They Don't Make Them Like They Used To...

I was born to a farming family in small town Saskatchewan. I grew up in a 'traditional' home...My mom stayed at home, my Dad was happily married to her and his farming business, but probably the farm got more of his time. Us kids had a good life, there was everything we needed, enough of the basics to go around and bit more, there was love, and a gigantic ice rink every winter.

For better or worse, this was the life I left behind when I moved to the city to attend university. As one does, I met people, I traveled the world for a few years, and eventually married a good man. During this time, I often thought fondly of my parents—of how hard they worked, how generous they were, and of what an amazing family they built. More often than not, I came to the conclusion that 'they just didn't make people like that anymore.' Now, you should know that my parents not only had 16 children and a farm but they also worked tirelessly to better the community we lived in. To this day, what they accomplished in their lives seems impossible to me. 

My mom passed away when I was twelve, and I have never thought of her more often than I do now that I have my own children. I remember her to be calm, wise, and unfailingly kind. Perhaps those are memories tinted with rose-coloured glasses and god knows she's not here to set the record straight, but I'm sure I'm not entirely wrong. Recently, I was describing her to a friend who'd never had the chance to meet her and in my description I chose the word 'tireless' and again used the phrase, 'they just don't make people like that anymore.' Time and again, especially as a mom, I find myself wondering what Mom would have to say about this or that, but if she'd heard me utter those words—tireless, they don't make people like that anymore—I have a pretty good idea what she would say...

She would probably call me a 'Dummkopf,' and say something like... Of course they make em like they used to! Do you think you're any different than me? You think I was 'tireless' raising 16 kids? There's a better word for that....Tiresome. Bleeding tiresome. (except she wouldn't swear, because she never swore, But maybe she did when we were out of earshot). She'd probably tell me she got frustrated with needy kids at her legs during the supper hour, insurmountable laundry, people in the community that were difficult to work with, a marriage that required energy she lacked, and exhausted of working a thankless job.

Except of course, she wouldn't have said any of that because she knew I would figure it out.

After all, when she was a young lady, she probably thought fondly of her own parents who raised their own brood before there were even hospitals or electricity. Perhaps she counted herself lucky for the modern world in which she lived that offered her opportunities and luxuries not afforded to her own mother, and marveled that they just didn't make people like that anymore. But they did—they made her—and maybe they still do.

Perhaps after years of seeing a world my mother never got to see, getting an education that she could only have dreamed of, of working jobs that wouldn't have been available to her, knowing comforts beyond her wildest dreams, its been easy to write her off as a woman of a different time, a legend, a dying breed, the likes of which they don't make anymore. But I can see that for the cop out that it is. I'm sure if I could ask her the question that I have always wanted to ask—How did you do it, Mom?—she would just say she did her best with what time and fate dealt her. And of course, no less should be expected me. After all, when I take a step back from my own life of managing our busy family schedule, sharing my wonderful husband and marriage with a business he created, and even as I look out onto my backyard ice rink, I know we are not that different.

We will never be our parents, for better or worse, but surely they have all taught us something--whether that be lessons of unfailing patience and love or that we want to be nothing like them or anything in between. Whatever those lessons, it seems as you age, you realize just how much you share in the same humanity.    

Dad--Man, Myth, and Legend...

With Dad's 80^th birthday this year, I knew I wanted to write a tribute of some sort for him, so I made a simple prayer asking God to send me the words. As many of you will know, I have spent a lot of time writing the last few years, and as has often been the case many times in the past, God delivered the words… but for this occasion, he gave me just three—Man, Myth, and Legend.

Dad—The Man

I would like to tell you a little bit about Dad who was born the fifth child in large homesteading family in 1936. I would like to tell you that, as a boy, he was the same mischievous, hard-working person we know him to be today, but, let's face it, I have no idea because that stuff all happened before I was born. And, I'm sure any of his siblings would more equipped to provide information of that sort, So I’ll leave that to them.

Anyway, as Dad is fond of saying, “Your parents don't raise you, your kids do.” so, instead, I'll tell you a little bit about “The Man” I had a hand in raising. And Dad, “The Man” I have known for the last 35 years, I can only think to sum up in three simple values…

1. Hard work – I remember going for a run one day down correction line road, as I did many times. Dad was already living in town by this point, and I see the old Brown Ford dusting down the road, and I know I'm in trouble. Now some parents, other parents, might have been proud to see their daughter taking an interest in her health, getting out for some fresh air and exercise, but not MY Dad. The truck pulls up, “Get in,” he says, “there's strawberries that need picking.”

Anyone who has known Dad for longer than 10 minutes can attest to his tireless work ethic, if that's what one calls 80 years of devotion and long hours of farming, gardening, fixing, finishing, building, and raising a family, community, church, and so on.

Well, to this day, Dad has not actually succeeded in thwarting mine or any of his kid’s obsessions with physical exercise, but as I've grown older, I have really come to appreciate Dad's dedication to hard work. Which brings me to the second value that Dad, the 'Man' embodies...and that is

2. Generosity – All of Dad's hard work is not for naught. The fruits of 80 years worth of labour are rich and plentiful. You may ask what one does with such abundance… Well, they share it of course! Whether you’re his daughter receiving a trunk full of produce, or the Friendship Inn intaking enough garden potatoes to feed a small army, or whether you are the church basket or the new guy in town, or a stranger needing a hand with some household task, or a community member or one of the many others that I suspect no one will ever know about, we have all been on the receiving end of Dad's generousity and selflessness—A truly 'divine' quality.

3. Faith – What does my humble Dad or any of us for that matter know of faith? Well, have 16 children who you intend to raise on a farming income, and you will know faith--Faith in God's providence, Faith in the goodness of family and love, And Faith in sacrificing for others. I think I speak for all of Dad's children when I say that the gift of faith in a God that loves his children through anything this life has to throw at us and no matter where we roam or stray is the greatest gift anyone of us could hope to receive.

Dad- The Myth

Well, if you’ve lived 80 years and there isn’t a myth or two circulating about you, you’re probably doing something wrong, so I’m here to dispel a few.

Myth: With all those kids and a big farm to run, Dad didn’t have time for much else.

Fact: This is simply not true, and if you don’t believe me, just ask the Knights of Columbus, the Pro-Life Association, the local priest, or any newcomer to town if Dad doesn’t have time…

Myth: Dad was once caught throwing out a piece of rotting fruit at the Eastgate mall

Fact: The local Co-op stocks ‘cooking bananas’ just for Dad and in his 80 years not a single piece of fruit, ripe or otherwise, has gone to waste under his vigilant watch. Just as a side story, I remember walking in front of Grandma’s one day, and stepping over a little package or saran wrapped watermelon, complete with ants and such. Later, I was at Dad’s and he brings out a little plate of watermelon which I am eagerly tucking into, when he says, “Do you know where I got that?”

Myth: Years of hard-work, farming struggles, and difficult trials have left Dad a hardened man--stoic, and with opinions that are stuck in stone.

Fact: Dad unfailingly treats anyone he meets with kindness and compassion. When new people come into his life, Dad embodies the most true and pure definition of ‘acceptance’ I have ever witnessed—acceptance of different faiths, different nationalities, different walks of life, and different values. For me personally, this is one his most unique and proudest characteristics.

Dad—The Legend

Dad is a legend for two reasons:

1. I’ve never met anyone like him – The world over, I’ve truly never met anyone like my Dad. Dad does not wait for good to happen. He doesn’t cast his vote and wait for politics to achieve some distant goal. He doesn’t utter things like, “Someone needs to cut those ditches,” and then wait for Ted Gartner to do it. I’ll bet the shirt on my back that he isn’t active in ‘awareness’ campaigns or frequenting benefit banquets for newcomers to Canada. No. The banquet is in his home, THEIR home, literally. If he is ‘aware’ of some problem, some good that needs doing, Dad does it himself. He cuts the ditches, he and Rita grow food, prepare it, and share it on a near daily basis. He changes the church light bulb himself, addresses the golf-course litter problem personally, and he lends his tools, his time, even his cars without blinking an eye, even when those items occasionally return from, say, Edmonton a little worse for wear. It may seem a simple quality, but can you imagine how different the world would be if more people approached things this way?
2. He is an inspiration – For all the reasons I’ve talked about—generousity, hard-work, faithfulness, compassion, acceptance, and for any other reasons anyone else has in their hearts, I’m sure we can all agree Dad has inspired each of us in our own ways. I see little pieces of you, Dad, in all of us. Like Jesus, you are and will be a gift that keeps giving. Happy birthday and more to come.

TURN THAT LAMP ON, WE CAN'T SEE THE PUZZLE!!

Servant Leadership in our Homes

A number of months ago an academic-type friend and I were talking, and she brought forward the subject of 'servant leadership.' She fed me some garb about how 'servant leaders' seek to put the needs of others first as a way of leading and to allow others to 'share' in the power as opposed to a more traditional leadership models which see power flowing from the top-down. Anyway, my thought was, ‘Pssth. Servant leadership. This is just some buzz word that some stuffy academic invented to make him and all his nerdy friends feel all warm and fuzzy inside while they alternate between sitting in peaceful offices and taking sabbaticals.' But, for whatever reason, this notion stuck with me.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, as if often our custom, we made a trip to my family farm and childhood home for Easter. Now, I have to preface this story by telling you that I have a BIG family (I hear you, you have a BIG family too...now multiply yours by 10), and this big family of mine likes to get together for special occasions, play cards, stay up late, and, most importantly, eat a really big meal. So with that in mind, it is no small responsibility that the execution of these epic occasions inevitably falls on the shoulders of one of my sisters. Same sister every time. Don't ask me why, but it's B who sends out an email three months in advance asking which days and times work to get together for X special occasion, and it's B who, after only getting one reply, sends out a reminder email a month later gently asking the same question. After getting a few more replies, she sets a time which then, via multiple other correspondences, she then rearranges to accommodate brother so-and-so who is making the trip from Japan and can only do Saturday pm.

Fast forward to the actual day of said special occasion, and then you have the food. Well, it is B who arranges who is going to bring what (even though she will still end up doing the bulk of the work), and it is B who considers who's a vegetarian this year, and B who stresses about what the new boyfriend (allergic to nuts, wheat, and hates cheese) will eat, and B who rustles up her famous cinnamon buns because niece so-and-so has specially requested them. And then it is B, who after a great feast and with a few helping hands (we're not that terrible) keeps right on trucking until the dishes are in the dishwasher, and the leftovers are put away or sent in care packages with the starving students. Then there is a whole shitload of chaos and noise and connecting and reconnecting and love, and everyone goes home happy and renewed, unquestioning in their expectation that B will absolutely do it all again for the next special occasion.

So, I get it! This. THIS is ‘servant leadership.’ My own sister personifies it, because in the 20 odd years since our mother’s passing, there have been more than few special occasions, all of which materialized into nothing short of magic under B’s careful watch. The word ‘servant’ is entirely appropriate since, unless you count that one time we all chipped together to buy her couch, her efforts have been entirely unpaid and for others’ benefit. Though we endeavor to say our ‘thank you’s’, it really is such small words for such BIG things done with BIG heart, and since it is my firm belief that special occasions as we know them would cease to exist without her, the word ‘leadership’ is also fitting.

Sometimes greatness in life is like that corner lamp in your childhood home that you inherited from your grandparents…It’s been there so long, so steadfastly, that you forget that you are in its presence or how it illuminates all that is important and sacred in its unique light—the kind of thing you don’t miss until some jerk turns it off and everyone shouts simultaneously, “TURN THAT LAMP BACK ON. We can’t see the puzzle.” So to my amazing sister and all others like her who embody true servant leadership in their homes and families, it is an honour and a pleasure to share in the light of your greatness. Thank you… Again.

For: B