The Constant is Christ

The Constant is Christ.

This past and present month have been a kaleidoscope of disjointed moments strung together like coloured beads on a string.  The only constant being "Christ".  

My eye, a video camera.  The movie plays and I hang on, having no control of the direction.  As in a dream none of the action makes any sense.  The sites are surreal and distorted, sounds and voices have no meaning.  Each scene is strange and completely unconnected to the one before.  I am led about as a lamb.  

One moment I am in a small, hot and dusty village surrounded by ragged, hungry people with their hands outstretched.  The next I'm moving through Los Vegas airport on a moving sidewalk with all the wonders of the world visible through walls of glass.  Long causeways are lined with shops and restaurants and people are stuffing things into their mouths.

I'm in a hospital where walls are peeling, people line the halls, equipment is old and patched. Patients fill the wards laying on old dingy mats.  They must bring their own sheets and food, a friend or family member must run out to buy their medicine.  It is hot and the smell is bad.  

Then I'm in another hospital, clean, quiet, completely equipped.  Patient care is controlled by computer software, nurses push laptops on wheels through the halls and provide drugs and care according to a doctors notes.  Patients lie in adjustable beds, water comes with ice, the nurses are a "button" away.  Anesthesia softens every pain.  There is a lovely room for the families of patients to wait in and relax.  It has a fridge, microwave, coffee machine and television.   Comfortable couches and books are arranged in a pleasing and convenient fashion.  

Hot and sticky, I'm driving through blue smoke with the windows wide, nine people in a Suzuki Sidekick.  Dodging motorcycles, pedestrians, dogs, chickens and potholes.  

Suddenly I'm being driven through a snow storm on a mountain road the heater on for warmth and the morning sun just starting to colour the horizon....

This past month with the loss of my mother has been quite a shock and left us feeling pretty vulnerable.  Sandy and I appreciate all the notes of support and especially your prayers.  

Thank You Runnymede, our family in Christ.

Dave and Sandy

Fair Trade - being a good steward

The Spirit has been pointing his finger at me lately.   Asking me why? questions.

Is always getting the best deal, being a good steward?

Am I thinking in terms of winning and losing when looking for the best price?

Do I fear being taken advantage of?

When I have a choice do I resent paying more than I have to?

Am I allowing feelings to influence my actions when it comes to money?

If everything comes down to saving money as the bottom line, is that being a good steward?

Am I being thoughtful enough?

We are considered by most of the locals to be "Gringos", North American or Canadian tourists.    We don't have a real job.  We drive a car.  We can afford gas.  We live in a real house.  We have a fridge and a stove with an oven.  We have running water.  We shop at the Supermarcado and eat - every day. . . By Dominican standards we are wealthy.

As a "Gringo" I'm expected to pay a higher price for everything... and I resent it.  But why?

Is it because I don't feel priviledged?  Do I think I deserve what I have?  

Why do I see no injustice if I live at a higher standard than the rest of the world?

The bible says I have a responsibility for the poor.  

So I give money, and medicine or food or clothing, 

I'm doing what Jesus said to do and I feel good about that.

But it's not the same when I attempt to make a purchase of local food or products!

Why do I resent paying someone a little extra for their products or services?

Especially since I'm still paying less than I would in Canada for the same service?  

By paying a little extra I'd be helping the individual develop a business.

(But I haven't been feeling good about that!  As a matter of fact I've been feeling ripped off.)

Funny.

Isn't accepting the 'rip-off' really the opportunity to give to the poor, to acknowledge the worth of their workmanship, and allow them to retain their dignity?

I remember Jesus said something about turning the other cheek. Or, "if someone asks you for your coat give him your shirt also"?  

Is refusing to feel "ripped off" in the same spirit?  

I realize most of you are way ahead of me on this one.  I'd like to hear what you think.

Yours in Christ

Dave Chapman

(Edited by Sandy, thank goodness)

Saying Goodbye to my Mother

Seattle Airport -Departures

My sister Denyse, brother Steve, Sandy and I left Osoyoos this morning at 8am.  

Stopped by the hospital to say goodbye to my sister Anne (who had spent another night with Mom at the hospital).  We all said our last goodbyes to Mom.  

Then we got on the highway and had a quiet drive through the mountains to Maple Ridge, and at 3:00 dropped off my sister Denyse at her home. It was then that we received the news that my Mother had passed away at 2:00.  We drove on to my brother Steves home in White Rock.  We had a quick dinner with  Steve, his wife Margie and daughter Ashley and they drove us to the Seattle Airport. (another 3 hours)

Feeling absolutely cold emotionally, drained and exhausted.  

Now we fly to Houston Texas, then to Miami and on to Puerto Plata.

We should arrive tomorrow around 1:30 pm.

At the moment I don't feel anything but I'm not looking forward to the time when it all starts to sink in.  

My mothers last hours were very difficult to watch as her physical suffering increased.  When we first arrived she was able to talk with us and her intellect stayed keen even under the effects of medication and pain.  The last few days though, she responded only with hand and body movements as verbal communication became impossible.  In the middle of it all I leveled anger, confusion and accusations at God.  It was very hard right then to accept God as merciful or compassionate, loving or kind. Why should my mother have to suffer like this?  What benefit could come?  I found my faith sorely tested as appearances did not conform to what I thought they should be.  Yet I knew how strong my mothers faith was and wondered if She was questioning these things.  She, trapped inside a cocoon of physical misery that is our mortal body, no longer able to communicate other than an occasional moan that escaped as nurses shifted her position every couple of hours to ease the pressure on bedsores.  There was no way to know as she appeared to slip beneath the level of consciousness, her lungs laboring as fluid increasingly continued to interfere with her ability to breath. 

 

Still, as the hours and days passed I felt that I  received unspoken answers to my questions and doubts.  I can't describe it logically or put it into words but peace quietly enfolded my soul.  

Unfortunately it was not so for some members of my family who's anguish caused them anger, pain and bitterness.  I had no answers to give them, nor any words that would comfort .  I could not seem to share what I had received.

And so we take another step forward, just trusting ...

Thank you for your prayers.

May God bless you and keep you.

Dave Chapman