The Shoebox Party of 2023

Unto us a child is born heralds the Christmas season.

But that much-lauded child had no material possessions to launch his life. His mother birthed him with the help of her husband under the desultory gaze of the animals who were sharing their shelter with these intruders. His first resting place was a manger, borrowed from the descendants of the animals he had called into being. He was wrapped in strips of cloth. Shortly after his birth his parents would become refugees, fleeing the murderous tyranny of the political leader at the time.

Who knows what could have happened to them in that foreign country had it not been for the strangers who brought gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh for this unknown little child, items that could be traded for food and shelter and tools to try to cobble their lives together again?

Those Wise Men blessing a little child in a country far away from where they lived were - at least, to my way of thinking - the founders of Operation Christmas Child!

Saturday was the day of the fourth Operation Christmas Child party the Church at Endiang has hosted for our community.

People gather things throughout the year and then start dropping their haul off a day or so before. Or if they can't bring their items in early, they might make up a box or two at home and then come to the community party to pack a few more and visit with their neighbours over pizza from the Byemoor Hotel.

Pictures are worth a thousand words, so I will let them speak for themselves, with a comment or two:

To get the piles of stuff sorted properly, you need a good organiser. Check.

To get the fiddly details set up so that people can grab the essentials they need to place in each shoebox, you have to have someone very practical and able to discern what is universally important for each box to contain. For example, do we have labels and elastic bands? Check.

To get the items inside the boxes we need two people who actually think OUTSIDE the box and can pass their vision and their guidance to kids and first-time packers. Oh, and they need to be willing actually to put together 100 cardboard shoeboxes. Oh, AND be the Welcome Committee. Check.

But to get it all done, we needed YOU! And you came out in spades.

The first shoebox each year is always a Big Deal. Here is this year's, along with our first donation of the day. It showed up at about 9:30 - we didn't open for business till 2:00! Mr July himself and his biggest fan dropped it off and stayed for a short visit.

Then came a fairly steady stream of people who wanted to drop off items or donations toward the processing and shipping of the boxes. Each box takes $10 - this covers the basic boxes and the cartons that all the boxes are transported in; and for each box to go through various checks at the collection centre in Calgary to make sure there is nothing that is on the DO NOT PACK list, and to make sure that each box has enough in it to delight a child's heart. Of course, there's the substantial overseas transport cost itself.

Last year we decided also to make up care bags for needy kids in Stettler. The Stettler Family and Community Support Services distributed them for us. This year we collected lots of things, as well as a small quantity of food items for kids who might need a boost for school lunches or even some cereal in the morning before going to school.

The first kid arrived and we put her to work. The next thing you know, the animals who had tickets to Stettler were having a party ...

Soon the doors opened and the party officially started!

ko

It's always good to see the men do what they do best 🤣🤗 ... There's no denying they missed their friend Lyn this year.

I didn't get pictures of everyone, and for that I'm so sorry. It was a joy to see our big-hearted kids trying to picture the kid who would receive the box, and to fill it accordingly.

The Stettler Tables - thick socks, hoodies, mitts and toques are warmly received:

The completed shoebox pile grew rapidly.

Just after 4 o'clock, pizza delivery!

But first the kids took all the boxes upstairs so that at Sunday night's service we could have a special prayer for them and the children who would receive them.

A quick calculation told us that we had used one full carton of the red and green cardboard boxes (100 boxes per carton), plus 42 plastic boxes.

142 boxes!! ❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

That night I counted the donations that had poured in. Thanks to your generosity, we had received $1,390 - only three shoeboxes short!

Shortly after midnight my phone lit up. A message came in from Vancouver, e-transfering $120 to help with postage.

$1,510! Wow!!

The next night at church Kurt led us in a prayer of blessing for the shoeboxes. Kurt himself has been overseas to deliver shoeboxes and has seen firsthand the joy on kids' faces when they receive their own box.

After the service we put the shoeboxes into larger cartons ready for shipping. This year the boxes from Canada are going to Nicaragua, El Salvador, Costa Rica, Senegal, Gambia, Sierra-Leone, Guinea-Bissau, the Philippines; and certain areas were asked to do boxes for the Ukraine. Last year more than 415,000 shoeboxes were sent from Canada; 10.5 MILLION were sent out globally.

Pastor Allan had brought five boxes that had missed the cut in Big Valley. The money for these shoeboxes had gotten left behind. "No worries," I said. "We have some extra money!"

Our total was now 147!

As we loaded we counted. And recounted. And then counted again, just to make sure.

151. 151. 151.

Then we remembered the four completed boxes that had been brought to the Hall. We hadn't thought of them when we did the quick 100-box count!

We did a quick calculation. 151 boxes at $10 a box = $1,510.

$1,510.

$1,510?!

Is it just me, or did anyone else get goosebumps?! I think Jesus, who loves kids, has got His eye on the shoeboxes from Endmoor, and He will see to it that His little children who receive them will know that someone in Canada loves them; even more importantly, that HE loves them.

Monday afternoon I shot into Stettler with the items for FCSS. Once again, Deanna beat me to it and had brought up all but the two heaviest boxes. The enormous truck cab was full to bursting, and one box had to ride in the back.

Les Stulberg, our Stettler County No. 6 Councilor, met me at the offices at 4 pm. He's on the FCSS Board, and they were going to have a meeting at 4:30, so the timing couldn't be better that both of us could be in Stettler then.

While Executive Director Shelly held the door, Les and the staff carried everything in.

It was wonderful to talk with Shelly and Les and see their passion for people right here at home. Les introduced me to his fellow board members; and just before I left he said, "Here's a calendar for you. It's pictures of the people involved with the Stettler Society of Prevention of Family Violence. I'm Mr July."

Oh my! How many districts can say they have a calendar boy as their Councilor??!!

As I drove back to Endiang, I couldn't help think of the words of Jesus: "Truly I say to you, in as much as you [showed kindness] to the least of my brothers and sisters, you did it to me."

And I wondered if, while He was saying those words, He was thinking of those wise men from so far away who showed such great kindness to an infant on that extraordinary day.

Knowing Alice

We did not go to Brooks this afternoon. 

Two days before Mother's Day, Alice's three boys tenderly laid her earthly remains to rest.

She had lived a long life, and the three she loved the most were here, together, to honour that love.

Saying goodbye is never easy; but in the Age of Corona it is even harder. 

For the last few weeks of her life she was allowed no visitors, she who loved people and enjoyed nothing more than being with those she loved.

But on what turned out to be her last day we were permitted to go see her and those who were able, went.

The Good Rancher and I were so privileged to be with her into the night, keeping vigil over her, listening to her regular breathing, her occasional stirring.

As I sat and watched a son's love for his mother, I yearned once again to have really known Alice. 

She was already deep into the mists of dementia when I met her. I was never able to ask her what he was like as a baby, a tiny child, a teenager. How she felt when he went away to college, when he married his beautiful Debbie, when they moved north ... 

What it was like to be a wife and mother under very hard conditions - almost a pioneer woman ... 

To find out how her faith burned bright throughout, and how she instilled that faith into her youngest son ... 

To pick her brain on how to be a good wife to a rancher. How to be a good wife to the Good Rancher. 

And then I recollected the third time he took me to see his mom. It was kind of a sleepy day for her, but we had just become engaged and she was the one he wanted to tell. 

"Mom? I have some news."

She was sitting in her wheelchair directly in front of me, knee to knee, holding my hands and playing with my rings. She didn't look up. 

"I asked her to marry me and she said yes! Mom, we're getting married!" 

She continued to fiddle with my fingers. 

With a burst of anguish he leaned over her and gently grasped her forearm. "Oh Mom, I wish I knew if you understood me ..."

Suddenly she sat up straight, looked at him, looked at me. She took my hand and pushed it over to his on her arm. "Shouldn't you be playing with him now?" she asked, and giggled. 

She understood. 

And that would be the one clear sentence she ever spoke to me. 

We babbled together a lot in subsequent visits — I am quite a babbler, and in those days she was quite a babbler and somehow I think we connected. I like to think our spirits forged an understanding. 

The GR and I married on Valentine's Day; and on February 15th we drove to Brooks, to her home, carrying a layer of the wedding cake and some of the flowers, and wearing our wedding attire. 

When the wonderful caregivers at Sunrise heard what was going on, they put a pretty blouse on Alice and a swipe of lipstick and did her hair, threading it through with my wedding tiara. Then they took pictures of the three of us - which to my deep sorrow, I cannot find - and escorted us down to the dining hall. Everyone was given a slice of cake, and I played the piano while Sam, the cheerful, kindly caregiver on duty, had a "wedding dance" with anyone who wanted a wheelchair twirl around the floor! 

Wedding cake topper

Alice sat near me at the piano and kept time, smiling, the tiara fetchingly askew by now. And she loved the cake the GR fed her! 

She grew more and more silent as the years went by. I had my own quiet, blank years to contend with too; we would visit her as often as we could, and I would invariably say to her, sometimes with tears streaming down my face: "Tell me what to do. I wish you could tell me what to do..." Often she would grow still, cradling my hand in hers. On her more animated days she would do her best to tell me something I could do. She would hold my hand, look directly into my eyes with her smiling blue ones, and talk for a few minutes; she would invariably end with a chuckle. 

And though my mind couldn't comprehend, our hearts must have spoken to one another because I would leave feeling understood and consoled. I knew there was hope. 

There were two other "lasts," though of course we didn't know it at the time:

The first was her 95th birthday. I made a ground beef dish with mashed potatoes that she could easily eat; the GR's brother Max brought her favourite ice cream cake. We all sat in the gazebo in the courtyard and it was a beautiful evening. Just before she had to go to bed, we took a group picture or two. This one is my favourite — in this moment she is the sun around whom we all revolve :

The second is the last visit the GR and I had with her before lock-down. We went on a Saturday evening and everyone on the first floor was restless. Staff members were harried and residents were unnerved. 

Everyone except Alice. She smiled at both the GR and me and held our hands quietly as we talked with her. After about 20 minutes I could no longer bear the distress of one of the ladies who used to be able to sing with me, so I went to the piano.

I played for 2 1/4 hours. Music, as always, has far greater power than we anticipate. It can weave its way surefooted through tangled minds and anchor tumultuous brains. That night there was a new resident whose wife told me had been a musician. He had been immobile, silent, at his table; when he heard some of the tunes he used to play, he began unfurling from the pod of his wheelchair. He held her hand and with his other hand he started tapping his leg in time. Another lady's mom was the resident and the daughter asked me for some well-loved old hymns. Everyone enjoyed their evening snack and, when the time came, was able to depart the dining room at peace. 

As the group dwindled, the GR brought Alice to the piano. She sat right next to me and kept the beat. Her eyes were sparkling, and she was mouthing words as I sang to her. She smiled at me the whole time. 

"We don't know how long exactly, but I would say 24 to 48 hours," the charge nurse told us shortly after midnight as May 2 turned into May 3. "But if you have anything you want to say to her, I would say it tonight ..."

And so the youngest son of Alice stood by his mother's bed. He told her he loved her. He reminisced about their road trips for hockey. He told her that even when times were tough, she could always make them better. He thanked her for being a great mom. And he prayed that Jesus would look after his Mom and take her to be with Himself. 

I said to her what my Dad would have said: "I won't say good bye, Alice, because this is not goodbye. I will say 'Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning.' " Then I sang her the song our parents sang to us at bedtime:

Goodnight, our God is watching o'er you
Goodnight, His mercies go before you
Goodnight, and we'll be praying for you
So goodnight, may God bless you. 

We kissed her softly on her forehead and we crept out of her room. 

As we sat under an overcast sky, shivering in a wide semicircle around the grave of her husband where her ashes would soon also be buried, as we followed along to Alan Jackson and George Jones singing some of her favourite hymns on iTunes ... 

As her eldest son and her sole granddaughter gave the eulogy, and as we listened to the pastor who knew her so well talk about the verse that hung on her kitchen wall - and that because of this promise she never lost hope and she was always content - I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else than here for this occasion. Her last gift to her family was to bring them close together in the most peaceful setting, free from the distraction of the crowd that surely would have attended her funeral under normal circumstances. 

The family drew together. They murmured the words of the songs. They listened. They prayed along with the pastor.

And then, as the last words slipped into the atmosphere the sun blazed away the clouds. Sandwiches, all individually wrapped by the local hotel, were produced. Sweets were proferred, and hot coffee took off the slight remaining chill. 

And the people Alice loved most in the world talked. Not just the perfunctory noises normally heard at the reception following a funeral, where family members rarely even get to see each other much; but old stories, profound insights, loving gestures in place of hugs in this day of social distancing. Ties that had been all but unravelled started to be knit together again. She had ensured that the circle was, for this day, unbroken. 

Alice gave me a special gift. She died on her 62nd wedding anniversary - which also happened to be my birthday. She gave me one last link in our short but strong chain: May 3 was when I entered the world and when she left it. What a privilege to know that each year we will have that little moment of connection, this wordless celebration.

We got home that night and rushed out to feed the bottle babies - something she would have loved to do back in her day. The GR took a picture of me feeding Blind Bart; I still have on the strand of pearls I wore to the funeral. 

Somehow, looking at the picture on her funeral card, I think she would have understood. 

I am so privileged to have been a daughter-in-law of Alice. 

Fairytales

Once upon a time there was a city far away to the north. This city was so cold that for seven months of the year the snow fell and the wind howled and the people on the streets bustled to find shelter. For those seven months each year, there was just not much to do.

But in that city lived a wonderful prince who was not afraid of the wintry cold. He was offered a pair of shiny black shoes with silver blades, which let him fly over the ice at breakneck speeds. And - wonder of wonders - they fit him perfectly!

People would stop to watch as he and his friends from other kingdoms swooped and leaped and charged up and down on the biggest icy patches they could find. They grabbed sticks and hit a little rubber disc back and forth to each other. It brought the people great joy and made their winter seem less long. Crowds would gather and even pay money, which made the prince and his friends very, very rich.

The reason we know he was a prince is because legend tells us that many years ago, the prince went to the Grand Ball and twirled around on his shiny blades, the fairest of them all.

He didn't go just once either - he was chosen, among all his friends and enemies, to lead the Ball in 1984.

And 1985.

And 1987.

And 1988.

And 1990.

People talked about fairy godfathers, about magic, about destiny.

People started to expect to see him leading the pack of 30 friends, all princes in their own right.

But our prince, the greatest of them all, was growing tired. His fairy godfather was locked up in a damp, dark dungeon; and without his magical powers, the prince was left to fade back into the grey coldness of the landscape.

There was a brief moment in 2006 where he got himself to the very gates of the palace where the Grand Ball was being held, only to be turned away at the very last minute as another prince was chosen to lead the dance.

And it just got worse and worse from then on until the prince found himself living in the basement of the crumbling castle, quietly doing his duties, hoping no one would really notice how bad things had become. He wondered if anyone remembered him. He wondered if he would ever get to live like a prince again. He wondered how.

Then one day, it was announced that there was a new fairy godfather in the land! The prince timidly crept up the back stairs of the castle to catch a glimpse of the person who, it was hoped, could right the fortunes of the prince.

This fairy godfather had silver hair and steady eyes. He had no wand in his hand, but he handed a stick to the prince. "Let's get to work," he said.

(Torontosun.com)

 "Get to work?" squeaked the prince. "Can't you just wave your magic wand and make me be the greatest in the land again?"

"You are more powerful than you know," replied the godfather as he tossed a little black rubber disc on the shimmering ice. "You can do this with the resources you have within you."

"But ... but ..." sputtered the prince.

"And, no matter what happens, I am with you," finished the Fairy Godfather.

(Edmontonjournal.com)

And he was. Day after day for two years he worked with the prince, teaching him discipline, giving him hope.

Until one day, the prince realized that he was no longer in the cellar any more! Almost unbeknownst to him, he was slowly, slowly climbing up the stairs, finding his feet, realizing that he had more control.

Feeling more like a prince every day.

Then came the day that the Fairy Godfather entered the room. "We have a new castle," he announced. "We need to rise to the occasion, show that you are - once again - a prince indeed.

"It's not going to be easy," he cautioned. "More work, more discipline. Are you up for the challenge?"

"Yes," breathed the prince.

"No matter what happens, I am with you," said the Fairy Godfather.

Then, of all things, the Fairy Godfather threw the prince into a tank of sharks! And - can you believe it? - our prince beat them back, climbing out of the tank triumphant.

"In the next test you will be battling birds. Ducks, to be precise," announced the Fairy Godfather. "Ducks are tricky things. They can swim, they can walk, they can fly.

"And these ducks are very hungry. They have been starved for many years. They would like to peck out your eyes and flap their wings in your face. They would like to trip you as you move. Are you up for the challenge?"

"Yesss!" cried the prince.

And so it was that for the first two skirmishes, fortune was on the side of the prince. He beat down the ducks in their own pond. It was time to go home and wrap up this battle.

But the ducks were hungrier than anyone could have imagined. They pecked and flapped and tripped and hit and managed to triumph in both the third and fourth encounters.

Back to the pond everyone went.

And, in the nature of all true fairy tales, whenever there is a good fairy, there have to be bad fairies as well, those not invited to the Grand Ball.

Some of them showed up and started to cast a spell on our prince. They twisted and whirled about, stirring up a blinding dust, so bad that some of it worked its way into their own eyes; and when a duck caught the prince by the knee pad, pulling at it and paralysing his leg, the evil fairies could not see what had happened. Or so they said.

"Put it behind you!" urged the Fairy Godfather. "You are more powerful than those black-and-white striped, lily-livered pretenders!"

And so the prince did. In the next do-or-die meeting between the two foes, the prince attacked on all fronts. When the ice chips settled, the ducks had had their wings clipped a little and they waddled slowly back to their pond.

There was but one more meeting.

And the ducks were very, very hungry and very, very angry and very, very, very determined.

The prince started off strong, but then a duck flew out of nowhere and cast the first of the two blows that would eventually lead to our prince's being vanquished.

Even the presence of the Ghost from Christmas Past could not help them. (But that is a different story entirely, isn't it?)

There would be no Grand Ball to lead this year. The black shiny shoes with the blades of Jupiter were not to be.

All was quiet as the prince packed up for the long, thoughtful journey home.

And then came a voice through the shattering silence:

"You came far further than anyone would have expected at the beginning of this season. You are no longer in the basement - you are almost at the top.

(Torontosun.com)

"There is always next year. The shoes with the blades of Jupiter will fit you better next year."

"Keep working. Keep learning. Keep believing.

And I will still be with you. Together we will do this. Are you up for the challenge?"

"YESSSSS!" whispered the prince.

And it will be so, for indeed, one of the scribes who follow the happenings of the prince summed it up like this:

"A place which used to feel like a divine right has now been earned again."

Unless otherwise noted, (C) 2017 Karyn C Ironside