The Canvas that is Everyday

Today is Thanksgiving Day in Canada. We ate our turkey yesterday, and so today is given over to the happy task of left-overs, that ever important tradition of receiving yesterday’s gift, and so yesterday as gift. This seems a rather fitting motif of thanksgiving itself: revisiting in order to receive anew. As I think about this task, and turn my sights, not to the year behind me, but the week just past I am ever surprised by the convergences of joys and sorrows; of hope amid brokenness and pain.

Monday morning began with work, and the reminder that I do what I love for a living. This is no small gift. I go to work cheerfully, and although mine is not a perfect life or job, I find that my days go by with plenty of opportunity to count myself rich. I am especially grateful, this week, for my Monday afternoon class of GC 101: Christianity and Global Citizenship wherein a student spoke to the fact that the scandal surrounding football players kneeling during the American national anthem was originally a protest against racism, but has since been leveraged to different purposes for different reasons. This African Canadian student reminded me that it is easy to forget the roots of movements, and that social justice agendas, too, can be co-opted.

Tuesday is the day that Inshallah, the global choir to which I belong practiced. I have written of this choir before. This is simply a life giving moment in my week. To sing with joy and to pray for the gift of seeing love and justice meet (Psalm 85:10) is a delight. As I think back on the growth and increasing depth of this choir I am humbled to be a part of this effort to sing the circle wide.

Wednesday was a hard day, with the news that a former student – a beloved pastor of a community, as well as a husband, son, friend et cetera – was killed in a motor vehicle accident. I taught a class for our aspiring pastors immediately after hearing this news, and had to pinch myself from time to time, trying to live into this harsh reality of the death of 39 year old servant even while thinking through what it means to confess the faith onto death; and this with those who have a full life of ministry before them, a life that may be long or not as long as it ought to be.

Thursday gave occasion to take my middlest daughter out for a birthday supper in Ottawa, where I travelled for a conference. This was a special treat and also gave me occasion to meet her new kitty Willow and become reacquainted with her puppy Hazel. I was reminded that animals, in their own way I think, bear a different kind of image of God: being paw prints of divine creativity. This occasion also served as aide de memoire of the three births I attended and the happy truth that life can be ridiculously beautiful.

I was occupied with the conference Friday and Saturday, the former which gave me occasion to present a paper on “Faith, Freedom and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms (1982).” Good conversation ensued. I learned much from many very fine papers and had occasion to share a wee dram or two with Matthew, a dear friend who roomed with me for this event. On Saturday I drove home and caught the most spectacular sunset as I drove westerly. The sky modulated reddish orange over-coating a blue green canvas with gestures of clouds that floated about as leaves on water’s face. It was breath-taking and gave me opportunity to give thanks for breath.

Sunday involved church and then the happy meal that began my reflection. Two of my three daughters were home, one with a friend new to our acquaintance. The third is presently traipsing about Peru. The day involved an leisurely afternoon in our backyard with mid-summer weather in October, followed by a fine meal, a board-game and then to bed. This, with the knowledge the next day – now today – is a holiday, a holy day that may well remind me that every day is holy, hallowed by sacred sketches by the divine artist on the canvas that is the everyday.

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7 thoughts on “The Canvas that is Everyday

  1. shoreacres says:

    There’s something about posts like this that leave me a little — something. Old, perhaps. I’ve entered that stage of life where the family is gone (save one aunt, three cousins). Work is still satisfying, but anxieties about what will come with an eventual end to work and income rise more often. Friends are departing at an accelerating rate — and those of us who are left look at one another and say, “But she was only 85!”

    And yet… there still is breath, and sunset, and the occasional holiday to enjoy. Thanks be to God for those!

    • agjorgenson says:

      Yes, there is still breath and sunsets. Interestingly, the other day over coffee three of us were talking about the amazing sunset on the weekend, and after our three descriptions we suddenly realized that one of us was thinking of Friday, one of Saturday and one of Sunday. Three different sunsets, but the same really because beauty is one.

  2. Sounds wonderful, A. It’s already another Thgv – I remember your post from last yr. Peru, magnificently distant in time and culture.

  3. A wee dram or two….and the conversation that came with them. Thank you for those blessings in my month. It was great to see you!

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