The Day Before

Amy and me - my very first bottle calf heifer!

Amy's waiting for her fifth calf ...

 It's Saturday morning. I am on 10 o'clock heifer check. I pull on long johns, extra layers, flannel shirt, silk scarf. An old felt hat, a gift from my sister many years ago. Grab the blanket from the stair rail in the porch: "It looks like rain," the Good Rancher had said as he went to bring in his horses.

I drive out, through the horse pasture, through the little gate into what he calls the Storm Field. It's a haven for calvy heifers and pet cows on days of inclement weather, such as this one.

It's mizzling and extremely windy. Even the crocuses are shuttered against the onslaught.

I circle the perimeter slowly, trying not to disturb these heavily pregnant mums.

Each is settled in her chosen spot.

They are all quiet.

At rest.

Waiting.

Tomorrow's the official day that new life will start to be seen, the GR says. It's the official heifer calving launch.

But it's the day before. All is quiet in this garden. All are at rest.

I back the side-by-side into an unobtrusive spot and let my mind drift back some 2,000 years ago to that "day before" where there was little to no activity on the streets of Jerusalem in honour of the Sabbath. 

Rest day.

Waiting.

Tomorrow - little do they know - will be different from any other day anyone has ever known. A massive stone will be rolled from a brand new tomb. The broken body, placed in it so tenderly by friends just days before, will not be found in the cave. 

Angels will attest.

The ladies will come. Peter and John will come. Friends walking to Emmaus in bewilderment and sorrow will speak to and break bread with Him. 

Death will have been defeated.

Nothing will ever be the same.

But that's tomorrow.

Today the sleet spits in my face.

The thunder rumbles.

We rest.

And we wait.

'Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas

On the Anniversary of Pearl Harbour

"Did you know," he said in a conversational tone, a few days ago, "that Debbie died on the anniversary of Pearl Harbour?"

The room seemed very still in that moment. 

The Good Rancher is also a Good Dancer, light on his feet. I saw him as he led his and Debbie's son's brand new mother-in-law onto the dance floor at the wedding reception.  

He can dance out of the way of bulls charging directly at him.

And from childhood he has mastered the art of dancing deftly around anything that could cause him pain.

From the outset of our acquaintance the GR has said that the past is the past; there is nothing a person can do to change it and so we need to appreciate the moment and look to the future. This year he has reminded himself more often than most. 

So in our household his simple comment that evening was something out of the ordinary, something that gave me pause.

I am the product of the union of a Baptist and a Brethren; I certainly did not learn the quick-step or the two-step, but I am very practiced at the side-step in an attempt to avert any misstep. I will go out of my way to avoid pushing people's buttons or causing them pain.

I went up to Edmonton for an appointment the next day and came home late on the 6th night. Just before I joined the checkout queue at Costco - a must-stop for people who dwell far away from the purchase of even a jug of milk - I impulsively swung by the florist corner. Every instinct inside me screamed, "Leave it alone. Don't intrude. Respect privacy. Don't be pushy." 

I selected a bouquet of two dozen ivory roses and added it to my cart.

I handed them to him when I got home. "These are for you. in honour of. Pearl Harbour. and Debbie."

We put them in water and took them down to the basement, the only place safe from cats.

December 7th was a busy day, but not in the way we anticipated. We couldn't process calves because of the snow that hit us sideways, driven by the wind that shaped those flakes into arrows of ice; so the men did some catch-up work and some planning in the shop. That evening the GR and I headed into Hanna to see a couple of people. On our way home he said, "I have to take milk out to the barn cats and then I think I'll run into Endiang." 

I heard him going downstairs.

Some time later he came home and enveloped me in a hug. "You are the person I love most in this world," he murmured. He had reconciled us both in his head and his heart.  He seemed truly at peace for the first time in a year and a half.

The next day I took coffee and doughnuts over to our gathering place behind the bale stacks. I saw them almost immediately. Twelve ivory roses.

Twelve for her, left tenderly on her final earthly resting place, one for each year she has been gone.

And twelve for him here, one for each year of missing her.

There is no statute of limitation on how much grief a heart can hold, of how much loss a person can bear. Everyone sorrows in their own way and in their own time. When you're bereaved of the one you love at age 48, the rhythm of your world changes.  

And yet you can't stop, even for a day, to process this unspeakable reality. After all, the cows don't know your heart's broken. You barely know it yourself. So you have to keep going: one step after another to take, one orphan calf after another to feed, one water hole after another to chop, one load of hay after another to fork, one bill after another to pay. Repeat until the numbness wears off, until it feels like the new normal is almost normal.

But, as with grief, there is also no limitation on how much love a heart can hold. When the gift of a new love is proffered, it does not cancel out or supersede the old love. Each in its own mysterious way makes the other more precious.

Sometimes it just takes time to figure it out, how to weave the strands of the new with the old and make the fabric of a heart even stronger.

Sometimes it takes twelve years and twenty-four roses divided by two.

But it's worth it. It's worth it to be able to admit finally that "love is stronger than death."

And that "two are better than one, because ... if either of them falls down, one can help the other up." 

And that "love never fails."

And that "the greatest of these is love." 

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!

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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.

A New Day

How do you celebrate Father's Day when you've been unchilded?

When your own father and both your fathers-in-law are deceased?

There's still one father you can turn to, and that's what the Good Rancher did.

He cast himself into the care of his heavenly father, asking Him to show His love to him on this yet another sad day.

And he was not left unfathered.

The rain sputtered and spattered indecisively throughout the day; nonetheless, the gauge Sunday morning showed 9/10ths of an inch ... 

And by the evening it had quietly crept up to 1.4". 

(I have learnt that tenths matter.) 

He went to check the calf who should have died after having been attacked a couple of weeks ago by what the GR assumes was a coyote: he is recovering slowly but steadily each day, and this Father's day he seemed to have taken a giant leap forward. 

To push his heart to capacity, a beautiful foal was presented to him by Chopper, a horse others had written off as too small and not horse enough. 

Trooper is one of the most spectacular little colts in recent memory. His legs are long - almost as long as his mummy's - and yardstick  straight. He is silky to the touch, like all newborn babies are. His temperament is calm. He loves his mother, who reciprocates one hundredfold.

After church we went out to lunch with a couple of couples, both of whose kids were not close by. The three men talked of ranching and the fathers from the Bible Pastor Walter had mentioned in his Father's Day Quiz just before the sermon. Some of them had had quite a time of it!

After the Church @ Endiang service that evening we had an ice cream social: floats, banana splits, sundaes, waffle cones. Coffee and chatting. Celebrating Dads. 

It's not always easy being a dad these days, Pastor Allan had commented. And yet kids of all ages need good dads more than ever. 

So to the GR and to all those men out there who are dads or who are about to become dads, don't be discouraged; don't lose heart. Your job is to love your kids and trust God for the rest. Keep letting your light shine... 

And happy Father's Day!