Winter runners…

With the return of winter, I have begun to notice “winter signs’ that make me smile and give me heart in the cold time. One of those ‘signs’ is the presence of winter runners. When I was much younger, I was a winter runner myself. In the cold and dark of a Winnipeg winter – often as cold as -40 C – I would don my gear and run for two hours each morning. I would see other runners leaving steam trains behind them as they jogged along. We would acknowledge each other with a raised hand or a wave. We never spoke: who had wind for talk? Who would breath in extra cold air? It was difficult to tell who was who, because most of us worse face masks or ‘balaclavas’ to allow us to breath without gasping in the frigid air. There was something exhilarating about defeating the prairie weather and keep up our mobility, warm within our long johns and wind suits.

Over the past few years of walking in the dark, up to 5 km each morning, I have rarely seen anyone making foot tracks in the snow, braving the northwest wind. Now and then, an intrepid dog walker, but no one else. Until a few years ago, when I was overtaken by a trio of black clad women, running gracefully along, leaving steam trails as I did of old. The first time I saw them, I was shocked! I never expected them to be there. I would see them now and then, either because they ran intermittently, or because they chose a different route. (I walk the same route each day, on packed snow or bladed sidewalk, under streetlights, so I can where my feet go, a nod to my eighty years.)

Every time I see them, they give my heart a lift. We have never spoken, at least not in winter. In summer, I call out a “hello” to them, but they rarely reply…it’s what runner do. But in winter, I lift my arm, or wave, and usually one or more raise an arm in reply. No words…no extra wind.

The other morning, after the return of winter, I was on the second leg of my walk when a figure in black tights and a fluorescent lime green jacket loomed out the darkness. Her face was uncovered…it wasn’t more than 12 degrees below the zero mark…and she had her trotting dog on a leash beside her. That was probably a wise move for a woman running alone in the dark, even at -15C. But I had the presence of mind to raise my arm in the characteristic runner’s greeting. She raised her arm in response. Just after she passed me, I heard her utter one word: “Heel!” A dog wouldn’t respond to a wave, only a word. She needed her companion to stay focused, rather then display some interest in me.

I went on my way, quite uplifted by that brief meeting. It struck me as at least ‘interesting’ that all the runners I see, especially in winter, are female. I’m not sure what that means, but it makes me smile. The “weaker sex” appears to be willing to brave the elements to maintain their fitness, or routine, or camaraderie. The males roar past in their over-sized pickup trucks, in a hurray to grab a coffee at Tim Horton’s, or hit the highway to get to the job.

Winter runners…a sign of hope that makes me smile, even in the sold and dark of winter.

The return of winter…

After a few days of sloppy snow and slush underfoot, and a warm breeze, winter has finally returned. Unlike many of my neighbors, I am relieved that it is winter once again. I like winter, especially in February, when it is supposed to be winter in northern North America. Virtually all of my “February memories” involve snow, and cold winds. In this kind of weather, I feel at home. Oh, yes, it is cold. This morning at 6:00 AM, the outside thermometer told me it was -19 C. But there was a brisk southerly wind blowing. With wind chill, it felt like -26 or -30C. My feet were cold, my hands got cold, my face was numb…but it was home: winter!

One of the other reasons I like winter in February is because “spring” in February reminds me of El Niño, the ocean wind that periodically disrupts North American weather, reminding us of the progress of global warming. I would rather have winter in February than in April, as sometime happen. That ruins trees, crops flowers…life in general, so far as I’m concerned. How about you? Do you have similar experiences where you live? Do you have similar…or opposite feelings about February weather?

Where I live, in central Alberta, in Canada – a very conservative part of the country – there are still people who question the reality of global warming. Even if they are willing to accept its reality, there are some who deny any human involvement in it. It is all just a natural process, “the way God wants it to be.”

Because of the availability of jobs in “the oil patch,” as our local people call it, many people, employed by oil companies, are paid very good salaries – often far more than they could earn elsewhere in the area. This accounts, at least partially, for the number of couples and families that “go south” each winter. A few older couples go to Yuma, Arizona, or Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for as long as three months. Most, however, make a one or two-week visit in January or February. Imagine the personal suffering they must endure when arriving home from such a warm respite to a day like today: bright, windy and -15 C!

Although workers in this part of Alberta are so well paid, I am told by those familiar with the financial field, that many, if not most, carry a heavy debt load. The lifestyle urged upon young families here involved winter vacations, “fifth wheels” – huge mobile living quarters that are hauled around by large pickup trucks - and large and expensive houses.  Affluence has its price, and when higher interest rates finally come, many of these families will be in financial distress, unable to make their monthly payments.  Another form of winter….

It’s always wiser in a volatile financial climate to live smaller rather than “large.” But that is a message that many in this region don’t want to hear.

Lent…one

Today, this column of mine was published in our local paper. In case you are unaware, today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent on the Christian calendar.

As I write these words, we are entering the Lenten season, leading up to Good Friday and then Easter. There is no doubt that our culture – whether Christian or not – enjoys Easter much more than Lent. Easter is all coloured eggs, bright and uplifting music, and flowers. For some Christians, it is a time of giddy joyousness, spring sales, and a renunciation of anything sad or mournful. Some congregations celebrate Easter with a congregational Easter egg hunt – about as far from an empty tomb, and the Christian story of the Easter drama as one can get!

Palm Sunday and the reading of the story of Jesus’ arrest by Roman soldiers, and betrayal and denial by his own people, is indeed a dark story. It is a story many feel is best passed over in silence, opting for the “Yippee!” of a shallow Easter celebration.

Many Christians believe that the whole scenario was planned by God so that some price God needed paid to himself could be repaid in Jesus’ death. However, I find it intriguing that in this story about the situation of Jesus’ followers during that time when he was hunted, and later (after the experience of resurrection), that they were hunted as criminals by the Emperor.

Jesus and later, his friends, were hunted because they were a threat to the power structures of the day! Those power structures in ancient times were called Caesar, the Sanhedrin, or less accurately “The Romans” and “The Jews.” But it was “Power” that feared Jesus and his message, regardless of ethnicity or religion. Throughout history, “Power” and “Authority” has frequently hunted down ‘freedom’ and ‘love’, in an attempt to eliminate them.

Imagine the Christian community being a threat to the same powers in our culture! Our Churches are left in peace, they are well cared for, and everyone expects them to produce citizens who are ‘nice people;’ friendly, compassionate… and peaceable. But threatening? Never! Contemporary Christians tend to bow before “Power”, to embrace its feet, or seek its benefits, to become its allies.

Unless of course, those people have listened to the Jesus’ stories more carefully, or read their Bibles more frequently and more closely. Unless they held the images of God’s Kingdom (as Jesus spoke about it), up against the daily life and practices of those we call “Power” these days. That could be City Hall… the Government … the Company… the Institution….Then we might begin to see discrepancies that might make Christians a threat to Power once again!

It’s easy to see the cracks and faults in the practice of “Power” in other places, other countries. We do, and we regularly criticize them for it. It is much more difficult and dangerous to see cracks and faults close to home. For example, our “Powers” always speak in capital letters about the importance of the Economy (which usually benefits those who are already feeding well at the trough), while at the same time, makes it more difficult for those at the bottom, or those just beginning (like students) to get a place at the communal table.

“Power” in Canada is fond of trumpeting about how free we are, and how changes are always being made to make us freer. At the same time, our elected representatives are silenced if they wish to raise embarrassing questions, or unpopular topics. Those who are forced by circumstance to use Employment Insurance to pay the rent may find themselves grilled and investigated as potential criminals, by agents of “Power”, and far fewer of them are found “eligible” than previously.

“Power” in our land repeatedly warns us about the rising tide of crime, and the need to build more and bigger prisons, even while statistics reveal that the crime rate in Canada is actually declining year by year. One wonders who will obtain the lucrative contracts to build these prisons. They would certainly be people who offer no threat to “Power!”

Now, you may have long since decided that my musings here have nothing to do with Lent, or Easter, or with Jesus and his message. But it is interesting that when He lived and spoke, Jesus made “Power” quake and rage and hunt him down to shut him up. For some centuries after his crucifixion (and his resurrection, Christians assert) their designation as “Followers of the Way” made them part of an outlawed religion. Its followers were subject to death if arrested. Only then could “Power” relax. Instead, of course, they embraced the “Followers of the Way” and helped them become Church…”THE Church.” Then everybody wanted to belong. And “Power” was threatened no more, because “Power” had encouraged the Followers of the Way to become harmless “Christians”.

I wonder…what words of Jesus “Good News” proclamation would threaten “Power” today? What would “Power” do in 2015 to those who actually became “Follower of the Way,” and acted on the words that Jesus shared with them? I wonder….

Anniversary…

February 10, 2015: a very significant day in my life so far. One year ago today, at 5:00 AM, I was lying on a gurney in the Mazankowski Heart Institute in Edmonton, waiting to be called to surgery. I waited…not always patiently…until after 1 PM before the call came. After a long trip, or it seemed to me, through chilly corridors, whooshing doors, and bright overhead lights, I was wheeled into a huge operating room.

An East Indian physician spoke to me with a warm smile. “We might have to do four by-passes, but we’ll try and do it with three.” I had only a few minutes to ponder what this meant.

I knew the operating room was huge because I have taken students into many ORs over the years, and this one was the largest I’ve seen. It was also freezing cold. Rather than cover me with a warm blanket while I waited for all the mechanical preparations to be made, a nurse popped a small, tiny pebble like pill under my tongue. “You’ll be fine in a minute.” Ten seconds passed…and I was waking up, gagging, as they pulled the long tube out of my throat. And so began the focus of these writing: recovery.

I was thinking about this as I wrestled the snow blower around in the alley. I’m not supposed to do things that strenuous with my arms, and I resolved to be more careful about where I take that wonderful machine next time. I took it too far into the alley, clearing a space for trashcans, and the drive wheels got stuck in the ruts. It didn’t seem like there was much snow on the ground, but I have learned that what looks like a little is probably more than I can comfortably do with my limitations. Therefore…any snow? Out comes the old blower, one of the best $1500 investments I have ever made.

Over the past year I have learned many things about living with this “new” condition. Perhaps the most important learning is that “recovery” is not a time limited process. I cannot say, “I am fully recovered.” In fact, the process of recovery will be my lifestyle from now on in life. You don’t come to the end of one year of the process and then say, “there…I am recovered. Now I can return to the way I lived before.” The condition of relative health must be maintained from now on. That means watching my diet, continuing to exercise regularly…daily, if I am able. I must avoid the kinds of strenuous activity about which I have been warned. Shoveling, for example, is a potentially fatal activity for me. In fact, it is potentially fatal for all men over 50 or so; a major cause of heart attacks: hence the snow blower.

The day before my surgery, one of the surgical team visited me. He came to give me one clear message: “when this is over, walking is your best friend.” I have only decreased my walking recently because I have included swimming in my regime.  Remember very clearly how the walking regime began. I was told, “Walk six minutes, three time daily.” It seemed so little. It was February, cold and snowy. I would get all dressed up and go out, timing a three minute walk, and then a three-minute return. I remember thinking, “The neighbours will think I have come out for a walk, but have forgotten something, so I have to go back for it. “ I began by being embarrassed. I was used to longer walks, and earlier, much longer runs. Slowly, my time and distance increased until the day I could walk for 75 minutes. Ultimately, I settled on one hour, more manageable in terms of scheduling.

And now it’s one year. I am still going, still watching and checking myself when I am tempted into activity that is dangerous for me. Two weeks ago, we had a “light snow”…at least it seemed light. I had given myself to push snow down the driveway if it wasn’t too heavy. No shoveling. Well, almost no shoveling. That day, I pushed, and pushed, and realized that as it piled up, there was more snow than I thought. I kept on until I finished the task. By then, I was sweating profusely, like I hadn’t sweated for years. I went inside and lay down. I didn’t feel really well until the next morning. That was the day I made the firm decision to use the blower whenever there was any appreciable amount of snow. Slow learner, I know. But there it is… still recovering, still dealing with my own stupidity, and the psyche that always had to sprint when turning the corner onto my home street after a two hour run. Learn…and keep living!

Te deum…

What? Another week gone by? Really? It was January the last time I looked! That, in fact, was the kind of week it was. Preparation for worship leadership…doing the job. Then a couple of trips to Edmonton for medical stuff, the second one involving a drive home (70 minutes) in a whirlwind of blowing snow. That ended up being a veritable storm, with visibility of just a few houses for some hours. Such an event now raises my anxiety a lot more than it used to. Since I am not allowed to shovel snow, and I seem unable to get reliable snow removal, I get concerned about how I will handle it. This time, there was enough snow that I had good cause to wheel out the big snow blower, which took care of the driveway and the public sidewalk in about a half hour. And…it was fun, with very little physical stress.

Life has been complicate over the past few days by a colleague’s father death. Her congregations are located about an hour south of me. I had to cover for her this Sunday, with only 24 hours notice. On top of that, I’ll be filling in for her for the next two week. I have been finding, lately, that preparing to lead worship and reach is taxing enough that I do it best when it is every second week. February will have me on the spot all four Sundays. More work than I like. I tried to make a start of these commitments this afternoon.

Beatrix is away all this week at a course in Manitoba. I miss her more than in the past. I think that has something to don with my depending on her to remind me of things that I forget. I spend time each day wracking my brains to see if there’s anything I have forgotten. I had one major event of this nature this week when I was in Edmonton for an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) test. I took my Kindle (e-reader) along, and somehow managed to lose it. At least I think I lost it. It might have been stolen from the car, which I left unlocked. The unnerving part is the complete blank I experience about the time I was in the Diagnostic Imaging Department. I can’t remember ever putting it down, or leaving it behind. I returned to the hospital and checked each receptionist. Nothing was turned in. Without a charger, the gizmo is useless once the battery runs down, Fortunately, I have all 63 books on my iPad, and I can read them just as well there.

This is all trivial stuff, but it’s what makes up my life these days. Hopefully my mind will turn to more esoteric material when I sit down to write again.