In the Wake of Terror - Love?

    The terrorists who just struck in Brussels may or may not have known that their attacks were carried out during a most important week of the year.  It was the week when churches all over the planet celebrated the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

     Ironically, while Islamic terrorists proclaim the greatness of their god, Allah, true religious faith does not demand the killing of one's enemies.  True religious faith opens the door to the possibility of being a victim, not a killer. 

     That is one of the key insights to be gained by reflecting on the death of Christ who died, not flinging his enemies to destruction, but accepting the death they procured for him.

     The world he entered was much like ours.  It might not seem like it because today we have smart phones and great health care while the people of Jesus' time had no electronics and a life expectancy of about forty years.  But it was much like ours in a more fundamental respect:  it was home to powers that energized and shaped the people of the time, powers that were ready to deal death to the deserving.

     Jesus would have seen the centres of those powers.  He saw the military garrison in Jerusalem that was the basis for the glorified Roman terrorism that passed for government in his time.  He saw the influence of wealth and knew where the one percent lived.  He had gone to their dinners (and typically offended the host or other guests).

     The media of his time consisted of the imperial Roman banners, the Roman edicts posted here and there, and the allocation of sites where the Romans regularly crucified rebels and miscreants.

     He also on many occasions stood face to face with the Jewish religious authorities (he himself as well as most of the earliest Christians were Jews).  They were hostile towards him, believing that he was offering a vision of Judaism which amounted to a betrayal of the faith. 

     His thousands of Jewish followers disagreed, so much so that just prior to his death his enemies were looking for the first opportunity to draw his blood but had to bide their time.  They had to calculate with care because, as the writer Luke puts it, the people hung on Jesus' words (Luke, end of chapter 19). 

     Just prior to his death Jesus came back to Jerusalem knowing that he was entering the dragons' den.  The powers of the city would see to his death by torture.  By week's end, Jesus was hunted, arrested, interrogated, tried, convicted of blasphemy and sedition, sentenced and executed.

     This would have all been forgotten except for one thing.  Within days of his death, he began making appearances.  During the next month and half or so hundreds saw him.  We ourselves would be understanding Jesus as just one of many failed devout Jewish leaders living in brutal times except for the fact of his resurrection from death.

      So, back to the terrorist bombings.  The temptation is to respond with retaliation, hatred, and fear.  But according to Guardian columnist Bleri Lleshi we must not fight terror with more terror.  He mentions journalist Nicolas Henin.  Henin was once captured by ISIS.  But he also does not advocate retaliation.  He advocates unity.

     These two are not far from the truth.  Christ is the most well-known teacher of the rule to love even our enemies (Matthew 5).  He famously stated that it is no credit to love our friends.  Everyone does that.  But loving the enemy – that is the real challenge.  Yes, it is one that tragically has not always been met by his followers.  Nevertheless the command is there, condemning those who violate it, and inspiring those who seek a new way forward. 

     Jesus taught in the same breath that we should pray for our enemies. Perhaps he suggested this because – at least this is how I like to think of it – when someone attacks me it is hard for me act charitably toward her or him.  But I can usually, if grudgingly, pray for the person. 

     A small start perhaps.  But it may change my heart, my words, and my actions.  And as Jesus said elsewhere, from a tiny seed a great tree can grow.

     Muslims, including those who strap on bombs I think, accept Jesus as something less than I do, but still, as a prophet.  Perhaps it would not hurt for those tempted to commit acts of violence in the name of Allah to give thought to the accounts of Jesus' life and teachings which predate Mohamed by 600 years.
     He was more than a prophet.  And what he introduced he presented for all.  It is not merely a religion.  It is a way of life and the only true path to hope for a breaking world.  

Owners or Tenants of Our Fragile Home?

     It is not a problem to visit spectacular nature destinations.  Take for example the Himalayas.  A web search or two with a credit card handy, a few ticket purchases, several flights, some ground transportation, and viola! you are following the lead of your Tibetan hiking guide.

     It's even easier of course to get to the Rockies, the far North, or to some of the stunning destinations on Canada's East Coast.  And when we get home, we can enjoy the sense of renewed appreciation we have for this astounding blue planet on which we live.  We might even congratulate ourselves on having a stronger understanding of the need for environmental stewardship.

     Nowadays, however, it is harder to be in contact with nature without feeling guilt.  That very trip we take to see, let's say the shores of Georgian Bay in Ontario, is one of the reasons our planet is in trouble. 

     We love travel but lacking the technology that powers the USS Enterprise's transporter, we are stuck with the primitive carbon emitting internal combustion engine.  We all probably do care to keep the Great Lakes healthy, and we all probably would like it if the 46,000 glaciers in the Himalayas were to remain in place through this century.  However, it is our very energy-intensive travel habits that, among other things, are spelling doom for these and of course, many other, natural wonders. 

     Let's consider those thousands of glaciers of Tibet for a moment.  They are the source of Asia's six largest rivers that bring water to 1.3 billion people.  No glaciers, no rivers. 

     And here is the crux of the problem for those one billion and more people.  According to the Tibet Nature Environmental Conversation Network the glaciers are receding at a rate of 7% per year as a result of Climate Change.

     It's no wonder that few of us like to think about Global Warming because the reality is frightening.  Along with this the thought of doing very much to stop the earth's atmosphere from heating up is also daunting.  We hope that by some miracle – by some combination of the rapid cessation of the use fossil fuels and the rapid increase in the development of clean energy – we will wake up a few decades from now to discover that fresh water still flows in Tibet and the Great Lakes are still home to fish and plant life. 

     We human beings are called, I believe, to environmental stewardship.  We are asked to consider that the world is created by a caring God, and that human beings are called into relationship with our environment.  The environment does not exist mainly for the profit of multi-national corporations.  It is not ours to do with as we want.  Our role is to care for, and, if necessary, to restore our environments.  We are tenants, not owners.

     The opening pages of the Bible reveal a God who gives order to the creation, allowing it to be our home.  Those pages offer a narrative that, even though it may be partly or completely symbolic, nevertheless delivers a literal and hopeful truth - that we live in a creation that offers us what we need and more. 

     Our own record of caring for our home may be poor.  Aboriginal groups tend to slash and burn.  Modern industry pillages and toxifies. 

     But still we are called upon to renew our care for the world.  Development must be done cautiously and with prayer.  We ought to manage our environments not with the goal of providing ourselves with endless enjoyments.  Instead our aim must be to leave behind a planet that our children will find a welcome home. 

For more on faith and environmental stewardship one good resource is  A Rocha  Canada at https://www.arocha.ca/.

Satan the Miracle Worker

     If you are part of a church you probably know that Easter is not far away, just few weeks.  On Easter Sunday Christians around the planet will be remembering Christ's return from death.  

     This is the greatest of the miracles claimed by the church:  the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Some don't believe it happened, that it is something that certain people (about two billion and counting) believe in, but nevertheless a certain something that is ultimately false.  

     Others see it as something that is blindly accepted.  Now, there are those who accept the stories of Christ's resurrection blindly, but the Christian traditions generally do not.  There is plenty of evidence - so much that it takes more (blind) faith to believe that he did not rise from death than that he did.  More perhaps on that some other time. 

     Neither is Jesus' rising from the dead some sort of one-off event meant to impress people into believing in him.  It is impressive, but it is not an isolated event that God produced to begin a new religion.  Rather, it is four things (at least four).  

     First, it is God's vindication of Jesus as the Jewish Messiah.  Second, it is God's vindication of Jesus's interpretation of the Jewish faith.  Third, it is a fulfillment of the pre-Jesus Jewish faith in the resurrection of the community of the faithful .  God would bring this about in due course to reveal himself to all the world as the living God of justice, grace, forgiveness and healing.  

     Fourth, it is a breaking into the world of a new thing that is yet to come, but has already begun with the resurrection of Jesus, namely the total healing of the creation, the resurrection of all persons, and the end of the reign of death over human beings (and maybe all sentient beings, but that too is another story).  

     The resurrection of Christ is the greatest of the miracles presented in the Bible.  But it is not the only one.  There are miracle stories throughout the pre-Jesus and post-Jesus parts of the Bible.  And, as might be expected, the stories of Jesus are awash in miracles.  

     These miracles are not magic tricks in the sense of making the performer look impressive.  Instead, like the greatest of the miracles, they are manifestations of the renewal that God is bringing to the human world and to the whole creation.  Hints, prequels so to speak, of what is in store for the world. 

     But here's my thing for today.  The definition of miracles that most of us work with is that a miracle is a violation of the natural order of things.  It is God interrupting the usual way the world works, his disrupting the laws of nature.   (This definition was presented by the British philosopher, David Hume, and several others.  He and people like him tend to be skeptical about a lot of things and their grumpiness towards God and faith continues to find fans today.) 

     But I don't think this is the best way to look at miracles.  Jesus did not interrupt nature when he healed those who could not walk, those with illnesses, and others who were blind or mute.  He restored nature.  

     In this way of looking at it, Jesus' rising from the dead wasn't a violation of the laws of nature which dictate death for the human body.  It was, among other things, a restoration of the natural order as it relates to the human body.  

     This means that the miracles Jesus performed are not a glimpse into the fundamentally unusual and abnormal.  Instead they reveal that what we usually take as the normal is itself fundamentally unusual and alien.  

     It is physical disease and mental illness that are a disruption of the created  world.  It is sexual abuse and addiction that are a disruption of God's natural world.  It is war and the cycles of violence everywhere that are a disruption of the proper life-affirming order of the world God has made. 

     The real miracle workers are not the Mother Theresas and the wonder-working saints of the Catholic Church.  The real miracle workers are the Adolph Hitlers, the crystal meth makers in Toronto and London, sexual predators and adventurers who could care less about the pregnancies they leave their partners to handle, terrorists (however religious they may be), and commanders of child soldiers.  Satan, not Jesus, is the real miracle worker in that he inspires and abets the continuing violation of the natural order which God has for his creation.  

     However, it is God's unstoppable intention to restore his world to what it should be.  And the resurrection of his son, Jesus Christ, is the sign-post without equal that his intentions are not in question.  One day they will overrun the creation, evicting all dark miracle workers, leaving the rest to breathe a great sigh of relief and get on with living life as God has always intended.  

Christmas at Mike and Alice's

      Hope you are finding time today (Christmas) or this week to remember the birth of the world's Saviour and that you have been well all this past year! Thank you very much to all who kept in touch with us this year by fb and other ways. And if you weren't able to, we understand. Life is (too) busy! Alice and I have had (another!) very interesting year with its share of highlights and lowsomethings … not sure whether the word here is supposed to be "lowlights" – probably not!

Milestones
      We remember most of all that this past year my mom and died: Mom in the spring; Dad a couple of months ago. These were sad losses for all of us six children and all the other family. But by the end for both of them their quality of life was gone, and I think that we were all ready to leave them in the care of God till we will see them again.

After Dad's funeral, Mike third from left with all his siblings.

      Nick became a full time student in Architectural Technology at George Brown Community College in Toronto. Yeah Nick! He is working at a restaurant to keep a roof over his head. Gwen, in Halifax Nova Scotia, is again at Dalhousie U and working at Starbucks. The Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky is still her favourite author; she loves studying his thought and its effects. Chris continues his work as a doctor just outside of Toronto!


Adventures

Alice and Mike.  That's Gwen behind the cam.

      We had some awesome family times. All five of us were able to get to the bi-annual Tacoma-rama family reunion – this time in the Rocky Mountains. Flying over Canada, driving through the Alberta prairies, through the foothills and then the mountains – amazing!  Alice and I on the way home spent a week lollygagging at Wasaga Beach on Ontario's Georgian Bay and were joined by many family members and a few friends from "former lives."


Involvements

Alice jetsetting in Fredericton.

      Alice continues to love her work as math faculty at the Nova Scotia Community College a few miles from where we live. The other day we went to the staff Christmas dinner and dance. (They had me open in prayer.) As for me, in January I started leading worship at a slowly diminishing church, Emmanuel United in the next village over, Kingsport. Somehow, things seem to be turning around. From the usual 15 on a Sunday morning we sometimes approach 50. Alice was able to start Kids' Time (Sunday School) after 20 years of there being none. We decided to have a Community Christmas Service and over 200 people came. That's a part time work for me – although it could be terrific if it became full time! So, I also took a contract chaplaincy position at a nearby youth correctional facility (a jail with lots of programs). The contract ends in March. But at this time that ministry is also going very well as far as I can tell!

      Our house in Canning got painted a soft green after many repairs to the exterior and the grading. Alice and I did lot of work to it. It's over 200 years old and hopefully this year we'll deal with the inside! And for the new year, we expect to have living us with a third cousin, or something like that – I can't really figure that one out – of Alice's. Tara Teune will move into our place for her next semester at Acadia University. She is studying music therapy. So we are sure things will be very pleasant around here for these next few months as she fills our place with music!

      God bless you all through 2013! - Alice and Mike




   

Reading the Bible with Neil Peart, Mick Jagger, and Sandy

People will often say to me that they tried to read the Bible but didn't get very far. This is totally understandable. It would be arrogant to think it is not. The writers didn't write for you or me. They were writing for people of their time. Yet, interestingly, what they said continues to ring true.

Really? Yes, and in fact that should not be very surprising. We often see this phenomenon in the history of writing. For example, Shakespeare wrote for the audiences of his time. Yet many still find truth in his words.

Yet, far be it from me to at this point to tell you to read the entire Bible. I won't ask for that much today. I will be thrilled if you, esteemed reader, for the first time, read just the first page. Genesis, chapter one. As they say, Is that too much to ask?

This is the chapter that speaks about the world being created in seven days. Therefore whenever people outside of Christian churches refer to it, they typically dismiss it. After all, no one except deluded fundamentalists takes this sort of creation mythology seriously, they confidently tell us. Believers look down at their shoes and hope not to make eye contact.

The first chapter of the Bible, though should be taken seriously as the starting point for life, yours and mine. If it is not we expose ourselves to peril. Take the opening line. It is magisterial. In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth. Think of these ten words as an announcement accompanied by thunderous fanfare – horns, other brass instruments, and percussion by the Toronto Symphony and Neil Ellwood Peart. 

This opening line firmly places God at the foundation of the world. Behold! The creator of this incredible stage, the designer of all the sets. And, although not the writer of every part of the script – as Sir Michael Philip Mick Jagger once sang, Satan too has opportunity to throw in his bits, as do you and I – God is nonetheless the creator of mind, speech, and every being, which in turn, beget more beings.

Next line. The opening scene. It's a storm on the high seas. Shape-shifting cold, dark, watery chaos. Hurricane Sandy. No place for living things. But the Spirit of God is there, hovering over the uninviting dark. Ready to energize and give order. And then, scene two, God speaks, like an ancient middle eastern king to his court. "Let there be. . . ."

Order replaces the chaos. Day and night. Sky and water. Land with vegetation. And then items to fill those places. Stars, moon, and sun. Fish and birds. All kinds of animals. And finally, as the pinnacle, humans. And to humans God says, "It's all yours! This is your home. Fill it with your tent dwelling tribes, nations, libraries, colleges, concerts, machines, and stories. Make your home even more blessed and beautiful than I have made it. Create with me. Give order to it as I have given order to it. Celebrate with me."

At our peril we forget that only God is God. Without faith in God, we place our faith elsewhere, anywhere. Where atheism grows, religion thrives. Without God we overplay the appropriate remembrance of the war dead and make a religion of the sacrifices of veterans. Without God we over-invest in ideology, placing our faith in capitalism, socialism, Nazism, revolution, the American Way, and the Canadian Way. Good luck with that. Or we overemphasize the importance of body building, individual rights, the stock market, real estate, hockey, the latest celebrity on offer, or just about anything else that moves us.

At our peril we forget why we exist. We exist to enjoy the blessings God placed on the whole human race; we exist to make our planet more and more a paradise, not an exhausted, depleted shell of its former self – which is where our present trajectory will bring us; we exist to enjoy the diverse cultures we are able to bring to life; we exist to live without fear and terror, and to live free from tyrannies of all kinds, including the tyranny of bullies who become politicians and the tyranny of modern economists who claim that they are the way, the truth, and the life.

Yes, we have messed up, as page two or three of Genesis teaches. Messed up from the beginning, all of us involved in the destruction. But that doesn't negate the other stuff, the prior things, the first things. In fact, they will never be negated. Jesus Christ was born, died, and was raised from the dead to bring them back "with a vengeance." But that’s another story, though one that can only be understood in the light of the Bible's page one.

Deeds of Renown: A Tribute to My Dad

Lammert Veenema, born April 29, in the year of our Lord, 1925 of parents Michiel and Baukje Veenema in the province of Friesland, the Netherlands. Father to us six children who shed many tears in this week of farewell but who also remember his many deeds of renown.

He ate his way through many large meals provided by his wife of almost 60 years and he loved her cooking. He was the provider of many roofs over our heads, of our educations, of the clothing we wore, and of the food we ate for decades without giving it a second thought.

He yodeled his way through the forests of Friesland and Nova Scotia, and through many construction sites in Ontario. His construction supervisors would ask him to yodel to announce coffee break and lunch time. 

When Dad was just 13 he would walk and bike to a rowboat, row down a canal in Friesland, and then disembark to take the bike yet many more kilometers to his place of work. Also in his early years, Dad was an artist. We kids still keep copies of his beautiful ink sketches in our homes. Sketches of windmills, winter scenes, fields, and woodlands.

Dad was the famed Nickel Man of the landscaping industry in the 1970s for he received five cents for each roll of sod he planted. In one day he would lay down the equivalent of a football field of sod, and no doubt that grass continues to grow today in backyards from Ancaster to Windsor. He was the constructor of the vast Century 21 Tower in the downtown core of Hamilton and of many lesser buildings throughout southern Ontario. People still walk, and cars still park, on the concrete he poured.

Dad sat us six kids on his knees, and if it were possible, he would have held us there all at the same time, and if it were possible he would have had six more. We kids, sitting on the top of his foot, would hang on to his leg as he would bestride the living room, the hall way, and the kitchen of the house.

He was the feller of trees. Even ancient, deeply rooted, 100 feet tall willow trees were no match for his axe. Even though he downed trees, he was a lover of things that grew, and the planter of beans and potatoes, of onions and tomatoes. He was the grower of chickens and the collector of their eggs. He cared for horses and cattle. He planted flowers and cleared brush. If he had been in the Bible story of the first human when “no plant had yet grown for there was no one to till the ground,” Dad would have volunteered to plant the whole world with growing things and tame every jungle. He would have had to be restrained.

He and close friend Arend Smit planted many crops in the fields of Nova Scotia in the 1950s. While we lived there Dad stripped the bark off logs destined for pulp mills, loaded barrels of apples onto ocean going vessels and unloaded the fertilizer they brought to Port Williams.

He was the inventor of the Man Cave. Long before the expression was cool, Dad built a shed in the far reaches of his lands in Fenwick. He would invite the men of the neighbourhood into his cave and there they would discuss politics and the weather.

Dad was a lover of world history, of Lawrence Welk, of Jackie Gleason, the antics of professional wrestlers, and of opportunities that immigration to Canada offered him. He was the reader of World War II history and of tens of thousands of newspaper articles, and the watcher of as many news shows. He was the fabled singer of the Friesian bushlands who, with his brothers was renowned in the region of Beesterzwaag for striding through the woods raising their voices together in song. He was a member of many church choirs. 

Along with Mom and several other families in Kentville, Nova Scotia, he was the founder of the Kentville Christian Reformed church. He was the financial supporter of many churches and many efforts to help the poor in Christ’s name nearby and around the world. He joined with others to found Christian Schools without government funding. Those schools thrive today.

He astounded the medical profession with his defiance. Losing his hair to malaria while in Indonesia, he grew it all back and never lost it again. He had little patience with doctors. This was probably because they once told him that after his rheumatic fever he would have to take a desk job or risk heart attack. He rose up and did hard physical work for another six decades. In truth a desk job would have killed him.

Dad was a walking telephone directory, a reader of the Encyclopedia Britannica, and the keeper of many historical facts. He was a lover of jokes, and even to the very end could manage a little smile and a funny comment to John or one of the others who was at his bedside in his last hours. Even more, Dad was lover of his grand kids who often competed for the very coveted title of “favourite.”

Many years ago, Dad and Waltje fell in love. Dad was a handsome man with a great smile who, if he had lived in Southern California, could probably have had a career in film. And Mom was a beautiful young woman with dark hair and a great love for her family. Together they survived many difficult years, and some things that were heart breaking.

In earlier years, we did not hear from Dad’s lips the expression, “I love you.” But in later decades it was as if he was making up for lost opportunities. Every visit, every phone call, would end with him saying, “I love you,” and we treasure having heard those words many times.

Dad was a confessor of his sins – something I experienced from Dad when he was in despair. He would say that Jesus Christ was his Lord and Saviour.

Dad was a servant of the most renowned of all. The Lord of Lord, King of Kings, healer of the sick, rescuer of the downtrodden, Lion of Judah, Elohim, Yahweh, Judge of the Living and the Dead, Restorer of the World, Reconciler of all things, forgiver of sins, Creator of the world, first born in the resurrection of the dead, the destroyer of war, the Good Shepherd, the discomforter of all the arrogant, the comforter of all who are troubled and reach for him, the visible image of very God, the one who empathizes and sympathizes with all our weaknesses, the Prince of Peace, and the giver of joy.

Dad is in the keeping of his Lord, Christ, till the day of resurrection when we will see him in the renewed earth. We will see him probably with an axe in one hand and a horse bridle in the other. We will see him perhaps with Mom nearby, still admiring the man she fell in love with, who provided for us all these many years.

But before we see him, we will probably hear him. Yodeling.

Remembering Mom

This is what I said at the funeral for Mom, the morning of April 23, 2012 at Bethany Christian Reformed Church, Fenwick, Ontario.

Until a few days ago, our family was eight. Now we are seven.  Mom is the first person on the Veenema side of all our families to pass away. I've been asked to share some memories of Mom and what I have done is try to put together some of the things we have often talked about when we remember the years gone by.

First of all I want to thank everyone for all you've done to make today happen. Our family is very grateful that so many of you are able to join us this morning to remember our mom and to say good bye to her. Among our family too: People flew in from far away. You took time off work. John and Demet bought Dad a very nice outfit. Barb made all kinds of arrangements for yesterday's visitation and for the services today. We're all very grateful for all that Barb and her family have done during the past ten years or so to look after Mom: countless trips to see Mom and Dad; and many, many hours of spending time with them, making sure they got to their appointments, and that they had all they needed. Reinie and John making many trips to see Mom and Dad as the months and years unfolded – spending many afternoons with our parents. And the grandchildren, often came to cheer up Pake and Beppe with a smile, a story, or a funny comment. Competing for who is the favourite granddaughter. These kinds of things are so important and all of us will always remember the kindness you have been showing to Mom and Dad and sharing with them.

My earliest memories of mom are her cooking over a wood stove in Nova Scotia, and of providing us with meals around the family table. As time went on, other memories accumulated. Many of them were of Mom struggling with poor health, frequent migraines and stays in the hospital. Dad and mom left Holland for Canada right after they were married in 1952. Sometimes we would joke that they were still on their honeymoon. And in this country, they had really, two sets of children. Three in Nova Scotia, and three here in Ontario.

Many of our memories of Mom are about how she was always there for Dad and how she took care of us kids, especially if she felt we are in trouble. Of course, there are the many meal times that we remember and also the dreaded houten leppel. Mom was generous. Up until the last days when Mom was still able to have her own apartment, whenever I would visit, she would make sure that I always left with a couple of oranges, a bun, or some almond fingers. She always seemed to have on hand some nick nacks or some used things, or things she had maybe bought in a dollar store to give away in case we needed it. Later in life I wondered if this is something that her mom, Beppe Rinske, always did too – having things new or used to give to relatives who might need them. Mom was a hard worker.

I remember that in Nova Scotia she cleaned house for my grade one teacher. This would have been probably 1959. The teacher's name was Mrs. Blenkhorn. I recall that one day Mom took me along to the house. When the cleaning was done, it was time to go home. Mom and I prepared to leave by the side door of the house. But Mrs. Blenkhorn insisted, "Use the front door to go outside. It's much shorter. You will be half way home when you step out the house." I thought this was going to be very interesting. To somehow end up half way down the street just by using a different door of the house. So, I was quite disappointed when we stepped outside and, as far as I could tell, we were nowhere near half way home!

In Ontario, Mom helped us to adjust to life. She made the large yellow house near Dundas into a clean and hospitable home for us. I still love meals with potatoes, green vegetables, gravy, apple sauce and over-cooked meat best of any. Sometimes while Mom was in the kitchen preparing supper, I would sit on the counter and talk and talk about new thoughts that were coming into my mind. She just listened. I think that one the very neat life lessons Mom taught us all was that the connections between people, especially family members, were very precious. I think she must have learned this from her own parents.

I learned in later years that Mom did not attend many years of school. She was often too ill to attend classes. And my feeling is that her mom and dad were very kind and affectionate to their little girl. The reason I say that is because Mom loved and respected her mom and dad enormously. If I am right about this, it explains why mom missed her family and the Friesian village of Beetsterzwaag where she grew up so very much. I will always remember how when her mom and dad, my Pake and Beppe came to visit their daughter in Canada for the first time. The tears of reunion, letting go of all the pain of missing her parents, flowed for a very long time when they saw each other that day in 1964.

One of the things I have realized during these past years is that it is good that whenever possible, family members remain close together, to be there to enjoy happy times together and sad ones too, but mostly to do life together, week by week. This is a value that mom taught us, and we should try to live it out as best as we can.

For my mom, the modern world was not a kind place. Ships took her across thousands of miles of ocean, separating her from her village and family. Canada, a country that embraced modern ways, had too much heavy traffic, and forced Mom's children to go to schools when she would have loved to keep us home a little longer. Mom looked to doctors year after year for relief from her migraines and didn't really get that relief.

Mom was blessed with [a husband who greatly loved her. And in her last years especially she was blessed with very good care, particularly during her final years at Shalom Manor. And although her last year she never really talked much, and never walked, as children we were always grateful that the manor was there for both Mom and Dad.

Last week Barb called us all to say that mom was no longer receiving food or liquids. She said that we should all come to be with her during her final hours. On Friday afternoon we were all there. After a few hours of all being in the room with Mom, we were somehow drawn into a circle of prayer. We held hands with Mom and Dad, we sang quite a few of the old hymns that Pakke and Beppe know so well. And we prayed that Mom would soon be allowed to go to God. A couple of hours later we watched her breathing change, sometimes counting the seconds between breathes. And then there was a deep breath. Forty seconds and still no inhale. Dad held Mom's hand and spoke to her.  He lingered with Mom for a long time.

So, now she is with God, and is in peace, waiting like so many others, for the resurrection of the dead, and the renewing of the heavens and the earth.  We love you Mom. And when we see you again, all the things that we should not have not have said may be remembered but will soon be put aside and maybe even eventually forgotten. And all the things we would like to have said can be said. Mom will be healed of all that troubled her, and so will we all. And all will be well.

For a number of years I would practice guitar upstairs in my room. I think it got quite loud downstairs. Mom would sometimes say to me, "You know, your playing is very nice, but could you play a little softer?" So, this song, Mom, will be a little softer.

Now the green blade rises from the buried grain
Wheat that in the dark earth many years has lain
Love lives again, that with the dead has been
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

In the grave they laid Him, Love Whom we had slain
Thinking that He’d never wake to life again
Laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain
He that for three days in the grave had lain
Up from the dead my risen Lord is seen
Christ is come again, like wheat a-rising green.

When our hearts are saddened, grieving or in pain
By Your touch You call us back to life again
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been
Christ is come again, like wheat a-rising green.