Jan’s Message of Hope and Inspiration ~ StettlerLocal.com May 6, 2020

There are stories that begin with “in the beginning” … or… “once upon a time”… or (show the book which a woman from a former congregation where I served had wanted me to read at her funeral… as a story that spoke of re-birth) “on the day that you were born”.


Stories are foundational. They set the tone for remembering life experiences and passing along truths.
What’s your story, I’m wanting to ask today as we near Mother’s Day – or, as I call it – liking the use of the verb -- Mothering Sunday!?!


I was born breech. I came into the world backwards! My mom told me that “presentation” immediately got the attention of the medical team in the labour and delivery room… whereas she herself didn’t think there was much reason for such a fuss. To her it didn’t seem unlike her first time through this “gig” two years previous… on a not-so-different mid-July day.


I don’t know how old I was when mom first told me the story of my birthing day… but the way she told it continues to matter to me. In that, and many other ways, she taught me to “trust the process”, especially when my own children were on their way… (or years later when they were off on their own wondrous adventures, without me ()


As a mother, GRANDMOTHER (second time ‘round for that title in association with Mothering Sunday), great-auntie (anew this morning as my nephew’s family grew by one just this morning), church minister, and companion as we live with/through Covid-19, I invite you to honour the power you/we have in telling the story/stories -- the truth(s) of this interesting-fascinating-complex – fill-in-the-blank-and-realize-the-difference-a-word-can-make time. Hopefully, we speak the truth in love.


(A member of our congregation told me that I’ll be one of the people who’ll talk about the pandemic of 2020 in a fashion similar to my mom talking about the dustbowl of the 30s.)


How we tell the stories of those who lived, died, survived and served during this outbreak of Covid-19 will matter. The theme of Mothering Sunday can serve to frame stories of birthing and nurturing life at this time. (Here’s a parent’s story to which I was privy: (The parent’s conversation with their child went something like this…)I had no idea what was in that grade six math curriculum. I’m soooo glad that you understood what your on-line teacher was saying… I was lost. It was you who helped me figure it out. We’re such a team! High-five!)


Certainly, there are sad truths and hard facts. I’m quick to name such circumstances as “tough and tender times”. Is that what this is? Is that all that this is?!?!? Isn’t this the very time I’ve heard people getting to know strangers as friends they hadn’t met yet. Or, for example, I have a friend who’s sharing a song a day that speaks to/for her during this time. As she posts the lyric that begin the song that’s come to mind that day, it’s often taken me on a mental mapping of my own life and times. One of her recent posts was “O Happy Day”… a song that my mom asked to have sung at her funeral!


Deafness was a reality – a disability -- with which my mom lived. In these times of isolation, I’ve been thinking how her deafness imposed seclusion on her in many ways over many years. Thankfully she loved reading, especially memoirs of times to which she could relate… prairie life, one room schools, subsistence farming, the role of women in all of that.


Mom wrote some of her own memoirs. Her birth story stands out.
It was “out on the prairie” – south of Cappon, Alberta at Grandpa MacDonald’s farm on November 24, 1922 that our life began. Aunt Milly was on hand to help with the birth, which turned out to be premature twin girls born.


Sadly, my sister “succumbed” within the day, while I – estimated to weigh less than 3 pounds survived “by the heat of the oven door”… the open warming oven above the wood stove serving as my “incubator”.
We all stayed all winter at Grandpa MacDonald’s, and then by the summer of 1923 we went to dad’s homestead south and west of Acadia Valley.


Whoever was responsible for first relaying the story of mom’s birth to her gets credit for how it seemed to undergird an “I think I can, I think I can” attitude that served her well through many trying times over 94 years. Her birth having been premature made me think of Mothering as Leadership and how the one thing I’ve heard discussed this week is varying opinions as to whether the phasing in of “a new normal” regarding Covid-19 is “premature”.


Mothering/Parenting/Leadership is about roots and wings… establishing a secure foundation and allowing for the transference of responsibilities as we turn to the next chapter.
We can do hard things is a quote I just heard that’s a meaning-filled mantra for a United Church colleague. (She says it comes from a book entitled Untamed by Glennon Doyle). We can do hard things. I like it. It expresses more than certain Hallmark card sentiments… it speaks to me of responsibilities of mothering – living, loving, relating that are of God and in God for the good of all God’s children. I’ll use – We can do hard things – as a Mothering Sunday commendation/proclamation. May we believe and live into and expand upon that story!!