Who Will Sing To Me?

I didn't expect it to hit me so hard, this first fatherless Father's Day. In looking through old Father's day posts I found one that spoke the words my Dad wrote me on my 50th birthday.

About a time he sang to me.

Who will sing to me this year to comfort my sad heart and tell me that "the counsel is established, ratified in Heaven and on earth" and therefore all will be well?

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On Father's Day, I want to share with you words my father wrote [in 2012]:


The morning began with laughter and chatter and then the little child ran off with Kirtan, the butler, to take Gumba and Nana [her grandparents] their morning tea. She led the way up the stairs to their room, Kirtan following with the tray loaded with cups and saucers, a pot of freshly brewed tea, a jug of scalding hot milk, a few small biscuits and some fresh fruit. This was their chota hawzri, little breakfast.

Near the top of the stairs she stumbled and fell backwards. Kirtan reached forward to stop her fall, and in the process the hot tea and boiling milk were spilt on her. 

A loud cry was heard.

Her mother and father ran upstairs and found her being held at arm's length by Gumba, her light night dress soaking wet. He did not know what to do. Her parents quickly removed her undergarments as they were sealing the heat to her skin.

Gumba and Nana were totally distraught that this should happen to their granddaughter and in their house. Kirtan was crushed as he felt that he was responsible.

The father carried her down to their room and laid her on the white sheets that the mother had just smoothed out for her. 

There she lay for a moment, in desperate shock and pain; then she said softly and yet so earnestly words that can never be forgotten: "Daddy, sing Jesus Loves Me." 

The father felt that his heart was being pulled out of his chest by invisible cords of longing and anguish. He then sang, the best he could, to this little girl who was in such great pain and shock:

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong -

They are weak, but He is strong

She lay quietly on the bed.

Wonderfully, they had a large medicated bandage that was suitable for such a burn; and then off to the doctor. Many weeks transpired in the treatment of this injury, which was oft times painful, until it was finally healed. Of course, a scar remains.

Many years have transpired since then. Calendars have been hung on the wall and taken down, and a new one hangs in its place. There have been many mornings of laughter and chatter and running to show the way. There have been days with family and friends, tea, lots of tea. There have been books and music; there have been singing and travel; there have been the Bible and Church and prayer. 

There have been burdens lifted from shoulders and hearts bowed down with despair. There has been great joy in the gladness of another and there has been deep grief in the loss of those most dear to the heart. There have been lonely hours and silent nights. There has been unknown and often unexpressed shock and pain - not the pain of burning flesh but the tearing and twisting of a wounded spirit and a pummeled heart and mind. There have been times when the only adequate prayer that could be uttered from the depths of the soul was "Oh God ..."

But there is triumph! The clock does not stay forever at midnight. There is new purpose, new beginnings, fresh hope. There have been many times when this little girl, now a woman caring and strong, has needed to hear those words, Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so ... but they were not heard; the singer was silent!

But echoing from the mountains of God and distilling like falling dew upon the waiting heart comes the sure and sweet refrain, Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so.

The daggers of doubt may shoot their arrows; the shadow of betrayal may cast its net; the poison of falsity may fill its vial. These and the ravaging hordes that follow them can never silence or change the eternal truth, settled in the eternal decree before the world and stars were hung in space, and sealed on Calvary's hill as the precious blood of the Lamb of God was spilt, that Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so.

For fifty years it has been true for this one, and praise is offered. The curtain lifts; there is silence; and then a new scene comes before us. Whatever it may hold, the counsel is established, ratified in Heaven and on earth, assured by divine omnipotence:

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong -

They are weak, but He is strong

Yes, Jesus loves me

Yes, Jesus loves me

Yes, Jesus loves me

The Bible tells me so

Allan T. Ironside

May 3, 2012

This was my father's love letter to me on my fiftieth birthday. You can glimpse the heart of this man, right from when I was an infant until this very day.

He is the person who has influenced me the most for good in my life.

No wonder Jesus Loves Me is my favourite song!

Thank you, Dad, for your great love - first for God, then for Mum, and then for your six children and now your grandchildren - which has proved to be the best teacher possible in communicating God's love for us.

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Dad loved Johnny Cash; so here's the Man in Black singing the song:

Shelter in the Storm

I had a delivery to make yesterday; as I was getting ready to leave for home, the lightning started whipping the sky, which responded by weeping with torrential rain.

Driving home, I had occasion to pass the nest. Curious, I pulled over to see what I could see.

There she was, barely moving although her body was undulating mightily. She glared at me but didn't make a sound.

She was drenched, the rain beating down on her; but her babies were safe and dry.

 

Mum and Me!

One of my great joys in this new life is seeing mums and babies from the animal kingdom together. I had wondered about posting a picture under the heading "Mum and Me!" every now and then.

I wasn't sure just when I was going to launch the segment, however - until today made it easy.

I was on the way to Red Deer and saw in a tree by the side of the road up ahead what looked like a nest and a shadow over it.

"Perhaps a bird," I mused, so I pulled over to the opposite side of the road. It was definitely a bird - an owl or a hawk, I wasn't sure. The glare of the white sky blurred my vision a little. Nevertheless, I rolled down my driver's window, tried to focus on the nest, and clicked five times.  I couldn't actually see what my camera was capturing, but at the third click the bird squawked quietly; the sound at the fifth click was akin to a shriek and was, I felt, directed at me, so I drove on ...

You can imagine my delight when I finally got to look at the pictures some time later!

Here in order are the five pictures:

Copyright 2017 Karyn C Ironside

Copyright 2017 Karyn C Ironside

Copyright 2017 Karyn C Ironside

Copyright 2017 Karyn C Ironside

Copyright 2017 Karyn C Ironside

Pretty obedient babies, wouldn't you say?! And a very vigilant mum ...

First Anniversary

Every June 10 for nine years, he planned the celebration with meticulous care. 

One year there was an Indian feast. Several years there was an Indian feast. One year he was in Hanna Alliance Church for its 75th anniversary.  Of course, he talked about her there too ...

In 2011 he brought out the family china and polished each piece of silverware by hand. We had crown roast, which he discussed in great depth with his local butcher before he ordered it. After all, 2011 would have been their 50th anniversary ...

He was her life here on earth. She was his. 

They weren't always together on their anniversaries. Work and kids perforce kept them a day's journey apart for a number of years. But she would arrange a candlelight dinner in Coonoor for herself and the children and we would get to wear her rings and talk about their wedding day.

Sometimes she would cry, just a little, before pulling herself together and finding her smile, the smile that told her watchful kids all was well.

And he would write her a very special love letter or poem in the solitude of his apartment in Bangalore.

Sometimes during those last nine anniversaries he would tear up, just a little, before pulling himself together and finding his smile, the smile that told his watchful kids that all would be well.

The one thing I really, really wanted from Dad's house was this picture of them. It's my favourite of all. DECADES after the wedding pictures were taken, they are still glowing, still attached.

Still in love.

This year, he didn't have to prepare a thing. They were together again, after nine anniversaries apart.

I know we don't know for sure what goes on in Heaven when people who have loved each other so devotedly are reunited.

But today I'd like to think that they're starting a whole new tradition. Today is their first anniversary together in Heaven - no more pain, separations, sorrow, weariness.

Here below, their children carried on the tradition: those of us who could gathered at their son's home and one of their daughters served up a Moroccan feast, complete with hand washing in warm rosewater-scented water, and music provided by another sister. Their beloved daughter-in-law made the desserts.


Grandchildren and their great grandchild, the new H.A. Ironside, were present.
 
And the love at the table was palpable.

We all knew that "they are with God, and God is with us, so they're not very far away." So we found our smiles, for all truly is well now that they are together again.

For old times' sake, another tradition:

Happy anniversary, Mum and Dad!

Cow On The 855!

The call came from Jim from up the road, early one morning last week:


"You have a cow out on the road, just near the tower!"

His fiancée was heading to work and spotted it so called him.

And off went the guys to get it back in. They found out later that another neighbour, Carla, had also seen the cow and called her husband, Steve, who promptly headed over to lend a hand ...

The first morning I woke up into my new life, I was blearily sipping tea and wondering if I was going to be awake every day at 5:24 a.m.

(Well, at least I had managed to unearth one of my favourite cups and saucers. And it was looseleaf Cream Earl Grey from a tea pot my nephew had given me ...)

The phone rang. "Coupl'a cows on the 855 ..."

I had to ask what the 855 was.

That was three years ago.

Now I know the 855 is the ribbon of road that ties those of us who live on it together. After three years I have not even met some of my neighbours face to face; but I know that if there is an animal out, everyone will make an effort to call. 

Now I know that boiling water, steeping tea and sipping it from a beautiful cup is a luxury reserved for a quiet evening when nothing else is going on. And there is never nothing else going on. A sturdy mug quickly filled with coffee is more practical and more available.

And that that cow - while a legitimate danger to itself and vehicles passing by - gives us an excuse to take a break for a few minutes and hear another voice. The cows; the weather; the road itself. When the connection is made, you don't want to hang up too soon. You don't want to cut the conversation short at the side of the road.

Other animals cross too, of course: deer, moose, rabbits, coyotes. They all make my heart pound with fear that I will hit one by not paying enough attention while I'm driving. That if I hit one I will injure it severely but not fatally - and how do you leave an animal to lie, suffering until it dies, on the side of the road? But how do you kill it, which could be the most merciful thing? I call it my Deer Fear. I have many scenarios.

There's the vehicle damage costs too. A little while ago I hit a deer, who bounced right up and kept on going; the vehicle was not so forgiving. The new grill guard and light added up to several thousand dollars, dollars set aside for something else in this tight economy ...

You wish you had someone to ask, someone to advise you as to the best thing to do.

And then, out of nowhere, someone shows up. One of those people you've made contact with through a phone call. Someone who always has time and patience and good counsel and the reassurance that all will be well. That we've all experienced a deer hit at one time or another. That the sick baby calf back in your barn you've been agonizing over has a good chance of making it. That if you need a cup of coffee, you're welcome to pop over at any time. That they are never too busy and no question is dumb. All will be well - just give it time.

And you get home to find a voicemail message from the other Jim: his branding is coming up. Oh, and be sure to bring Karyn.

In three years, I've come to realize that no one is truly self-sufficient. Cows on the road remind me of our frailty, of our need for one another.

Occasionally the cow call is the only outside contact of the day. It serves as a thread in the ribbon, a tangible signal that on this road punctuated with perpetual potholes and unresolved uncertainty, I am truly not alone.