May. It’s the time of year when many of us who have, or aspire to have, a green thumb turn our minds to gardening. Some may have already been nursing self-propagated seedlings for weeks, waiting for the right time to transplant them outside. Others make the trip to the local garden centre for flower or vegetable seedlings.
There was an interesting scene on a recent courtroom drama in which a dying, wealthy woman had taken the time to place sticky notes on precious items around her home to indicate to whom the items should go after she died. Unfortunately, the woman passed away during the night. By morning, all of her carefully placed sticky notes had fallen to the floor. Oops!
It’s time for “the talk.” You know, the one we’ve been putting off because it’s uncomfortable. That end-of-life conversation. There is, after all, a 100 percent certainty of our death. The Psalms remind us of our frailty: “Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is” Psalm 39:4 (New International Version).
“So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. . . . The sun rose above him as he passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip” (Genesis 32:24-25, 31).
There once was a congregation called Peach Blossom Community Church. It was approaching the end of the year with a significant financial shortfall, needing $60,000 to meet its annual budget. The finance committee jumped into action. Bulletin inserts used graphs and charts to illustrate the shortfall. Weekly announcements encouraged people to give generously to avoid a deficit.
Most of us are not very good at receiving compliments. A friend had just delivered a fine sermon, so I gave him a heartfelt compliment. His deflective, “humble” response was to give all credit to God. I replied, “I could swear I saw your lips moving!”
Some time ago, during a morning walk, I found a wallet a few blocks from my house. I looked around, hoping the owner might still be close by, but there was no one. Just me. A peek inside revealed a library card, a health card and $25 in bills. That was it. No credit cards. No driver’s licence. Nothing with an address or a phone number.
This past summer I had my own Diderot Effect moment. The term comes from Grant McCracken, an anthropologist who has studied patterns of consumption. He coined it from an essay written by Denis Diderot, a French philosopher in the late 18th century.
“Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver” (II Corinthians 9:7).
A will is your last communication with your family. Many of us are uncomfortable planning for our death, but the chaos, confusion and potential for conflict in families where there is no will should offset your discomfort. A properly written will explains how you want your assets distributed.
On a sunny lunch break while attending high school, I went for my customary walk into town. A classmate drove up in his shiny two-door coupe and offered a ride. Because he had already offered rides to other students, I soon found myself in the back seat beneath a pile of humanity. I panicked. I was overcome with a massive case of claustrophobia.
An early sign of spring in southern Ontario is seeing sports teams move their practices outside. The sight of children and youth in colourful uniforms on the soccer pitch is a sure sign that May is here. I am actively involved in our local soccer club and both my children have played for years. I have enjoyed watching youngsters develop their skills over time.
Helping people give money away over the past 15 years has been a tremendously rewarding part of my work at Mennonite Foundation of Canada.
Many of these generous people are from the “builder generation” (born in or before 1945). The builders I’ve spoken with give generously, value church institutions and trust the people who run them.
A number of people glanced over as they passed the elderly woman working in her front lawn. She had finished planting flowers in the garden and was now struggling to plant a sapling to replace a tree felled by a wind storm the previous summer.
“Can I help you?” offered a young man stopping in front of her house.
Sherri Grosz
I remember a special gift from my Grandpa: a $20 bill in a Christmas card. It came with one instruction: Grandpa had to see my purchase. It was a lot of money for a 10-year old! It was the first time I’d had that much money, and I was a little concerned about using it wisely. It took a few weeks to decide, but eventually Grandpa was shown a sweater and a few books.
Harold Penner
As people move closer to the magic age of 65 that society has deemed the age of retirement, they may find themselves wondering if they are ready for the transition.
