A Fellow Traveller

Shalom    A word of Jewish origin Spoken both at meeting and parting Invoking peace, wholeness and contentment. What’s the price for peace? Being silent to “keep the peace”?   Avoiding conflict? Displacement?   Or even death? What price am I willing to pay for this shalom? Peace - At the cost of my silence? Words suppressed and left unsaid Feelings ignored, treated as unimportant Peace - at the cost of my silence? No. This is not peace - It is cowardice. The loss of self to preserve a facade of unity A victimized silence to avoid resulting anger Peace - at the cost of my silence? No. This is not peaceful - it is control; Where the price of silence pushes down one So another can be exalted. Peace - at the cost of my silence? No. I am to stand up for justice To speak the truth And offer hope for change. Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers (not the peacekeepers) For they shall be called the children of God.” Shalom - but NOT at

On January 15, 2016 I found myself at the bedside of my beautiful 23 year old niece,  looking more like a porcelain doll  than a victim of an aneurysm and car accident.  Feeling honoured to be included,   a few of us joined the doctors as observers of the detailed process  that determines that life had ceased. As the determination was officially made,  "Absent from the body, present with the Lord" came to my mind.  Bethany was no longer here.   She was truly in the arms of Jesus. Even in my grief,  there came such a sense of closure,  of release,  of love for all in the room.   This shared love we have for Bethany....... it joins us even more in her passing. Now as I begin to process life  without her exuberant spirit and energy in our home, I can say,  "Bethany, I always welcomed you,  told you to come anytime,  included you as a integral part of our family.  I only regret that I never specifically said,  'I love yo

The hooded cloak fully covers my body It is leaded and oppressive, causing shallow breathing The layers of grief are already thick, and now more? How can I bear more weight and still do life? Responsibilities weigh heavily with this unexpected sickness Someone has to step in to be caregiver By virtue of birth order and proximity I know that I'm the one How can I function with such limited strength and energy? Step by step, moment by moment I can only breathe I take the needs of each day and choose what must be done Prayer becomes a continual bantering of wonderings and listenings Gratitude for small things become the steady heartbeat keeping me alive Still the weight remains as weeks stretch to months This race is becoming a marathon, the end out of view I'm only still in the running because of the support from others The love in action of friends, giving gifts of time and self-sacrifice In a quiet moment I suddenly hear a whisper, a s