A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

Earlier this week I attended a track meet at the high school where my sons attended “a million years ago!” One of my granddaughters was competing in the Long Jump competition - representing her Kitchener school. I arrived about an hour before her scheduled event so I decided to go into the school and see if I could locate any of my son’s former teachers.

I went into the office and a very nice young man (he looked like a teacher) asked if he could be of assistance to me. I said yes. I told him that about 25 years ago, my sons had attended the high school and I was wondering if a certain teacher was around and free for a quick visit. The teacher asked me who my sons were and I said the Jolliffe boys - Zac, Ben and Pete. This young man said that he was in Pete’s grade and played all kinds of sports with him. What a surprise. He told me that the teacher I was looking for was on his lunch break and he would accompany me up to the gym to find him.

When we arrived on the second floor and I turned the corner toward the gym - there they were - pictures upon pictures of student athletes - through the years - included were pictures of my sons. Before I could stop them - memories rolled down my cheeks.

And then - as if 25 years were wiped away in an instant - there was SD - the boy’s gym teacher. SD was one of a few good men who poured - ethics and goodness and fair play and principles and morals and honesty - into our boys during their formative teen years. There were about a half dozen men who taught and coached our sons during their years at Jacob Hespeler - football, rugby, volleyball, basketball, soccer, tennis and badminton. These men gave of their time and energy - before and after school for practices and games and on weekends for tournaments.

As SD and I stood in the hallway outside of the gym - the very same gym - where Randy and I sat in the stands cheering on our boys and their friends - where we attended sports banquets and watched the athletes receive their awards - where we sat and watched our sons receive their high school diplomas - we talked about high school life in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s compared to today. We talked and talked and talked. Once again, I fought back the tears that were close to the surface. It went by so fast.

Some of the highlights I remember from the boy’s high school sports days………

Pete was playing for the junior football team - he was a receiver and during one particular game - he played the first half but didn’t come in for the second half. At the end of the game I questioned him and he said he hurt his arm so the coach pulled him. I remember going out for supper that night and talking about what to do - get it checked out at the hospital or go home. We decided it wasn’t “that bad” and headed home. To make a long story short - Pete went to school the next day - went to football practice - before I decided to take him to emergency. Sure enough - his arm was fractured - on went the cast. It healed quickly and Pete was back on the field before the end of the season.

Another football injury not only took Zac out of a game but ended his football career. It was a Friday afternoon and we were on the sidelines cheering on the Hespeler Hawks. Unbeknownst to us - Zac took a hit to the head and was in a state of confusion on the bench. One of the coaches came over to get us and suggested that we take Zac to the hospital. Sure enough - a concussion had rattled Zac’s brain. Zac asked the same three questions over and over again as we carefully watched over him - woke him up every hour all night - and thankfully, within twenty-four hours he was pretty much back to normal. And then this momma put her foot down - no more football for Zac. That was the one and only concussion that any of our boys suffered.

For one magical season - all three of our sons played on the senior boys basketball team together. Our hearts were full watching them play. That same year, Ben was selected to play at the All-Star game. That was a highlight culminating his high school basketball career. (Ben still loves basketball a bit more than hockey).

Zac introduced Ultimate Frisbee to the school and once again all three boys played on the same team. I remember going to Ottawa to OFSAA to watch them play. They took the silver medal.

Some years, we watched only regular season games - some years - maybe - they’d make the first round of the playoffs and then be out - but in Pete’s senior year, his rugby team went all the way and they were the champions. I saw the banner in the gym flying loud and proud just the other day.

Teachers and coaches need to be encouraged. It’s one of the hardest jobs in the world but brings great joy as well. Coaches really appreciate parents who actually sit back and enjoy the game instead of yelling at them or the children. They need to be allowed to do their job as the coach.

One of the cool things Randy and I used to do was to write a thank you to each coach after the season ended and include a Tim Hortons gift card. I can’t even tell you how many cards we wrote over the years nor how many gift cards we purchased but we wanted those men to know how much we appreciated them and their input into our son’s lives.

Sometimes I would drop off a plate of baking in the gym staff room. (I knew each of the coach’s favourite cookies.)

We prayed for these men regularly. We prayed for their wives and children. And we continued to long after our boys had graduated from High School.

I was moved beyond words when most of those coaches came to Randy’s Memorial service in 2014. Our boys had long graduated from the high school, yet there they were - supporting me and the boys.

WHAT IS A COACH! (author unknown)

A coach is like a teacher, teaching many skills; Not only about the game he plays, but about the way life is.

A coach is like a friend, He’s there right by your side - In good times and bad times, In times you laugh or cry.

A coach is like a counselor, He listens every day. He helps you solve your problems. He knows the words to say.

A coach is like a doctor. He has to find what’s wrong. He has to make it better, so the team can move along.

A coach will help you deal with loss and teach you how to win. He’ll take the team that once was boys and turns them into men.

Thank you - SD and to all the men who coached my boys.

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PLACE IN THE WORLD

Psalm 95:4,5 “IN HIS HAND ARE THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH AND THE MOUNTAIN PEAKS BELONG TO HIM. THE SEA IS HIS - FOR HE MADE IT AND HIS HANDS FORMED THE DRY LAND!”

I’ve done a bit of travelling throughout my life! More than some. Not as much as others.

When I was twelve, my parents took my brothers, Phil and Tim and myself on a road trip to Alberta. My sister, Susan and her husband Harry lived north of Edmonton and they were expecting their second child. We planned to camp in our tent-trailer on the way there and back again. I have memories of lots of mosquitos sneaking into our tent-trailer and my Dad spraying “OFF” every night. On the first night of our trip west, we stopped at Sault St. Marie on beautiful Lake Superior at Pancake Bay. It wasn’t so beautiful, though, that first night of camping. It stormed and stormed the whole night long but we woke to a sunshiny day. As we headed north up highway 17, we hadn’t gone 50 miles before traffic came to a stop. The road had washed away at a bridge and we had to turn around - back to Sault St. Marie - and cross over to the USA and travel west that way. The only thing I remember is stopping in Minot, Minnesota to visit a friend of my moms. After arriving in Alberta, we went to the Calgary stampede - where I remember my Mom and Dad entering a PIE EATING contest. My mom stuffed cream pie into my blindfolded Dad’s mouth as fast as she could! It was fun to watch my parents having fun. And then on to Banff. Seeing the Rockie Mountains for the first time was spectacular. I will never forget that first glimpse of those mountains. God did something special for us when He created such a beautiful place. We spent time at Sue’s but that baby was late and Cheryl was born a week after we went home. We drove home through Canada and the prairies were so flat (and boring). It was good to get back into Manitoba and finally Ontario. So much more picturesque.

My first time flying was from Ottawa to Winnipeg. I was 16 years old and Dad and Mom and Tim and I flew together to Phil and Gwen’s wedding. It was quite something for our family to fly somewhere. Phil and Gwen celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last week. Time flies.

Through the years Randy and I travelled to the USA to several conferences - Monterrey, Chicago, Dallas, Houston, and Ashville - to name a few. We had a few vacations to the Caribbean to celebrate our 20th, 25th and 35th wedding anniversaries. Those islands are especially warm and magical in the middle of a Canadian winter. Our young family took at trip to the east coast one summer and that was super fun. We still laugh about spending all of ten minutes at the Anne of Green Gables House - DRIVING BY the reversing rapids and not stopping - but spending a lot of time on the beaches - throwing the frisbee and the football - packing conversations and laughter into those days and nights.

We took the kids to Los Angeles, California, once when they were little. That was when Randy was on the Price is Right! We went to Disney Land and Knot’s Berry Farm. We went to the beaches in California. We took a side trip down to San Diego. We also went to Florida one year and stayed in my parent’s friend’s trailer - we made great memories that spring.

Since Harv and I have been married we have had some wonderful vacations to some pretty special countries. We spent our honey moon in Jamaica - we spent several winters in Barbados - a quick trip down to Cuba and a family vacation to the Dominican Republic.

We’ve spent time in Great Britain and Europe. We’ve seen magnificent castles and great cathedrals. We’ve taken a cable car to high up in the Alps in Switzerland. We took a boat ride on beautiful Lake Geneva. We took the Sound of Music walking tour in Austria. We went to the famous Oberammergau in Germany where they hold a live Passion play every ten years. Harv and I have enjoyed all of these beautiful spots together and I’m sure there will be more in our future.

So many beautiful things to see. So many wonderful places to visit. Mountains and Seas.

And yet - the most beautiful spot in the whole world (to me) - is in eastern Ontario - just north of Kingston - at Bedford Mills - Devil Lake, near the little village of Westport, Ontario. Harv and I were in Westport just last week and enjoyed a delightful lunch at THE COVE restaurant.

Our family first went to Devil Lake in the early 70’s when my sister, Brenda and her husband, Ken, bought a lot on the lake - about 15 minutes from the village of Westport, just up the hill from Bedford Mills. I spent several weekends at the lake every summer from the time I was 12 or 13 - with my parents and brothers. Sometimes I would go myself and hang out with Brenda and the twins (when they were babies). Ken built a small cabin for their family to sleep in - while he was building the big cottage. We slept in that same tent trailer that took us to Edmonton a few years before.

Fast forward 10 years.

Randy and I graduated from Tyndale in April of 1980 and we had six weeks off before we would start our summer job directing a kid’s camp near Penetang, Ontario. In the fall we would begin full time ministry as associate pastor in Orillia at First Baptist Church. We had six weeks to kill. What to do?

My parents had recently bought the cottage next to Ken and Bren’s but had not yet winterized it so Randy and I asked them if we could live in it for the six weeks. They said yes!

No plumbing.

No heat.

No running water.

We snuggled in that bare bones cottage for 6 weeks and it was some of the finest weeks I’ve ever spent. We woke when the sun came up and went to bed went it got dark. Don’t judge us but we jumped into the freezing cold May waters of Devil lake to bathe. At that time of the year there was not a soul around. We canoed that lake every morning. Hours and hours. We watched the loons building their nest. We heard their haunting cries in the night if a predator happened to come near. We tried to get close to the turtles sunning on a log. One day we counted twenty or more of them warming themselves in the sunshine. In the afternoons we sat in the warm spring sunshine on the deck but if the rains came, we hunkered down in the cottage - under warm quilts. We drank cowboy coffee. We bbq’d. We got our water from the pump at the bottom of the hill near the little white Anglican church. We made quick trips to the outhouse. During black fly week, we hardly went outside.

All of a sudden it was June. The loon parents had two eggs in their nest. One of them was constantly on that nest while the other fished and offered warning calls. The whip-poor-wills came back and the whipped each evening. One night we counted 111 calls. Please stop. We built fires and sat for hours under the stars - looking up to the heavens and talking about what it will be like to be there one day. Randy played his guitar and sang John Denver songs to me - night after night. We didn’t have a transistor radio so we had no clue who was winning the Stanley Cup playoffs. Maybe once a week we went into town for groceries and got some news. There were no cell phones in those days so a few times my parents drove out from Kingston to check on us to be sure we were “still alive”!

All too soon those magical 6 weeks came to an end and off we were to the big world of full time jobs - leaving behind our college days.

Soon we would add three sons to our family - 1982, 1983 and 1984 and we would continue to trek to Devil lake for the next 16 years. We would spend a week or two every summer, School break in March and time over Christmas/New Year’s - at “the lake”. We never tired of doing the same things with the boys that we did during our 6 weeks of bliss - after graduation from Seminary. We never tired of watching the sun sparkling on the clear, blue water. We never tired of seeing that big, old sun go down in the big western sky. We never tired of hearing laughter and splashes as kids and parents jumped off the rocks into the chilly lake. (I would wait until mid July for the lake to warm up.) We never tired of fishing for bass with the frogs the boys captured from the pond at the end of the lake. We never tired of canoeing each morning - spying on the loons nest and checking out those turtles on the logs. We never tired of late afternoon naps on the couches on the porch. We never tired of watching the shooting stars each August.

I always had a lump in my throat when we packed up the van and headed home.

I’m grateful for Devil Lake. I’m grateful for the beauty of the place. I’m grateful for the years God granted us to be there. There is no other place in the world quite like it.

THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE UNASHAMED

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.”

A few years ago, I was sitting in on a Sunday School class that my brother, Bob was teaching on this very verse, found in Luke 12 in the Bible. He challenged me and the rest of those attending about the costs of being a Christian…..criticism, rejection, ridicule, pressure, loneliness and for some, even their lives. Bob shared stories about pastors and missionaries from other times who counted the cost and yet, served willingly and well.

Amy Carmichael lived from 1867 - 1951 in Japan and Sri Lanka and India. She left her home in England at the age of 18 and never returned. Little did she know - as she leaned against the deck rail of the ship, Valetta - that she would spend the remainder of her eighty-three years as a missionary overseas. In the early 1900’s, Amy experienced a life-altering event that rooted her to Asia for life. A friend “delivered” a 7 year old child to Amy. The little girl’s name was Preena. Preena had been dropped off at a Hindu temple by her mother as a devotion to the gods. Somehow Preena escaped and Amy learned first hand about the life the young girls endured at the temple - prostitution and abuse - and she became “ammal” (mother) to four more orphans. By 1926, Amy had adopted between 70 and 80 young girls and boys who became her family. After an accident left her bedridden in 1931 - Amy lived twenty more years writing books, songs, poems and letters of encouragement. Remarkable.

Ida Scudder lived from 1870 - 1960 and even though she was born in India to missionary parents, she had no plans for foreign ministry. She had plans for marriage, a family and a comfortable life in the USA. After completing high school and college in the US - Ida received a cable from her father (from India) to inform her that her mother was gravely ill. Ida left for India immediately. Her mother recovered but instead of returning to the US, Ida found herself teaching at a school for young girls. Three knocks at her door one evening changed her life. Three Indian men - at three different intervals - pleaded with her to help with their wives - who were in labour and in trouble. She volunteered her father, who was a skilled doctor, to go and help but all three men refused her father’s help. Ida, herself, had no medical skills. The next morning, she heard the somber beat of the drums announcing three deaths in the village. She was overwhelmed with anguish that the three women who died had no one to help them, simply because their culture prohibited contact with men. Ida returned to the States to enrol in medical school. In the early 1900’s, she was back in India and founded a forty-bed hospital which has grown into a 2,600- bed teaching hospital that treats 1.9 million outpatients and 120,000 inpatients annually. As a young girl, Ida declared she would never return to India. Instead, she served there more than 60 years until the day she died.

These two women are examples of thousands upon thousands who have given their lives to serve Christ as missionaries and pastors full-time - all around the world.

There is a story of an African man who lived maybe a century ago. He knew he was going to be martyred because of his faith and following his death, the following letter was found in his house. He wrote what is now called the creed of the Fellowship of the Unashamed.

This is a kind of creed for those of us who have found our spiritual feet and have chosen to walk in the Spirit. It inspires a kind of boldness that sometimes is lacking in our culture but is sorely needed.

I’M PART OF THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE UNASHAMED.

THE DIE HAS BEEN CAST. I HAVE STEPPED OVER THE LINE. THE DECISION HAS BEEN MADE. I’M A DISCIPLE OF HIS AND I WON’T LOOK BACK, LET UP, SLOW DOWN, BACK AWAY OR BE STILL.

MY PAST IS REDEEMED. MY PRESENT MAKES SENSE. MY FUTURE IS SECURE. I’M DONE AND FINISHED WITH LOW-LIVING, SIGHT WALKING, SMALL PLANNING SMOOTH KNEES, COLOURLESS DREAMS, TAMED VISIONS, MUNDANE TALKING CHEAP LIVING AND DWARFED GOALS.

I NO LONGER NEED PREEMINENCE, PROSPERITY, POSITION, PROMOTIONS, PLAUDITS OR POPULARITY. I DON’T HAVE TO BE RIGHT, OR FIRST, OR TOPS, OR RECOGNIZED, OR PRAISED, OR REWARDED. I LIVE BY FAITH, LEAN ON HIS PRESENCE, WALK BY PATIENCE, LIFT BY PRAYER, AND LABOUR BY HOLY SPIRIT POWER.

MY FACE IS SET. MY GAIT IS FAST. MY GOAL IS HEAVEN. MY ROAD MY BE NARROW, MY WAY ROUGH, MY COMPANIONS FEW, BUT MY GUIDE IS RELIABLE AND MY MISSION IS CLEAR.

I WILL NOT BE BOUGHT, COMPROMISED, DETOURED, LURED AWAY, TURNED BACK, DELUDED OR DELAYED.

I WILL NOT FLINCH IN THE FACE OF SACRIFICE OR HESITATE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE ADVERSARY. I WILL NOT NEGOTIATE AT THE TABLE OF THE ENEMY, PONDER AT THE POOL OF POPULARITY OR MEANDER IN THE MAZE OF MEDIOCRITY.

I WON’T GIVE UP, SHUT UP OR LET UP UNTIL I HAVE STAYED UP, STORED UP, PRAYED UP, PAID UP AND PREACHED UP FOR THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

I AM A DISCIPLE OF JESUS. I MUST GIVE UNTIL I DROP, PREACH UNTIL ALL KNOW AND WORK UNTIL HE COMES. AND WHEN HE DOES COME FOR HIS OWN, HE’LL HAVE NO PROBLEMS RECOGNIZING ME.

MY COLOURS WILL BE CLEAR.

Most of us are not called to another continent to serve - most of us will not be martyred for our faith - some of us may be criticized or ridiculed or face rejection. But at some point, all of us should be asking ourselves - “Am I all in?” It can’t be either or. Either we love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength - or we don’t.

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES

Harv and I are moving. Hopefully. Prayerfully. At least our house is up for sale. We’ll see how it goes.

One of the great joys for a young married couple is the purchase of their first house together. As they pour over the listings on the internet, as they walk through home after home - imagining -which of the bedrooms will be the baby’s room - wondering if they will ever have a dining room table large enough to host the family’s Thanksgiving feast - if the fenced in yard will accommodate a future golden retriever puppy - checking on the neighbourhood for schools, parks and churches! All of these ideas swirling around in their heads - like it says in the poem Twas the Night before Christmas - “visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads!”

And so it goes! The young couple have had their lovely wedding….. they rent for a bit and then bite the bullet and buy their first home. They enjoy a period of time of just the two of them and at some point baby #1 arrives and then baby #2 and then sometimes, baby’s #3 and #4 or even more.

My Mom used to say “IF WALLS COULD TALK…….” the walls of the house could tell a thousand stories.

What my walls heard and would tell you today……….

Me - as a young mom - so weary from another sleepless night of walking the floor with my baby - suffering from another bout of croup - whispering soothing words of comfort - singing softly - ‘Jesus loves me, this I know” - pacing and praying that my baby’s breath would return to normal. Please God - heal my baby. My living room walls heard all those cries and prayers and more.

Me - as a young wife - having an argument with Randy - about whatever! I don’t even remember what the arguments were about but realize now - how unimportant they really were - however at the time, I probably didn’t get my own way and angry words were spoken. The walls heard - but those walls also heard “please forgive me” and “I’m sorry”. Our walls heard the sounds of a young couple working through disagreements and also the sweetness of making things right again.

Me - as a young mom - recording the height of the boys on their birthdays on the walls of their bedroom closets - marvelling at their growth as the years marched by - recognizing my tiny sons would grow taller than their mom ‘s height in just ten or twelve years. I used to go into those closets when the boys were at school and trace those marks of growth and entrust their lives and bodies to the Lord - over and over again. How I would rejoice that their growth was just not physical but emotional and spiritual as well. Those bedroom closet walls listened to the prayers of this momma!

Me - never was I more content than setting the dining room table for Thanksgiving dinners - Christmas dinners - birthday celebrations - Easter brunches - because my heart knew the joy and contentment it would feel as my loved ones gathered together to enjoy feast and fellowship. Those walls heard the laughter and chatter - heard the stories of one generation to the next - passing down the same stories year after year. My dining room walls would tell you what the football and hockey scores were - who was dating who - what test or exam was going to be tough and needed more studying - teasing and dad jokes - those dining room walls would say “a happy family lived here!”

Me - an empty nester rambling around in a far too empty house - wishing for the old days and missing the ones who made - dings in the walls, crayon drawings on the walls, holes in the walls, countless changes of paint colour on those walls!

Me - a widow. How those walls heard my grief. My pain! My loss. My loneliness. My shock. The walls heard my prayers. “Lord, help me. Help me get through this morning. Help me get through this night! Help me trust you! Help me live in peace! Help me know a measure of joy! Help me! Help!” Those walls would tell you that God answered each of those cries.

Me - finding love again and married a second time around. Those walls heard our first conversations. They heard each other’s story of loss and loneliness and hope for a future together. Those walls heard proclamations of promise for a second married life together.

And here we are today - Harv and I have talked on and off for the past few years of finding our “forever” home together. Having just celebrated our 8th anniversary already - we agreed that the timing is right.

T

What will the walls of our new home hear?

Those walls will hear our prayers each morning when we pray for our grandchildren as they go out the door to their schools. The walls will hear the laughter and conversation around our dining table as we share meals with family and friends. The family room walls will hear the ping pong ball bouncing on the table - off the wall - on the floor - the laughter from the tournaments that Levi organizes regularly. The walls will record our conversations about our aches and pains as we age (hopefully gracefully). On those walls, we’ll hang pictures of our 15 grandchildren and our children.

My prayer for our first home together is this - Let each of you look not only to his or her own interests, but also to the interests of others. Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved - compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness and patience - bearing with one another, forgiving one another just as the Lord has forgiven you.”

“HOME” - by Henry Van Dyke

I read within a poet’s book
A word that starred the page:
‘Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage!’

Yes, that is true; and something more
You’ll find, where’er you roam
That marble floors and gilded walls
Can never make a home.

But every house where Love abides,
And Friendship is a guest,
Is surely home, and home-sweet-home:
For there the heart can rest.

THOUGHTS ON BEING A MOMMA

Five months after my sons stood shoulder to shoulder - in front of a group of mourners at the father’s Service of Remembrance, my boys stood together, once again and eulogized their grandfather. Two out of three sons that morning with the third son far away in Moosonee, waiting with his pregnant wife for their new baby to arrive. Zac, Ben and Pete - speaking on behalf of our family - doing something that young men aught not to have to do. That was ten years ago.

A very long time ago - now 42 years ago - Randy and I spent the Christmas season waiting for our firstborn to arrive. He arrived almost two weeks passed his due date on January 15th. It was a long labour and after almost thirty hours the doctors decided that a C-section should be performed. It wasn’t too much longer before I heard the cries of our firstborn son. Randy and I were elated. We were inexperienced new parents and made our fair share of mistakes but Zac survived and thrived.

Not too many months later we discovered that baby #2 was on the way. We were on our way north to Red Lake to visit my brother and his family and we stopped at a road side truck stop. While Randy gassed up our car and went into the store to pay and buy coffee, I nursed and changed Zac, now 8 months old. When Randy came back to the car with the muffins and coffee, they smelled like cigarette smoke and I promptly opened the car door and threw up. Yup - I was preggers again. Ben arrived early the next spring and we had two adorable boys - not quite 15 months apart.

We were a busy young family. Randy was the associate pastor at our church and I was at home, taking care of our two little men. Two in diapers! Two growing little bodies to love and feed and teach and nurture. At Christmas time that year we were entertaining both sets of parents and Randy’s sister and I was oh, so tired - that familiar fatigue. Sure enough, we found out in January why I was so tired - baby #3 was on the way. Pete was born in August - 16 months after Ben. Three sons in just under three years.

People said the strangest things - like - “wow, you really had your kids close together!” As if I didn’t realize that! Or……"Too bad you didn’t get a girl!” Really? “It’s a good thing you stopped at three!” It’s none of anyone’s business how many or how close or how far apart we had our children. Randy and I were thrilled to have three sons and we loved having them close together. If we could have - we would have doubled that number!

The boys were always together. When there was no one else to play with - they always had each other. When we went camping, there was always someone to build a giant sandcastle with, play steal on the beach and volleyball in the water. Three kids on the same baseball team. How cool is that. The boys were a grade apart in school, sometimes two in the same class. It was just fine. They played hard together and yes - sometimes, even a lot of the time, fought hard with each other too. They are brothers. They stand together.

We had good mentors. We learned from the best. Stan and Alice Castle. Ray and Ella Jolliffe.

I am so thankful for the values and truths that Randy and Grandpa Jolliffe and Grandpa Castle poured into Zac, Ben and Pete. They shared with the boys that a relationship with Jesus is the most important relationship that you can ever have. They taught them how to have respect for their elders. They taught them how to put a worm on a line and then how to take a fish off the hook without hurting it. These men taught my sons how to love their wives and their children - how to be honest in school and in their jobs….how to be faithful in the small things…..how to cheer on the Leafs and the Blue Jays……how to deal with disappointment……how to rejoice in the happy moments…...how to be men. And now, I am grateful for Harvey and how he pours himself into their lives too, how he cares for them and prays for them.

In the days and months following Randy’s death, my sons grew up in a hurry - still my boys but suddenly leaders - suddenly they were the ones I reached out to for advice and comfort. The brothers no longer had their dad to rely on for advice on marriage, on fatherhood, on ministry, on jobs, on life - but stronger men they became. They helped me make difficult decisions. They hugged when I didn’t have words - only tears. They were patient when explaining common things like putting windshield washer fluid in the car. We had switched roles somewhat.

I’m grateful for the home Randy and I provided for our sons. I’m grateful for those long ago nighttime feedings - just me and my newborn - sitting in the darkened living room - knowing that each of those nights would pass all too quickly - never to return again. I’m grateful for the gift of a rocking chair - just before Zac was born! How I held my babies for hours and rocked them to sleep in that chair. I’m grateful for all those evenings of putting toddlers to bed - reading familiar stories, singing songs, praying over them as they drifted off to sleep and giving one more hug and kiss. I’m grateful for breakfasts and lunches and suppers around our table - good food and story telling and laughter. I’m grateful for all the baseball and basketball and rugby and volleyball games we attended over the years We were always in the stands cheering and encouraging. I’m grateful for the graduations we attended - the pride and joy we felt as we watched our sons walk across the stage to receive their diplomas. I’m grateful that God gave me the privilege of raising three great humans.

Forty - two years have passed since I became a momma. It’s been my greatest accomplishment in life. Raising three tiny sons to be strong leaders in their homes and jobs and communities.

They made it easy.

LUKEY DUKE

Today is my grandson, Luke’s 11th birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY sweet boy. I remember the day you were born and our excitement to hear that you had arrived. Grampie and I drove down to Toronto that very day to welcome you to the Jolliffe family. You are the fifth of ten grandchildren.

Psalm 139:13-16 says “For You formed my inward parts; You knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are Your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance, in Your book were written, every one of the, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them.”

During the winter of 2015 - I was on the road - visiting the homes of our sons and their wives. I spent Christmas with Zac and Tracy and Tali - then I was off to Moosonee for a few weeks at Pete and Heather and Levi, Caleb and new baby, Adele’s and then spent time in Ottawa at Ben and Jen’s and Sara and Lukie and new baby boy, Ian.

It was super awesome to hang out with Talia, Levi, Caleb, Adele, Sara, Lukie and Ian during those days and spend a lengthy bit of time in each of their homes. I did a lot of reading, playing hockey, playing Sorry and Candyland, lego, race cars and trains, house, dolls, hide and seek, zamboni driving, horsey, sledding, skating and more games and things that I can’t remember right now. I spent hours rocking my two new grandbabies, Adele and Ian. I sang songs, read Bible stories and shared precious prayer time and bedtime stories. I remember that Caleb and I did our fair share of baking and washing up the dishes too. I was thankful and blessed.

I think one of my favourite ages (though they are all pretty cool) is 18 months to 30 months old. The little ones learn so much at that age……..talking - expressing themselves - running - climbing - laughing - playing - eating new things…….especially talking. Words are so exciting. And the meaning of words, even more so. And expressing those words - super exciting.

During the winter of 2015 - Luke was at that age - almost two - 21 months old. He was a charmer and had his Grammie wrapped around his little fingers. He smiled all the time and was very expressive with his hugs and kisses. He loved trucks and eating. When you asked him a question about either of those two things - he yelled “HAAAAAAAA” which means YES! He was so enthusiastic when he answered HAAAAAAAA to his breakfast - HAAAAAAAA to lunch and supper, HAAAAAAAA to the trucks and cars he saw driving down the street. I loved his uninhibited joy at all those things. I loved (and love) his ever ready smile. I loved his passion for life. I loved when you asked him for a kiss and a hug - he said HAAAAAAAA and would come over and lay a big smooch on you.

It got me thinking. Why can’t I be like an 18-30 month old child in my responses to life? Why don’t I yell HAAAAAAAA when I’m asked to do something?

I think it starts by learning to say yes to the easy things that life presents us so we’re ready to say yes to the hard things. It’s easy to say yes to doing chores, going to work, obeying the law and such. It’s easy to write a note of thanks, volunteer in your community, send money to the needy etc. It’s easy to make your bed - clean the house - cook supper and do the dishes.

But maybe it’s harder to say yes to working out a problem with a difficult so-worker or neighbour or spouse, but we need to. It’s super hard to be patient and kind when confronted by an irrational person, but we need to. It’s way difficult to say yes to a disease and choosing to fight for your health, but we need to. It’s crazy hard to say yes to death - choosing to keep on living when your beloved spouse or parent or child has passed away, but we need to. You must fight the desire to crawl into bed and pull the sheets over your head but instead, get up, get dressed and get out there - continuing to put one foot in front of the other. We need to.

A few years ago Luke and I (and Ben) ran the Ottawa marathon together - well it was 2 km - but to Luke, it was his marathon. We were lined up near the very front of the hundreds and hundreds of runners who had turned out to run this race, when CTV news approached us to interview us. It was so fun to tell them our story of three generations running together. It was even more fun to see that we were the headline story on the 6 pm news. It was my last road race before injuring my hamstring but I’ll always have that memory of running with Luke. I could hardly keep up to him.

So Lucky Duke. HAPPY 11TH BIRTHDAY TODAY. For 11 years you have brought me so much joy. I especially love attending Rez Church with you - sitting beside you - singing together - listening to your dad preach - and the odd time still - you - leaning into me for a wee hug. I love you - dear boy.

I’m reminded of your sweet little voice from 9 years ago when you shouted HAAAAAAAA to the things you wanted and loved. I want to do the same.

Thank You, God for this little guy, who reminds me of another little guy 40 years ago who, along with his brothers, taught me great lessons and melted my heart in just the same way.

HAAAAAA!

LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOUR

I was reminded by facebook on April 20th that it had been 14 years since we bought our house in Everett. Fourteen years ago! It seems like yesterday in some ways and a lifetime ago as well. I remember the day we went through it - on a whim really because our realtor told us there was an accepted offer on it but we were welcome to see it anyway. After viewing the house, we both looked at each other and knew it would be ours. God would have to do a huge miracle for us though.

The very next day the realtor called us to say that the previous offer had been taken off the table and the home owners were accepting new offers - give it your best shot she said! We put in a fair price and waited! And waited for five very long days! We finally got the call. It was ours.

Little did I know at that time that God prepared that house and that neighbourhood to love and support me through the greatest grief period of my life.

There’s an old Sesame Street song that goes……who are the people in your neighbourhood? In your neighbourhood? In your neighbourhood……Oh, who are the people in your neighbourhood? They’re the people that you meet each day.

When Randy and I first moved to Everett in June of 2010, it wasn’t too long before we got to know the people in our neighbourhood. Our boys were grown and flown, so I had to be intentional on getting to know people. We didn’t have young children to meet other young children who would then introduce us to their parents. The answer proved to be in the form of a 90 pound, 4 legged, blond haired - golden retriever - our beautiful Maggie girl. As soon as school rolled around in September, Randy and I became intentional about walking Maggie at the time the kids would meet at the corner to get on the school bus. 8:15 am. One bus would head into Alliston and the other bus would head to the Tosorontio school. It would be at the bus stop that we began to know the people in our neighbourhood.

I have such great Bus Stop memories…..Randy and all the kids playing any games involving a tennis ball….Randy teaching the kids how to throw a perfect football spiral….Randy asking the kids what mischief the elf on the shelf got into the night before…..Randy asking the kids what was in their lunch that day…Randy getting a little tongue unstuck from the stop sign pole in the middle of January……wiping noses and tears…..sharing laughter and fun……talking about the Leaf’s wins and lamenting over their losses……even after the summer of 2014 I went to the Bus Stop to hang out with the kids and their moms and dads and dogs.

The first year we moved to Everett we hosted the annual Labour Day picnic in our backyard. The families came around 4 pm and we bbq’d all kinds of yummy meats and the neighbours would share salads and desserts. We would organize games, give out treats and offer a prayer of thanksgiving for protection for the children as they began the school year. Everyone went home at 7 pm.

The Christmas holiday road hockey game was held each December. The road would be somewhat blocked off - the game played on the snow covered pavement - hot chocolate and goodies were served - Christmas lights shone bright to bring extra light. Everyone played like it was game 7 of the Stanley cup playoffs.

Four days before Randy passed away on June 28, 2014, we had our first and only annual pig roast. We held it in a neighbour’s yard and what a day it was. A friend from our church, Klaus, and Randy, set up the spit at 6 am and that piggy roasted all day. What fun for the preschoolers in the neighbourhood. They stood and watched with amazement. It poured rain most of the afternoon but we prayed for that rain to stop. Stop it did! At 4:30! The neighbours came - about 100 strong. Randy prayed and thanked God for the food and for our “Hood!” We ate together. Shared life. Everett Strong.

So who are the people in the Everett neighbourhood? Well - there is Krista. She’s a wife and mom of now - three big kids and has a soft and generous heart. She’s always cooking something yummy and sharing it with everyone. She was one of the first people to text me on when she heard that Randy had collapsed. At that time she bought groceries, made food, dropped in with a word of love and comfort and several years later, it was Krista - who - (via her parents) introduced me to Harv. Everytime she comes to Kincardine to visit her folks, Krista comes over for a coffee and chat.

My next door neighbours in 2014 were Kim and Steve. They were a special couple to me. They opened their home to host family who came for the funeral. They cut my grass. They brought food. They hugged me over the back yard fence when the tears flowed freely. They couldn’t do enough.

And Angie - our local day care lady. Randy made a window through our wooden fence between our yards so we could visit over coffee and pass kids back and forth. Ang has a soft heart and is a great mom. Each morning we would walk around the block together - after the school bus would leave - together with the other moms and preschoolers and dogs and solve the problems of the world.

I love these women to this day.

I must mention one more! The last week of June, 2014, a new family moved in across the street - the Fracassi family. A young family with four young children. With the windows open in the summer time, I would hear the piano being played and the beautiful voice of ten year old Sophia. Fast forward ten years. Last Friday night I drove over to Alliston to hear 20 year old Sophia put on a concert at the Gibson Centre. Sophia has launched her singing career and what a voice. She’s going to go places. (Google her - Sophia Fracassi)

There were several neighbours from Everett at the concert and we reminisced about the years we lived there. They said how much they missed us in the neighbourhood - that the light had gone out - so so speak.

So there you have it. Our neighbourhood. When we were looking to move to the Alliston area, and found ourselves in Everett, we knew God had moved miraculously for us. Not for a moment - from that day in 2010 to this day in 2024 - do I doubt that we were led there for the very reason that one day, the people I intentionally became friends with and wanted to be a blessing to - would become the greatest blessings in my life.

They still are.

Do you know the people in your neighbourhood?

COMFORT FOOD

Comfort food! The dictionary defines it as “food that provides consolation or a feeling of well-being, typically with a high sugar or carbohydrate content and associated with childhood or home cooking.

Pizza is comfort food.

When we lived in Listowel our church still had a Sunday evening service. Our boys were still quite young and most evenings our youngest dozed off during the service. He snored softly as he cuddled on my lap while his dad preached. After church it was out habit to stop by McDonalds for a large pizza (yes, McDonalds sold pizza back in the late 80’s and early 90’s) and 4 drinks. While waiting for the pizza, the four men in my life, would each have their drink and make that crazy, annoying sound by moving the straw up and down in the top of the cup. The Sunday night pizza tradition continued right into high school and university as students and friends gathered at our home each Sunday night after church. We were thankful for $5.00 New Orleans pizzas as some weeks we’d pick up 10 or 15 pizzas to feed the hungry teens. I often wonder if the boys think about those Sunday night pizza nights. I do.

Another memory that comes to mind regarding comfort food is homemade donuts. My mouth waters when I remember the Saturday mornings when my Mom baked and along with the cookies, bread, muffins etc. that came out of the oven, it was always special when Mom made donuts as well. It was a process. Make the dough. Roll it out. Cut the donuts out. Put them in the hot oil. Flip them. Roll them in cinnamon and sugar. Oh my. I can taste them even as I type.

However, there is one comfort food that trumps all else.

POTATOES UNDER THE MEAT

No question.

Before I go there I have to tell you that my Mom was the best cook in the world and taught me everything I know about cooking. As I’ve already mentioned my Mom baked every kind of bread or buns that you can imagine. She baked loaves and loaves of sweet breads - lemon loaf was a favourite in our home. Mom always said she wished she had a nickel for every cookie she ever baked and then she’d be a rich woman. In the days when we were all at home, Mom did a lot of canning - jars and jars of peaches, pears, applesauce and cherries were readily available for dessert. Mom peeled and cored and boiled and roasted. I learned how to prepare a meal and have everything ready and pretty much the same time.

Dad worked shifts at the paper mill so our “big” meal revolved around his day shift or afternoon shift. Mom cooked for at least 11 people every meal. She was creative and wise and could stretch a pound or two of hamburger a long way. Mom also made all the lunches. She liked to keep tabs on how much food was going out and what needed to be replaced.

My comfort food - my go-to food when the weather turns cool in the fall and the sun sets at 4:30 in the afternoon is something our family called “Potatoes Under the Meat” and the chef wasn’t my mom. It was my dad.

Once a month was Women’s Mission Circle at our church - it was usually on a Tuesday afternoon and my mom chaired that group for as long as I can remember, probably twenty five or thirty years or more. The mission circle group at the First Baptist Church met to make “bandages” to send to the leper colony in India. They met to read letters and write letters to the missionaries serving there. They met to bring their knitted baby sets for the “poor” children across the sea. They took up a collection and would regularly money to help those in need.

On that Tuesday afternoon - once a month - it was Dad’s responsibility to make supper and it was usually “potatoes under the meat.” He perfected this dish over the years but it was really quite simple. Dad browned the hamburg - added a can or two of mushroom soup and a cup of milk or so and stirred it together. He added some salt and pepper and voila - the meat part was complete. So creamy. So rich in flavour. Then Dad peeled several pounds of potatoes and boiled them and mashed them. He added butter, salt and pepper and some milk until the potatoes were smooth and without lumps. A vegetable or two usually accompanied his creation.

BETTER IS A DRY MORSEL WITH QUIET THAN A HOUSE FULL OF FEASTING WITH STRIFE.

To serve this dish - Dad would scoop a goodly portion of potatoes on the plate and then ladle the meat over the potatoes. And there you have it - Potatoes Under The Meat!

I can still see my family - all of us gathered around our big, dining room table - Marilyn, Bob, Susan, Brenda, Harry, Ted, Phil, Tim and me and Dad and Mom - chatting and laughing and discussing the days events - oohing and awing over our delicious supper and thanking Dad for making it.

“Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from Him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” These words are from Psalm 127 and I am reminded by the Psalmist that a father with many children can consider those children a reward from God. My father definitely had his quiver full and was blessed!!!!

The night dad cooked was Mom’s night off. She appreciated Dad stepping up for her on those nights.

To this day - it’s a meal that I make a few times each winter. When I take that first bite - the creamy, smooth potatoes covered in the hot, steamy meat sauce - I take great joy in the flavour but also in the memory of eating it first as a child in our family home.

I also think of my Dad - missing him - thanking God for giving me the perfect father for our home.

I LOVE THE LOCAL CHURCH

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t attend the local church. I’m sure my parents brought me in their arms when I was only a few weeks old. My earliest memories of our great big family at church is sitting together near the front - me usually next to my dad or mom - their hand on my knee - to give a wee squeeze should I get a wee bit unruly.

My Mom often told the story of their earliest years of marriage. Dad and Mom were both raised in wonderful Christian families who attended church regularly and were in the practice of attending. But - apparently after my eldest sister was born, the young couple was somewhat sporadic in their church attendance - so much so , that they received a visit from their pastor. He gently encouraged and advised them that it would never get easier to attend and should they continue to attend irregularly, there would be more and more reasons and excuses to do other things on Sunday mornings. And so it was. Stan and Alice Castle and their babies……all 9 of them….from 1940 through 1958….attended First Baptist Church - Cornwall, Ontario. We took up a whole row. It brings a smile to my face even now.

My parents taught us to love the local church. They taught us to love the pastor and his family. They taught us to get involved. They taught us to love the people who attended with us. They taught us to support missionaries. They taught us to tithe. Speaking of tithing….there was a roll top desk in the hallway of our home with little slots in the top of it. Dad would divide up his pay cheque and into each slot was put the right amount of cash to pay for the various bills that would have to be paid that week. Included in that roll top desk was the slot for the church tithe. On Saturday nights - my dad would roll down the top of the desk - get the church envelope out and reach into the tithe slot and slip the tithe money into the envelope. That image is ever sharp in my mind.

“EACH ONE MUST GIVE AS HE HAS DECIDED IN HIS HEART, NOT RELUCTANTLY OR UNDER COMPULSION, FOR GOD LOVES A CHEERFUL GIVER.”

“BRING THE FULL TITHE INTO THE STOREHOUSE, THAT THERE MAY BE FOOD IN MY HOUSE. AND THEREBY PUT ME TO THE TEST, SAYS THE LORD OF HOSTS, IF I WILL NOT OPEN THE WINDOWS OF HEAVEN FOR YOU AND POUR DOWN FOR YOU A BLESSING UNTIL THERE IS NO MORE NEED.”

I was blessed as a little child to observe my parents faithfulness to the local church and it is a practice we have committed to all our life as well.

Church is where I learned to sing, starting in Sunday School and church and then in the choirs - first in the junior choir and then the senior choir. I was given the opportunity to sing solos and in small groups. I was given the opportunity to use my piano playing, even as a child, playing the piano in Sunday School and during the services. I still remember being a part of the Christmas and Easter cantatas. I still remember so many of the words. But it was more than just singing songs. I learned great theology in those old hymns. I learned that “Jesus loved me, this I know - for the Bible tells me so.” I learned that “the old rugged cross, was despised by the world - but it was our dear Lamb of God Who left His glory above, to pardon and sanctify me.” I learned that “there is a place of quiet rest, near to the heart of God.” I learned that “I have a friend in Jesus - who bears all my sins and griefs.”

When we were making the long drive home from my brother, Tim’s, funeral, in 1994, there were 8 of us in my brother Phil’s van. As we drove those hundreds of kilometres, we sang, through our tears but with hope, the hymns we had learned as children. One of us would start a hymn and the others would all join in. We knew most of the words by heart but if one of us forgot, the others would fill in. We sang for hours. How grateful we were that our parents took us to church so we could learn these dear hymns of our faith - they continue to bring comfort and joy - to this day.

When I was 17, I attended a youth conference and as I listened to the various speakers - I was moved to commit my life to serving the God I loved - ANYWHERE, ANYTHING, ANYTIME. Even as a young child I felt the calling of God in my life - I had committed my life to Him when I was 8, I was baptized at 15 and then at 17 - I felt ready to make a lifetime commitment. (It was the following year that I would meet Randy.) I had imagined that this commitment would lead me across the world to help the poor and hungry - perhaps I would be a nurse and help bring healing to the sick - and I might even speak at conferences - to women and encourage them in their own journey of faith. I never imagined that this calling would have me meet a guy - who would go to seminary (as I did) and together - we would pastor in small churches across Ontario for the next 35 years. I never did become a nurse but I did help to bring healing to some who were suffering. I never did speak to the masses but I did meet one on one with women over the years to help bring hope to hopeless situations. I never did go overseas to feed the poor and hungry but I sure baked and cooked and delivered countless meals to some who needed the comfort of home cooking.

Yes, Randy and I served the local church for 35 years - starting in Orillia - then Listowel, then Cambridge and finally, Alliston. I could say that it was all bliss and happiness but that wouldn’t be right. I could say it was all difficult and dark but that wouldn’t be right either. What I can say is that we were faithful to our people - to love them - to preach the whole truth of God - to encourage and help draw them closer to God. At one point, around the 30 year mark of our ministry, I wanted to pull out - to do something different - to not pastor anymore. I wanted to see what it was like to work “out there”! BUT - at that time - Randy - (bless his heart) said to me that in 1974 when he was a student at BLTS in Calgary, he had made his own commitment to the Lord. Randy promised the Lord that - God - being his strength - would serve Him as a pastor in the local church until his dying breath. He did just that. When Randy collapsed on Saturday, June 28, 2014, his sermon was sitting on his desk - ready to go for the next day. He fulfilled that commitment and God called him home.

So, why do I go to church? Good question.

There are many reasons but I picked my top 5!

#1. To hear the preaching of the Word of God. (For the word of God is living and active. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man and woman of God may be complete, equipped for every good work).

Each Sunday - Harv and I - listen at 9 am to our church in Florida online and then head out the door for our 10:30 church service here in Kincardine.

If we’re not listening to our Florida church - we wouldn’t have heard Pastor Aaron speaking truth about “God’s Plan for the Family.” He read from Genesis 1 and then explained those scriptures to us. He confirmed that God is the architect of the family - that He designed men and women in His image - equal and yet, different - and yet again - interdependent on each other. He reminded us that it was God who knit us in our mother’s womb to be the man or woman we were meant to be.

If we weren’t in our church in Kincardine, we wouldn’t have heard Pastor Steve preach about the prophet Daniel - a brave man who was second in command in the Babylonian empire - an empire that did not worship the Hebrew God. In spite of this culture, Daniel remained faithful to his Hebrew God - his God who he had loved and served since he was a child. Daniel was known in the courts of the world but more importantly was known in the courts of heaven. Daniel was set up to fail by other government officials and yet he remained faithful. A law was passed that everyone was to petition only to the King of Babylonia. Daniel - when he heard of this law - continued with his regular, daily practice - he prayed three times a day to His God. The King had to follow through with the punishment that had been decreed - Daniel would be thrown into the den of lions. When he was thrown into the den with very hungry lions - an angel appeared to Daniel and told him not to fear - that he had company. And then, God shut the mouths of those lions and Daniel was not harmed.

If Harv and I are not there and not listening - we don’t hear these truths. Preaching affects our hearts and draws us closer to God - it inspires us to love others and gives us guidance to live in a culture similar to that of Babylonia - a culture that is counter to God’s Word.

#2. To worship together (Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth. Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into His presence with singing! Know that the Lord, He is God! Enter His gates with thanksgiving. For the Lord is good - His steadfast love endures forever and His faithfulness to all generations.

My only response is to sing and pray and offer gratitude and honour to Him and for Him.

#3. To encourage my pastor (I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you, because of your partnership in the gospel…)

What a joy it was for us as we pastored for all those years to see our people gather with us on Sunday morning and for special events at various times throughout the year. Preacher and people - people and preacher - it’s a relationship.

#4. To teach my kids and grandkids to love the local church.

Big lessons are caught not taught. What’s good for the goose is also good for the gander and all their chicks. My family will learn more about faith from watching me live out my own journey……than simply by me telling them. Am I perfect? Not even close. Will I stumble? Absolutely. Do I get frustrated and impatient. Sadly - yes! But - I will always confess my shortcomings - pick myself up and keep going.

#5. Because God says so. (And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.)

That’s really enough for me.

BIRTHDAYS

Psalm 139:13-16 “For You formed my inward parts; You knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are Your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them - the days that were formed for me - when as yet there was none of them.”

Birthdays! I’ve had a few! I’m in the middle of completing my 66th trip around the sun.

I’m told that I was born on a Sunday afternoon around teatime - January 26, 1958 - the 9th child of Stan and Alice Castle - 13 Elm Street, Cornwall, Ontario. After eight babies, my Mom knew I would be coming soon, so she had prepared the house to run smoothly for the week she would be in the hospital.

They say that when I arrived home about 7 days after my birth, my older siblings were waiting with excitement. My Gramma Castle was “holding down the fort” and gave instructions “not to get too close to the new baby and breathe germs on her!” I followed 5 brothers and 3 sisters! There was a buzz about the house that winter. From the earliest of ages - I knew I was loved and yes - a wee bit spoiled. My Mom used to tell me that my big brother - Bob - who was 15 at the time - used to come home from school and pick me up out of the cradle or carriage, lean his face into my peach fuzz head and proclaim - “she smells so good!”

I don’t remember my first birthday but I’ve seen a picture or two of that day. Everyone was around the table - all my siblings - my parents - and probably a few others! My Mom always made the same kind of double layer birthday cake with special boiled icing - and always - always - put coins in the cake. The picture of my first birthday has me in my high chair with icing all over my face! I’m sure I thoroughly enjoyed it.

While I don’t remember that first birthday celebration - I do remember my 16th. It was a Saturday. Unbeknownst to me, my friends from church were planning a surprise party for me that evening as part of our youth group get-together. Let me backtrack a few days. My Mom was having some physical issues at that time so she had gone to Kingston to have those issues checked out - it would involve minor surgery. The results were in and she called Dad and I on that Saturday afternoon - to say happy birthday to me - but also to tell Dad that her results were not what they were hoping for. Mom had cancer and was scheduled for surgery on the Monday morning. I was terrified. A cancer diagnosis is terrifying - and it was certainly terrifying - on that 16th birthday Saturday in 1974. I didn’t want to go to youth group that night and my dad had to tell me that my friends were having a birthday celebration for me. My parents really encouraged me to go - which I did! My friends had presents and a cake and really blessed my heart that night and in spite of the circumstances, I had a great evening. As we all know - my Mom had the surgery - and was a cancer survivor - for the next 46 years. Mom lived past her 100th birthday and passed away in our home 15 minutes to midnight - January 25th - however, she was pronounced “passed away” on January 26th (my birthday). Her longing for Heaven and her faith made sight - was the best birthday gift ever.

The years passed by! All of a sudden I was 21 and a young bride. I turned 24 - eleven days after Zac was born - I was 25 when Ben was born and 26 - when Pete was born. My twenties were spent caring for our young family. I had birthdays but just celebrated with Randy and the boys. All of a sudden I turned thirty and those years continued to be busy with all the boys in school and me - teaching piano and voice lessons - and helping Randy in our ministry in Listowel. My thirties were mostly full of life and joy.

But in July of 1994 our family was shocked by the sudden death of my brother, Tim. He was 39 and drowned in a canoeing accident near Red Lake, Ontario. We got the call late on a Sunday night. Randy answered the phone and I knew right away something dreadful had happened. We learned that Tim had been on a weekend trip with his son, our nephew, and they decided to have a bit of fun by shooting some small rapids before heading home. They emptied their canoe and were maneuvering through the rapids when the white water tipped them out. They both had their life jackets on and our nephew swam to shore. Tim decided to guide the canoe through the rocks so it wouldn’t get damaged. The canoe got caught on some rocks, turned upside-down and somehow Tim was pinned underneath. The canoe wouldn’t give way and Tim’s faith became sight that very afternoon. He was safe in the arms of His Saviour. Our nephew told us later that on the Saturday night as they lay under the velvety northern sky - filled with stars - Tim talked to him about heaven and being ready to meet God at any time. Little did they realize it would happen for Tim the very next day.
Psalm 90:12 “Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” It is thirty years this summer that Tim went Home to be with His Lord and Saviour.

My fortieth birthday was memorable and a lot of fun. My friends arranged with Randy to arrive at our house at 6:45 - in the morning. They woke me up and all of us - in our pj’s - went to the restaurant for breakfast. They had gifts and flowers for me. Dad took us all out for supper to cap off a great day.

I didn’t mind turning 40! We were in a great place. The boys were well into their teenage years - busy at school, sports, youth group, going to camp, and part time jobs. Our home was always buzzing with teenagers. So many trips to the grocery store. So many games’ nights! So many jam sessions in the basement with drums and guitars. Cheering at basketball, football, rugby, soccer, ultimate frisbee and any other games that were going on. Many trips were made down the 401 to Camp Iawah. One summer I drove that 401 trip - there and back - at least 7 times. My heart was full. Each birthday was marked by good food, good times and good friends.

As was my fiftieth birthday - memorable. It was the year that Pete and Heather were teaching in South Korea. Randy had arranged for Zac and Tracy and Ben and Jen and Ken and Bren and my Mom to be with us for a special dinner at a restaurant. (I thought it was lovely but maybe a bit disappointed he didn’t throw a big party for me! I didn’t say a word though.) After dinner was over - Randy said we would have dessert at home. We were living in the condo then and I didn’t even think twice when he dropped us at the front door. While we had been dining - my friends from church came over to the condo - decorated it - brought desserts of every kind - presents and flowers and the celebrations continued. I felt loved and appreciated by my family and friends that night.

Fun fact! I used to send my mom flowers on my birthday - to thank her for having me, raising me and loving me.

Although, I turned 65 last year, I will mark that milestone by walking part of the Camino trail in Spain this summer - with my sons.

My birthdays continue to come and go. I love getting phone calls from the kids and my sisters and brothers and friends. I’m not sure I’ll live to 100 as my Mom did - but if I do - I will live wisely and well - enjoy my family and friends - love Christ and serve Him until I close my eyes in this life and open them in the next - safe in His arms.

THREE SIGNIFICANT ATTRACTIONS - THREE IMPORTANT LESSONS

The past few years Harv and I have been blessed to spend most of the winter in the far south. While in Florida we enjoyed living down the street from my brothers and sisters-in-laws. We loved attending Indian Rocks Baptist church and the sweet fellowship we had on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. It was always amazing to wake up in warm, sunny weather and decide if we wanted to golf, play pickle ball, walk the beach, cycle, swim or read by the pool.

This year we didn’t go.

Instead we enjoyed a lovely vacation to the Caribbean - we flew up to Timmins to watch our grandchildren play hockey in the Mush Cup tournament - we spent most of March Break in Ottawa with children and grandchildren and the rest of the time at home. Before Spring arrives in Kincardine - we decided to take a quick trip down to the Carolinas with a stop in Kentucky for a day - visit a friend in Charlotte - and tour beautiful Charleston.

I can’t help but connect three significant stops at three attractions with the upcoming Easter weekend and its’ significance in my life.

Every year when we head south from Detroit and head south on I75 - we usually say “let’s stop in Kentucky and take a tour of the Ark” and each year we’d drive right by as we were in a hurry to get to the warmth and sunshine. This year - the ARK - was the first attraction on our agenda.

What’s the buzz all about? Why would anyone build an ark - in the middle of a field? Why go to all that trouble?

Well - a very long time ago - another man built an Ark and he was asked the same questions - he was ridiculed - made fun of - scoffed at - and it took him many, many more years to build the original ark than the one that is built in Kentucky. In fact it took Noah and his sons closer to 75 or 80 years to build the ark.

After all the years building, finally Noah, at the age of 600 and his wife and three sons and three daughters-in-laws entered the ark. Their time in the ark is yet another example of what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. Once they entered (along with all the animals that God brought to the ark) - it was God Himself who shut the door. Once they were all tucked neatly inside - the rains began - coming up from the earth below and for the first time ever - down from the heavens above. After hearing the sound of rain consecutively for forty days, the waters increased and the ark floated on the water. The waters prevailed on the earth for 5 months and it wasn’t until the 7th month before the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. Finally, around the tenth month - the tops of the mountains could be seen. Noah and his family were totally invested into the ark with no clear idea of when the rain would stop and what would happen afterwards. 

As a righteous man – who found grace in God’s eyes – it can be assumed that he didn’t wait idly. Noah most likely continued to give thanks and praise to God for sparing him, and bringing him thus far. There’s no mention of Noah complaining or cursing at having to be in the ark for all that time. It seemed he trusted even when he didn’t see beyond the rain.

 In other words, even when your prayers aren’t answered in the way you want them to be – God is still working.

I was reminded last week five truths that I have learned from Noah when I am in the storms of my own life - Obedience to God in and through the storm - Trust His plan (even when I can’t see the outcome) - Continue to live right in the middle of a changing, wicked world - Hope even when life is uncertain - Give thanks.

Our second significant stop took us to the BILLY GRAHAM LIBRARY AND HOMESTEAD in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was totally unprepared how the impact of this visit would affect my heart.

Billy Graham was born and raised on a dairy farm near Charlotte, North Carolina, on November 7th, 1918 and passed away in his beloved mountain home on February 21, 2018. Billy was called to be an evangelist and preached the gospel to millions of people around the world - in person, on the radio, on television, film, through his books and then the internet. He once said - “someday you will read that Billy Graham is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it! I shall be more alive then, than I am now. I will have gone into the presence of God.”

As we meandered through the Centre - we watched clips of him preaching at various crusades - I was reminded of the one I attended in Toronto in 1995. When I saw the picture of the SkyDome and the thousands of people who attended that night - I remembered driving to Toronto with Randy and Zac and Ben and Pete, to be part of this great event - one of Billy Graham’s last crusades. Unbeknownst to me, my parents were also in attendance that night and on our way to the bus after the event - we ran into them. (They had come by bus from Westport with their church. It was Youth Night!) Just that week I had mentioned to a friend that I hadn’t seen my folks for several months and how much I missed them. I said to her - “If only I could see them - even for a few minutes - to hug them and kiss them and tell them I love them!” It happened the night of the Billy Graham crusade in Toronto.

We saw pictures of Billy with royalty and presidents - with children and celebrities - with athletes and farmers. He was a man who was loyal to his wife and family - and to his God.

Billy and his wife, Ruth, are both buried right beside the family homestead.

I was emotional last Saturday. I found myself welling up with tears at times. I found myself humming the hymns as I heard them on the recordings. I found myself responding to the sound of Billy’s voice as he pleaded with people to come to grips about eternity and Jesus. It felt so good to be in that place. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to linger for awhile longer.

I was reminded of these lessons that I gained from Billy Grahams life - STAY TRUE TO YOUR CALLING - BE FOCUSED - BE LOVING EVEN WHILE MAINTAINING YOUR CONVICTIONS - PURSUE INTEGRITY (THE MODESTO MANIFESTO).

The manifesto listed practices ranging from not driving/dining alone with a member of the opposite sex to making sure the numbers they reported from their evangelistic outreaches were accurate to rigorous financial accounting practices for the offerings they took at their events. These types of accountability practices enabled Billy Graham and his team to remain scandal free and above reproach during their decades of ministry on the road together.

John Maxwell once said that even the shyest of people will impact at least 10,000 others during their lifetime. Think about it. Everyone will fill an arena with the number of people they will impact over the course of their lives. In that sense, all of us are evangelists. Over the course of decades thousands upon thousands will see our lives and hear our message. 

The third attraction was the CHAPEL at DUKE university. We were invited to attend the Sunday morning service with our friend - who we were visiting. It had been on her bucket list to attend a service there and she asked us to accompany her. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect but I think deep down - I knew.

Standing at 210 feet in the center of campus, of the original buildings at Duke University, the Chapel was planned first and built last. The architectural style of the Chapel is English Gothic, but it is modeled upon no particular cathedral, college chapel, or parish church. The architects of the Chapel were Horace Trumbauer of Philadelphia and his chief designer, Julian Abele. The cornerstone was laid October 22, 1930, and construction of the Chapel required more than two years. It was first used at commencement in 1932 and was formally dedicated June 2, 1935. It seats 1800 people.

The service began at 11:00 and ended exactly an hour later. There was much pomp and circumstance as the choir, deacons and minister processed down the long aisle to the front. The choir sang but the words weren’t recognizable without reading the bulletin. The minister spoke - but his words were frivolous and fluttery. The building - while being an amazing feat of architecture, was cold and unfeeling. The service left me wanting.

I remember Randy used to say about these kind of services - “It’s not what they say - it’s what they don’t say. And that’s exactly the lesson I was reminded of on Sunday. There were songs - there were prayers - there was a sermon - but they were empty. They didn’t proclaim Jesus. The words only tickled the ears of those who listened. As I looked around at the people near me - their eyes were dull - their responses perfunctuary.

I’m reminded of a quote from C.S. Lewis - in his book Prince Caspian. Aslan says to Caspian - “go and wake the others and tell them to follow….if they will not, then you at least must follow me alone.”

Noah was called to follow His God and he did - he and his family of 8.

Billy Graham was called to follow His God and he did - he and Ruth and their children and thousands, maybe millions more - people, who, Billy challenged to follow too.

The minister at the Duke chapel didn’t call anyone to do anything so they won’t.

He called me to follow Him when I was a young child. I said “yes - I’ll follow - wherever, whatever, whenever!” It’s a decision I’ve never regretted.

MAGGIE

My first recollection of having a pet as a little girl was our boxer named “General”! I barely remember it happening but I’ve been told that I dropped the pup just after he came home from the vet from having his tale snipped. I remember him yelping and staying far from me for a very long time. He didn’t have a long life and I don’t remember why.

Our next dog belonged to my brother Harry and he was a black lab - also named General. I’m not sure why Harry called it the same name as our last dog but he did. General got himself into all kinds of mischief but we all loved him. One Sunday - my Dad took some steaks out of the freezer to thaw while we were at church. General was blocked in the back hallway by a large gate to keep him out of the kitchen. He must have worked very hard because by the time we got home from church - General had managed to move the gate enough to wiggle through - into the kitchen - jump on the counter and eat the steaks. I thought my Dad would blow a gasket. Another time, Harry had been lying in the hammock in the backyard and General was tied to the frame. Harry went in the house and left General tied. Big mistake. General didn’t like the mailman and out of the corner of his eye - he saw the mailman walking down the street. General took of like a shot and chased the mailman down the street - dragging the hammock frame behind him. It was quite a sight. When Harry moved out of the house at the age of 19 - General went with him and that was the end of pets in our house.

After Randy and I got married we talked about getting a dog but it never seemed to be the right time. I took matters into my own hands and one Father’s Day - we gave Randy a pup we named Max. Max was a mutt - from a local farmer and grew to be a rather big dog. We had him for a couple of years but for various reasons, we gave him back to the farmer we got him from. Max lived happily on the farm for many - many years and that farmer said that Max was the best farm dog he ever had. That brought joy to my heart.

For many years I wanted another dog but once again it never seemed to be the right time - until………I received the best Christmas present I ever.

Christmas Eve day - 2005 - was a busy day. We always hosted a Christmas Eve party for friends and family and church folks after the Christmas Eve service - so I was in the kitchen that morning preparing the last minute appetizers and goodies that I planned to serve that evening. Ben’s girlfriend, Jen (who later became his wife) was visiting and planning to head to her own home around noon time. Pete was home too and Zac was arriving home from a trip to the Dominican Republic later that evening. I was surprised that Ben and Jen and Pete had headed out early to do “some last minute Christmas shopping”. I thought they’d all sleep in after finishing up another semester of university and work. I was busy cleaning and cooking when Jen came in the house after their shopping expedition and said that “my car was making a strange noise and I should come outside to check it out!” All I could think of was that it was Christmas Eve and I hoped the car didn’t need to go to get serviced! I told Jen to tell the guys I’d be right out.

Now that Christmas was a mild one - no snow - green grass - rather warm, really. I grabbed a sweater and headed out the front door to see what was wrong with my car. Ben was still sitting in the driver’s seat and Pete, seeing me come outside, opened the passenger door, put something on the ground, and the cutest ball of yellow fluff ran towards me. A beautiful, golden retriever puppy. I was astounded. The pup ran into my arms, four legs wriggling, little pink tongue licking my face, and puppy noises coming out of her. Randy had come out of the garage by then, and all four of them said at once - “she’s yours - Merry Christmas!” Her name came to my mind instantly - Maggie.

Maggie was with me for the next ten and a half years. What a special girl she was. Maggie was blond and grew into her adult weight - around 90 pounds. We always said she was “big boned”. Even though the Magster was a big dog, she considered herself a lap dog! She loved to cuddle. She loved attention. She loved her stuffed animals. She loved to play fetch, although, she rarely gave up the ball or stick. She was best friends with Zac’s black lab, Willis. They were like brother and sister because they spent so much time together.

Maggie was so good at reading my thoughts and feelings. When my dad died in 2007, I immediately drove to Westport to be with my Mom and of course, Maggie came with me. Maggie knew that Mom and I were both sad and constantly rubbed her nose in our laps and faces to comfort us. When my Mom would lie down on her bed, Maggie would climb up beside her to provide warmth and love for Mom’s grief. My parents were married for 69 years and dated for four years before that - they were together for most of their lives.

Maggie went everywhere with Randy and I but when she was at home by herself for a few hours - she always met us at the door with one of her stuffies and greeted us with her welcome home whines, tail wagging and kisses. She slept with Randy and me and he used to say - “Not too many men get to sleep with two blondes!”

Mag was terrified of thunder storms. Even when the rumbling was far off - she would come to us - trembling - whimpering - terrified - and it seemed no amount of our reassurance comforted her. The best we could do was stroke her head and neck and speak soothing words to her.

Maggie got really sick for a few days when she was two or three years old - like, really sick. She wouldn’t eat or drink and lay listlessly on the floor. I called my Mom and told her what was going on and she suggested a few “old wives remedies” to see if that would help. Nothing worked and I was scared. I called her back and she said she would pray that Maggie would get better. She said it was the only animal she ever prayed for. Sure enough, after those long three days, Maggie returned to her impish, loveable, golden retriever self.

When Randy collapsed and we were all coming and going during the week he was in the hospital, Maggie was certainly out of sorts. She didn’t know what had happened but she knew something had. I wish she could have talked to me during those hard days. She couldn’t talk but she understood when I talked to her. She stayed with friends during the days but I brought her home to be with me for night time. She slept near me and cuddled me and licked my tears away.

Once - on one of our road trips to Cornwall - after Randy passed away - we stopped in Westport at his grave. It was a cold, autumn, grey day. Just Maggie and me in the cemetery. I sat beside the grave. The mound was still dirt - no grass yet - and no stone marker yet. I was crying and Maggie did the strangest thing. She wouldn’t come near the mound of ground. She lay down several feet away from me and howled. She knew. Her grief was evident. After awhile we both made our way to the car - got in - and I said to her - “just you and me girl”. She barked as if to affirm my statement.

As Maggie aged - her hips began to give her trouble. I could tell that she hurt. Some days when I would grab her leash - it seemed she was eager to go for her walk but when we would get to the end of the driveway, she would stop and sit down. No amount of coaxing would make her move. She was in too much pain. I took her to the Vet and he said x-rays showed incredible arthritis in both of her hips. He gave some medicine that helped for a few months. He suggested stronger medicine that I couldn’t afford. I asked him if there were any other options. He said the gracious thing would be to eventually “let her go”. I asked when. He said “when I couldn’t stand watching her in pain - that dogs will continue to endure great amounts of pain just to be with their humans.”

“That time” came several months later. It was after Harv and I were married and Maggie could hardly get up to go outside to do her business. She longed to walk the beach and the odd time we went - she could hardly get up the hill to get home and then she’d be spent for the rest of the day. She cried in her sleep. I told Harv to make the phone call. And then, the strangest thing happened after Harv got off the phone. (He called from the front step as I couldn’t even listen to his discussion with our vet.) Maggie got up from her bed and limped over to where Harvey was sitting - looked him straight in the eyes - and then put her head on his knee. She was saying thank you for doing the hard thing and I do believe she was affirming our difficult decision. She needed to be released from this life and allowed to run free in the next.

Two days later we took Mag for her last car ride. I put the car windows down so she could feel the breeze. I had brushed her coat that morning and she was beautiful. I gave her her favourite treats for breakfast.

I sat on the floor in the vet’s room and Maggie lay across my knees. She looked me in the eye and I didn’t take my eyes off of her. I rubbed her head. I spoke words of love to her. She trusted me implicitly. The needle went in and my heart was broken for a second time in those few years. Two precious souls had left me. I stayed with Maggie for several minutes after she was gone. I thanked God for her life and the good years we had together. She was precious to me and I’ll never forget her. The best Christmas gift ever. Thanks - boys - for your gift to me.

Proverbs 12:10 “The righteous care for the needs of their animals.”

HOW I WANT TO BE REMEMBERED

In no particular order…….

That the dash between the dates is the most important thing.

That speaking life to people is better than speaking death.

That I tried to spread more joy rather than sadness.

That I loved my mother-in-law and was proud to be the next Mrs. Jolliffe.

That I tried to be kind. 

That I told the truth rather than lied.

That I cheered louder than I jeered.

That I gave more than I received.

That I could overlook an offence.

That I was a good daughter to my parents and made them proud.

That I was grateful for my mom and dad’s teaching in our home.

That I was president of the St. Lawrence High school student council when I was in Grade 13.

That I was a faithful wife.

That I was a fair and fun mom.

That I loved all my siblings and enjoyed their company.

That I blessed my grandchildren and was blessed by them and really enjoyed hanging out with them. 

That I was game to try new things.

That I went to OFFSA for singles badminton when I was in Grade 11 and placed in the top 8.

That I was a good cook.

That even if I didn’t begin an argument - I tried to be the first one to finish it.

That I enjoyed good books.

That I loved to dress up as much as slouching around in my jeans.

That I didn’t take myself seriously when I golfed.

That I once scored a hole-in-one.

That I cried when my dog Maggie died. 

That I washed the stinky feet of teenagers at Camp Iawah.

That I wasn’t afraid to drive alone on road trips after Randy died.

That I went skinny-dipping with my sisters.

That I took my role as a pastor’s wife seriously.

That I believed in praying about everything and waited for God’s answers.

That I took piano lessons from the age of 7 and practiced every morning from 6:45 - 7:15. (It drove my brothers crazy). 

That I sang my first vocal solo when I was 8 years old.

That I was in love with Bobby Orr and wanted to marry him. (My boys used to tell people that I could have married Bobby Orr but married their Dad instead!)

That I was baptized when I was 15 years old.

That I ran 9 half marathons in my 50’s.

That I started praying for my daughters-in-laws when they were babies, although I would not meet them for at least twenty -three years. 

That I met Charles Swindoll - face to face.

That I directed my school choir at Saint Joseph’s Oratory of Mount Royal in Montreal.

That I walked to Kindergarten - up the paper mill hill - by the strip joint - all by myself! 

That I was valedictorian at my Grade 13 graduation.

That I loved cooking Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.

That I said “yes” twice!

That I cried easily.

That I loved to knit.

That I loved camping - especially when the boys were little. 

That I worked at Fair Havens Bible Conference when I was 16 and 17 - as a waitress in the Dining Room - and a family that I served -  named their daughter after me. 

That I had the best three sons in the world.

ADVICE I HAVE FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS IN MY FAMILY

When I was a little girl - people would ask me what I wanted to do when I grew up. I would reply - “be a wife and a mom”. Both of those desires were granted to me and it was a privilege to be both - first the wife - and then the mom to my three little boys. Now it’s my privilege to be grammie to ten Jolliffe grandchildren and to five Lootsma step-grandchildren. These are the truths and advice I want to impart to these fifteen young ones and I trust they will pass this on to their children someday - my great grandchildren.

Susanna Wesley said this about raising children - “Tis no small honour to be entrusted with the care of these souls…..it will be certainly no little accession to the future glory to stand forth at the last day and say - ‘Lord, here are the children which Thou hast given me, of whom I have lost none by my ill example, nor by neglecting to install in their minds, in the early years, the principles of Thy true religion and virtue’”.

I’m so grateful that the Lord entrusted me with children and now our grandchildren - these dear - precious souls - who are forever “mine”. Raising children is hard . To varying degrees, they gobble up our time, energy, money, sleep, space, patience and sometimes our sanity, but they are and always will be our greatest accomplishments. So - like Solomon we say - “behold children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward” and it is our responsibility to teach them.

In no particular order………………my top ten pieces of advice.

#1. Learn to be content in any circumstance.

Contentment is peace of mind and has absolutely nothing to do with external pleasure or condition but rather with your attitude. Jeremiah 17:7-8 says - “Blessed is the person who trusts in the Lord - whose trust is the Lord. She is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream and does not fear when heart comes, for its leaves remain green. It is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” I want my grandchildren to be content knowing that their heavenly situation is secure - that nothing happens to them except that is ultimately for their good - that God is for them - that their relationship with Jesus will never fail. It is always possible to be grateful for what is given rather than resentful over what is withheld. One or the other will become a way of life.

#2. The devil is a liar.

Satan prowls around looking for people to devour. When Satan speaks, he lies, because that is his character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. Recognize this truth when you are young - dear ones. Randy used to preach this fact - that Satan doesn’t play fair. His darts are ever at us and against us. He is working to steal hearts and marriages and children and morals. Satan takes eyes off of Jesus and causes them to be distracted. DON’T GET DISTRACTED. Satan is a deceiver. He is a discourager. He is negative. WATCH OUT! KEEP YOUR GUARD UP!

How do you avoid Satan’s counterfeit life? Give thanks! Rejoice! Pray! Think on things that are true, honourable, pure, right, lovely, admirable and excellent. Be careful what you think because thoughts will run your life! ABOVE ALL - GUARD YOUR HEART

#3. Read biographies of great heroes of the faith!

Here are a few of my favourites! Jim Elliot - Amy Carmichael - Charles Spurgeon - David Livingstone - Billy Graham - Corrie Ten Boom - Fanny Crosby - Watchman Nee - John Bunyan - DL Moody - Elisabeth Elliot - to name a few. Reading biographies allows you to be mentored by saints throughout the centuries. You will get a front row seat to their lives - their joys, hardships, losses and victories. You will see they were spiritually strong but also as human as you are. They had to walk through the same seasons of life just as you will but when the Lord captured their hearts for Him, they followed Him faithfully (just as I trust you always will too). You will also read how they lived for Jesus to the end of their lives. You will read their story from the beginning to the end - and when you read about the end of these heroes lives, you will be reminded that your life will end one day. You will be encouraged to live faithfully to the end of your life too.

#4. Learn hymns and memorize them.

The truth and theology written into hymns is right out of Scripture. When you memorize hymns - you are memorizing Scripture. When you learn hymns - you will learn the truths of our faith - you will learn to focus on God and His attributes and you will learn a great, big vocabulary.

Before supper on Sunday afternoons when I was a little girl, we would gather around the piano and sing together as a family. In those early days, my mom would play the piano and we would call out numbers in the hymnbook of our favourites. I have vivid memories of those singing times. These were some of the hymns we sang each Sunday.

HOW GREAT THOU ART (VS. 3)

AND WHEN I THINK THAT GOD HIS SON NOT SPARING - SENT HIM TO DIE - I SCARCE CAN TAKE IT IN. THAT ON THE CROSS - MY BURDEN GLADLY BEARING - HE BLED AND DIED TO TAKE AWAY MY SIN. THEN SINGS MY SOUL - MY SAVIOUR GOD TO THEE - HOW GREAT THOU ART - HOW GREAT THOU ART.

HIDING IN THEE (VERSE 3)

HOW OFTEN IN CONFLICT, WHEN PRESSED BY THE FOE - I HAVE FLED TO MY REFUGE AND BREATHED OUT MY WOE. HOW OFTEN, WHEN TRIALS LIKE SEA-BILLOWS ROLL - HAVE IS HIDDEN IN THEE, O THOU ROCK OF MY SOUL.

DAY BY DAY (WE SANG THIS SONG AT MY BROTHER TIM’S FUNERAL)

DAY BY DAY AND WITH EACH PASSING MOMENT. STRENGTH I FIND TO MEET MY TRIALS HERE. TRUSTING IN MY FATHER’S WISE BESTOWMENT - I’VE NO CAUSE FOR WORRY OR FOR FEAR. HE WHOSE HEART IS KIND BEYOND ALL MEASURE - GIVES UNTO EACH DAY WHAT HE DEEMS BEST. LOVINGLY, ITS PART OF PAIN AND PLEASURE - MINGLING TOIL WITH PEACE AND REST.

A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD (MARTIN LUTHER)

A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD - A BULWARK NEVER FAILING. OUR HELPER HE AMID THE FLOOD - OF MORTAL ILLS PREVAILING. FOR STILL OUR ANCIENT FOE - DOTH SEEK TO WORK US WOE - HIS CRAFT AND POWER ARE GREAT - AND ARMED WITH CRUEL HATE - ON EARTH IS NOT HIS EQUAL.

When my Mom was close to entering Heaven - we had her bedroom set up in the den - where she could look across the road at beautiful Lake Huron. Near the end she spent 24 hours lying in bed but as she lay in bed - we played these great hymns of the faith for her - all day long. I will never lose the image in my mind of my Mom - lying in her bed - eyes closed - lips moving - foot tapping. Even to the end - my Mom - clung to the truths of these hymns that she had learned as a child and sang all her life. Hymns that she taught to her children as well. What a gift.

#5. God created man. God created woman.

Genesis 1 says: God created man in His own image - male and female He created them! Jesus reaffirmed these truths in Matthew 19.

I love my grandsons and my grand-daughters. I pray that they will cling to this truth in a world that may tell them something different. My desire is that each of them will know who they are in Jesus. I pray they won’t ever strive to be someone they are not created to be. I pray they will always be the boy or girl they are supposed to be. I pray each grandchild will know and understand these truths as they grow to be adults.

I say to them - “Don’t ever compare yourselves to others.” Be yourself.

This truth also - God created man for woman and woman for man. One day I look forward to attending the weddings of each of my grandchildren. One man/one woman/together for life.

#6. Randy - used to say - “Some may but you may not!!”

This concept is found in John 21:15 - 25. It records the conversation between Jesus and his disciple, Peter. At one point during the conversation Jesus asks Peter to follow Him - and Peter, seeing the disciple John nearby says - “what about him?” Jesus reminds Peter that this conversation is between the two of them and doesn’t involve John. “Some may but you may not!”

Some children may rebel and dishonour their parents but you may not.

Some children may desire to marry a person who doesn’t share their faith but you may not.

Some children may believe that heaven is a myth but not you.

Some may believe that it’s fine to take revenge but you may not.

Some children may think we evolved by chance but you may not.

Some may believe that the Bible doesn’t mean anything anymore but you may not.

Some may grumble but not you.

#7.Think about Heaven.

At the end of life, what really matters is not what we bought but what we built - not what we got but what we shared - not our competence but our character - not our success but our significance. Live a life that matters.

C.H.Spurgeon “We wept when we were born though all around us smiled! So shall we smile when we die while all around us will weep.”

John 1:1-3 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

There are some things about heaven that we just don’t know but one thing we do - it’s the promised location after we die for everyone who loves Jesus and believes in Him.

I have lived my life as best I can for Jesus and I know without a shadow of a doubt that when I close my eyes for the last time in this life, I will open my eyes in Heaven.

#8. Be that one!

That one who forgives when deep offence has been committed. That one who loves when no one else does. That one who offers kindness to those who are mean. That one who looks past the insult.

Instead - see the pain that motivated it.

Be that one who shines light upon those who sit in utter darkness.

Because the impact of being that one runs far and wide. It brings healing to the wounded - joy to the sad - and hope to those in despair.

Be that one.

Prayer of Saint Francis (1181-1226)

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred - let me sow love.

Where there is injury - pardon. Where there is doubt - faith.

Where there is despair - hope. Where there is darkness - light.

Where there is sadness - joy. O divine Master, grant that I - may not so much seek to be consoled as to console. To be understood as to understand. To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

It is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.”

#9. When you are grown up and leave home - call home regularly. Also call your grandparents.

#10. Remember that you are not walking solo!

You are part of a great big family.

At the present time - the Castle family - numbers 166 people - directly from my Dad and Mom. That’s a lot of people. At last count - 7 - of the 166 have gone Home to Glory. There are 20 TEACHERS, 15 BUSINESS OWNERS, 9 NURSES, 7 OFFICE ASSOCIATES, 11 BLUE COLLAR WORKERS, 8 PASTORS OR MINISTRY WORKERS, 6 STAY AT HOME MOMS, 1 LAWYER, 3 DOCTORS, 5 MEDICAL WORKERS, 2 POLICEMEN and a whack of STUDENTS in pre-school, elementary school - high school - and college/university.

My grandchildren are part of this great big family. They don’t ever need to think they have to face anything on their own. They can always reach out to their parents, their grandparents or aunts or uncles or cousins - should a need arise in their lives that overwhelms them. I trust they will never - ever forget that.

To my precious grandchildren - I can’t promise to be here for the rest of your life but I can promise to love you for the rest of mine.

THE GOD OF TIME

It’s Leap Year today! February 29th.

Leap Year was introduced to the world in ancient Rome around 45 BC but was only added to the Gregorian Calendar in 1582. It exists to keep the months in sync with annual events, including equinoxes and solstices.

There are some pretty crazy and interesting folk traditions that are associated with Leap Year. In Ireland and Britain women may propose marriage on February 29 and a 1288 law requires that fines be levied if a marriage proposal is refused - such a a pair of leather gloves, a single rose or a kiss. Don’t say no!

Here’s a good one - WOMEN MAY WEAR BRITCHES ON THIS DAY OR A SCARLET PETTICOAT! Good to know.

Since 1980, in France, a satirical newspaper titled “La Bougie du Sapeur” is published only on this day.

If you are born on February 29 you are called a “leapling” or a “leaper" with most birthdays being celebrated on March 1st instead. A leapling will have fewer birthday anniversaries than their age in years. Gilbert and Sullivan’s 1879 play - Pirates of Penzance, displays this fact clearly. Frederic (the pirate apprentice) discovers he is bound to serve the pirates until his 21st birthday but that is when he turns 88! Clever!

Without leap years, after a few hundred years, we would have summer in November.

While I find all these wonderful, ancient Leap Year traditions interesting and cute - this year - I’m more intrigued by the concept of the passing of time and the concept of getting an extra day this year. Perhaps it’s because I’ve just sailed around the sun one more year - perhaps it’s the aging process - perhaps it’s realizing that each passing year is a gift - or perhaps I just didn’t give it that much thought over the years. For three years in a row we get 365 days - but - every four years we get this extra day to laugh, cry, praise, holler, pray, eat, sleep, work, reflect, play, love, rest, dance and so much more.

When we were pastoring in Cambridge - we lived next door to a guy named Tom. Tom smoked like a chimney, started his diesel truck up at all hours of the day or night - talked a blue streak about growing up in the south - was a master at all things when it came to building or fixing and we loved him. He spent many hours sitting at our kitchen table or leaning over the fence having a chat. He built our front deck. He built our pool house. He put the sky light in our screened in porch. He fixed our dryer more times than not. He ate our table. He sipped coffee on that porch he built. Tom always said “measure twice - cut once!” Tom got lung cancer and asked Randy to do his funeral.

Randy chose a passage from the Old Testament for Tom. It’s very familiar - it’s often quoted - and there have been songs written using the words.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-7 - For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to break down and a time to build up; a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to cast away; a time to tear and a time to sew; a time to keep silence and a time to speak; a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace!

That passage of verses sums up what the wisest King who ever lived knew about life and time. King Solomon. He knew that our God is the God of time and space and life and death - the God of our comings and our goings - that God is sovereign and in control of our lives. Every blessing - every trial - every day and year - every leap year - everything is designed so we would have comfort and enjoyment in Him and in our lives. Even in the difficulties - even in the diseases - even in the divorces - even in the deaths - even in the struggles - our comfort is this - God is the One we can go to. “In the shadows of Your wing I will take refuge - until the storms of destruction pass by!”

On this Leap Day/Leap Year - I ask myself this question - “What am I going to do with this extra 24 hours?” Probably do what I do everyday! I’ll get up and make the coffee and share it with Harv. (Or if he’s up first - he’ll make it). Harv will read the local news and let me know what’s going on in Kincardine. We’ll pray for our grandkids at 8:15 as they head out the door to school. I’ll go to the gym for 9. I’ll message my sisters and check in to see how they are doing. I’ll answer messages from friends. It’s Thursday so there is no Pickle ball so I’ll go for a long walk to get my 10,000 steps in. I may wear britches or a scarlet petticoat. I’ll decide what we’re having for supper and get things ready. I’ll do some writing. Maybe I’ll read. I’ll work on the jigsaw puzzle we’ve had going since before Christmas. In the evening, we’ll watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy and then either the Leafs or Raptors. It’s not extraordinary and it won’t make the 6 o’clock news, but it’s our life and we do it well. It’s an extra day to be a blessing and encouragement to those in my tribe.

Here’s a Leap Year Prayer for us all today!

Dear God.

Thank You for today. Thank You for this extra day to live and love - to work and play - to laugh and cry - to share life with family and friends. Help us to remember that as this day is meant to realign the universe to keep time, I will remember to continue to realign my own life to You.

Thank You for Your guidance through my life - Your timing in my life - the seasons of blessings and the seasons of want - the waiting and the answers to those waits. You are always good.

Show me where I’ve hesitated to trust You. Show me when I barge into things too quickly. Open the eyes of my heart so I’ll know how to love my family and my friends better.

Thank You for all Your mercies, Your love and blessings in my life. Amen.

SOMETHING I'M EXTREMELY PROUD OF

The obvious answer to this question is my three sons. When Randy and I decided to marry - we had hoped to have five children some day. We married between our third and fourth year of seminary and upon graduation (1980) - we spent the summer directing a children’s camp near Midland Ontario. It was an absolutely super summer. We began our full-time ministry at First Baptist Church in Orillia in September of 1980. Randy was the co-pastor at the church - a fairly large church - with a booming ministry. We rented a cute little house from Christian friends and we were so happy. I didn’t work outside of our home - instead helped Randy in his ministry. We wanted to start our family and have our children when we were young - grow up with them - so to speak. It was so exciting to find out in the spring of 1981 that our first born was expected in late December or early January. Zac was born January 15, 1982. When Zac was 7 months old we found out we were expecting baby number two the next April. Ben was born April 6, 1983. Fast forward 8 months to Christmas time and the very familiar fatigue set in and baby #3 was due the next summer - Pete - August 20, 1984. My three sons! We had all three babies by C-section and our doctors advised us to call it quits as far as anymore children went.

Raising our three boys was our greatest joy and delight. We loved being parents and especially being the parents of our three young sons. How grateful we were (and are) that God gave us the gift of our boys. Each stage was busy and exciting. Randy and I always said to each other that we’d rather raise three great humans than have all the money or prestige or status in the world. That happened!

Before I write about the “thing” that I’m especially proud of - here are some of the other projects I’ve made and activities I’ve done over the years. They bring back pretty great memories.

My Mom taught me to knit when I was just a little girl. I’m so glad that I’ve already passed that tradition on to some of my own grandkids. When Randy and I were dating, I decided to knit him a sweater. During the summers while attending seminary, I lived in Cornwall and Randy lived in Burlington. My sister and brother-in-law - Brenda and Ken - owned property at Devil Lake - near Westport - and we spent many - most weekends there in the summer. My parents and I would drive up to the lake from Cornwall and Randy would drive from Burlington. I remember one weekend my Dad had worked nights on the Friday night and we were driving to the lake on Saturday morning. My Mom was driving - I was riding shotgun (and knitting - working on Randy’s sweater) and my Dad was sound asleep in the backseat. I ran into trouble with my knitting project and my Mom explained what I should do but I still couldn’t figure it out - so she pulled over and proceeded to rip out rows of stitches - and fix my knitting mistake. I can still see the place where we pulled off to the side of the road. My Dad woke up when the car stopped and couldn’t figure out why we would stop and fix a knitting thing! We had a good laugh over that. That brown sweater lives on. After Randy passed away - Zac took the sweater home and I love it when I see him wear it. It’s stretched and has balls all over it and it’s almost 50 years old now but each stitch was knit with love for the one who would wear it.

There was a time when I thought I’d sew my own clothes. My mom taught me to sew (as well as knit) and I also took home economics in grade 7 and 8. Remember Home Economics - such a fun, useful subject. I decided to sew a bathing suit! This was such a bad idea in so many ways. I got the pattern and the material and sewed away. It was blue. It was a two piece - the top was like a blouse and closed at the back. I finished the bathing suit in time to wear it to our youth group’s swimming party at the beach - to celebrate the end of the school year. I still remember going into the Lake with all my friends - and then realizing my blousy bathing suit top was stretching - stretching - stretching. When I came out of the water, the top was hanging down below my knees. I was mortified! I changed immediately and rarely sewed anything for a very long time.

And then there was the year our family decided to “make” our Christmas presents. I made pj’s for all the kids and grandkids and promptly - cut the material upside down. I couldn’t believe it. I cried and then I laughed. At least when everyone looked down when they put them on - the penguins and snowmen and reindeer were looking up at them.

Sewing was not my strong suit.

I’ve knitted baby sweaters and hats and blankets - of which I’m super proud. I’ve knitted sweaters for all of my sons - including the Icelandic sweater I knit for Pete last year - that one was an amazing project.

Sports - I’ve always loved playing and watching - having five older brothers certainly helped. I played most sports when I was a teenager in high school - volleyball - basketball - badminton - track (not flag football or hockey though -I wasn’t allowed!) I played a lot of volleyball and squash and tennis in my 30’s when we lived in Listowel. It was in my 40’s and 50’s that I got into some serious running. I trained with the Cambridge Harriers for a time and learned a lot. I also trained with my brother Bob for a bit as he had been running quite seriously at the time as well. He taught me that if I trained my body to run one kilometre at a certain time, I could train it to run 5 or 10 kms or more - each kilometre run at the same pace. I trained accordingly. I ran 10 half marathons in my 50’s - one each year. My best time for a half was just under two hours - 1 hour and 58 minutes and 30 seconds. I also had a personal best at the age of 52 in a 5 km - 22:38. I’m thankful that a few years ago I ran the Ottawa 2 km “marathon” with Luke and Ben. Three generations running the same race. We even made the CTV 6 o’clock news! I also swam/cycled/ran several triathlons - after Pete and Randy did the Guelph lake triathlon, I decided to start training. I participated in several triathlons over the years and often placed in the top five in my age group! Now I play pickle ball and you know how much I love the game. I try to play at least 3 times a week. I still go the gym 4 or 5 times a week and love it. I love training. The highlight for this year will be walking part of the Camino Trail in Spain - 125 kms in 5 days or so.

Now - the “thing” -

I think it was in either 2006 or 2007 that I decided I wanted to learn how to make a quilt. My Mom had quilted all her life and had made at least 50 quilts through the years. Quite an incredible feat. If I was going to learn, I would learn from the best. (By the way - cool fact - there is an article and pictures of my Mom and the quilts she made in the magazine - Our Canada - when she celebrated her 90th birthday!)

After my Dad died in February of 2007, my Mom came to stay with Randy and I over the winter of 2007/2008. That’s when my Mom and I would begin the quilt. I decided on a very simple patchwork quilt. I would cut out 4 1/2 inch squares and I would cut out hundreds of them. I used odds and sods of material that my Mom had - I don’t think I had to buy any material at all. When Mom asked me if I wanted to make a “table runner” - I told her I was thinking more along the lines of a quilt to fit our queen size bed. I cut squares and the pile grew and grew and grew. I cut out 529 squares.

Some people like to use their sewing machines to sew their quilts together but I wanted to do it the old fashioned way and sew it by hand. Mom showed me how to mark the squares for 4 and 1/4 inches so I would have a 1/4 inch seam. She showed me how to sew the seams together with even stitches. In the evenings while Randy and I watched the Leafs - I sewed. Mom went home in the spring and I was still sewing those squares together. Finally the squares were sewed together and then I had to iron each seam flat. Once the squares were sewed together in strips and pressed - I sewed the strips together and then pressed those seams.

By now - all three of my sons were married and it wasn’t too long before the 2011 babies were on the way. I set aside the quilt and started making baby blankets and “spit” rags and knitting baby sweaters and bonnets. The babies were born and it was time to resume the quilt.

The next step was to connect the quilt top with the batting (middle) and bottom piece of material. In the olden days, the quilt would be set up in someone’s living room and women would gather for quilting bees. That would have been so fun. I didn’t have that opportunity nor did I know any women who still quilted. I bought a round quilting frame - about 18 inches in diameter. I drew a heart on each of the plain squares and Mom showed me how to make the tiniest of stitches. On the coloured squares - I quilted inside the “ditches” and quilted an X across those squares. It was a long process to quilt all those 529 squares but eventually in 2012 0r 2013 - I put the last stitch in that quilt.

Now you can’t leave the quilt with all those unfinished edges. I needed help to learn how to bind the edges. There was a lady at our church - Carol J - who was a wonderful seamstress and she said she’d come out to our house in Everett and spend the day with me to teach me how to make the binding and finish the quilt. That was a special day. We chatted as we worked and finally after several hours - the quilt was finished. That very night, Randy and I slept under the quilt - and slept under it until he passed away. It’s especially meaningful that my friend, Carol, helped me put the binding on the quilt because she passed away suddenly, shortly after Randy went Home to Glory.

I’m proud of that quilt. I’m thankful that I learned from my Mom. Will I ever make another one! Not likely. It took me 6 years to make it, yet I’m thankful for the hundreds of nights that I quilted and Randy sat with me, watching the Leafs and the Jays and the Raptors. He was so proud of me.

When I was a child my parents reminded us quite frequently of this great Bible Verse - “Whatever you do - do it all to the glory of God.” This has to be one of my favorite Bible verses. It speaks to the all-encompassing nature of my relationship with God.

Whatever you do – whatever it might be – do it ALL to His glory. When you eat, do it to His glory. When you walk, when you speak, when you work, when you play… do it all to His glory. There is nothing in our lives that should not come under the umbrella of giving glory to our God.

When we truly step back to think about it, I think we can all be at least a little wowed. Everything to God’s glory? Even the mundane stuff? Every single nitty-gritty detail?

When I was raising our children - changing diapers - making meal after meal - loads and loads of washing - pushing the swings at the park - reading bedtime stories night after night - cheering them on at their activities - supervising homework - I did my best to do these things to Glory of God. (Not always did I have the best attitude - but I tried).

When I was sewing and knitting, it was to the Glory of God, trying not to fret and worry when countless stitches had to be ripped out and projects started over. Even in the mistakes, showing God’s Glory.

In my driving and someone cuts me off - show God’s Glory. (I still struggle).

In the sports I’ve played and continue to play - show God’s Glory.

I read this quote a few weeks ago and it sums up today’s thoughts!

“You can’t skip chapters - that’s not how life works. You have to read every line, meet every character. You won’t enjoy every line - nor meet every character. You won’t enjoy all of it. Some chapters will make you cry for weeks. You will read things you don’t want to read - but you will have moments when who don’t want the pages to end. Keep going. Stories keep the world revolving. Keep creating. Continue to bless others. Live fully. Don’t miss out!”

LOVE THE UNLOVELY

When we were on the lovely island of Barbados for three weeks in January/February - most mornings I hit the beach early (around 8:15) for my morning walk and my morning prayer time. I pray for our grandkids each morning at 8:15 as they are heading out the door to school. I pray for my kids going to their jobs. I pray for my brothers and sisters. I pray for things my friends have asked me to pray for.

I started the practice of starting the day with prayer when my boys were in elementary school because of a story I heard. Apparently a young American soldier was sent off to war during WW2 and his momma told him that she would pray especially for him at 4 pm each day. He knew whatever time zone he was in - at 4 pm - she was praying specifically for him. One day his commanding officer asked him to do to a hard job. It would take courage. It would take strength. It would take nerve and resolve. He said he would but it had to be at 4 pm because that’s when he knew his momma would be on her knees praying for him. I thought how cool it was that this young man counted on his momma’s prayers. I wanted to be like that momma. 8:15 am is my specific time.

That morning as I was walking the beautiful beach - at 8:15 - I was indeed praying. I was listening to the sounds around me. Birds. A boat going by. Two people swimming in the sea. I was mesmerized by the movement of the waves on the ocean. I took the opportunity to gaze up at the sky and was super surprised to see a cloud that spelled out the word LOVE. I’m not kidding you. And I wondered out loud to my self - love who? The answer to my heart came quickly - “Love the Unlovely! Love those who are hard to love!”

This is not easy. It’s way more fun to love those who are nice to you - treat you kindly - speak words of affirmation - hug tightly - share life together. Who wants to hang around people who are negative - grumpy - grouchy - disagreeable - argumentative - and just plain mean.

A few years ago - I facilitated a Bible study on the book of Matthew - the first book in the New Testament. Part of this book includes what has been traditionally called THE BEATITUDES. I wrote this in the introduction to the study - “Welcome to the upside down kingdom where those who are the greatest are the ones who lower themselves to serve. A kingdom where the poor and the oppressed are the most important. A kingdom where weakness is strength - where our dependence on God is power. A kingdom where all of us - the righteous and the cheats and the liars and the religious - are all equally dependent on God’s grace. Those who thrive in the Kingdom of God are not those with unlimited power or determination, or impressive CV’s or resources - instead, they are those who experience loss and hardship and humiliation and still respond with grace and humility and forgiveness”.

Loving the unlovely is counter culture. Our culture teaches us - “me-first” and “retaliate”. We don’t want to be peacemakers - we want to continue in the squabble unless we get our own way! We don’t want to hunger and thirst for righteousness - we want to continue lusting after things that satisfy imperfectly and momentarily.

What does it mean to live in this upside down Kingdom of God? How do we go about loving those who are hard to love? How do we respond to those who hurt you with their harsh words? Matthew 5:43-47 says “You’re familiar with the old written law - love your friends - and its companion - hate those who hurt you - I’m (Jesus) challenging that! I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best of you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with energies of prayer. If all you do is love the loveable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that! If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Anybody can do that!!! In a word - grow up! You are kingdom subjects so live up to your God-centered identity. Live generously and graciously toward others - just as God does to you.”

A very long time ago when I was a young pastor’s wife, someone at our church thought it was their responsibility to tell me what was wrong with me. They were critical and unkind. They would blatantly suggest to me that my dress was either too long or too short - that my piano playing was either too loud or too soft - that I was too this or too that! It wasn’t easy being around him. Randy and I went to them privately to chat about their comments - used it as an opportunity to offer grace. It was often awkward when we spoke with each other at church but years later - we met up at an event and this person apologized and asked my forgiveness for the way they had treated me all those years ago.

We offer generosity and grace in a world that doesn’t. We love others in order to confound the world with God’s incredible love. Christian love is an act of the will. God never asks us to do something He has not already done. In the upside down Kingdom, self interest does not rule. It isn’t about being fair (my mom always said things in this world are not fair anyway) - it’s about being different from what our culture teaches.

There was a time when Randy was fired from one of the churches we were leading. It came out of nowhere - at least it seemed that way. We hadn’t done anything wrong, committed any crimes, been immoral. The leadership wanted to go with someone younger! (This is the very short version of what unfolded). We took a sabbatical year to regain our verve. I wanted to move on to a ministry outside of the local church but Randy’s commitment was to preach and pastor. It was his calling. He told me “I want to preach and pastor until the day I die!” He did just that. At his funeral - most of the leadership (from the church that had fired us) - were there. God gave great grace to me. I could look each one of them in the eye and thank them for coming. No grudges. No retaliation.

Loving those who are hard to love is like trying to plant a garden in a patch of hard, course soil. And yet we are called to love these miserable, unhappy and unkind people.

Lest you think I’ve only been wronged - think again. I’ve done my fair share of being that unkind, critical, smug, disagreeable, nasty, mean woman. It’s been the charitable forgiveness I’ve received from those who I was insensitive and uncaring to - they graciously showed me the importance of moving on - to forgive and forget - instead of retaliating and holding grudges.

How much more pleasant it is to enjoy and find joy in each other.

Here’s something I learned a long time ago - “But to you who are listening - love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” (God)

More great advice - “Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse….do not repay evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. It it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends.” (God)

Can I be super practical?

TREAT OTHERS THE WAY YOU WANT TO BE TREATED. PRACTICE PATIENCE.

GIVE EXTRAVAGANTLY. LOVE UNEXPECTEDLY.

PURSUE UNITY AND PEACE. FIND COMMON GROUND.

FORGIVE. PRAY FOR HEALING FROM BROKENNESS AND BITTERNESS.

PUT YOURSELF IN THEIR SHOES.

Tim Keller said - “If you do not give up, but continue to love the unlovely in a sustained way, they will eventually become lovely to you.”

WEDDINGS - I'VE HAD TWO

Weddings. I’ve had two.

My mom used to say - “a wedding lasts for a day but a marriage lasts for a lifetime!” Truth.

My first wedding - to Randy - was on Saturday, June 2, 1979. We got engaged on November 7, 1978. We started dating in 1976.

Before I tell you about our wedding day, I must tell you about our engagement. The weekend before our engagement, Randy was playing hockey north of Toronto in the little town of Keswick, Ontario. We spent each weekend there - staying with the pastor and his family - doing what the seminary called - “Christian service.” We spent the weekend leading kids and youth groups, bus ministry, teaching Sunday School etc. and for Randy- playing hockey on Friday nights. They played late and sometimes I went and sometimes I didn’t. That particular Friday night, I didn’t go. On Saturday morning, Mrs. J - the pastor’s wife, told me that Randy had had an accident at hockey the night before. Apparently he and another player went down at the same time and the other players’ skate ran across Randy’s chin, cheek and would have hit his eye except that Randy had a face protector on. He had about 10 or 12 stitches in his face. You can imagine how he felt - knowing that in 5 days he was going to take me out for supper and propose! He had already made reservations and borrowed a car. Five days later, though, we drove over to Burlington to the El Picador restaurant! Randy’s lip was swollen, his cheek and eye black and blue - he looked like he had gone 12 rounds in a boxing match!!!! But propose he did! He asked. I said yes! After dinner we drove over to his parent’s place and Mom J was so concerned about his face that she didn’t notice - for the longest time - me dangling my left hand 4th finger in front of her nose. Dad and Mom J were delighted - my parents already knew it was happening as Randy had called them to ask their permission.

We set the date seven months later - June 2, 1979.

I had 3 bridesmaids - my sister-in-law Carol, my roommate - Karen, and a good friend, Kathy and my matron of honour was my sister, Brenda. Randy chose three friends as well as my brother, Tim, to stand with him as his groomsmen.

Our wedding was set for 11 am. I remember driving to the church with my dad and thinking of all the brides I had seen over the years and now I was a bride. I was 21 years old. Excited. Nervous.

I walked down the aisle to “Praise My Soul the King of Heaven”. I clung to my Dad’s arm. Dad’s smile was huge as he walked me down the aisle. (Perhaps he was thinking that finally the 9th of 9 children was getting married and he and mom would finally be empty nesters). I looked ahead to the man standing at the front of the church - more than ready to commit my life to being his wife and partner. I really can’t recall what the minister talked about - what the soloist sang - but it was a moving ceremony. We were committing our lives together for life and also for a life of ministry in the local church together. The hymn - Living For Jesus - was our theme.

After the wedding and reception the custom was for the bride to change into her “going away outfit”. My Mom and sister helped me change and I remember that I had a yellow dress to wear. It was super cute. Randy and I stood on the steps of the church and we were showered with confetti as we raced to his car. It was so fun.

We headed out for Belleville where Randy had booked a hotel for one night as he had to be back to work on Monday. As we were leaving Kingston I asked him to pull over to make sure my suitcase was in the trunk. (My brother Tim was supposed to put it in that morning). Randy got out - got back in - he said “it’s not there! Do you want me to go back to your parent’s house and get it?” Are you kidding me? There was no way I was going back and having all my family have a good laugh at our expense. We headed to the hotel - walked in as a newly married couple - with Randy’s backpack. That’s it. I was mortified. All my beautiful clothes for the weekend were in Kingston and I was in Belleville. I didn’t laugh that night but we had lots of laughs about it later on!

I used to put my wedding dress on every anniversary. Even after 35 years I could still fit in my dress. I gave it away to a friend’s daughter’s and it was worn again.

I never expected to have a second wedding. I never expected that I would have two husbands. I did expect to grow old with Randy. God had other plans for me.

After Randy died - I grieved. Hard. Tears and more tears. I was 56 years old. Young. Not old. My parents were married for almost 69 years and we had just passed our 35th wedding anniversary. The year following Randy’s passing was a year of trusting my heavenly Father that His ways were perfect - a year of faith stretching - a year of learning to live alone - a year of learning to grandparent alone - a year of finding joy every day in the ordinary and extraordinary.

After that first year past, I knew that God had something for me to do. I didn’t know what but I knew it was time to begin searching for it - being more active in the looking. I applied for a couple of ministry positions that didn’t come to anything. I pursued buying a B&B in Westport but after seeing the property with family and friends, discussing the financing with Zac (who told me that financially it wasn’t a sound investment) and the possibility with my Mom - (who told me that even though she knew I could do it, she didn’t want me to be alone in a 7 bedroom inn and that God must have something else for me). Wait. On. The. Lord.

Waiting - not exactly my strong suit - but I’ve waited for a lot of things in my life and this was just one more opportunity to trust my God.

I didn’t know any single men. I didn’t go looking. I didn’t sign up on a dating site. I didn’t do anything but a few of my friends and family were praying I would meet someone. They didn’t want me to be alone.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a man in Kincardine, whose wife had passed away a couple of years before Randy. He was alone. I was alone. We had mutual friends who thought it would be nice if we met. My neighbour in Everett, K, was the daughter of P and G, who lived in Kincardine. P and G knew me from visiting K in Everett and they knew Harv from Kincardine (P and Harv played golf and hockey together). It was these wonderful folks who introduced us.

Harv and I began emailing each other in October and very quickly the letters started going back and forth - daily - and sometimes more often. We wrote to each other about our families - our faith - our spouses - the Blue Jays and the Leafs - living life alone. I asked Harv if he’d like to meet for coffee. (I wanted to know what he looked like). We agreed on the date November 1st. We met in Mount Forest for coffee. That coffee lasted for two hours. That coffee was the beginning.

After that first coffee date, we started having lunches together and moved on from emails to phone conversations. We hit it off so great. It surprised us both.

In December Harv asked me to marry him. It was an ordinary day - but it would be extraordinary - after a whirlwind courtship. We called my Mom and she gave us her blessing. I suppose the thing that was the hardest was not having my kids know Harv - and his kids - not know me. I’m thankful our children trusted us through that transition time.

Harv and I were married on Saturday, April 2, 2016 at Mrs. Mitchell’s - Mulmur, Ontario - the location of many of our early dates. All of our children and grandchildren and sisters and brothers were there. My Mom was too frail to travel to our wedding but my sister-in-law, Irene arranged with Mom’s Retirement Home to FaceTime with her during the wedding. What a blessing that was to me.

Harv and I shared our story of loss - and then finding love again. Our wedding verse was - Psalm 30:5 “Weeping may tarry for the night but joy comes in the morning.” It was exactly that. Both Harv and I were married a long time (34 and 35 years) - both of us had lost our spouses relatively fast (Rose was sick with cancer for 7 months and Dad’s passing in just one week) - both of us were not looking to marry again - but then, experiencing such joy in having a second opportunity. I sang a song from Les Mis - “Suddenly”. My son, Ben, married us - that was something. At my son’s weddings - Randy married them to their beautiful brides - the role was reversed!

The reception was fun - Harv’s best man - T - gave a funny speech about Harv. My matron of honour, Blaire, was gracious and loving in her comments to me and about me. The food was delicious. We left the next day for a honeymoon in Jamaica.

My second beautiful wedding dress hangs in my closet - perhaps one day - another bride will wear it.

When we get married, we say vows. We vow to love each other through sickness and health - through ups and downs - through thick and thin - ‘til death parts us. When the first wedding occurred - Adam and Eve - God said “it was very good.” God said “it’s not good for a man to be alone and that He would make a helper suitable”. What grace. What amazing love our heavenly Father has bestowed upon us - the gift of marriage.

SONGS EVOKE MEMORIES

Music! Songs! Melodies! I’ve always loved to sing. Just like the ABBA song - “I was a dancer before I could walk - MOM SAYS I BEGAN TO SING LONG BEFORE I COULD TALK!” I started taking piano lessons when I was seven years old and it feels like I’ve always played. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t play. God gifted me with a natural singing voice. I started singing solos at school (I once played the part of Mrs. Santa and the next year played the part of Mary) and at church (I always sang in the junior choir and then the senior choir). Even before worship teams were a thing - in the 70’s, a few of us led the singing at the services - in our jean overalls!

My Mom said that when I grew up and went away to college - music left our home! That was a nice compliment.

Songs always evoke memories in me.

Favourite memories involving songs………

I must begin with a song from the musical The Sound of Music (which is my most favourite movie of all time) - MY FAVOURITE THINGS!

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Brown paper packages tied up with strings - These are a few of my favourite things.

(Are you singing it with me?)

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles.

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings - These are a few of my favourite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes.

Silver white winters that melt into springs - These are a few of my favourite things.

WHEN THE DOG BITES, WHEN THE BEE STINGS - WHEN I’M FEELING SAD!

I SIMPLY REMEMBER MY FAVOURITE THINGS -

AND THEN I DON’T FEEL - SO BAD!

When I was 6 or 7, my big brother, Bob - married Lynn - in Fort Erie. Phil and Tim and I drove from Cornwall to Fort Erie with my oldest sister, Marilyn and her husband Bill. My Mom and Dad couldn’t come to the wedding because my Dad had had serious surgery just weeks before and hadn’t fully recovered. It was a pretty big deal to drive so far away. The furthest I had ever travelled was Cornwall to Montreal or Cornwall to New York state camping. On the way home from the wedding (it was the May long weekend and hot) we had all the windows down in the car and a great big bee flew in and stung me. Perhaps because I was homesick for my Mom and Dad and because it really hurt, I couldn’t stop crying. So of course, my big brothers, Phil and Tim, started singing - “when the dog bites - when the bee stings!” I want to believe they were really trying to cheer me up. In reality - I think they were teasing me. Quite frankly though, it’s a song that comes to mind quite often. I channel my inner Julie Andrews and sing it loud and proud and I always always feel better.

Christmas Eve services have been special to me ever since I was a child. I love the Christmas carols so much. I love the magic of Christmas Eve. The story of Silent Night has always intrigued me. It was Christmas Eve, 1818, when the now-famous carol was first performed as Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. Joseph Mohr, the young priest who wrote the lyrics, played the guitar and sang along with Franz Xaver Gruber, the choir director who had written the melody. The legend says that a mouse chewed through the organ so it wouldn’t work and that’s why they had to use the guitar!!! We always closed the Christmas Eve service with the singing of Silent Night, Holy Night - holding candles in a darkened church. It was magical, although, one year it wasn’t too magical when someone from the balcony dropped wax on someone’s suit down below nor the year someone let out a large and loud fart to break the magic of the moment was broken. My boys and many others couldn’t stop laughing.

But I’m thinking of another time - another carol - during another Christmas Eve service . We were living in Listowel and Randy was at the front leading the readings and carols - I was sitting with our three boys and probably Gramma and Grampa Jolliffe were there. My in-laws spent most Christmases with us as our boys were their only grandchildren.To being the service we sang - JOY TO THE WORLD - and I was belting out the words at full volume. I noticed Zac had his hands over his ears. I leaned over to him and asked him what was wrong? He said - “you’re singing too loud!” Every Christmas as we sing that carol I remember that night. That memory always brings a smile to my face.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King;

Let every heart prepare Him room. And heav’n and nature sing.

Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns! Let men their songs employ;

While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains -Repeat the sounding joy,

He rules the world with truth and grace, And makes the nations prove

The glories of His righteousness And wonders of His love,

The song - Never Once - was particularly meaningful to me during a stretching, growing, painful time in our lives but it applies to many more times than the events of 2010. Even now when this song comes across my playlist or on Christian radio - I’m reminded of God’s faithfulness to me and to my family. Sometimes the memories squeak out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

NEVER ONCE

Standing on this mountaintop - Looking just how far we’ve come

Knowing that for every step - You were with us

Kneeling on this battle ground - Seeing just how much You’ve done

Knowing every victory - Was Your power in us

Scars and struggles on the way - But with joy our hearts can say

NEVER ONCE DID WE EVER WALK ALONE

NEVER ONCE DID YOU LEAVE US ON OUR OWN

YOU ARE FAITHFUL, GOD, YOU ARE FAITHFUL.

Scars and struggles on the way - But with joy our hearts can say

Never once did we ever walk alone - Carried by Your constant grace

Held within Your perfect peace - Never once, no, we never walk alone

Every step we are breathing in Your grace - Evermore we’ll be breathing out Your praise

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

Your are, You are faithful, God, You are faithful

All my life - since the time that I can remember - I have known that God is with me. In my comings and my goings. In my ups and downs. In my highs and my lows. I’m ever so grateful.

In 1974 - on my 16th birthday - January 26 - I found out my mom had cancer. Being the youngest, I was the only one at home - the older siblings were all married or away at college. I can still see Dad on the phone - standing in the hallway - hearing the diagnosis - and then calling me out of my bedroom - to tell me what was going on. Back in those days - I couldn’t imagine my mom surviving the diagnosis and I thought she was going to die. She lived for 46 more years. We didn’t walk alone through those uncertain days.

In 1984 - August 20th - the day Pete was born - the anesthesiologist was preparing me for my epidural before my C-section - and he put the needle in the wrong place and then promptly left the Operating Room. I was left alone and felt the anesthetic go from my belly to my toes and then up to my neck. I was in trouble and I knew it. I wasn’t breathing. I prayed instantly. I prayed constantly as my life flashed before my eyes. I was paralyzed from my neck to my toes. My baby and I would die unless help arrived pronto. God sent help - in the form of Dr. C - who came into the room and immediately I was put on a respirator. I woke up hours later in the Recovery Room and thought I was in heaven. The lights were so bright. Nope - Pete and I were both fine and healthy. Once again we didn’t walk alone. I was held within God’s perfect peace. Every moment I was breathing out His grace.

In 1994 - July - we received a phone - late at night from my brother Ted that our brother Tim had drowned in a canoeing accident up near McKenzie Island. Shock. Pain. Unbelief. Tim was just 39. I remember getting out of bed and my legs were like jelly. The first thing we did was to kneel by our beds and pray for Lorraine and Scott and Jillian. I made the long journey north with family members for Tim’s heartbreaking funeral. Our family didn’t walk alone through that painful time. We weren’t left on our own. God was faithful. God is always faithful.

2009 - Dismissal from pastoring our church. Pain. Loss. Loneliness. We didn’t walk alone. We were held within God’s perfect peace.

2014 - July 4 - Randy’s passing to Glory. More shock. More pain. More grasping what it means to be carried in Christ’s constant grace. We sang this song at Randy’s funeral. Every step we were breathing in God’s grace and peace. He was and is faithful.

Always - when we look back - we see it. We see God’s grace and mercy. There is always opportunity to pour out our praise.

These events and more point me to a faithful Saviour. Never once, did I ever walk alone.

I’ll finish with Randy’s favourite hymn - MY JESUS - I LOVE THEE. When we sing this song at church, memories squeak out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I sing it as his testimony. I sing it because even way back when we were in seminary, Randy quoted this hymn at the Baccalaureate Service as he shared his testimony. It’s wonderful and the words are special. He always sang it with gusto and joy.

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine; For Thee all the follies of sin I resign;

My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou hast first loved me, And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;

I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death, And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;

And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow, If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight, I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;

I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Music is a gift. I never take it for granted. Even this morning as I was heading out for my beach walk - I said good morning to John, the gardener, at the apartment we’ve rented in Barbados. Last week he showed me a video of himself singing karaoke and this morning he asked me if I sang. I started singing “Oh, what a beautiful morning” from the musical Oklahoma. John joined in and we sang it together. It was a moment in time and you know - the next time I hear that song - even twenty years from now, I’ll think of this moment - this morning - when John and and I sang it together.

WHO WERE MY GRANDPARENTS?

I was born MARTHA ELLEN CASTLE. That’s me but where did I come from?

I had to call my sister, Marilyn, to find out details on our grandparents. I grew up knowing only one out of four of them. You’ll find out why.

Grandmother - Winnifred Hollister (1898 - 1922)

Grandfather - Pliny John Fetterly (1897 - 1970)

Grandmother - Margaret Ellen Pattendon (1891 - 1977)

Grandfather - Stanley Charles Castle (1889 - 1964)

I’ll begin with my mom’s side of the family. As I’ve stated before, my mom’s mom died when she was but two years old. My aunt was eight months old. My grandfather was shell shocked. He had returned from the first world war in 1918. He married my grandmother in 1919. Their first child was born in 1920. Their second child was born in 1921. His wife would die from complications from a miscarriage in 1922.

I don’t know much about Winnifred but I do know more about her parents, because they were the ones who raised my Mom. Harry Lindsay Hollister (May 23, 1875 - January 3, 1941) worked at the paper mill. My Mom fondly recalls that on Saturday afternoons - when she was a child - Harry would walk downtown with a girl on each side - and they would enjoy a treat at Woolworths. Mom remembers putting her hand in her grandfather’s hand - and feeling warm and secure and loved. Harry died of TB.

Lula Maude Wilbur (August 27, 1876 - July 1954) was my mother’s grandmother. Lula and Harry had three children - Winnifred (my grandmother), Frank and Emma. Winnifred - as you have learned - died in 1922 and Frank died in 1924 from TB. Only Emma lived into her later adult years. How heartbreaking for my great grandmother.

Lula’s father and mother - Frank Wilbur and Eva Washburn - built the homestead at 13 Elm Street in 1880. Elm Street would house several generations over the years. It had 7 bedrooms, a huge kitchen, a dining room, “parlour” and den and 2 apartments on the back of the house. Lula lived at 13 Elm all her life. It is from the Wilbur/Hollister side of the family where our Christian heritage comes from. Some members of the family were the charter members of First Baptist church - Cornwall.

An interesting side note about 13 Elm. The spool bed. This beautiful bed was also built by Frank Wilbur. It had spools in each corner of the bed and they were four or five feet high. It was a three quarter size bed and many generations of the family slept in that bed. I inherited it when I was about seven years old. By then, the spools were chopped down to only 6 - 8 inches high. I could only imagine the grandeur of the bed with 5 foot spools. Such intricate carving. When I was a young girl I would twist those spools and loved the squeaky noises they made. My grand daughter, Tali, has the bed now. She is the 6th generation to sleep in that bed. Amazing.

Still on my mother’s side - this is a fascinating fact that I learned from my sister. We can date our family history back to the early to mid 1700’s. Mom always said she was part of the United Empire Loyalists and she was right. This is what I found out.

William Morgan (1752-1836) was the husband of Anne Wadsworth Morgan (1755 - 1824). Anne’s father was Lord John Wadsworth (1730 -1776). (I always knew I came from royalty!) Back to William! William was high up in the 5th Royal Irish Dragoons of the British Army and he volunteered to come to America to fight the war of 1776/77. Anne and their firstborn, a son, accompanied him, first to Canada, and then he would go to America to lead his men in the fight for the United Empire. William was injured and taken prisoner before he was returned to Quebec in 1784. The British government gave them land to settle in along the St. Lawrence, first - near Sorrel, Quebec and later near Osnabrook. In 1816 he was awarded membership into the United Empire Loyalists - for himself and his descendants - that includes me. History also tells us that he was the Justice of the Peace in Osnabrook, Ontario. William and Anne were the parents of at least 8 sons and 2 daughters. Perhaps that’s where Gramma Alice got the gene to have a large family herself! Anne died on September 9, 1824, in Osnabrook, and was buried at Upper Canada Village. So there you go. Next time I go to Upper Canada Village, I intend to look up her grave.

More about Pliny. Pliny John Fetterly was born in Chesterville, Ontario and was the son of Adam C Fetterly (a teacher) and Mary Ann Casselman. Grandpa Pliny was a veteran of the first world war, regimental no. 410946, a private of the 59th Battalion. He landed in France on August 13, 1916 and he was wounded on or about September 2, 1918. After Winnifred died in 1922, Pliny signed his two girls over to their maternal grandparents and left Cornwall. He went on to marry a woman named Gladys and have a second family with her. I only remember meeting him once before he died in 1970.

Stanley Charles Castle (October 13, 1889 - April 7, 1964). Grandpa Castle was born in a very poor part of London, England - Claphan Junction. He came to Canada in 1908 and his first job was a chef on the railroad. Some say he was the black sheep of his family. It would take a certain woman (Margaret Ellen Pattendon) to settle him down. Grandpa became quite a renowned chef through his life and even cooked for Queen Elizabeth at the opening of the Seaway in 1958, the year I was born. I wonder if there was a food tester. They had their own restaurant in Cornwall and it was on Second Street - Castle’s Family Restaurant. I was only six when Grandpa died. My only memories of him are that he was a small, quiet man. I don’t ever remember having any conversations with him - playing any games with him - nothing. That makes me sad!

About Margaret. Grandma Castle is the only one of the four I ever really knew. I loved her. She was loud. She was boisterous. She was outgoing. She played the piano and organ with gusto. She sang with a great vibrato - loud. She still had her English accent. Gramma was born at 62 Thrush Street in London England on December 6, 1891. I don’t know when her family came to Canada. I don’t know how and when she met Grandpa but they went on to have five sons and two daughters. Because I was a singer and a piano player, Gramma and I had a lot in common and we spent a lot of time, singing and playing together. She sang hymns and British songs and I loved it. When I was around ten years old, I was at her apartment and her wall clocked chimed out the hour. She looked at me very seriously and said - “we’re one hour closer to eternity!” Gramma was concerned about spiritual things. When I was in Junior high school (grade 7 and 8) - I often went and had lunch with her - about once every two weeks. I remember talking about her favourite scripture passages and her favourite hymns. When I was 13, Gramma had a stroke and spent the last 6 years of her life being cared for in a Senior’s Home. I visited her often. I was home from college in the summer of 1977 and was sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast with my Dad when he got the call that she had passed away. It was July 12, 1977 - Gramma was 86 years old. I loved her. I felt close to her. My middle name is Ellen - the same as hers. I knew she loved me. I was 19.

Perhaps the reason I love being a grandmother so much, the reason I love spending time with my grandchildren, the reason I love sending parcels in the mail, having them come for overnight visits, taking them on special outings, is because that wasn’t ever my experience. Someday, when I’m gone I hope and pray, my grandchildren, when asked this question - describe your Grammie - they’ll know exactly what to say.