Page 42 - Presbyterian Connection, Spring 2020

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PRESBYTERIAN
SPRING 2020
presbyterian.ca
Connection
REFLECTIONS
A Mother’s Healing
Pencil People
By Vivian Ketchum, originating
from Wauzhushk Onigum Nation of Northern Ontario and now a member of Place of Hope Presbyterian Church in Winnipeg, Man.
I woke up with a sore throat one morning recently. Didn’t think much of it and went on with my day as normal. The next day the sore throat came with a hacking dry cough. As the day went on, I felt slightly fever- ish. Physically, I was not feeling well and stayed home from work. I am not the type of person to stay still and rest. After a second day of cough- ing and a dry throat, I began to feel churlish. Like a child who has been sick for two days. I began to miss my mother’s presence and how she used to minister to me when I got sick.
Memories of my mom and the wood stove that sat in the middle of the room came to mind. How when we got sick with a bad cold, that large pot of water would be put on top of the stove to ease the dryness in the air. A chair placed by the stove with a blanket to wrap one’s self in it. A hot cup of tea sweetened with milk and sugar would be given to you. Maybe a bowl of soup. Occasionally, my mom
would walk over to place her hand on my forehead, first wiping away the flour that was on her hands. The soft cool touch of my mom’s hand was soothing to me. If my coughing was getting worse, my mom would take the basin off the wall and fill it with hot water, then place the basin over another chair for me to have a steam bath to ease the coughing. It was the combination of my mom’s caring and her healing actions that was comforting when I was sick.
No matter how old we are when we get sick, we want that healing touch of our mother’s hand and her heal- ing comfort. That smell of Vicks and hot tea being given to you by your mother. What is it about a mother’s healing touch that is so comforting when we are sick? We miss it when we are older and lying in bed with a bad cold. Your mom was the only one that could tolerate your grumpy behaviour. Your endless demands for more water and requests.
As my sore throat got worse, I had to make my own tea. Make my own soup. It wasn’t the same as having my mom around. Posting my whiny behaviour on Facebook was not the same as being with my mom to complain to. I felt my sore throat and
Mae Green, the author’s mother, in a pho- to from the late 1990s.
cold lasted longer without the healing touch of my mom.
I did get better without my moth- er’s healing touch. Maybe it was the fond memories of my mom and the wood stove that helped eased my sick days, and not the cold medica- tions that I bought.
By Patricia Schneider, Forbes Presbyterian Church in Grande Prairie, Alta.
I have in my hand an old wooden green pencil. It is still in good shape, a sharp point on the lead end and a good eraser that actually erases with- out leaving a smudge on the paper.
But it broke the other day. The eraser end did not fall off for the lead is still attached; so I kept it and I am glad I did. Pencils are not easy to find anymore. We get a lot of free pens with advertising on them but not too many people give us pencils.
I feel badly I broke mine as it was made in Germany, the birthplace of my youngest daughter, but that is a story for another time.
I find that regardless of how “old” or “wise” you are, it is astounding how many errors are still a part of our lives. Yesterday I walked into a washroom without checking the door. There are such different attitudes about wash- rooms, and I am certainly not a prude, but this one seemed a bit different— a urinal and a stall. I walked into the stall and was just going to flush the toilet when I realized there was a pair of men’s shoes in view under my stall. Without a word I just walked out and headed for the main door. Next time I will check the signs on the doors more carefully.
But just because I am a bit forget- ful doesn’t mean I am not useful. I may not be the gardening whiz I was in years past, but I still know a pansy from a peony and the word “thank you” is still often on my lips. People are usually kind to little old ladies with white hair and I find that that
kindness is often displayed by the male species...maybe they once had a special grandma, who knows.
Scripture speaks of seniors many times, so even before the advent of all these well-advertised vitamins, etc., old people were still there, do- ing God’s will. And sometimes even the sad events of the past can be of help to people of today. I know there is a movement to just get rid of the past—sometimes with the attitude that those of the present will never make a mistake for the world to know about...but without learning from the past there would not be understand- ing or compassion. They are hard teachers, but the lessons learned can be shared.
Just this morning, I hugged a sen- ior who had just lost her husband. She is like a ghost wandering the hallways. I know what that is like; years of wondering where you fit in this new world of widowhood. I was where she is now, 12 years ago... I know the heartache she is suffering.
But back to the pencil... It lies bro- ken on my table, but it still writes and the eraser still works. I’m not ready to throw it out yet. I hope God feels the same way about me!
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