Tim and Olive's Blog

I have had the pleasure of being introduced to a very fine writer, in my opinion. I haven’t met him in person, but I have enjoyed the characters and insights in his novels. His name? Wendell Berry. I came across the quote below in his novel Andy Catlett. Andy is an old man, writing about his adventures as a 9-year-old boy. Ponder, and enjoy.

“Time is told by death, who doubts it? But time is always halved – for all we know, it is halved – be the eye blink, the synapse, the immeasurable moment of the present. Time is only the past and maybe the future; the present moment, dividing and connecting them, is eternal. The time of the past is there, somewhat, but only somewhat, to be remembered and examined. We believe that the future is there too, for it keeps arriving, though we know nothing about it. But try to stop the present for your patient scrutiny, or to measure its length with your most advanced chronometer. It exists, so far as I can tell, only as a leak in time, through which, if we were quiet enough, eternity falls upon us and makes its claim. And here I am, an old man, traveling as a child among the dead.

“We measure time by its deaths, yes, and by its births. For time is told also by life. As some depart, others come. The hand opened in farewell remains open in welcome. I, who once had grandparents and parents, now have children and grandchildren. Like the flowing river that is yet always present, time that is always going is always coming. And time that is told by death and birth is held and redeemed by love, which is always present. Time, then, is told by love’s losses, and by the coming of love, and by love continuing in gratitude for what is lost. It is folded and enfolded and unfolded forever and ever, the love by which the dead are alive and the unborn welcomed into the womb. The great question for the old and the dying, I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough, but if they have been grateful enough for the loved received and given, however much.”

– Andy Catlett, in Andy Catlett by Wendell Berry

“God, cajole and nudge them, draw,
delight, and dream them close,
drift them along love’s eddy, dare them,
inch them to yourself and with each inch,
yield them a yard of joy. Touch them;
with tears teach them.
Tangle their thoughts in yours”
– adapted from Luci Shaw, God in the Dark

I don’t know what it is this summer, but it’s been full of weddings and funerals. The wedding part was expected. The funerals, not so much.

Over the last couple months, nine (9!) loved ones of people I know have died. They have either been spouses, parents or children of my friends, coworkers or people at church. And quite a few of them battled cancer in their last days. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll hear the news and I’ll think “Oh no, not another one…” And although it’s no laughing matter, a small part inside of me wants to laugh for the sheer absurdity of so many deaths in frequent succession.

It makes me feel helpless. It feels like every other night, Tim and I are praying for someone else who’s losing or lost someone dear. It makes me wonder when death will come to our doorstep.

And yet, I am discovering that God is stronger than death. As I allow myself to fall deep into His embrace, I find I am no longer afraid of what life might throw at me. I look at nature and see that even among the forests, there are dead branches mixed in with the live ones. And somehow, life always wins. Suffering is part of being human on this side of eternity. But I have hope in a God who is able and who will redeem it all.

I am working out a theory: To enter into the deepest place of pain in others is to enter one of the most sacred spaces possible.

When someone trusts you so much as to allow you to look into the open wounds of their heart, it draws out of you a response of quietness, respect and gentleness. You recognize the need to tread softly, to be unhurried and to accept the mystery. And suddenly, you are aware that God is there.

Even though I’m an 80’s kid, I’ve never been a follower of Michael Jackson or his music. But something prompted me to log in to CNN to watch the public memorial service this morning. I caught the tail end of the extravaganza. What moved me most was that I was watching the impact that one artist had on the lives of millions of people.

I was affirmed in my belief that the arts has a powerful role to play in connecting to people’s souls. The arts, be it music, dance, film, theatre or visual art, carry within them the potential to bring healing to the deepest parts of a person. Watching Usher sing “Gone Too Soon” was an example of how a song could communicate so much more deeply what was being felt.

Art gives the soul a voice and the vocabulary to express itself. In our busy, noisy lives today, the soul’s voice is often lost, forgotten or even unwelcome. The arts provide a safe place for the soul to emerge.

I don’t know what the Lord has in mind for me, but I know He made me an artist for a reason. My hope is that I would be able to honour Him with what I’ve got.

Last Sunday, Tim and I went to our church’s evening service, which is a little more “off the beaten track” than the morning ones. As the offering baskets were going around, Tim and I couldn’t help but smile when the basket that passed our hands contained the usual envelopes and one big shiny granny smith apple. What a concept! To offer God not only our money, but our other goods as well, right there in church.

Today marks the one year anniversary of my move to Vancouver. Coming to a point of calling this “home” has been a slow one. But I think that out of all the places in the world that I have been, I’m happy that God brought me here to sink my roots. I still can’t get over the fact that beautiful beaches, amazing mountains and the USA are all about a half hour drive away. And our apartment is now such a place of rest – and a mini art gallery to boot! The community God has surrounded me with here has been both a delight and a suprise. I’ve had to remind myself to be open to new friendships – God can work through new friends as much as He has worked through old friends in the past!

This morning, I imagined God as a gardener, carefully tending to His plants, picking off the brown parts, making sure the soil is moist enough and always, always, being ever-attentive to their growth. As I think about this past year and the incredible amount of progress I’ve had, I can see His smiling face, eyes twinkling, pleased with what He’s done.

A friend I met recently told me this story about her time in Africa. I think it’s an excellent illustration for what our attitude toward the Scriptures could aspire to. I know I’m not quite there yet but I’m discovering the value of sitting in a section of the Word and letting it soak. Ruminating, if you will.

Anyway, here’s the story. Hope you enjoy it!

AFRICAN CHICKEN

During her time in Africa, Kim had a quest of sorts: to find tender chicken. Each time her helper would go to the market, she would come home with a chicken as requested. Kim would stick it in the pressure cooker, hoping that this time the meat would be softer. But to her dismay, conversation around the dinner table would trickle into silence as each person ended up concentrating on chewing, trying desperately to break down the meat enough to swallow.

After this happened several times, Kim asked her helper to please choose a young chicken the next time she went to the market. So the helper went as asked and brought back a younger animal. And Kim, not wanting to take any chances, made sure to pressure cooker the chicken extra long. So long, in fact, that the meat fell off the bones… in strings! Strings of meat that could have been played on a violin.

Perplexed, Kim spoke to her helper, trying to understand what was happening. As they talked, she realized “poulet,” which she thought meant “chicken,” actually meant something more like poultry in general. And in that part of the world, meat was so precious that if you were going to have it, it better last you a good long time in your mouth! A good piece of chicken should give you plenty of chew time so you could fully savour the flavour. A good piece of chicken, as it turned out, was a good piece of rooster!

In general, I am glad when God points something out to me and reveals an area where I need to change. But sometimes, it feels like there are too many corrections in too short a span of time. It’s moments like these when I wonder if I’m really accepted and I struggle to see His love.

Mealtimes in our home often fill both our stomachs and our souls. Tim and I love having meaningful conversation over food. Last night was no exception.

As we talked, I got to thinking about how I often expect myself to get every little detail perfect or not to mess up anything small. I wondered out loud why I had such high expectations of myself.

After a brief pause, Tim said, “Too high? Or too low?”

I was puzzled. Too low?

He went on to explain himself. If I was aiming to get every little thing right, my expectations would be too high. But if I was aiming to achieve greater things, the small errors wouldn’t mean as much. Concerning myself about the nitty-gritty when there were bigger things to focus on would be expecting too little.

How often I need to renew my vision!