For the summers during my time in university I worked as (what they called) a companion for a seniors home. This job entailed of visiting some elderly men and women whose family either lived too far away or didn’t have the time to visit their relative. So instead I would visit with them and go for walks, however, this job was mostly spent cleaning their homes. While it wasn’t the dream job, I didn’t mind cleaning. Put me in someone else’s house that needs a good dusting or vacuum and I cannot help myself. It’s another story when it comes to my own room though. Plus, when I cleaned I would rarely have to make small talk and could most often work in silence. For an introvert that was bliss.
I remember one afternoon when I was cleaning a sweet lady’s condo, dusting, vacuuming and the worst…toilets. (I don’t think I cleaned a toilet before this job, but man I definitely became a pro at washing toilets those summers.) I can’t remember if this sweet elderly lady was in the room or not (sometimes the residents would leave when I got there to give me space to clean, which as bad as this sounds was the best, for an introvert like myself), but there I was dusting the shelves and pictures of all her grandkids on the wall until one of the pictures caught my interest. There, in a framed plaque that I had dusted over before were a couple of medals and pins with the Nazi symbol on them.
Being a history major, I was geeking out! I had no idea what these items were, but I knew that this woman’s husband was somehow involved with Nazi Germany to some important degree cause he had medals to show for it. Oh to hear the stories behind these medals my mind was going nuts. I could almost see them pinned on uniform. Who was the man behind the uniform and what events had to occur for his medals to be hung here, in Canada, in front of me?
Although this was a highlight, there were many other encounters with the people I met while cleaning or keeping them company. And it got me thinking of the importance of story telling…the least we could do is share their story. To listen and let the experiences of another move us and transform our perspectives. Oh the simple yet power of stories.
I remember during a routine clean, the elderly woman I was cleaning for was making small talk with me as I went about my business. Sometimes all people want is for someone to listen, and that’s what I did. Imagine, this woman as a young girl walking the streets of Germany with her family when all hell broke loose.
While I don’t recall everything she said, I do remember her saying that she wasn’t as much afraid of the bombs and fighting as she was of being raped. That shook me. These people knew fear. They lost their homes and their childhoods! People like this lady are the ones that appreciate Canada the most I think. In ways that I never could. They are the ones who made Canada what it is today. And to still have faith, to still trust God, after everything they went through, after everything the Nazi’s did in the name of God… is remarkable and inspiring.
Faith like that is hard to come by these days. I’m not convinced that one must experience a world war to obtain a stronger faith, but I sometimes wonder if faith in the modern day has become a bit too shallow.
At times it’s unfathomable all that we have to be thankful for. And thats why I believe we need stories like these, to remind us that we are not the end all be all. We are a part of one greater story, and how beautiful is it that the author dreamt up the character of you. He needs you in the story just as much as the person who you are comparing yourself to, who is doing amazing things and just crushing life. You play a vital role in this story just as much as they do.
As I was putting away my cleaning supplies and getting ready to leave this sweet elderly lady’s apartment, she concluded her time of speaking with something along these lines, “you grow in the valley, so you can make it to the mountain top.” For this sweet lady, I was convinced that Canada was that mountain top.
So wherever you find yourself reading this:
Don’t give up hope and faith. How much richer it will be when you look back. That even through the darkest of times your faith was strengthened.
Tell stories. Tell stories to your friends, families, your kids. Listen. Listen to your grandparents and parents tell stories of when they were young…even if you have heard it before. All those events were remarkably orchestrated so that you would be here. Look for God’s hand in them.
Be thankful. For the smallest and simplest thing… like a blue sky. Take note of the simplest blessings because many others are not as fortunate.
love you friends,
Daysha
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