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My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 117: Four Little Words

16 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Church, Pope, Rome, spirituality, Toronto, Vatican

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camera, Church, Faith, love, pope, Toronto

Many years back, I read a newspaper account of an incident between a young girl and Pope John Paul ll.

It happened at the World Youth Day 2002 which was held in Toronto Ontario.

The story goes that it was a very warm day as many young people queued in line for a chance to meet Pope John Paul.

Present in the line was a young girl around eight years old who patiently waited for her turn along with all the others for several hours.

As she neared the front of the line her family looked on with eager anticipation, holding their cameras ready for when their little girl finally meets the Pope.

At long last, the little girl was led by the hand up the stairs and across the stage to where Pope John Paul ll was holding audience.

And finally, she was introduced to the Pope.

Everyone watched as she leaned in towards the Pope and whispered something into his ear.

After she finished whispering into his ear, he leaned back and gazed at her intently.

Then, he leaned forward and whispered something back into the little girl’s ear.

And all at once, the little girl began to weep.

She was taken by hand and led across the stage and down the stairs.

There she was met by her family as she continued to cry.

When she finally calmed down, her family was anxious to find out what the Pope had said to her that made her cry.

“What did you say to the Pope?” Her Mother asked her.

“I told the Pope that I loved him,” replied the little girl.

“Well then, what did he say to you that made you cry?” Mother asked.

The little girl answered:

“He said….

…I love you too!”

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post Eighty One: The Lord Is My Pace-Setter

11 Sunday Jan 2015

Posted by duckykoren in bible, Faith, Family, Grief, Psalms, Religion, spiritual

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Apollo, Archives, Aunts, Bible, Brazil, Faith, Family, First Lady, Grandmothers, Green, Lord, miracles, Pat Nixon, Psalm 23, psalms, Religion, scrapbooks, Tante

It’s an funny thing…

The less I look for miracles, the more I find them.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I find miracles on a daily basis. The trick is to be open to the possibilities, and then having the presence of mind to recognize a miracle when you see one.

Every now and again, my eyes fall upon a spiral bound green school book scrap-book which sits in one of my bookshelves. It is part of my grandparent’s archives which has been in my keeping for almost a decade now.

This rather ordinary looking notebook is the account of a North American visit made by my great-aunt (my grandmother’s sister) in 1972. It was during this visit that I met her for the first and only time. I was amazed at how much she reminded me of my grandmother.

I knew her as Tante Annie.

That was the last journey she made away from her home in Brazil where she spent her life working as a nurse in a seniors home caring for the ill and dying.

This scrapbook is filled with newspaper clippings, ticket stubs, letters, stamps, and various dried foliage. It is identical in nature to the scrapbooks my Grandmother kept.

This well preserved scrapbook is like a time tunnel back to the days when Pat Nixon was the First Lady, air travel was pleasurable, and the Apollo Moon landing was still fresh in our minds.

It’s unfortunate that this scrapbook is likely one of the last Earthly markers of life, as she passed away in September 1974.

Inside, her green scrapbook, I once found a colourful card cut out and carefully pasted onto one of the school-book’s pages.

It is simply titled “Psalm 23”.

This passage has been a constant denominator in my life. I have memories as a very young child whenever adults gathered to remember a loved one who has passed on these verses would be recited in unison to help battle the loss and grief.

The last time I ever saw my paternal Grandmother, Oma Schon, we read it together as we sat on her bed. I’ll never forget her tears as she closed her Bible.

The 23 Psalm was read at the passing of both my parents.

However, here is a version that I have not read before.

It goes….

“The Lord is my Pace-Setter, I shall not rush;

He makes me stop and rest for quiet intervals.

He provides me with images of stillness,

which restore my serenity;

He leads me in the way of efficiency

through calmness of mind,

And his guidance is peace.

Even though I have a great many things

to accomplish each day,

I will not fret, for his presence is here.

His timelessness, His all importance

will keep me in balance.

He prepares refreshment and renewal

in the midst of my activity

By anointing my mind

with his oils of tranquility.

My cup of joyous energy overflows.

Surely harmony and effectiveness

shall be the fruits of my hours,

For I shall walk in the pace of my Lord

and dwell in his house for ever.” *

I consider this reading passage as a gift from my Tante Annie, to be read, treasured, and to remember her by.

I hope that somehow, some way, you may find it useful too.

❤

*Translation of the Japanese version by Toki Miyashina from Psalm 23, copyright by K.H. Strange, 1969, and published by The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh

Post 71: Chaos Theory

30 Tuesday Dec 2014

Posted by duckykoren in Poems, Poetry, Religion, spirituality

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chaos, death, destruction, Faith, ferryman, Poems, Poetry, reaper, spirituality

Woke up this morning to terrible news
While I slept chaos tightened the screws
Overnight the reaper tallied his score
One thousand plus met death at the door

The whole world runs on the chaos theory
The devil revels in the chaos theory
You cannot run from the chaos theory
There’s no control in the chaos theory

Just when you think you’ve got a good bead on things
You get sucker punched just before the bell rings
I can’t say this any more clearly
There’s death and destruction in the chaos theory

The only way you can make this right
Is keep your loved ones close and say your prayers at night
It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor
The ferry man will come and settle the score

There is no reason for the chaos theory
There is no rhyme for the chaos theory
There’s no steady beat with the chaos theory
The world revolves on the chaos theory

You may wonder if God can hear your cries
The devil says no but he always lies
Do you wonder how we ever survived
Just to watch fight and pray to keep faith alive

You cannot run from the chaos theory
CNN and FOX love the chaos theory
Life is cheap in the chaos theory
There is no peace in the chaos theory

Your demons get their kicks from the chaos theory
The devil gets high on the chaos theory
There’s no out thinking the chaos theory
God says do not fear the chaos theory

He’s got this.

My.Daily.Distraction Post 47: Grandfather’s Diaries

05 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by duckykoren in Baptist, Church, Faith, Family, Religion, Theology

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Baptist, Bible, Blogging, Books, Church, Faith, Family, Journals, Sermons, Writing

My grandfather would have loved blogging

In fact there is no doubt in my mind that had the internet been around in his day, he would’ve had one of the biggest Bible study blogging sites on social media.

I know this because he was a prolific notetaker. Further, he had journals for every day, week, month and year since the 1930’s.

And I know this to be true because I am the one who now has them stacked up and overflowing in my bookcases.

In the course of writing weekly sermons for his Baptist congregations, at least three times a day he would take his place behind a large wooden desk. Then he would open his journals and Bible and then proceed to read and write and write and read.

Even after he retired, he continued his Bible studies and shared his insights as an invited guest speaker at churches.

I didn’t quite get it when I was a little girl.

Now I get it.

The fortunate thing is that he had so many journals and note books.

However, unfortunately his vast collection of notes are unreadable, they are written by hand in German, Croatian, Portuguese…

Anything but English.

I know that things happen for reason.

Maybe the notes are not for me to read.

The joy I get as I brush my fingers over the pages which held his concentration is a blessing beyond any words that a legible page of scripted ink can offer.

I don’t really have to know what written words mean, because I know how the story will ultimately end.

It’s a good ending.

And how do I know this?

It’s something my Grandfather taught me.

It’s called faith.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 8: My Mother’s Watch

09 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by duckykoren in Breast Cancer, Grieving, Loss, Religion, Stories

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Blessings, Breast Cancer, Faith, Family, Grace, grief, loss, love, Memorial, mothers, Pain, Peace, Strength, Time, Watches

I’m not one to say that I believe in ghosts.

However, I do believe in serendipity and the power of a good story.

I enjoy digging through my experiences in search of hidden analogies with the same passion that a pirate seeks his treasure.

Whereas a pirate’s treasure consists of gold silver and jewels, my treasure trove is more metaphysical in nature.

I seek redemption, revelation, and epiphanies.

When my Grandfather died, as we drove home after the memorial service I sat in the car and stared out into the night trying to grab onto a thought that would bring me peace and strength.

Imagine my surprise as we drove by a hospital with its Christmas lights still on, proclaiming the words:

“PEACE ON EARTH…”

They were ablaze in white light over the hospital portico.

At last, I found solace in the memory that “Peace On Earth” had been one of my Grandfather’s favourite tag lines which he often used to punctuate a significant moment in family life.

That being said, let’s fast forward to now.

This week marks the six month since my Mother’s passing.

Once again I found myself searching for something which would help heal the pain of losing her.

It came in the form of her watch, which is the first timepiece I’ve worn in thirty years.

I found her stoic and austere black watch highly amusing because of it’s vast contrast to my Mother’s gregarious and flamboyant nature.

Indeed, trying to reconcile as to why my Mother would choose to wear such a Spartinian timepiece has continued to be a pleasant muse for me.

Last weekend marked the seasonal “Fall Back” an hour in observance to daylight savings time.

I had resisted resetting the watch, preferring to leave it as Mother had set it last while she was still alive.

When the clocks moved back an hour I was forced to manually set it back, which consisted of first pressing down on the crown in an effort to gain control of the watch hands.

As I did so, imagine my pleasant surprise when suddenly Mother’s somber watch became alive with a beautiful green glow.

Up until that point in time, I had never seen her watch shine.

And green had always been her favourite colour too.

Somehow, I found joy, peace and strength in that very moment.

Which leads me to this:

There are those continually seek a state of grace.

And then there are those who know that they already are in a perpetual state of grace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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I.Am.Writing.Daily… Post 1: A Story A Day

01 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by duckykoren in Family, Life, Stories

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blogs, Faith, Family, Stories

image

When I was a little girl, my Grandfather who was known as “Opa” to all of his grandchildren was an excellent story teller.

So much so, that he kept a small blue notebook in his breast pocket which contained all of the stories that he had collected during his lifetime.

He had them all numbered from one to five hundred.

Whenever I had the good fortune to be with him, I would always ask:

“Bitte erzähle mir eine geschichte!”

Which is German for:

“Please tell me a story!”

Upon hearing my request, he would ceremoniously raise his arm and with his hand reach into the breast pocket on his jacket and withdrew what I considered a sacred artifact that documented all the wondrous journeys that he had experienced through his long and eventful life.

He would flip through the pages one by one and within a few moments decide which would be the story of the day.

As he tucked his notebook back inside his pocket. He would look down on me and say:

“I will tell you story number two-hundred and sixty-five.

And then the story telling would begin…

He had been a Baptist Minister and Missionary and had very nearly travelled around the world being able to speak a multitude of languages.

Each day I was allowed one story.

On a really good day, I got to hear two stories.

And of course, there were those most special of days when I got to hear three stories, but that did not happen very often at all.

And so, for the past twenty or so years, I have aspired to collect as many stories as I could and try to come as close as possible to the magical five hundred stories that my Grandfather had recorded.

And this will be my ongoing project for the next little while.

And so how many stories have I collected?

You’ll just have to wait and see.

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