Covid Christmas

We’ve heard the word unprecedented a lot this year, and now Covid gives an unprecedented Christmas season. It’s a strange world, as the daily news reports the global Covid cases and deaths. They used to give us the good numbers of those that have recovered—now it’s just the bad news. 

Five years ago I practised my first Christmas without family, and focused on re-imagining the season. What does Christmas really mean? What is important? For many people doing Christmas has become something to survive, a mixture of tradition and stress. A time to feed the body and starve the soul. 

2020 provides a chance to examine traditions and reimagine them. Too date, I have sent more packages, more letters in the mail and learned how to zoom. And I’ve gone for more walks … taking in the festive lights and fresh snow. It has been the season of early Christmas trees and lights. I think there has been a national need to brighten the landscape. 

One of my most loved quotes of the season is: 

If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things; if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action, when will we have the time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each one of us, there is a desert to travel. A star to discover. And a being within ourselves to bring to life. Anonymous quoted in Simple Abundance, Sara Ban Breathnach,

With current restrictions it may be a very quiet Christmas. But, I still want to embrace this season. Covid is giving many of us the chance to take the time to feel the desert breeze, to gaze at a star, and to ponder the birth of new understanding. The power of Advent is Immanuel, God with us in each season of life, including this Covid one.

The first Christmas was simple, the 2020 Christmas can be as well.

PS The extra time allowed me to finish my second book. It is available via Siretona publishing, https://www.siretona.com/inthebecoming, on Amazon, If you are in southern Mb, it is available for curbside pickup at the Winkler Bible Book Shop. 

Stay safe, keep smiling and spread the cheer, not the virus. 

Could use some Hope here …

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. Emily Dickinson

We could all use a little more hope these days. Covid brings an unsettled anxiety for many of us … even if we are feeling well. The Covid phenomenon adds uncertainty while we grocery shop wondering which direction to head down the aisle, do we make eye contact or stop to chat. I’ve gathered some stories of hope and human resilience and put them in a book, In the Becoming, carrying on after life derails. Available soon. For those of you in the Winkler area, the Bible Book Store will carry the book.  

Zoom book launch happening November 12. (We might even know who the American president is by then.) Click the link below to join us for the book launch, or contact me by email at: jbmarietalking@gmail.com for further details.

In the meantime, may increased hope perch in your soul!

https://siretona.ck.page/becoming

Stories to Tell

Everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story … Patrick Rothfuss

This is what my granddaughter thought of my first book launch.
We’ve both come a long way since then.

In this time of Covid, I’ve had the time to look at the stories that have shaped my journey of moving beyond grief. The book, In the Becoming, carrying on after life derails, is being released Nov 12, 2020. It is my offering of hope and resilience in a difficult time. It would be great for you to join in a Zoom book launch. Click this link to find out more: https://siretona.ck.page/becoming

In the Becoming …

When I think about the universality of suffering, the number of walking wounded among us astounds me. 

For all the years as a nurse, I am thankful I did not have pandemic issues in my career. During these past Covid months, I have finished a book that has rattled around in my head for some time.

In the Becoming is a spiritually reflective look at life, in the aftermath of severe loss. Adversity comes in all shapes and sizes. From the moment we are born we are trained to expect adversity, trained to overcome it. But there are times when the struggles of life overcome us. And where do we go from there? 

It intrigues me that becoming is verb, noun, and adjective. As a verb it indicates transition, as a noun it means the process of coming to be something and as an adjective, becoming describes a person with attractive qualities.

The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be. Ralph Waldo Emerson

The choices I make have incredible power to move my life story in the direction I want it to head. Although I would never wish tragedy on another person, the Becoming journey has proved to be life-giving. This book carries stories from my journey of becoming. I am inspired with the power of hope and the resilience of the human spirit.

In the Becoming – carrying on after life derails, to be released November 2020.

The Easter Hallelujah

“Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”
― Pope John Paul II (Karol Wojtyła)

I am the song of Easter,
Many voices add fullness to my tune

My anthem began before the creation of the world
It took shape and form as the earth was birthed
It wandered the wilderness in search of a homeland
It has been the aching of the ages
It became visual with the birth of a baby …

I am the song of the seasons
The praises formed in the heat of summer
The harvest song of a well-lived life
The frozen despair in the dead of winter,
The irrepressible burst of new life in spring.
I am the song of celebration, the song of beauty.

I am the song of despair .. the longing song
How long oh Lord will you hide your face from us?
I am the song of confusion and fear, with notes unclear
I am the song of plenty and the song of want
The lament of pain, the balm of comfort
I am the song of amnesia, words forgotten in the dark
I am the song of light and memory
Sing this in remembrance of me.

I am the voice in the crowd … joining the Hosanna of Palm Sunday …
and I am the same voice in the crowd calling crucify him, crucify him …
I am the song of silent shame
And I am the song of Grace … of Forgiveness
I am the song of strong surrender
The song that hung on the cross.

I am the song of resurrection Power
I am the song of green seeded Hope that overflows
Hope to see loved ones again
I am the song of Rest, abide in me, hear my lullaby
I am the song within your heart

We join in the song, with voices weak or strong …
This is the song of humanity
This is the song of a God who sings over us in the night
This is a song of gratitude, of praise, of sorrow
This is a song unstoppable.

And centuries later I am the receiver of this song
I am the one at the graveside of a son, a daughter
and I can barely whisper …
we do not grieve as those who have no hope
Others help me to sing the tune when I cannot hold it
The spirit sings the resurrection song to aching hearts around the world.

Will you join singing the broken Hallelujah?

 

This poetry came out of an assignment to portray a character of the traditional Easter story. The hope of Easter is a challenge for many people whose hallelujah has been broken.

Mother’s Day Thoughts …. Mug a Mother

She gave you life, and you’re getting her a coffee mug?

Oprah’s Headline next to the rumoured fear that Prince Harry’s wedding would be canceled due to bridal fears. It’s the Mother’s Day weekend and I know this can be a day of mixed emotions. It would be wonderful to share a special coffee mug with my mother, but this will be the first Mother’s Day without her … while it is easier to saintify your mother’s once she’s have passed on; I’m sharing a tribute my daughter sent for the funeral ten weeks ago.

From this granddaughter’s perspective, we need a little more Margaret on this earth…

In MY world—of juggling a hundred commitments to a thousand people in a million places,

We need people who just Show Up and are fully present. Right here, right now, every time.

     That’s what my grandma did.

In my world—of dreaming big dreams, traveling to exotic places and achieving amazing feats,

We need people who can delight in the mundane and find joy in the ordinary.

     That’s what my grandma did.

In my world—where me-time, introspective self-analysis and often-hasty critique of others consumes heaps of our head space,

We need people who can breathe deep gulps of faith and just get on with it.

     That’s what my grandma did.

In my world—where my dreams and my goals and my vacations and house and opinions and achievements and my, my, my, my… are the accepted life-goals of the day,

We need people who graciously shine the spotlight on others and enthusiastically elevate those around them.

     That’s what my grandma did.

In my world—where dodging discomfort and avoiding suffering has become a pursuit at all costs,

We need people who grope for gratitude in the darkness and make the hard choice to stick it out for the benefit of others.

     That’s what my grandma did.

In my world—of unprecedented affluence and options and any-dream-can-be-your-reality,

We need people who sometimes just pull up their raggedy boots of courage and walk the path in front of them.

     That’s what my grandma did.

In my world where finding oneself has become of utmost importance,

We need people who are OK with just being themselves.

     That’s who my grandma was.

From this granddaughter’s perspective, we need a little more Margaret on this earth…

Happy Mother’s Day for those of you mothers … if you still have a mother on the planet, I hope you have a chance to talk to her.

Motherhood is a high calling.

Lessons from Crutches

Lessons from Crutches …

Riding up the ski slopes on a snowmobile had never been on my bucket list. But being pro-active in life, I check-marked that experience even before it got on the list. The beauty of the mountains were subdued by a ski induced knee fracture. And now crutches, and other devices are temporarily part of my day to day activity.

When I was sixteen, my five-years-older-than-I sister headed back to university after a weekend at home. I worried for her safety because she was traveling an hour and a half in a severe prairie snowstorm. My stomach twisted tight as visibility reduced, and I was afraid because I had recently been saved at an evangelistic meeting. As my sister drove into the city, I bargained with God promising that if she would make it safely, I would send her a letter. I don’t remember my exact words, but I’m fairly certain I included a salvation option with the fire insurance policy. Likely I tossed in a four spiritual laws gospel tract for good measure. I’m not sure if she responded by mail, or in person the next time we met. But, bolstered by her university secular insight, she suggested that she was fine and if I needed religion as my crutch that was also fine. She assured me she did not. Nearly forty-seven years later I recall that reference to a crutch as I am hobbling about the house after my ski injury.

And I have come to appreciate the value of a crutch. Technically I’m not even supposed to let my left big toe touch the ground, and I am not strong enough to stand on one foot all day. In fact I need two crutches. By definition crutch means:

a long stick with a crosspiece at the top, used as a support under the armpit by a lame [yes they use the word lame] person, a thing used for support or reassurance.

And I am feeling rather lame. It’s lame that I can’t brush my teeth without wobbling. It’s lame that going up three stairs causes me to rethink where I will go. It’s lame that the auto doors at the grocery store almost knocked out my left crutch, causing a near face plant into bananas. But, I am glad that I have some thing for support and reassurance. I’m also kind of curious as to what kinds of things people use as crutches to prop them up. Drugs, alcohol, religion and technology appear the easy ones to pick on. What about our over busy-ness? That might not be a crutch, it might just be a way of avoiding ourselves. Why does the idea of a crutch carry a negative undertone? 

 

At the beginning of a small self pity episode, my husband kindly reminded me that prior to the G-2 knee brace (that has become my new best friend) I would have been in a full leg cast, from upper thigh to ankle for six to eight weeks. Try that on for size. Over a decade ago after a profound loss, in a time of deep grieving, I expressed to those around me, that people with a physical injury knew what type and length of recovery process to expect. But, neither grief, nor long term illness has the benefit of a well defined time period. I am very aware that I can expect a full return to activity, granted I am in my sixties and likely will have a stiff knee, but I still hope to ski again. Shattered dreams this is not, by comparison to what some Canadian hockey families are going through. Many crutches and supportive communities are needed for restoration of that magnitude. We often don’t know what to say other than that: Our thoughts and prayers are with them.

Spring is in the air, although with reluctance. On a day like today, I breathe deep, feeling very grateful that there is much to be thankful for, many moments to laugh at myself and most importantly, that it is okay to use crutches for this crazy thing we call life. We all need somebody to lean on.

Here’s the lean on me song … Playing for change, song around the world.

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

In the month of April, Jocelyn is offering a complimentary copy of her book on grief: Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience.  Contact her at jbmarietalking@gmail.com

 

The EASTER STING

My church background did not focus on the Lent season … other than the passion week, or Holy week, where my fasting attempts usually left me feeling a little less holy. This year I’m out of the chocolate bunny’s reach and left to ponder anew the central meaning of the old story. Does it translate into reality in the wanderings of faith?

Recently on a fast paced walk with my sister-in-law, I told her I needed a poem for Easter … I’d already purchased two new poetry books at the thrift store. A cup of coffee and further conversation at her house followed that walk. As the last drops were sipped, she went to get something and said, Here I think this is for you, as she handed me Malcolm Guite’s book of Poetry and Lenten readings; a poem-a-day with explanations. Reading these daily poems has brought a new freshness to the Lent season for me. Not only that, some poetic writing happened … my apologies to those who are less likely to read poetry. Many of these thoughts originated while walking along an Ontario spring river where thin sheets of ice break into pieces, these pieces rise up and for a brief moment the broken edges shine brilliantly. The topic of reflections initiated ideas both as mirror images and of bending back what has been sent to the recipient. I appreciate the idea that a mirror image on water reflects what it is shown, while a prism bends the light.

Reflections

Do I reflect back to you what you reflect to me?
And if not, why not?
Can the fractured glass hold back its prismatic beauty?
Catching the rainbows
as the Light shines upon it.
Waters dark and deep glisten in the rays
The echo returns not a new song,
but a muted variation of what has been heard.
If the truth be that I only know what I’ve been shown,
would there be a point to the search,
or is the journey of the question,
the quest that causes our hearts to burn within us?

John Donne said in his poem:
… and mysteries
Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.

Death and resurrection are powerful and painful thoughts focused on before Easter. This next poem recalls the first Easter when that resurrection promise did little to alleviate the painful loss of two children. I have long given up the giving up for the lent season. For people bereaved, the Lent is too long. I admit I was happy to receive Lent readings halfway through the forty days. I do not feel a need to manufacture any more heaviness in my Lenten contemplations. I long to experience the joy and hope that Easter brings, the busting out of new life after the frozenness of winter.

The EASTER STING

That Easter years ago
When thoughts that the promise of resurrection
would be the comfort, the
Power to overcome the weight of grief …
     Vanity of vanities, all is vanity

Death, where is thy sting?
Where is thy sting?
Who dares ask me that question?
That sting
Is in my heart
It relentlessly courses down my cheeks
It darkens a sunny day
It knots my stomach tight
It robs my sleep of dreams by day or night.
Powerfully absent that Victory o’er the grave,
The grave too fresh, too wrong, two young the spirit
My numbed heart shrouded in death’s dark vale.
     Vanity of Vanities, all was vanity

And so as time heals all wounds,
It also wounds all heals
As it wears down the sharp edge of the grave
It also mutes the vibrancy of the spring flowers
Victory, when will you come?
When will you thaw grieved hearts
When will spring resurrect dreams of life?
     Is it all vanity? …

(The silent church pause)
The heavens remained quiet
Victory comes in battle, it skirmishes the mind
It cries out in the night, cries out to those seemingly silent heavens
It pleads the prayers of resurrection.
Greater things than these shall we also do …
Overcoming sorrow by
Hope-filled prayers in the night,
by candles lit, by songs sung
by moments of awareness as our
  H-hearts are
     O-open and the
       P-power of the risen Christ
         E-envelops our stricken souls

May it be as you have said … (I believe) help me in my unbelief …

Wishing you Hope for this spring season.

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head? Grief as an out of body Experience, during the month of March and April she is offering a free copy of her book to those who ask. If interested please contact me at jbmarietalking@gmail.com and I will mail you a copy. People that bought the book, have told me it has been a powerful help for understanding deep grief and how to support someone in that time.

Riding the Moving Wave

 

Moving Day is coming!!

There is nothing so secular that it cannot be sacred, and that is one of the deepest messages of the Incarnation. Madeleine L’Engle 

Moving in and of itself does not seem to be a very holy event, in fact packing brings out some of my least holy language. It would feel more sacred to be transported supernaturally to the next location. The advice column tells me to be decisive. Handle every item only once-decide do you take it, donate it or junk it? How can it be that I have collected so much stuff in my time of living next to the Rocky Mountains? An oversized van and my mother’s small car, both with tire rims bulging transported all the carefully selected items across three provinces in order for me to commence a new life. A bed, a chair, a lamp, pictures, some books and clothing buoyed my anticipated new beginning. Not one face was familiar to me on my arrival and now, half a decade later, both the stuff and my relationships have mushroomed exponentially into a beautiful life developed in this region. The mountain’s grandeur present in my every day has reshaped my soul to look upwards, to breathe deep of clear fresh air, and to take the time to process life.

What the experts don’t tell me, is how to pack up the benefits reaped while living here? How does one box up the richness of relationships to take to the next location? And in the relocation process I wonder what does it mean to be at home? My soul has found a resting place, a nesting place here. Can I find that again? I firmly believe so.

When people asked what brought me to Cochrane … I said it was a series of events. Now another series of events, fuelled by cupid’s arrow, draws me back to my prairie home province. While there has been a longing in my soul to move on, many times I felt at home living in the identity of a grief survivor, although as a survivor I wanted to live, not just exist. Can I now allow myself to live in this new land of dreams? It seemed unthinkable to imagine that I could experience deep joy again. And now I am in the wonder phase … I have been given the gift of a fantastic relationship of a lifetime.

Eric Clapton sings—Nobody knows you when you’re down and out—not true, I had many people walk alongside the grief journey … and now many more are clapping their hands with this turn of events … They tell me, I deserve this … and I wonder, do I deserve to get to be so happy? That begs the question, did I deserve the tragedy? While it is true that we often reap what we sow, no one sows seeds of earthquake, floods, accidents, and disaster. One wall hanging that is packed to make the move reminds me that:

In the end, what matters most is how well did you live, how well did you love, how well did you learn to let go?

As I pack I am letting go of stuff. I will pack up fond memories, rich friendships and lessons learned. I will move to this next phase of life a better person for having spent five years near the Rockies exploring what it means to be at home in my own life. And the mountains will continue to unfold, even from the Prairies. 

 

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience.

 

It’s All About the Shoes!!

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage. Anaïs Nin

For the past decade the concept of The Journey has intrigued me. Foot shots in over a dozen countries have been a way for me to keep track of the pilgrimage and to say: I was here, I have walked in this place. In many ways the journey of the spirit has been a parallel trek.

Any journey of significance begins with the step of daring to dream, followed closely by the courage step. Courage ties the laces of desire’s boots to provide stability to wavering ankles.

Those boots help us walk the path we have been called to, or the path that has chosen us.
While Psalm 37 tells us that the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, we still have to pay heed to those orders and get up off the chair to move, or pick up the pen to write, or sign up for that class, make that phone call, or book that flight.
In 2009, after a series of events in life, I began to pursue a long time dream to live in another country. What began as a longing to relocate to Australia, needed courage to make the inquiries to pursue the goal and file the paperwork. The pursuit of that dream has changed my life and helped me realize that I can do things I had not believed possible for me. While in the land down under, I also took my first writing class.
I realize relocating countries is a major step, and many smaller steps are needed to make that happen. Life is full of daily decisions to choose courage, to choose to conquer the fear that would hold us back.

It’s all about the shoes …

Cement Blocks
Ill fitting shoes
Doubt on the left
Fear on the right
Laced with guilt
It is hard to walk
Harder to dance
Impossible to fly
Barefoot she skipped ahead.

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience.