swing, settles herself in and picks up her book. Ahhhh …. Pause ….. She’s in the place between the waves. The place where there is no wind. We've come full circle.

May 12 - It's a Dog Eat Dog World

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Fri, 13 May 2011 10:31:56 PDT

Mom was feeling her age today.  The wind of yesterday blew in quite a rainstorm, and the winds continue to bluster under a grey, leaking sky.  Mom shuffled slowly towards her walker so we could make our way, one slow step at a time, to the truck. It’s days like today when she has such a hard time moving around that I wish I could find the registration to her car so that I can insure it; it’s hard for her to climb in and out of my big truck.

I feel her pain.  On cool, rainy days, my knees and wrists become built in barometers, bones hurt and it’s a challenge to keep moving.

A hot cup of tea makes everything feel better, that’s what Mom says.  So when we get to the house, the first thing I do is put on the kettle and make us both some tea.  “When did this happen?” mom asks,  “when did I get so old I need a walker?” She then asks me if there is something she can use to help her walk around in the house, so I bring her a walking stick. She practices walking back and forth through the house with it, and then proclaims: “I will not be beaten by old bones!” and gives me back the walking stick.

One of the delights of being here with Mom is sharing with her some of the stuff I brought with me.  The yard is now filled with outdoor furniture that Mom has always yearned for, but was never able to purchase.  The statues and fountains bring her peace and pleasure.  And, I have many of the books which she first gave to me as a young girl.  Today seems like a perfect day to dig one of them out.

We curl up on the couch together and I hand her one of my Rupert books.  “Rupert”, my mother breathes,  “it must be 30 years since I’ve seen one of these!”  “More like 50 years,” I reply, “you bought this one for me when I was six.”

She reads Rupert aloud to me for a while, then tires of speaking so reads quietly to herself.  When she stops reading, she gazes silently out the front window at the rain and the wind.  I can see that she is feeling reflective, so I wait, knowing she will speak when ready.

She startled me with her words when they came.   “Did John die?” she asks.  I tell her that no, John is very much alive, and lives in the extended care ward at the hospital.   “Ah, yes” Mom responds, “sometimes I have lunch with him there.”  She’s quiet for a while, I see her brows coming together, her forehead wrinkles; I can see she’s working something through in her mind.  Again, I wait for her to speak.

“It just doesn’t make sense.” She finally says.  I ask her to explain.  She tells me she is really enjoying being back home, she loves her house.  She’s enjoying being with Peter and I, enjoying  the tranquility, enjoying being able to relax at home, and is really glad we can share time together.  She tells me it feels like she’s dreaming, it can’t be real, especially if John is still alive.  I’m feeling perplexed, not sure where her thoughts are leading her, and again ask her to explain.

After a moment of silence, mom finally says:  “But John always said that it would be ‘over his dead body’ that anyone other than him could come into this house.  If you and I and Peter are all here, it can only happen if John is dead!  He would never allow me to enjoy my family.”

I went from perplexed to stunned.  We always knew that we weren’t welcome.  We had  worried and fussed among ourselves at being cut off from the woman who is mom and grandma to us.   As John’s dementia deepened, Mom was being cut off from more than family as prescription and food deliveries were also being blocked.  Living outside Calgary, I was too far away to be able to intervene, but began having groceries delivered, with RCMP escort if necessary.  Yet, my mother, the peace keeper, insisted it was best that we not do anything to cause trouble with John.  To hear her say aloud that her isolation had been so intentionally implemented – to hear our suspicions put into words coming from her lips – was both an affirmation and a transformation.  This is, after all, the same woman who less than an hour before would not let her aching bones control her.

I’m no longer feeling stunned.  I’m now so proud I could burst.  The most natural way to celebrate these milestone moments is with food, so I ask Mom:  “Wanna make some banana custard together?”

On our way to the kitchen, we walk past Tabitha who is in the front entryway chewing happily on her stuffed dog.  Mom pauses to watch for a moment and begins to laugh so hard her eyes water and I’m afraid she might fall over.  I’m also wondering just what she’s seeing that’s so funny, and wait for the explanation which comes as soon as Mom can draw breath to speak.

  “It’s a dog eat dog world,” she says, still wiping her eyes.

May 10 A Down Day

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 23 May 2011 07:52:50 PDT

Didn't get to see Mom today, or bring her home as we have been doing. The day was consumed with negative energy, brightened by angels along the way.

When I checked my email Monday evening, I found a very threatening email from the PTO. It got me pondering about the old truism "Unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it" (William Pitt, Earl of Chatham and British Prime Minister from 1766 to 1778, in a speech to the UK House of Lords in 1770) and the ways in which we enable unlimited power by giving away our own. To whom is the PTO accountable? The responses I received to that question today suggest that they are accountable only to themselves.

My first stop today was the MLA's office, and I offer my heartfelt thanks and appreciation to Dianne for her compassion and understanding, and the oasis of calm I found in her presence.

Next stop was to my sister's house, and I offer my heartfelt thanks and appreciation to Jan for listening to me wail, and helping me compose the email response to the PTO. Poppy (a very affectionate mastiff) also provided her love and support by way of an abundance of kisses.

Then off to find legal representation, to deal with the PTO on my behalf. Two things seemed apparent to me today: 1) that I experience their communications as bullying, which is easier for them to engage in while I remain alone, it is definitely time to gather support and bring the conversations to a more public and accountable arena, and 2) that the negative energy robs me of the more life giving time I find when I focus on myself and my family. And so I offer my thanks to those who guided me to Mike, who has agreed to be an advocate for my mother and I.

Then home to reconnect with Peter, who suggested the ultimate comfort for a down day: food! So off to the store for groceries, and back to the house to cook up a comfort meal loaded with carbs, laughter, and of course, a glass of wine.

Thanks and blessings to the angels among us!

May 9 Sacred Space

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Mon, 23 May 2011 07:53:17 PDT

Mom and me having a giggle

As I write this, Mom is in the living room watching the hockey game with Peter. I hear her voice raised excitedly whenever one of the players is too rough. "that's just not gentlemanly" my mother announces, "they shouldn't be allowed to do slashing." I'm amazed she knows what slashing is in hockey, I'm not sure that I do.

Tai Chi in the garden (sitting down of course!)

mom enjoying her sacred space in the garden

Mom helping in the kitchen

We had another delightful day in the garden. Peter and I mowed the lawn, and set up a special spot for Mom. We laid down a rug on the grass, and set up the lawn chairs, the umbrella and the swing. Mom is able to walk easily on the carpet, so much easier than navigating the bumps in the lawn. I brought her a tray of tea and goodies, and she reigned happily from her garden perch all afternoon. Tabitha laid near Mom, keeping a careful eye on her, and walking with her whenever she got up for a stroll around the yard. Mom noticed that Tabitha wasn't asking to play ball, and wondered out loud if yesterday's ball throwing had been too much for the poor old dog.

"I'm so spoiled" says Mom, "I like being spoiled." I tell her that I'm the one who feels spoiled, that it's a delight for me to see her so happy.

Mom was very sad when I picked her up from the hospital today. She said she wasn't enjoying life in the hospital, people were often angry with her and she doesn't understand why. I've been told by the nursing staff that my mother's "shopping" is a problem - she wanders around the common areas picking things up. I know that she's tidying up, but I can also appreciate how the other residents would prefer that Mom didn't pick up items that don't belong to her. Communal living is hard for someone not used to it, and a difficult new skill to learn when elderly. As soon as we can set the house up properly for her, she'll be able to come home for good.

Mom has learned that Peter is a handy guy to have around. She was very impressed to watch him replace the bathroom sink faucets, the cold water valve was totally worn out and dripping into the cabinet below. She's been talking to him today about pathways and sundecks. "It's hard to walk on the lawn" she tells Peter today, "I could use a few more paths." Peter tells her that after he's built the sundeck for her, he'll put in proper paths so that she can walk safely on the deck, and around the yard.

Mom insisted on helping with the dishes after dinner tonight. I've never seen anyone enjoy washing dishes as much as she does. It's a good time for talking too. She asked if she could come back to her house again tomorrow, and I assured her that she can spend as much time in her house as she wants. "Oh, I'd like that!" she says, and promises to teach me Tai Chi tomorrow now that we have "that lovely carpeted spot on the lawn."

As I drive her back to the hospital tonight, she's repeating the address of her house out loud. When asked why, she replies: "I like the sound of my address. I don't want to forget where I live."

For me right now, that's the saddest part of this journey. My mother's home has been her nest, her place of peace and sanctuary. When she chose this house after she married John 15 or so years ago, it was her intention to live here the rest of her days. She purposely chose a small, 2 bedroom bungalow, with no stairs and a huge yard - thinking ahead to the day when physical infirmity might make walking difficult. None of us thought of dementia. Mom gave her Courtenay condo to my sister, and later told me that she wanted to be sure at least one of her daughters was close by to provide care if needed for Mom to stay in her home, "until my last breath" was the way Mom phrased it.

Always planning ahead, Mom assigned my sister as executor of the will, and asked me to be power of attorney when that became necessary. In my mother's eyes, my sister would be best at all the paperwork after death, and I would be the best one to ensure all my mother's wishes for her care and well being while alive were honoured.

Sadly. Mom's home became her prison. John's dementia increased and he became more and more volatile. more and more isolated, eventually refusing caregiver access to the house, and also cutting my mother off from family, friends, church and medical support. The level of fear she lived with was not evident to me until last summer, when I asked her for the key to the greenhouse. She said we couldn't go in the greenhouse, John wouldn't like it. She was afraid of doing anything that would incite his anger.

Finally, she is able to enjoy her sanctuary. Finally, she can rest, and breathe and putter without fear. Finally, she is able to blossom with love.

Mother's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Tue, 10 May 2011 13:44:48 PDT

It’s been a long haul since February: Peter hospitalized for 6 weeks, packing up the house in Strathmore while downsizing to less than half, finding renters for the Strathmore house, negotiating the purchase of the Comox house, arranging contractors to fix the leaking plumbing and hot water tank (there is soooo much repair work to do on my mom's house!), and wrapping things up at the church. Then, as if all that wasn’t crazy enough, three days of loading the U-Haul 5-ton, two days to drive to Comox, scrambling to unload the truck, and a week of trying to figure out how to move into a small bungalow that is already fully furnished.

After exploring a number of temporary storage options, we chose a garage-tent – “2 hours to assemble” proudly proclaimed the box. Seven hours later, it was finally put together. We put in our unpacked boxes and surplus furniture. The garage filled up faster than we expected, and there is still too much stuff in the house. However, we had at least cleared enough space to be able to bring Mom home for mother's day.

Mom was delighted to be home. She stood in the driveway gazing at the house, and said: “I know this place, I live here.”

Then she came into the house. In the living room, she sat on the window seat next to Buster, the cat. “When I lived here before, there was no cat” says Mom, “I’m so glad there’s a cat here now!” Buster, who is not known for her social graces, purred happily as my mother stroked her sun warmed fur. I went to make tea, and when I returned, they had not moved. Buster still purring as my mother stroked her while gazing out the window. “Are the neighbours still the same?” she asked. “I remember the people on this street.”

The day unfolded with one delightful moment after another. Mom eventually left the cat and went to the garden where she renewed her acquaintance with flowers and plants in the garden. She named what was coming up and where. “those will be hyacinths” she says, “and the lilies are coming along nicely. I hope I’m here to see the lilies bloom.”

We planted 6 blueberry bushes together. When I mentioned that I wished I knew where the small trowel was, Mom had one of her amazing memory flashes. “There’s one in a bucket behind the shed.” Gifts of clarity and grace, one more thing to be grateful for.

Mom threw the ball for Tabitha, until an exhausted Tabitha took her ball and went to lie down behind the apple tree, out of sight of Mom. Chasing and retrieving balls is Tabitha’s favourite game – in all the years I’ve had her, I’ve never been able to tire her out with ball chasing! My mother managed this feat in one afternoon!

Bria knows who to go to for food!

Peter sat with Mom in the garden while I went to the Bamboo Inn to pick up our mother’s day dinner. Mom has really taken to Peter, and later said to me, “you have a good man there, he’s worth keeping.”

After months of craziness, this afternoon was a gift – every moment special, full of laughter, joy and peace.

Farewell to Strathmore

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 13:03:48 PDT

The Vine (Strathmore United Church Newsletter) April 2011

As I write this, I reflect upon what I am surrounded by. Most obvious, are the multitude of packing boxes, some filled, labeled and taped. Some with mouths gaping open waiting to receive. Some still flat on the floor, waiting to be opened and filled. Organized chaos, with piles and piles of our personal effects waiting to be sorted and packed.

Somewhat less obvious, is the feeling of being surrounded by family and friends who await my arrival back home on the island. Eight grandchildren, 2 children and a niece, mother, sister, as well as friends from high school. Once this move is complete, their presence in my life will be much more obviously and physically present!

I also feel surrounded by friends and colleagues here in Strathmore and presbytery. I think of fellow board members at the shelter, and our shared passion for justice. I think of ministry colleagues and our shared passion for the future of our church, and the people we serve. I feel surrounded by those with whom I have shared my life over the past three years, and I give thanks for shared conversations, glasses of wine, good food, music and laughter.

Of course, I also feel surrounded by the excitement rippling in great waves from my husband Peter and the dogs as they scurry around doing the ever growing list of tasks needing to be completed before we actually leave Strathmore. (The dogs seem mainly to be supervising from under foot!) My list includes names of several people who I really want to visit one more time before we leave. My heartfelt apologies in advance if I am unable to see everyone I would like to!

My thoughts turn to the legacy of what I leave behind: I recall the early days of the family and youth ministry we called “JAM” with monthly movie nights and family activities. The amount of time and energy for this program put me well over 40 hours of work each week, so the hunt was on for staff to lead the program. “JAM” morphed into Mosaic when we filled the vacant half time family ministry position by hiring Rev Paul. The songs that Paul and I co-wrote, “When We Open Our Heart” and “Ring the Bell” can be found on the church website. Regretfully, the program and the costs associated with it were not supported, and we said farewell to Paul last June. My hope and my prayer is that Mosaic has caught the imagination of folks, and can be continued in the future.

“Kids Church” arose from the ashes of the previously defunct Sunday School with home made curriculum using the principles of “Godly Play”. I offer my thanks and blessings to Laura for her capable Sunday morning leadership, and for the helpers who joined her.

Communication was a primary goal for council, and in support of that goal, dedicated bulletin boards were created to share congregation, council, community and national church information. This newsletter was revived and reframed as “The Vine”, we joined the global social networking movement with a facebook page and a user friendly social networking style website called SUCh Events. By utilizing all those diverse communication mediums, the congregation can share news and events in ways that reach a greater number of friends, participants and members of the congregation.

Empowerment and involvement in the life of the church were also named as challenges when I arrived, and so I set to work looking for opportunities to address those challenges. Kononia, Stewardship and Pastoral Care came to life in answer to those prayers
Every month, I enjoy watching the Koinonia hospitality groups unfold, with readers, ushers, greeters, Sunday school helpers and more coming through the door, bright and early each Sunday morning. I enjoy seeing how well Koinonia works, providing opportunities to serve for many folks not seen the rest of the year. I know that Koinonia works as well as it does thanks to the dedication of the K-group leaders, without whom none of this would happen. I offer my heartfelt gratitude for the leaders, and for the members of each group who say “yes” to the invitation to participate in the life of the congregation.

The stewardship team represents many diverse groups within the congregation, and in 2010 provided leadership for a narrative budgeting process to focus our attention on ministry rather than money. The success of this team can easily be seen with the increase in time, talent and treasure received. The pastoral care team has also been very successful, evolving into a group with innovative and creative ways of reaching out and sharing our love with others. In order to be empowering, it was necessary that these programs function with lay leadership, and utilize paid ministry time for resources and consultation. I am grateful for the people who provide leadership and passion for these self sustaining and life giving ministries.

Overall, I have enjoyed my time with Strathmore United Church. The success of the ministries I have named is only possible because of your active support. The power dynamics which plague many struggling congregations are also at work within this congregation, but it is your continued support and engagement with these foundational lay ministries which will open the way for the Spirit to move among you. My hope and my prayer is that you are able to find safe and productive ways within these ministries to share your God-given gifts. Blessed be the people of Strathmore United Church.
Rev Paula Ashby

Jesus Wept

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 06:32:14 PDT

JESUS WEPT John 11:35

"Lazarus," he cries,

"Come out!"

The voice echoes in the silence,

Spilled like shards of stone

Upon the hard, unfeeling earth.

This is the place

Of broken hearts and stolen dreams,

The place where hope cannot reach.

But love climbs the ragged hill,

Plows the barren soil

Where the bones are buried,

Fists the sullen air,

And cries, cries

Like a wounded child

In a world of countless deaths.

These are love's tears

Which work the miracle--

The helpless, holy things

That fall like rain

Upon the lifeless ground,

So that something green

May rise.

-Timothy Haut, April 10, 2011

Look Up; Look Around; Reach Out

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 19:46:09 PST

Pass The Salt Strathmore Standard March 2011

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” MT 6:25

That piece of scripture is one that clearly falls into the “easier said than done” category. I know that I struggle with it, and every day I hear from folks who share with me the burdens on their hearts – obviously, I’m not the only one to struggle.

Jesus is a spiritual leader. While his teachings can seem unrealistic or unreachable, still, I remind myself, his teachings are worth taking to heart. When we are consumed by worry, we look inwards towards the cause of our concerns. That can be a downward spiral, spinning faster and faster and bringing our spirits down with it. Looking inwards, focusing only on the difficulties, it can be hard to see Jesus, or even to see God at work in our lives. In my struggles with following this teaching from Jesus, here is what I have learned.

1: Look up. Raise your eyes and find just one thing to say thanks for.
2: Look around. See the people and places around you who also struggle.
3: Reach out. Provide a helping hand or a deeply listening ear.

By following those three steps, I find my focus and my energy shifts outside of myself and towards others. The sacred other that is found deep within all of God’s creation. God is always with us, but when our energies are directed inward, it is we who move away from God. God waits patiently for us to just look up for a minute, and look outside of ourselves.
And Jesus waits too. I find it helpful to picture Jesus standing with his hand outstretched, waiting to take us by the hand and walk with us each step of the way. None of this makes our concerns any less, nor does it make them go away. What does happen, is that we gain a new perspective, and perhaps deeper insights. We also gain companions for the journey, people with whom to share our gifts, people who share their gifts with us.

So the next time you find yourself consumed with worry, look up, look around, reach out. You may find that in spite of your deepest concerns, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." Julian of Norwich

wwjd?

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 10:20:03 PST

"The question should not be "What would Jesus do?" but rather, more dangerously, "What would Jesus have me do?" The onus is not on Jesus but on us, for Jesus did not come to ask semi-divine human beings to do impossible things. He came to ask human beings to live up to their full humanity; he wants us to live in the full implication of our human gifts, and that is far more demanding." ~ The Rev. Peter Gomes

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life " MT 6: 25

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 18:38:38 PST

Be as still as possible in a quaking world, downsize expectations, narrow down geographically and take smaller steps while still giving of your best. In this way, we practice reasonable hope, a profoundly creative process through which the future emerges, and the Spirit's voice may be heard.

Spiritual Practice: breath prayer as a way of coping with worries. A breath prayer has two parts: one a name of God that fits the prayer and the second a very short request for help in dealing with what's on your heart, e.g. “God, help me feel OK at school.” or "God, help me get through this day." God’s name is said while breathing in and the request is said while breathing out. Breath prayers can be planned out in advance and then prayed silently throughout the day as needed.

A Call to Faith Isaiah 58: 1-12

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 19:46:12 PST

The Jewish people had been in exile …. Living in Babylon …. Away from their roots, their history, their traditions. At the time of our reading from Isaiah, the Jewish people were returning to their homeland – back home to Israel! What a blessed homecoming!

And they wanted to do it right! They wanted to have temples which displayed the immensity of God. They wanted to worship God with songs and prayers and music and great fanfare. They wanted to display the glory of God in architecture and worship practices. And they wondered if God heard them singing & praying … did God notice their worship …. Was God even paying attention? And they cry out to God: "Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?"

Can’t you just feel their anxiety? Their concern that for all the work they’re doing …. God isn’t even paying attention! What on earth will become of them!

God’s prophet, Isaiah, was watching and listening and he speaks to the people: Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers. Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high

The prophet's call is as pertinent for us today as it was for the Jewish people. Isaiah goes on to suggest that God is not looking for our weekly displays of worship … but for signs of faith lived in daily discipleship …. “Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless into your house, when you see the naked to cover them and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? And this is the key: "Then will your light break forth like the dawn and your healing shall spring up speedily."

Isaiah understands that it's not about the healing of the hungry, the homeless or the naked, it’s our own healing.- our own relationship with God. However, it’s when we focus on ministries outside of our own concerns, that our own healing happens.
More and more it seems to me, I’m engaged in conversations with members of various congregations who express concern about rising costs, decreasing attendance and the future of our churches. I hear them asking the same questions the Jewish people are asking in our reading today. Where is God? Is God paying attention?

People who are passionate about “saving the church” put untold amounts of energy towards their areas of concern, and are at risk of exhausting themselves and everyone around them in the process. When I ask them what they are trying to save … or why they are trying to save it … their answers are often more about saving a building or an institution than about the Christian faith which calls them into ministry.
Isaiah, speaking with God’s voice, says … don’t worry about your place of worship. Don’t worry about your fine music and the worship service.

And so I wonder …. What would our churches look like if we took God’s advice seriously? I should also say that I’m not one of the people worried about the future of our church, so it’s a lot easier for me to leave those concerns behind. The Christian church has been around for over 2,000 years, and I believe she’ll be around for another 2,000 as well.

When I look at the people in this congregation and others, I see people who come before God with many strong gifts and skills to offer in service to God. – and that affirms my belief that when we take God’s word to us seriously and direct our concern towards the ministries that God calls us to our church will grow well into the next century

That’s one of the reasons for the shift towards narrative budgeting that you see in this year’s annual report. The focus of narrative budgets is towards ministry, people, relationships rather than the funds that were spent. This helps us shift our own attention away from numbers and towards God …. Towards the ministries that God calls us to. Towards healing. Towards wholeness for ourselves, and those around us.

What Isaiah was saying to the Jewish people returning from Babylon, and to us, is that when we focus on ministry, we will find the holy spirit alive and well among us. If we view ministry as an expense we cannot afford, or as something extra to squeeze into already busy lives, we move ourselves further away from God, from ministry, from the healing of God’s spirit.

When we offer our greatest gift – ourselves – to the ministries that God calls us to, we will find ourselves living our ministries with every word, every action, every dollar, and every breath. It doesn’t take extra time or money – it’s about putting God at the centre of all we do. It’s not about who we are as individuals – it is about whose we are as children of God. When we take God’s word seriously, we move from frenzied survival, to the abundance and healing that is found when we focus on God.

We will know when we are focusing more on God than on ourselves when we see that transformation happen around us. When we feel the healing happen within our own souls, and the souls of others. We will know we are living by the Word of God when we see consideration being given to the marginalized, the weak, the silenced. The greatest indicators of the work of the Spirit among us is inclusivity for all, and new life where there was once despair.

Hebrews 11 says that "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen," or to paraphrase: hope is believing in spite of the evidence and then watching the evidence change. (with thanks to Jim Wallis for the paraphrase)

I invite you to hold the words of Isaiah’s vision before you as a guiding light for the rest of the day:

"If you get rid of unfair practices, quit blaming victims, quit gossiping about other people's sins, If you are generous with the hungry and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out, Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight. I will always show you where to go. I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places— firm muscles, strong bones. You'll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past.” Isaiah 58: 10-12 The Message

Blessed be the ministries of our church, and the people who make them happen. Amen

When We Open Our Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Ponderings: PBAshby) — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 05:56:47 PST

When We Open Our Heart <<<< Words & Music by Paula Ashby & Paul Rumbolt. Sung by Paul. Inspiration from us all.