It’s been quite a weekend! Only way to describe it was to create a neologism: … one word combining two words. SERENDINCIDENCE
serendipity (serend) … “a pleasant surprise” … + co-incidence (<co-in> incidence) … “accidental events that might have been arranged but weren’t”)
It began yesterday when I went to the shed to get the compressor to put air into the utility trailer so garden branches etc. could be taken to the recycling depot. When I opened the shed, I heard a “twittering” sound
… a bird had somehow become trapped inside the shed. But it wasn’t a bird.
It was Mama Raccoon.
I checked the shed again and she was still there … menacing, ready to strike. “Babies – she’s protecting her babies” I thought. Leaving the door open, I hoped she’d make her way out with her babies. No such luck.
I want to get rid of them … humanely … so I googled, posted on FB, made phone calls and learned a lot (!) about raccoons and how to get rid of them:
… leave door open … put bright light inside … play talk-radio (they don’t like human voices) … “disturb” their “den”
Last night … the shed door was left open … talk-radio was played, but a recent shoulder injury meant I couldn’t hang the light or move things out of the shed to disturb the “den.”
And then co-incidences: … I left my scarf in church this morning … a friend came by to drop it off … I told her about the raccoons in the shed … and that I couldn’t hang the light because of the shoulder injury.
Before heading home, she noticed a neighbour unloading his car, told him about the situation
and then serendipity … he hung the light … emptied the shed and cardboard that Mama Raccoon had used as a nest for her kits.
If the co-incidences hadn’t happened, I’d not have had the serendipitous pleasant happening of Mama and the Kits leaving. They’re gone!
And I’d never have had the fun of creating a neologism SERENDINCIDENCE.
The wise words of my parents “You were given a brain. Use it.” often surfaced throughout my life. At the age of fifteen, I decided to leave the church of my youth which seemed to expect me to leave my brain at the door. When I would ask a question I was told “Do not question” but to “read the books of our faith.” I did.
I had more questions and continued to be told “Don’t question.” “Don’t question?” Isn’t that why I was given a brain? … to ask questions
… to doubt … to consider possibilities … to challenge situations of injustice
… to think for myself … to come to my own opinion
When I became a parent. I intentionally taught my son to … research subjects … be open to learning from others … discuss what he was learning … listen to the opinions of others … come to his own independent opinion
In other words, he was raised to be a thinker … not simply go with the crowd … not simply to agree with my views, but to come to his own opinions about … what is truth … relationships … politics… religion
… abortion, euthanasia, capital punishment and more.
I like to think that … reading and doing research … becoming informed … respectfully listening to the opinions of others … discussing and debating
… and eventually coming to our own opinions is a spiritual responsibility.
We were given and gifted with a brain. Surely the Giver of the Gift
expects us to use the gift at all times and particularly in these difficult days of elusive truth.
We must seek truth. We must pursue truth, even if it alienates us from loved ones, from political party adherence, from religious tenets
Tulips are beginning to appear in fields and yards and stores and homes
like the little pot of tulips placed in the kitchen window.
As their petals gently unfolded in the morning’s light, their reflection in the kitchen window called “Take our picture!” and a smile came to my face. It was a wonderful way to begin a new day. But I almost missed it!
I almost missed that moment of awareness of … something grace-filled
… something beautiful … something holy. I almost missed it, but didn’t,
thanks to two little tulips reflected in the kitchen window.
Thank-you, Mother Nature, for this gentle reminder to … make time for
… be open to … become available for Spirit to touch my soul in grace-filled, beautiful, joy-filled, awe-inspiring, wonder-filled, holy ways.
Ever have a day when memories of someone who is no longer living, surfaced in your heart and mind? It’s not their birthday, or any particular occasion that would bring them to mind, yet you feel their presence and find yourself grateful for the ways, lessons and moments they touched your life.
That’s me … remembering my dad, Albert Edward (Eddie) Mack. Born in England in 1903, he died in Canada in 1981. He had little formal education because he had to go to work when he was only eight to help support his family. Yet, in spite of only having a grade three education, he became a voracious reader, stock broker, owner of an antiquities store, art historian and consultant to the National Art Gallery in Ottawa.
Dad was a gentle man (and gentleman!), a loving man, a kind man, a romantic … ohhhh, the love letters he wrote my mother! … and a wonderful ballroom dancer. When he would turn on the radio and take my mom into his arms in our living room, magic happened and we all knew it.
Dad was a polymath. His expertise spanned a significant number of different subject areas, thanks to his voracious reading, deep sense of curiosity, ability to reason, and eagerness to learn from others. At the same time, he was a humble man whose love of his wife, children and grandchildren (as can be seen by this photo of Dad and my son Tod when he was a toddler), were foremost in his life.
Dad wasn’t always home as he often traveled for work, but he was always “with us.” His wisdom, lifestyle, mentoring (even when we weren’t aware of it), contributed to make each of us the people we now are. When we all gathered around the dinner table, we would share how our day had gone and would have conversations about all sorts of things including ‘life after death’.”
Some religions state there is life-after-death. Some cultures believe there is life after death. Many people hope there is … in some way. No living person knows for certain. But, if experiences of the presence of loved ones, long after they have died, in ways that are not understood, is any indication, then life after death does exist.
How? I don’t know. Yet I choose to believe that when our mortal life on this planet earth ends, our spirit continues to live. And life-after-death becomes our reality. That is my belief, my hope, my prayer. And in the meantime, in the remembering of loved ones who have died, in the silent conversations with loved ones who have died, in the memories that bring gratitude and smiles and joy, they live.
The photo is of my son Tod Edward Maffin and his Granddad Albert Edward Mack. Life-after-death.
In days of uncertainty and fear
may application of the lubricating Hand Lotion of Prayer
soften hearts
and provide space for wisdom
to seep through the soul-pores of politicians
calm hearts and provide space for peace to seep through the pores of our own souls.
And may the dryness of dissension and fear and the roughness of rancour
be soothed
by the healing balm application of the moisture of
the Hand Lotion of Prayer.
When Mr. Rogers entered his tv home, he would sing “Won’t You Be My Neighbour.” Neighbour. Who is my / our neighbour? “Are you my neighbour?” “Am I your neighbour?” “Are people who live far away my neighbour?”
What about people who … have a different skin colour … commit murder … speak a different language… who are addicted … are differently-abled … have a mental illness … hold to a different political view … have vision problems … are in prison … have a form of dementia … live on the street … interpret religious teachings from a different perspective … have differently-shaped eyes … lie … aren’t in the same ‘class’ … betray confidences … and the list goes on
As the questions boiled down to one: “Who is my neighbour” this acrostic emerged from my meditation: N – Not so-close (because of separation by physical, emotional, geographical distance) … are my neighbours. E- Elderly (of all ages, religions, nationalities) are my neighbours. I – Inconspicuous (in the decision-making society because of disability, poverty, “ism,” addiction, homelessness, mental illness, terminally-ill, etc.)
are my neighbours. G – G (at the library, stores, post office, traffic, bank, garage, hairdresser, trades, schools) are my neighbours. H – Hobby friends who share my interests (in crafts, sports, recreation, volunteerism) are my neighbours. B – Born recently; born in the future <aka future generations> (of all races, religions, nationalities, countries) are my neighbours. O – Occupational (people I work with; people I study with; volunteer with) are my neighbours. U – Unaware of (the Creator, the Holy, Divine, God, By-Whatever-Name) are my neighbours. R – Related to me (by blood, marriage, law) are my neighbours. S – Society’s alienated (because of race, sexuality, religion, gender, ability, addiction, illness) are my neighbours.
If all people are my neighbours, issues of injustice, discrimination, care of the environment, abuse, “ism” will surface for me. If animals are my neighbours, issues that affect their health survival will surface for me. Native spirituality refers to trees and plants, water, environment and land as ‘neighbours.” The call to care for these has inspired and continues to inspire generations of people.
That one word … neighbour … can be a wonderful starting-point for conversation, prayer, action about … “who is my neighbour” … “how am I to treat my neighbour” … “how do I want my neighbour to treat me” … “why do I not treat all neighbours in a similar way” … “am I my brother/sister’s/*neighbour* keeper”
Ever have “one of those days” where nothing seemed to go
as you had hoped? as you had anticipated? as you had planned? Likely yes.
Me too.
On “one of those days, “I sat quietly in my special chair with gentle music playing in the background. As I tried to put it all in perspective, an image of the Milky Way came to mind, helping me not only to realize but to accept the reality that the things, people, situations, encounters, news that made that day … “one of those days” … were infinitesimal in the cosmic scheme of things.
Why did I let them bother me … so much? Why did I let them build
… one upon the other? Why did I give them power … over my thoughts Why, instead of making the time … to centre myself … to do some deep breathing … to think, pray, whisper, sing Dame Julian of Norwich’s prayer “All shall be well. All shall be well. And all manner of thing shall be well,”
did I become … more frustrated … more disappointed … more upset with each encounter, and activity, and person and myself?
It would be easy to find an excuse. But the reality is I had a choice and I had chosen to be a human do-ing rather than a human be-ing.’
So that evening I was quiet … intentionally focused on ‘be-ing … thinking that if I were blessed to awaken the next morning, I would do so with gratitude in my heart and mind for the privilege of … learning … and growing … and evolving
And every morning since that time that’s what I try to do
… even if I have been having “one of those days.”
These days, it seems as if more and more, people are experiencing
a hardening of physical arteries … when blood vessels become narrow … hardened cholesterol clogs physical systems … and physical health is seriously affected.
These days, it seems as if more and more, people are experiencing
a hardening of spiritual arteries … when minds become narrow … when hearts become hardened … and spiritual health is seriously affected.
It seems that the ‘narrowing’ of minds and the ‘hardening’ of hearts
is not only affecting the spiritual health of individuals, but the spiritual health of nations.
Oh, to return to the place where … kindness and consideration of others
… truthfulness and acceptance of differences … hopefulness and child-likeness … playfulness and peacefulness … the ability to reason and listen
are part of the daily life-experiences of adults, children, youth, elders, professionals, religious leaders, business people, politicians.
Medical professionals remind us that when life’s blood begins to clog,
physical arteries close, we become ill. We may even die.
Not surprisingly, when stress, negativity, hopelessness, despair, fear fill our thoughts, Spirit begins to clog, spiritual arteries close,
we become ill. We may even die.
But when physical arteries are open, life’s blood flows through our veins.
We survive.
When spiritual arteries are open, … compassion and truthfulness … joy and peace … patience and kindness … love and goodness … thoughtfulness and self-control flow through us. We thrive.
Winter storms have been happening and continue to happen. “When will it stop?” “How much damage will it do before it passes away?”
Political storms have been happening and continue to happen. “When will it stop?” “How much damage will it do before it passes away?”
While I don’t have the answers, I do have hope. Hope that “this too shall pass.” Eventually. Hope that “new life is on its way.”. Eventually.
This morning a glimpse of hope was evident in a pot of earth where, tucked inside were spring bulbs. Nothing appeared above the earth yesterday. This morning, a sign of hope.
How will that sign become reality … meteorologically? … politically? I do not know. This I do know, Hope is around us.
I want to see signs of hope. I want to experience signs of hope. I want to be a sign of hope.
Thank you, Mother Nature. In spite of the reality that the snow has not yet gone and it’s still really cold outdoors, three little bulbs are my sign of hope for today.
We’ve heard the expression “Have a nice day!” We’ve heard it from family, friends, store clerks, strangers. When someone greets me with it, I reply with something like “You, too” with a smile on my face.
But one day, I said those words to my employer and he barked back “Don’t tell me what kind of day to have!”And no, he didn’t have a smile on his face or a joking tone of voice when he said it. He was going to have the kind of day he was going to have, and did not want to be told to “have a nice day.”
Walking along the boardwalk, I noticed a plaque on a bench that read “Have a Plain Day.” While I just ‘know’ there’s a story to the plaque and would love to know it someday, in the meantime, I can’t help but think what response my former boss would say!
All of this brings me back to today. THIS day.
What kind of a day will it be for you? Will you “have a good day”? Will you “have a plain day”? Will you wake up “expecting something wonderful will happen” or will it be something else?
The calligraphed words by artist Trish Taylor, as she describes it, are an “as- is” early morning sketch which she did while awaiting lung transplant surgery. She made her choice about the kind of day she was going to have
Whatever kind of day each of us has on THIS DAY, may there be … a moment of peace … a glimpse of hope … an experience of grace.
© June Maffin
