Thoughts from Chickadee Lane

Last week David and I were thrilled to meet and cuddle nine-day old Oliver. Oliver, all legs and arms, all warmth and wonder. Like a rose bud, slowly unfurling from months in the womb.   Yes, newborns arrive every day and everywhere. Still each child is so precious and unique. To be in the midst of a newborn’s breath is to experience the power of love… to be captivated at the universal wonder of life. As a friend recently said, “You look into their deep eyes and you can see where they came from.” Caress a newborn’s head and it is as if you are caressing life itself. As if we are connecting to all that is pure and holy, connecting to generations long past. At no other age are we examined so closely searching for familiarity. We examine fingers and toes. Yes. All there. Fingers and toes that seem to have a mind of their own… as if they don’t know which way to point.   We search for family features. Dark steel eyes - must be like his father. Lose ear lobes - must be like his mother. Skin

                                                                      Holly by our door on Chickadee Lane. Christmas decorations are popping up everywhere. People are outdoors. Lights are being installed. I need this season… especially this year as I wrestle with a conflict of feelings. The images of the ongoing war in Israel and Hamas fill our screens. My heart aches at the deaths of over 14,000 people and I wonder, How can this be? Have we not learned a better way as humans?   At the same time, I can safely go to bed at night and not worry about the possibility of bullets entering my home. I can sleep soundly. How can this be?   While the numbers can be overwhelming, these days I think especially of one -   Mariam who I met in a small city near Bethlehem in 2001 while visiting her Palestinian family.   I was in Israel and Palestine with a group of Canadians attending an International Sabeel Conference in Jerusalem. It was just after the an intifada (uprising) and Bethlehem Square was

When we don our poppies on Saturday, I wonder what will we remember? I have no personal experience of war. Except through the lens of others. In her later years my grandmother, who lived with us and whose bedroom was next to mine, would cry out at night for her brother Theo McCoubrey who was killed in WW1. On a shelf in our home on Chickadee Lane sits a picture of David’s Uncle Roland Sterling dressed in his Air Force uniform. Roland was killed in WW11 in a mid air collision while training to be a Royal Air Force Navigator. (UK)   Then there are the media pictures and haunting tragic stories of the present day Israel-Hamas war and Russia-Ukraine war.. These scenes enter our living rooms and hearts and fill my senses with deep sadness and anger that war continues.  How have we not found a better way? I have neighbour’s and friends who served more recently. I see the PTSD that lingers. For me, the slam of a screen door brings happy thoughts of summer. For many that same sound sparks a me