As a girl, growing up in an evangelical style church, there are many hymns that are burned into my psyche simply because we sang them week after week. They are the fabric of my soul. At the LTC home where I sang with the group, we belted out many of them. After the program, one of the nursing staff commented that I did well! That was nice to be complimented as I feel my voice is off singing through a mask! We chatted for a minute and I shared how I struggle with the language used in the old traditional hymns and how I often need to “la la la” my way through because I just cannot sing the words.
This piggy-backed on to a client I was assisting and while she was doing her business with my help getting on and off the throne, she laughed out loud. I did not comment because embarrassment often comes out as a giggle. When she was settled onto her perch, she said, “I still think in Greek! After all these years in Canada, I still think in my first language!” While it was not Greek (I use that to protect the client), she was saying how language in her mind is different than what comes out of her mouth.
This past week I was gifted with many opportunities to run/walk/hike with others. My preferred language. To be out in nature listening and enjoying the heat or the cold, the breeze and the trees and the chatter of the animals. Each outing was blessed with conversation and some quiet moments. Time well spent.
The one morning I was meeting my friend and had a few minutes to wait so I ducked into the local grocery store to grab some bananas and oranges. I was waiting, third in line, watching as the cashier scanned the groceries. I just watched the action, the technology and the others waiting around me. The cashier then seemed to be out of sorts. She was looking and looking all around her area. She then picked up the phone and called for another to come to the front. As the second employee came up the cashier said, “I can’t find the key to the terminal!” The second woman took hers from her wrist and as she put it into the terminal, she pointed and said, “It's right there!” and smiled warmly.
The first cashier was so embarrassed and struggled to recoop. She looked down the line of people waiting and blushed to the roots of her white hair and then apologetically stated, “It’s my age! I can’t see anymore!” We all laughed. She continued to struggle with her embarrassment and continued to apologize to each person. We continued to assure her in every way, that it was not a problem. She could not hear us because we were speaking a language she could not understand. The language of acceptance and understanding. In her mind, she could only hear the Greek, the language of “I’m old, unseeing and forgetful…” You add any more words that come.
For me, in all my living, I hear the Divine voice saying, “Stop, look and listen” to perfect timing. I assured her again, and I thanked her for holding me up. She looked at me strange. I said, “I believe everything is perfectly timed, and I must have needed to be held up here this morning for something wonderful to happen later! Should I have breezed through this line I might have missed something important later," and smiled.
Language, time and the human experience are all created with boots on the ground and when we choose to ignore that which holds the stars in the universal sky or the moon circling the earth or the bloom on a rose, we miss our perfect timing. As I reclaim the lyrics of the traditional hymns and revisit their meanings, I know the language in the hymns was what they knew at the time and wrote them as they believed. The woman who thinks in her first language and then translates for me to understand as she sits on a toilet is humbling and, as Danielle and I stood in the open trail and looked up at the stars in the dark of night, I am in awe how this all is beyond me, so there must be something guiding and energetically holding us dear. I’ve let God out of the traditional box.
There is an old hymn, Standing on the Promises, and the message is we are standing on the promises that cannot fail, when we are standing on the promises, we cannot fall, and when we are standing on the promises of a full life, it is ours to choose to live. While the words chosen might not fit with my theology today, I stand on the promise that as I witness perfect timing, perfection in nature and the perfect humbling of my work, I know I am standing on something firm and solid allowing me to dream.
Cynthia Breadner is a teacher, author, grief specialist and bereavement counsellor; a soul care worker and offers specialized care in spiritually integrated therapies. She works as a LTC chaplain assisting with end-of-life care for client and family. She is the mother part of the #DanCynAdventures duo and practices fitness, health and wellness. She is available remotely by safe and secure video connections, if you have any questions, contact her.
