Peripheral Ponderings

A Pocketful of Miracles

It’s the last day of the year, and we are recuperating from a bout of COVID. I am very grateful that we were able to see all family and attend Christmas Eve services before being taken down. A quiet evening to usher in 2025 is just fine, and a great opportunity to reflect on the miraculous in our lives.

We do not have cable TV. An evening’s online entertainment can be described as either intentional or random in the eclectic mix that results from following rabbit holes.

Last night’s selection included videos on how cinnamon is made, various literary design patterns and settings in Biblical Narrative from the Bible Project, a PBS Be Smart segment on Why Useless Knowledge Can Be Useful, and finally settling on streaming the 1961 movie Pocketful of Miracles.

Miracles of technology bring the world to our living room: screensaver photos of remote and hauntingly beautiful places in nature. And more wonders: video calling that makes it possible to see our loved ones’ faces, and the ability to keep in touch by e-mail or text. We are gifted with treasures of ancient archives online. On video libraries, I can watch old movies and get a sense of the embedded values and stereotypes of their times.

I recognize that curiosity, like the passion of pure science, goes where it wants. It may not seem immediately useful, can’t prove to be of monetary value in the short term, or maybe never. It may lie there like kindling awaiting a spark to light a fire or catalyzing agent that will transform two substances or thoughts into something new.

When ancient peoples told stories, they were treasures to the generations that followed, though their worlds would have been unrecognizable to each other. Cross-genre and cross-disciplines bring out something new over time. It makes me wonder if there is something like the periodic table for ideas, the elements of our imagination that only come to light in the miracles of alchemy.

And AI is a bold new frontier, not without its dangers. I can’t warm to the monotone, emotionless computer voices. Experimenting with the technology results in text that no longer sounds like me. My writing isn’t perfect but it does reflect and reveal my unique identity

It’s as if humanity is randomly being compressed into one massive human. In that hodge-podge, we can’t tell where one individual ends and another begins. The impact of this is still not clear.

But, in a few hours, we begin a new year with unforeseen joys and sorrows, perils and pleasure, growth and connection. We have the opportunity to venture out, and to preserve discoveries for future generations. It can mean being pushed to the limit of our courage and energy, to trust the God who finds joy in our co-creating with the building blocks in his vast and awesome creation.

Wishing a very happy 2025 to everyone!

PS – Thank you to the friend who sent this song my way!

Poem

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.

J.R.R. Tolkien

It’s almost the shortest day of the year. The trees in the ravine beside us have dropped their leafy clothing to stand starkly bare. They reach up, silhouetted against the multi-coloured sunset in a strange kind of beauty, stretching out limbs to be caressed by blankets of snow. Even in this most southernmost part of Canada, we don’t expect new growth on the trees until well into May.

While winter can be limiting, I’ve always loved the coziness of the hearth at this time, the turning inward, the time to knit a row in an afghan, pick up a book, take a long winter afternoon’s nap. As the year comes to an end, it’s time to take stock, to empty filing cabinets, organize cupboards, to cook up a hearty soup or stew. We are cheered by the expectation of Christmas, and the memories of childhood wishes, the magic of Christmas lights.

Against the bleakness of this winter landscape we wait for the turn, the coming back of the sun, the hope of rebirth, though all life appears to be in slumber. The apostle Paul talks about how though outwardly we appear to be wasting away, day by day we are inwardly being renewed.

There is a part of us that does not die, the Notre Dame that arises from the ashes like the phoenix, that knits together the dry bones into life, that remembers Eden and awaits the call to rise again.

Milestones

It’s been a year of milestones – my husband’s 75th birthday, our 50th anniversary, and my 70th birthday. We celebrated with one big summer festivity for all these special occasions, which included a dress-formal dinner with the family, and a fun outing at the water park the next day.

When we look back over the years, it does seem as if we began marriage as such starry-eyed innocents, in a simpler time. There were long days of hard work, times when money was tight on a single income, and prospects seemed bleak.

Our love for each other stood the test of time, overcoming trials that sometimes pushed us to our limits. We received the blessing of children, whose presence enriched our lives. Although their time at home accounted for only half of our years together, those days now seem like a fleeting, vibrant blur.

Our family and friends journeyed alongside us, sharing in our everyday lives. Supported by a loyal community, we united in worship of a great God who rescued, healed, and led us into new places of hope and light. And there we welcomed opportunities to stretch our skills in service.

Meanwhile, we witnessed the invention of technologies beyond our wildest dreams. I remember learning to type on a manual typewriter and duplicating church bulletins on Gestetner machines, taking notes as announcements came in. The idea of having information at our fingertips, instant messaging, and accessing resources on the internet seemed like science fiction. Yet, today, we communicate with loved ones far away using Skype or FaceTime.

As this year draws to a close, my heart overflows with gratitude. While the future remains unseen, the years have shown us that Someone always paved the way ahead, fought battles for us, and walked with us on our pilgrimage. Even in challenging times, we trust that the God who brought us this far will continue to be our guide and guardian, providing all we need as our journey continues.

Fog

October 19, 2024

“The fog comes on little cat feet.” Carl Sandburg

There’s nothing quite so disorienting than fog – bad enough driving on familiar roads with a blurred windshield, but when the GPS sent me through unfamiliar countryside, unpaved roads with no lines and unexpected stop signs, my feeling was more akin to panic. I rolled down windows at every intersection, turning down the fan, to listen for any oncoming traffic. So it was a relief to arrive at my destination two minutes before the scheduled event. And then to be enfolded into a community that had the same goal – to help orient girls in the world of today, to give them clear vision, sense of true identity. It is an “impactful” ministry, as someone named it.

The road ahead for them will not always be easy to discern, they may encounter confusing and conflicting images, and their world may be narrowed to only a step or two ahead of them.

I was comforted by the drivers of vehicles who put on their flashing lights to indicate their presence, who marked the road ahead. Sailors look for the beams of a lighthouse, and are reassured and warned by these landmarks. And so, we’ll put the Light on for these girls, and pray that this will be a reassurance and a way to safety.

October 21, 2024

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. Gerard Manley Hopkins

It’s recently come to my attention that I live a life insulated from the very earth from which humanity was made, and to which I will someday return. Hours spent in buildings, protective rubber-soled shoes and boots, concrete pavement interfere with my grounding to the environment, even though I do have the privilege of living in a nearly rural setting. If Hopkins bemoaned the taint of industrial age in his time, how much more appalled would he be in ours?

As a child, I remember thinking my body very recalcitrant matter – pain couldn’t always be assauged immediately, growth did not come on my timetable and pimples appeared on a face at the worst times, much to the chagrin of my 14-year-old self. It had embarrassing needs and behaviours that felt as if they were outside of my control.

But in my body, I can appreciate the world around me through amazing senses, My body seemed to know how to innately heal if I gave it half a chance, and miraculously generated and birthed new life. The world around me, plants and animals, stars and volcanoes, air, water, fire are my context, and I, along with other human beings, can only thrive in interdependence. My body is a gift my spirit has been given for my time on earth.

October 22, 2024

For a brief time this morning, nothing that came to mind felt like a worthwhile endeavour, and I felt like the dejected writer of Ecclesiastes who cried that all was vanity, a chasing after the wind. I’m not sure what brought that on, perhaps the thought of attending a funeral this afternoon. This family had grieved the loss of a mother, and daughter/sister, and now their father within five years. Sometimes it seems as if whole families get swallowed up in the space of a few years. Emptiness remains, relationships of survivors have to be recalibrated.

It doesn’t help that it’s October, and people have ghastly fire-eyed huge skeletons on their lawns. It doesn’t help that the days are getting noticeably shorter. As I get older, increasingly I want to pull back from major responsibilities, but dread the thought of empty, pointless hours.

Anyway, maybe tomorrow will feel a little more hopeful. Hope is our ally in pointing us to the future, and besides, each day has enough trouble of its own, Jesus once said. I’m meeting a friend for coffee, and that’s always cheering.

October 28, 2024

The idea of hibernation becomes very appealing this time of year, and there seems to be a primitive desire to crawl under warm covers for the winter. If hearty foods, like soups and stews and apple pies, could pack away enough nourishment to last, I might consider that option! Certainly humanity has struggled to live through winter in ages past.

Cuba is currently undergoing a crisis with their electrical grid that’s causing great hardship for their population. But none of us may be spared from losing power, as recent Florida hurricanes have demonstrated. It’s sobering to realize how dependent we’ve become on creature comforts, the electricity that keeps our homes warm and powers our appliances in all seasons. How unreliable the water supply or cell phone service can be when towers are toppled, and we’re thrown back on limited resources!

But it is in experiencing our dependence that we truly come to look to our Provider. We are in need of our daily bread, and the spiritual nourishment that sustains us through uncertain times. Yes, we do our best to plan for each day, and for our future. Ultimately, though, we need to trust that the God who provides for even the tiniest of creatures, is aware of what we need. We are never outside of His love and care. So, while this may be the season to draw into ourselves, we can overflow with thanksgiving to experience the expansive joy that counts its blessings always.

Vigil

Port Stanley on a early summer morning can be a peaceful place, and it’s refreshing to walk its paths along the creek and to the end of the pier. Nowadays the creek is being dredged, but the equipment had not yet been started up when we were there a few days ago.

Port Stanley wasn’t always this quiet. Explored by travelers and adventurers in the 17th and 18th centuries, by the 1800s it was a major port, shipping grain and other products. This continued into the 2000s; as late as October 2003, the Mississagi docked Portside to unload corn into trucks for wet milling in London. The Cuyahoga, Lower Lakes larger sister vessel, was also in Port at that time.

After 1856, with the building of the first railway into Port Stanley from London, Port become a popular summer place, and there are many still around who remember their parents fondly reminiscing about the dances at the Stork Club.

Thousands turned up on July, 1912 to watch the first flier trained by the Wright brothers, Walter Brookins, fly for three days in Port Stanley. It was the first flight by a seaplane in Canada, and the first flight by a passenger in Canada.

In the last week there’s been visits by helicopter and seaplane, and many a resident has enjoyed a stroll to satisfy their curiosity about the latest project in the village. Villagers keeping vigil, if you will, along with the Harbourmaster and those on official duty at the King George VI lift bridge.

Boats, planes, trains, and automobiles! A library, a theatre, quaint shops and lots of sweet tooth opportunities – I count myself fortunate to be here. The village has been growing by leaps and bounds, and there’s never a dull moment!