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Spiritual Leadership in the Home: leadership through love and example

We’ve all had ‘moments’ in our lives that influenced us for good; perhaps defining moments that altered our life trajectories, or foundational moments that awakened some sense of who we really are.

Some of my fondest early childhood memories involved our bedtime routine. My mom would come to each of us individually to tuck us in. She always said something nice about our day, and pulled our blankets up nice ‘n’ snug under our chins. It was a safe, comfortable way to close the day. She taught us to say a little prayer.

Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake, I pray thee Lord my soul to take.

It was a comforting little ritual, and the words themselves caused me to ponder God as I was closing my eyes. I considered what they meant. . . . .

“I pray thee Lord my soul to keep” sounded like I was asking Heavenly Father to take care of my soul while I was sleeping, since I couldn’t do it myself. I was sleeping.
“If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take” made me hope that God would take my soul and give it a good home since I wouldn’t be needing it anymore – if I were dead.

I never really understood them, but the ritual and repetition brought comfort to me – the words inspired godly thoughts that helped shape the beginning of my understanding of who I was.

When I was older and learned that prayers should be more personal, I still opened them with that little rhyme. It was a prayer my mother’s mother taught her, and I assume it was one her mother had taught her, since it’s been around that long – and much longer.

Though both my parents were born into it, we weren’t raised in the church. We were, however, all four of us baptized. I have often wondered what propelled my parents to make sure that happened, but I’ve always been grateful they did. Clearly, there was something that pulled them in that direction. I am ever SO grateful they followed through. Some of my aunts and uncles did not.

I admit when I was asked to speak in church on Spiritual Leadership in the Home recently, I wasn’t thrilled about the topic. I told the person who asked me if he’d have asked me 15 or 20 years earlier, I might have felt that I was rockin’ it, but lately I was feeling very inadequate. As I have been thinking about Spiritual Leadership in the Home, though, the spirit began opening new things for me to consider. Like the little prayer I told you about.

Like me, neither of my parents was raised in strong LDS homes, but they and all their siblings were baptized. In both their homes, it was their mothers who were the spiritual leaders.

My mother’s father was not a good dad, and not a good husband, and certainly not a spiritual leader in his home. He abdicated that responsibility to his wife, and he died at the age of 42 years, the father of 8 children. Though his death affected them all and caused great financial hardship, the older four did not miss him, the youngest never knew him, and the others had varying memories of him.

I’ve often wondered about him and the legacy he left his family. I assume from his vantage point in the spirit world, he has many regrets. I imagined he was not unlike Jacob Marley’s ghost, wishing he could undo a bunch of terrible choices. But lately, the spirit has me looking at him a bit differently.

The Hand of God by Yongsung Kim

It was his job to take care of his family. He was a good provider, but he should have done better on the home front. Leaving this earth did not take that responsibility away from him. Families are eternal. And when we die, we don’t get released from all our responsibilities to them.

I believe it may have been Jeffrey R. Holland who taught that guardian angels are real and that they are most likely family members who came before us, intimately connected with us and highly invested in our spiritual well-being and progression. Russel M. Nelson taught that the most important job any of us could ever be involved in is the gathering of Israel, on BOTH sides of the veil.

What if those of our family members who’ve passed away continue to be interested in us?
They know us. What if they truly love us?
What if they see the good in us and also the challenges we currently struggle with?
What if my grandfather repented of the things he did in this world? Repented of breaking the heart of his wife and losing the confidence of his children.
What if he is sorrowing for the generational trauma he caused?
What if he truly wants to make things better for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren?
What if he were given the chance to do that?

So this Spiritual Leadership in the Home thing . . . . .
Whose job is that anyway?
Dads? Moms? What if it’s both of our jobs?
And what if we don’t ever get released from that calling when we die?

It wasn’t my dad who took the spiritual lead in the family I grew up in.
It was my mom who made sure we blessed our food and said our little prayers at bedtime. We didn’t go to church often in my young years, but when we did, it was she who took us.

We didn’t live the “Word of Wisdom” or read scriptures. My mom smoked the whole drive to church (and then popped a piece of gum in her mouth so nobody would know lol). My dad spent a lotta time in the bar with other dads who should have been home. We had a Bible, and I liked to look at the pictures in it. I didn’t know any of those stories, and neither did she, but I’m confident it was she who made sure we were baptized. It was she who spent her evenings with us, read to us, tucked us into bed and made us oatmeal for breakfast.

It was she who planted the seeds of love we would come back to.

My father’s brother entered our lives when I was 10 years old. He was transferred to CFB Cold Lake, where we lived – both these brothers being in the Royal Canadian Air Force (as it was called then). It didn’t take long for me to notice that my dad was a better dad when my uncle was around. Over the next two years, it was my uncle’s family who influenced me and quietly tutored me in my values, my character, and my understanding of what a strong, caring family could look like. It was my father’s brother who, after having left this life many years later, continued to work with my dad from the spirit world, until we were sealed together as a family in the temple.

I asked my dad as we walked out of the temple that day “Why now? …. After ALL this time, and after all the things we tried, why Now?”
He said, “It was Uncle Merlin’s death.”
He meant that for the first time in his life, he stared mortality in the mirror and decided he had better start cramming for his final exams, but I came to realize that he was ‘righter’ than he thought. Though my uncle was the younger brother, he was a great example of what a GOOD MAN looked like. I had four girl cousins, three of whom were all within a year of me: one a year younger, one the same age, and one a year older. So I spent more time in my cousins’ home than my siblings did. I saw what a faith-filled home looked like and felt like. When I was only 11 years old, I consciously knew that when I grew up, I wanted to marry someone like my uncle, not someone like my dad (bless his heart). That was one of those defining moments I mentioned earlier, and even from that tender adolescent age, it changed the course of my life.

Uncle Merlin had done all he could for my dad in this life. But after he died, he had different ‘access’. They were no longer miles apart. I don’t pretend to know how things in the spirit world work, but I know Uncle Merlin was with us in the temple that day. There was no way he wouldn’t have been. He literally changed the trajectory of my family’s life and relationship forever – through love and example. And his family did the same.

To be clear, that change of course wasn’t a sharp turn. It wasn’t a right angle.
It was a very slight shift—almost imperceptible at the time—that took decades to fully reveal itself.

But it was pivotal.

Let the Children Come by Liz Lemon

And along the way, I learned an important lesson:
If you’re ever going to come back, it helps to have something to come back to.

Sometimes we might get impatient when things aren’t moving quickly enough. There were times I didn’t believe anything in my family could change. But I knew I was baptized. I was on the records of the church. I belonged. I had received the gift of the Holy Ghost, who never let me down. And when I decided I wanted to come back, there was a place for me.

~

When I married Dan, he was not a member of the church. He had been attending church every Sunday for the year we dated, because that was where I was. He committed to baptism a time or two, but then changed his mind. His family was not happy with this whole “Mormon thing,” and they didn’t like that Dan seemed to be changing right before their eyes. He wasn’t resolute about the gospel, but he was resolute about me. And the good people in the Cherry Grove ward (which was where I went to church) were kind and welcoming to him. You could even say they were loving. They modelled what a ward family was and what life with the gospel could look like. Among them, and in my Uncle Merlin’s home, he felt the spirit for the first time.

A year after we were married, Dan was baptized.
A week or two later, he started smoking again—and so began a roller coaster.

There were times he felt deeply loved by God, and others when he felt like a dismal disappointment. Such is the nature of addiction, pulling a person back and forth, between hope and shame, between resolve and relapse.

That pattern lasted for over 30 years.

During that time, we raised five children. One by one, most of them came to realize that their dad smoked. And one by one, they came to me—each carrying the same difficult question in their own way.

I would ask them, “Are you trying to tell me that you think Dad smokes?”

“YES!”
“And you want to know that I know?”
“YES!”
“Okay. I know, And I have one thing to say. Your dad is a good man.
He has an addiction that none of us can fully understand, and it beats him up sometimes. It’s between him and God. But here’s what I do understand…”

“Charity is the pure love of Christ—and it endures forever. Moroni taught that if we don’t have charity, nothing else we do really matters. It all counts for nothing. Because charity is greater than all. Your dad has charity. He would give the shirt off his back—I’ve seen him do it, and so have you. God counts charity.
In the meantime, we’ll support him. As long as Dad stops one time more than he starts, he’s still on the right road.”

Spiritual leadership in the home is not about doing everything right. It’s not about never making mistakes. It’s about being real. It’s about knowing that God loves us—and choosing to love Him.

It’s not about being better than anyone else, but about knowing who you are.

It’s about being a window to God’s love. Julie de Azevedo wrote a song by that title –

“I want to be a window to His love
So when you look at me, you will see Him.
I want to be so pure and clear
That you won’t see me standing here
‘Cause His love will shine brightly through me.
…
I want to be a doorway to the truth
So when you walk behond, you will find Him.
I want to stand so straight and tall
That you won’t notice me at all
And through my open door He will be seen.”

Spiritual Leadership in the home when you have young children involves training and teaching and modeling. And sacrifice.
It is about protecting your home emotionally and spiritually.

When your kids get older, it also involves letting them see struggle and faith, and letting God prevail. It involves a lot of humility and hoping you did right when you had the chance, because the years have flown by and you need to start letting go. And it involves MORE sacrifice.

When they become adults, there is an added dimension, and it becomes quieter.

Spiritual Leadership now means worrying about them—and praying for them—more than you ever have before.
It means trusting that your God is also their God, whether they recognize Him or not.

It means understanding that your job as a parent will never be over.
And you continue to love. You continue to sacrifice.

And you hold onto one quiet, steady hope:
That if they ever choose to come back, they know they have something to come back to.

As I reflected on all of this, I asked a friend this week for her thoughts on spiritual leadership in the home. Her words are a fitting way to close.

She said, “Love makes everything else work. There is always room to love better and deeper; always room to be kinder and softer; and always room to try to see things from another’s perspective, rather than just our own.”

I whole heartedly agree.
I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

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Our Environmental Stewardship in an Urban Setting

Whether we live in an urban area, a rural community or remotely, we have an environmental responsibility to each other. John Donne’s assessment, “No man is an island“1 means we are all fundamentally interconnected and cannot thrive or survive in complete isolation. We rely on the support and companionship a community provides. But in the last generation or two, our awareness of the effect we have on our natural environment, both close at hand and globally, has become greater and more realistic. Individually, as a community and as a society, we impact the quality of the world we ALL live in.

Stewardship essentially means “the job of taking care of“. It implies that we are not “the owner”, but rather, the caretaker; in effect, we are a trustee making conscious, ethical choices and commitments that will benefit far more than simply ourselves and our own families. With that in mind, specifically addressing the environment, stewardship is the responsibility of planning, managing and protecting the resources that influence the world in which we live. It addresses having a voice in the planning and management of those resources. It also means being accountable and trying hard not to be part of the problem. It means on a personal level, doing our part to be part of the solution.

When we were young parents in the 80’s, Alberta experienced a severe economic downturn. We were so busy taking care of our young children and trying to make ends meet, that we knew little about what was going on in the financial world around us. We knew that mortgage rates were higher than they’d ever been before, but we didn’t know why. We paid 10.5% on our mortgage of a little OLD house we bought in 1975. We knew we loved the small town-ness of Calmar, and the elementary school our kids attended. But we also knew Dan travelled far for employment, and was away long hours. In 1984, Dan was laid off and struggled to find steady work. He took whatever odd jobs he could, but it wasn’t enough to keep up with the house payments. Eventually, we realized that the only real path forward was for Dan to return to school, which meant moving back into the city. Like many Albertans that year, we lost our home.

We moved into subsidized housing in Edmonton and stepped into a new chapter – a temporary detour from our life plan. Dan began driving bus for Edmonton Transit while attending NAIT full time, working long, exhausting days in pursuit of something better.

It took a little attitude adjusting to get used to the higher density of our neighbours in a subsidized complex. We (mostly me), missed the small town atmosphere we had become accustomed to in the previous 5 years. But life is full of adjustments, and sometimes we have to bend a little. Though we had little means and worked hard every day, we had enough, and we were happy.

We planted flowers in our sunny front, as well as strawberries, herbs and pole beans strung to cover our southern window and shade our living room from the heat of the day. We planted vegetables in Dan’s mom’s nearby backyard garden. I came across a quote in those early months that helped me. “Let everyone sweep in front of his own door, and the whole world will be clean.” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 2 – an 18th century German “Influencer“. I took it to heart. I understood it to mean that I had a responsibility to make the world a better place simply by caring for and beautifying the areas I have control over – my “front door step” as it were.

Spencer W. Kimball, another INFLUENCER who influenced me greatly in those early years, was more specific. “Even those residing in apartments or condominiums can generally grow a little food in pots and planters. . . . Make your garden neat and attractive, as well as productive. ”

With this philosophy in mind, personal environmental stewardship becomes more than an idea—it becomes a responsibility. It rests with each of us to protect and conserve natural resources through the choices we make every day.

“Doing our part” isn’t just a phrase; it’s a series of small, meaningful actions—conserving water and energy, reducing waste, choosing more sustainable ways to get around, and supporting the health of our local ecosystems. Individually, these efforts may seem modest, but together, they shape the kind of world we leave behind.

What can WE do at home that will affect the environment?

Drawing on Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s philosophy, “Let everyone sweep in front of his own door…”, we are reminded that meaningful change begins with personal responsibility. The small, intentional steps we take each day may feel like minor inconveniences, but they matter.

Individually, they may seem insignificant; collectively, they have the power to create real, lasting change. How many of these action steps listed below are you already employing? Which ones can you improve on? Which ones are you willing to commit to?

Energy and Water Conservation:

  • Switch to energy-efficient LED light bulbs and energy-efficient appliances.
  • Use a clothesline in warm weather instead of a dryer.
  • Adjust our thermostats for heating and cooling to be more moderate. Put a sweater on, wear slippers.
  • Unplug electronics, computers, and chargers when not in use.
  • Take shorter showers and fix leaky faucets promptly.
  • Mulch in the garden to reduce the need for watering.

Waste Reduction and Management:

  • Make “Use it up, Wear it Out, Make it Do, or Do Without” your household motto. The chic new way of saying the same thing is: “Reduce, Reuse and Recycle“. Who knew thrift would ever be ‘cool’?
  • Reduce the things your household consumes that include excessive or single-use packaging.
  • Reuse shopping bags, water bottles and other materials. Compost food, garden and yard waste.
  • Recycle when appropriate.

Sustainable Transportation:

  • Walk, bike, use public transit or carpool when possible, instead of driving.

Sustainable Food Management:

  • Grow more of your own fruits and vegetables. If this is new to you, LEARN how, by taking classes and attending workshops in your community.
  • If your yard isn’t sufficient, join a community garden.
  • Learn how to preserve what you grow, to extend it into the cold months.
  • Reduce food waste by shopping in your fridge and freezer more and eating out less.
  • Compost kitchen scraps to use as natural soil builders and fertilizers.
  • Volunteer in your community garden, charitable organizations, and food bank.
  • Volunteer with your community league to protect natural areas, create pollinator parks, and encourage urban gardening and habitat restoration.

We all share a responsibility and an accountability to improve the places we call home. It begins right at our own front door—by caring for what we can see and influence—and then slowly extends outward.

We may find that our efforts inspire others to do the same, creating a quiet ripple of change. But even if they don’t, that isn’t the point. What matters is staying true to our own conscience, choosing each day not to be part of the problem, but part of the solution.

Stewardship plays a vital role in shaping sustainable relationships between people and nature—especially in rapidly growing urban landscapes like our own.

Reach out. Be a good neighbour. Take care of what you can see from your own front door, and then go a little further. Get involved. Volunteer. Support the good things happening around you.

Make the world a better place simply because you are in it. And above all, find joy in the doing. When you approach it with a willing heart, your attitude begins to shift. You find more reasons to smile, more moments to appreciate—and, in ways you might not expect, life becomes richer for it.

I’d love to hear your experiences and thoughts.

Cindy

  1. “No man is an island, entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thy friend’s or if thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.” John Donne ↩︎
  2. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, a German writer and natural philosopher, was born Aug. 28, 1749. Goethe is best known for his literary works, such as The Sorrows of Young Werther (1774) and Faust (1808 and 1832). Goethe also saw himself as a Naturforscher, an investigator of nature. ↩︎
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the Last Time

I love the poem below. I hope you’ll take the time to read it. It’s spoken from the perspective of a young parent. I’ve been in that place and as a former young mom, the message is a very tender for me. In that young mom’s shoes, I was smart enough to never allow myself to wish any of those moments away. I wanted very much to feel them all and remember them all – knowing that though I couldn’t see it, or imagine what it would look like, the day would come that they’d all be gone.

But I am looking at life from a much different perspective now, and I’ve had so many last times. My heart aches for some of them, not because I wasted them by wishing them away, simply because they are gone. It has been my observation that spending one’s life being unhappy in our circumstances, leads to more of the same – because being happy is not a matter of circumstance, it is a CHOICE.

In my younger years, I never wanted to waste my life wishing things were different. I was self aware enough that I could either make them different, work toward that goal, or accept them by making the best of them. Those were my options. I found it much more satisfying to focus on appreciating the sacredness of each day and what I could learn by living it. Even so, my heart aches for many of those ‘last times’. How much worse would it be if I regretted wasting them by not appreciating them in the moment?

wake up to a new way of doing things

If Covid taught us anything those many months, it should be how quickly life as we know it could be over. No one had the crystal ball to know how long our covid-affected circumstances would last. How long before we could go back to ‘normal’ – a week? a month? how many months? In actual truth, in many ways we never did return to normal. What would we have thought then, if we knew that in many ways we’d be inventing a new normal?

And why risk losing your present by pining away for all those potential last times? . . .

I don’t pretend to be a great philosopher, and I certainly don’t know what the “secret to life” is. But I believe that part of that secret is to be PRESENT, living in each moment. Enjoying each season while we’re in it. Finding ways to reach out and make someone’s world a little better for us having been in it. Never wishing any moment away, because life is so full of last times – not just with our babies but with everything and every one.

The last time we hugged our mom.
The last time we said “goodnight, sleep tight” to her.
The last time we had dinner with our cousin.
The last time we went to the farmers market.
The last time we planted a garden.
The last batch of jam we made to give away.
The last time we laughed with our niece, played go fish with our grandson, pack a lunch for our spouse, even the last time we vacuumed our own floor, or hung laundry on the line. The last time we help a neighbour, chat with that special friend, smile at a passerby, …. made someone’s day better.
The last time we flew anywhere? The last time we drove ourself?
That last book we read. Who knew it would be the last one?
The last time that grandchild came for a sleepover. Who knew it would be the last one?
The last time we held hands. Who knew?

Life changes on a dime – with no notice. Last times stack up, and they’re often in disguise. We never recognize them till they’re long gone. I’d love for all of my last times (whether pleasant ones or unpleasant ones), to be with me ‘experiencing them’, enjoying them, or learning from them, so that I could look back and think “I’m sure glad I did that when I did, who knew it would be my last time?” Life is by nature, bound to be full of regrets. I hope when my days get shorter, to have many more “glad-I-did-thats” than “wish-I-did-thats”.

The Last Time

“From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
When you have freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feedings and burping,
Diaper changes and crying,
Whining and fighting,
Naps or a lack of naps,
It might seem like a never-ending cycle.

But don’t forget …
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed your baby for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.

One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus” and do all the actions,
Then never sing them that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.

The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realize.

So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them
and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them.
For one last time.
author not confirmed, but possibly Taryn McLean

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

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Life with Grandkids: Big Cousins and Little Cousins

This seemingly trivial photo from years ago makes my heart happy. 14 year old Jonas washing the glass bricks for me. 2 year old Jack hanging around him, watching and chatting it up, Jonas patiently including him and listening. This speaks sermons to me.

A sermon about two cousins on either end of the age span (Jonas is the 4th oldest, Jack is the youngest of 19), and what they have to offer each other.

A sermon about the value of sharing even the insignificant moments of everyday life.

A sermon about the example of service. Jonas is doing a service for me and Jack is learning.

A sermon about Jonas’ patience in his little cousin wanting to hang around him.

A sermon about the ease of familial love, comfort and yea, even loyalty.

A sermon about devotion. Not just Jack’s devotion to this big boy hero in his life, but of Jonas’ devotion to him as his little cousin, who some might say has nothing in common with him.

It’s a sermon of what the world needs more of.

One day Jonas will be all grown up and away, living his adult life, and Jack will be a bigger little boy who remembers him, and looks forward to the times he comes home. Perhaps they’ll play board games together like Jonas does with his uncle who is just a little more than 12 years older than him (who incidentally is Jack’s father).

A sermon about Jack’s spot in the cousins lineup. #19. Our baby’s baby. The youngest cousin. How he is surrounded by people who love him, and adore him, and patiently include him in the little things they do.

From the kitchen where I was working, I observed these two and grabbed my camera. This snapshot is a mere blink of what was going on and what I would like to have captured. It was precious and I wish I had chosen to video it.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

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sometimes life just ‘happens’, . . . but we still have to eat

We have my 88 year old mom living with us. She’s been here several years and we love having her. It’s not without adjustments of course, on both sides, but over all its been a good fit. For the most part she’s quite healthy and active for her age. Occasionally we’ve have some medical problems we needed help with. A few times in the last few years, she’s been in the hospital for issues that are not so minor when you’re 88. She has the beginnings of dementia, and though she can function in her normal day-to-day, when she’s sick of course, or when other things throw her equilibrium out, she becomes even more easily confused.

Gramma Great playing a game of Racko with great grandson Deacon
sourdough muffins with freeze dried blueberries

During one of her hospital visits, when she was there for a week or so, she was very confused and I didn’t want her to be alone. I sat with her every day and into the evening until she fell asleep, and was back every morning before she woke up. She’s hard of hearing and its difficult for her to understand what is going on, even though she’ll look right at the doctor when he’s talking, smile and nod as if she understood everything he tells her. It’s confusing for everyone else when she does that, because all her signals are that she heard you. You actually have to stop, and ask her “Did you understand what I said?” No one ever does that of course. She’ll easily give the wrong message simply because she didn’t understand the question. In an environment like a hospital, its easy to get confused—and that can be scary. This is very time consuming for me, so ‘things’ I would normally do get set aside for awhile.

freshly baked loaf of
sourdough bread

There certainly wasn’t time for things like grocery shopping, but people still need to eat right? Dan was still packing a lunch to work, and I was still preparing meals for those who lived here and those who came by to visit Mom. Let’s face it—eating is something we all do. Every Single Day, whether it’s convenient or not.  And if we’re not making our own meals, we’re buying them – because going without is not really an option.

Sour dough crepes made with freeze dried eggs. Served with freeze dried peaches and black berries

Several times I wondered about going to the grocery store, but honestly, I never really had a need to. I had everything I needed right here in my pantry, including freeze-dried fruits, veggies, dairy, and meat that were all healthy and nutritious – “fresher-than-fresh”. And meal prep gave me a distraction while still being present. Nevertheless, I found myself being quite amazed that I didn’t feel any compulsion to go to the grocery store, but there simply wasn’t anything we needed.

Why amazed? Because a few weeks before all this happened, Mom had gone to stay with my sister for a bit while Dan and I went on a pre-planned vacation. The week before we left, I cleared out the fridge—used up or gave away every last perishable item in there. When we got home, I considered grocery shopping . . . but I didn’t need anything, so – I didn’t. And now it had been several weeks of not going to the store. No fresh milk, no fresh eggs, no sour cream or ‘fresh’ produce in the fridge. No bread.

Mujadara with freeze dried onions, served with freeze dried green beans. and homemade tzatziki with freeze dried cucumbers.

Shortly after picking Mom up from my sisters is when she went into the hospital, and we started that unexpected routine. By the time I decided to go to the grocery store and pick up some fresh asparagus and a few other traditional things for Easter dinner, it had been 10 WEEKS since I had been shopping. I picked up some of the niceties – perishable vegetables, fruit, and a few dairy items. That was all I felt I needed.

So—what’s my point?

Sometimes life just happens. It doesn’t have to be some big emergency or crisis. Sometimes it can be as simple as you’re just busy, or your priorities temporarily shift, and the “everyday” stuff—like grocery shopping—just doesn’t fit in.

Fajitas with freeze dried peppers, served with rice n beans with ground beef and cheddar.

But what if you didn’t have to worry about that detail?

What if your pantry was stocked with whole, simple, healthy, shelf-stable food you could count on when life gets hectic? No stress. No scramble. Just open the cupboard and make a meal. What if much of those food items were freeze dried? so you had confidence in the high quality and level of nutrition? What if that included FRUIT, MILK, EGGS, VEGETABLES and yes, even MEAT?
What if it included things like SOUR CREAM and BUTTER? What if it included things like CHEESE and Complete MEALS? What if you didn’t have to wash, peel or chop any of that because it was already done? What if you didn’t have to brown the meat because it was already cooked.

Italian wedding soup made with freeze dried sausage crumbles, onions and spinach.

Whether you’re thrown a curveball and you spend several days in the hospital; or you find yourself caring for a loved one for long hours in each day; or perhaps you’re the one who’s sick and you are not well enough to tend to the normal errands like grocery shopping, or (heaven forbid), you find yourself stuck in the house isolating because of something unforeseen like say, . . . a pandemic; or the truckers go on strike and too many shelves at the grocery store are empty, or perhaps you find yourself without power for a few days; or you experience unemployment; or some unexpected expenses cut into your budget and you simply have nothing left at the end of the month; or any number of different scenarios – what if you didn’t have to worry about the detail of food?

Samosa pancakes made with freeze dried onions, peas, green beans, peppers, and potatoes; served with fresh applesauce.

Let’s face it—eating is something we all do. Every Single Day, whether it’s convenient or not.  And if we’re not making our own meals, we’re buying them – because going without is not really an option.

What made the difference in my situation? Having a well stocked pantry was certainly one of the things that took the stress over meals out of the equation. But that on its own, is not enough. I adhere to the rule of “STORE WHAT YOU EAT, and EAT WHAT YOU STORE”. Simply put, this means I am familiar with what’s in my pantry, and I am comfortable preparing it. I know how to use it.

freeze dried shredded beef served with homemade stuffing, freeze dried mashed potatoes, freeze dried corn, fresh carrots and freeze dried green beans

Decades ago, when Dan and I were just starting our life together, and our kids were little, money was tight, with the only flexibility in our budget being ‘groceries’. If something had to give, it was always gonna be in the grocery department, as that was the only place there was flexibility. Perhaps you can relate. I considered possible scenarios and I worried how they might affect my children. I wanted to shield them from the hard things in life. I wanted them to be comfortable, and to have confidence that our family was doing okay. No matter what.

I didn’t want the worry of debt to hover over our heads. Life is full of worries as it is, I didn’t want preventable ones to crowd in. The solution to all of these things was ‘preparedness’. Dan and I saw eye to eye on this. Being prepared meant many things, but one of the simplest things was to STORE WHAT WE EAT, and to EAT WHAT WE STORE. I cannot begin to tell you of the peace of mind that comes from planning ahead and managing those PREVENTABLE worries.

That philosophy has made our life much more comfortable in every single way. Life is hard enough. It doesn’t make any sense to make it harder because of lack of planning.

yogurt bowl with freeze dried berries and freeze dried spinach. Don’t knock it till you try it. DElicoius and super nutritious.
Complete protein, fresher-than-fresh produce.
grilled cheese french toast, made with sourdough bread, freeze dried eggs and freeze dried shredded cheddar

In the situation that prompted me to reflect and write this post – before having my elderly mom live with us, I hadn’t had the experience of being at someone’s bedside day after day after day. There had been prior reasons that prevented regular grocery shopping, but this was a new one. I cannot express the comfort of not having to worry about it. The weightless peace of mind that attended us as we navigated those weeks. And yet, the comfort of outward things continuing on as ‘normal’.

Tabouli with freeze dried tomatoes, onions, peppers and cucumbers

Several years ago (2009 to be exact) I discovered a new line of freeze dried foods that became a game changer in the way I lived my life of preparedness. Yes, we had tried freeze dried food before, but we didn’t much like them. This was different. Yes, we had tried some of the longer shelf life food before, but they were horrible. Yes, food storage was important to us, but variety was an issue, and vegetable were pretty much non existent.

I was introduced to THRIVE LIFE freeze dried foods, and they became the game changer. Soon after, I decided I wanted to be the one to introduce others to the solutions I found here. I did that. And I’ve been doing it ever since.

Because life just happens, . . . . . but we still need to eat. Even if its inconvenient.
You could say “Peace of mind” is my big WHY.

If you’d like to learn more about it – go ahead and check out my link.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

because in real life, ‘things’ happen . . .

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standing on the shoulders of those we came from . . .

I do not know what I ever did in the pre-earth life to deserve to be born in Canada. I suspect I didn’t ‘deserve’ it; nevertheless Heavenly Father saw fit to place me here and now. I am so grateful for that mercy and blessing.

There are so many things in our life to be grateful for …. sometimes we don’t even think about the blessing of ‘where we are’. Canada.

Thank you to all those immigrant grandparents and great grandparents who made it possible for this to be the land of my inheritance

I did not know this, but the last German POWs were not released from the Soviet Union until 1956!

While the western Allies released their final World War II prisoners in 1948, many German POWs in the U.S.S.R. were kept under lock and key for several more years. Most were used as slave labor in copper or coal mines, and anywhere between 400,000 and one million eventually died while in Russian custody. Some 20,000 former soldiers were still in Soviet hands at the time of Stalin’s death in 1953, and the last 10,000 didn’t get their freedom until 1955 and 1956—a full decade after the war had ended.

Among the delayed released POW’s (not likely in this picture) was one Gotthold Sulzle, Dan’s grandfather Jakob’s brother.

Gotthold appears to have been born in Cogealac, Romania. He went to Germany for work just prior to WWII and as a German was drafted into the German Army. He served on the Russian front and became a Russian POW. Gotthold was decorated with 2 iron crosses (a German military award awarded for bravery on the battlefront).

After WWII ended, Gotthold attempted to immigrate to Canada where other family members had immigrated, however he was unable to take his family with him at the time. Having already been separated from his family for too long, he decided instead to immigrate to Australia.

That is how a branch of Dan’s German family ended up in Australia.

– picture and information shared from Linda Sülzle-Michl.

*note:
I am not making any statements about this nationality or that nationality.
There were (and there are) terrible things that happened (and happen) to individuals and to families as a result of hate and wicked people – wherever they are. I do however have a tenderness for those who suffer, and an appreciation and admiration for those who overcome and show me a better way. I am attracted to real life examples of the strength and resilience of the indomitable human spirit. They strengthen me and encourage me.

I also feel so much love and appreciation for those first generation immigrants who in many cases sacrificed much so their children could have the better life that eluded them. Dan’s grandparents came from German occupied Poland shortly after the first world war. They had been people of means; educated, land owning farmers. For the rest of their lives while living in Canada, they were labourers and I personally never heard Dan’s grandmother speak very much English. But their children grew up on the prairies and all went on to have meaningful work as they raised their own families in a world of opportunity and comfort – free from fear for their safety. Their children’s children received good educations and also raised their children in a peaceful world of opportunity and comfort. All because Edmund and Olga sold all they had for ship passage, hoping for a better life on the other side of the ocean.

But that’s a story for another time.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

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Apples the way they should be

When I was a little girl my mother bought apples by the case this time of year. Usually Macintosh if I remember correctly. They were FRESH, crisp and wonderful, and we stored them in our cold room in the basement.

We loved eating them and could have one whenever we wanted during those weeks. I equate fresh crispy apples with fall school days.

My mom would put some in a bowl on the table and I took it upon myself to shine them so they looked nice enough for a table centrepiece. I took great pride in this task, and it was a continual job as the apples got used up quickly. They needed shining because they came to us looking like the apples in this picture. Once I shined them up with a clean damp cloth, they looked like the apples in the picture below – which incidentally, I just shone to go on the table before writing this.

Can you see the three lady bugs that came inside with them? They thought they found a safe hiding place for winter, but ….. sorry ladies, out you go, find another one. Did you know lady bugs can live three years?
I love lady bugs.

By the time I was married, apples came from the store already shiny and I puzzled over my childhood memory of shining them. I missed the ritual, and wondered why my mom would have had me shine apples when apparently they were already shiny. (?)

Years later I learned that the apples we buy in the grocery store are ‘waxed’1 to have that shine. I didn’t know with what, but there was no option. They’re all like that after the initial harvest.

I began washing my purchased apples to ‘remove’ the shine 🙄. Ironic eh?

But today. Today we brought in our very own beautiful honey crisp apples. They’re in the fridge now, but some inner voice compelled me to shine up a few for the table.

That’s when it happened. My flash back. THIS! Déjà vu. This I have done before. …. Just exactly like this! With a clean cloth. And just like those in my childhood memory, these apples shone up quickly. Almost like magic. And beautifully.

THIS IS WHAT APPLES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE!

Beautiful. Organic. Right outta your own backyard, or outta your community garden, or your nice neighbour’s yard. With a natural matt finish that shines up with the touch of a slightly damp cloth, till you can see the light reflecting in them. Apples in the fall are one of life’s great pleasures.

I hope you get some FRESH apples this fall, and I hope you have to shine them up. I’d love to hear your apple stories.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

Footnotes:

  1. In an effort to make ‘fresh’ apples available to consumers all year round, it is necessary to treat them. “Waxing these foods seals them, protects them from pests and diseases, and prevents them from drying out, thus maintaining freshness.” (*my note: Interesting use of the word “freshness”) https://www.canada.ca/en/health-canada/services/food-nutrition/food-safety/information-product/fact-sheet-use-morpholine-apple-coatings.html
    I rest my case with regards to my opinion of eating IN the Season. Is it really necessary for us to eat ‘fresh’ apples 12 months of the year? ↩︎
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My God Loves Broken Things

It’s not very often I publish the words of someone else in this format, but from time to time – as I take notes for me to remember, it occurs to me that you might also appreciate them. These words from Chieko Okazaki, are comforting, reassuring and true.

Who is Chieko Nishimura Okazaki?
She was an American writer, educator, and religious leader. I came to admire her while she served in the Relief Society general presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from 1990 to 1997. I looked forward to hearing her speak – she always started with “Aloha” to which the congregation always responded “Aloha” – and I enjoyed reading her words.

Chieko was born in Hawaii in October 1926, growing up in a Buddhist family of Japanese ancestry that was employed on Hawaiian plantations. She was 15 years old when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, and her family did not escape the horror that followed, especially for those of her ethnic and cultural status. She was Hawaiian born, from Japanese heritage, and spent most of her life living in mainland America, but she confronted racism throughout her life.

As a young teen, she became a Christian, working as a maid to pay for high school. Her family (parents and two brothers) sacrificed for her education, and education became her life’s work. She received her first degree in Education at the University of Hawaii in Honolulu, her Master’s degree in Education from the University of Northern Colorado when she was 51 years old, and another degree in Educational Administration.  

Ironically, she was about the age I am now when I first became familiar with her as a speaker and writer. To me, she had a lotta credibility, and I loved her. She served in the trenches and she got it. She really got it.

In The Wilderness by artist: Ron DiCianni

“It’s our faith” said Chieko Okazaki “that He experienced everything- absolutely everything. Sometimes we don’t think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we don’t experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually.

That means He knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer — how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism.”

. . . There is nothing you have experienced . . . that He does not also know and recognize. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were “And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down Syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He’s been there. He’s been lower than all that. He’s not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don’t need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He’s not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and in our grief.”
– Chieko N. Okazaki

One of my favourite songs by Kenneth Cope – Broken. Enjoy.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

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When the Price was Paid

This tender image painted by the Danish painter Frans Schwartz at the end of the 19th century, was brought to my attention recently, and I find myself coming back to it again and again. It amazes me, the kind of emotion that can be captured by the talented brush strokes of an inspired artist. This is not the whole picture, its a close up of the faces. While the full image is breathtaking, I am drawn to, and am captivated by these faces.

We learn about it in Luke 22:43,44

“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.“

Agony in the Garden by Frans Schwartz 1898

Years ago, I was reading this story from a beautiful illustrated children’s book to my then 4 year old granddaughter Rebecca. At this point in the story, when the angel comforted the Saviour, I said aloud “I wish I was that angel who did that for him.”

She sighed and softly replied “I wish ‘I‘ was that angel.” I reflect back on that previous shared moment from time to time. I’m quite sure she has no recollection of it. But among other things, it testified to me of the power of inspirational art to convey the spirit, and the ability that a child has to respond to it when given the quiet opportunity. And it testified to me as well, of the importance of seeking out those quiet opportunities.

I also reflect on the fact, that sometimes, all you can do is offer love and support. There wasn’t a single thing anyone in this universe could have done to take away His pain, or to even make it easier. But this! . . . THIS could be done. . . . A tender embrace, a demonstration of love and empathy, and in this case – heart rending gratitude. For some reason, we do not know the name of this angel, this privileged one sent from above, while many others undoubtedly stood ready, wanting to do the same. What an honour to have been the one to embrace Him at that pivotal moment in time. To have been the one to offer Him comfort, heavenly succor and support. And more personally – Gratitude. Because after all, He did it for us. For you and for me. Personally. Privately. And yet for us all.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf said “What the Saviour did from Gethsemane to Golgotha on our behalf is beyond my ability to grasp. He took upon Himself, the burden of our sins and paid an eternal and binding ransom not only for Adam’s original transgression but also for the sins and transgressions of the billions upon billions of souls who have ever lived. This eternal, sacred sacrifice caused ‘even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer in both body and spirit.’ (DC 19:18)”

Look closely at his reddened eyes in this achingly tender image. At the furrowed brows. I love that his eyes are open. Look at the soft and gentle face of the angel and the enveloping embrace. Though none of us will ever have to experience the depth of His suffering, we know that we do have “our own dark and bitter hours” as Elder Uchtdorf calls them. “Times when our sorrow and grief may appear to be greater than we can bear. There will be times when the weight and remorse of our sins will press mercilessly upon us.”

We can be assured at those times, that we are not alone. That He went before us, and suffered all those things. And not just for our sins, but for our sadness and grief, and hurts of every kind, for our sickness and afflictions. To take them all away. As I heard one say some time ago (referring to suicidal thoughts and intents) “We don’t have to die for our sins. Someone already has.” He knows and He understands. He’s been there. He gets it. He’s atoned for it all. He’s taken my name through the temple of Gethsemane, individually. I don’t pretend to know how, but I absolutely know it. He knows me. And He knows you. He can and will strengthen us. And by taking advantage of that sacrifice, we don’t cause him any more grief, we don’t add to the cost – because the price has already been paid. Whether we accept the gift or not, it has already been purchased. For us.

This song Wondering by Aaron Edson, was brought to my attention from a friend Ron Bissett many years ago. He played it to me over the phone, a poor recording he found somewhere. He wanted me to find him a CD (back before the days of Spotify etc). He asked me because we owned an LDS Bookstore at the time.
I found it for him, and for me, and for several other customers, because that over the phone introduction made it personal for me too. Thanks for the tip Ron. Enjoy.

I really hope that I was that angel, but I kinda think I was not. Unlike the angel however, HE can take pain away. And I can be that angel to others, embracing, comforting, supporting, … not able to take grief away, but loving them through it, and hopefully pointing to the One who can take it away – who will take it away.

Just some of my thoughts on a tender subject. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

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I come from Pearl and Leland

If you knew my dad, you’d agree that he looks just like his father. Most of my paternal uncles also look like him. In fact, so do most of my paternal cousins. Even my kids do! Lol.
I guess he had some pretty strong physical traits.

On September 13 this year (2024), he would have turned 127 years old, but he left this earth over 45 years ago. He’s my grandfather Leland Albert Harrison.

Grampa always seemed to be old. It shocks me now to realize that he was only a few years older than I am now for most of the time I knew him. He suffered from gout, and was in near constant pain, which restricted his mobility. It didn’t help that he was quite heavy. Which came first – his weight or his gout is hard to say, but each condition aggravated the other. He always wore slippers, even when he was outside, because his feet were constantly swollen and painful.

It is well known – especially among his grandkids (of which he had many), that he didn’t know how to deal with kids. He didn’t know how to chat with kids, interact with kids, or even how to keep us all straight. So he resorted to teasing. It was his only way.

He’d sit in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, and try to catch us if we attempted to get by. We needed to get by because the kitchen was full of adults sitting around the table or standing, and the living room had red plastic building bricks (the only toy I ever saw in that house), and a television with only one channel, so there was never anything good on anyway. He had an extended reach with his cane, and we learned not to underestimate his reflexes. Just because he couldn’t walk didn’t mean he couldn’t grab you. We’d watch him closely, and when he seemed distracted, we’d make a dash for it. Though I think it was meant to be fun, it wasn’t a lotta fun for most of us. It didn’t help that he didn’t know what to do with us if he caught us, so he’d give us a rub-a-dub, which was a rough head rub. Some cousins said he’d twist their ears, but he never twisted mine, and I personally never saw him do that.

In the summer, sometimes we’d get smart and go around to the front door, but in the winter time, there was only one route into the living room and that was past Grampa. For us older ones, it was more an inconvenience, but terrifying, maybe even traumatic for some of the younger ones. Now I look back on it and I see an old man who did the best he knew how, but from the perspective of young grandchildren it was very tricky to navigate. I never knew him any other way.

One day when I was maybe 8 or 9 years old, my grandmother sent him outside to put the sprinkler on the front lawn. I was outside running around with cousins when I came upon him kneeling on the ground beside the sprinkler, unable to stand up. I stood back and silently watched him as he struggled. It was almost a reverent moment for me. I’d never seen an adult in so much need. He asked me if I would bring him “that chair over there”. I brought it, silently. I stood back and watched as he used it as a prop (with much difficulty) to help him stand. When he was on his feet, he quietly walked back to the kitchen, and I quietly walked away to rejoin my cousins. But something had changed for me. I liked him better after that; he was no longer just the scary grampa who sat with a cane in the doorway. He was much more . . . . Though I couldn’t have known the word for it at the time, I recognized that he was ‘vulnerable’. The first adult I knew to be ‘vulnerable’.

He and gramma lived in a tiny house they built on his parents’ property in town. In that tiny house with one bedroom and a room reserved (so I’m told) as a place to store coal (later converted into Grampa’s bedroom), they raised 15 kids. Gramma bore 16 children: one died in infancy (Earl), and one died of typhoid fever just before her 15th birthday (Dorothy Ileen). Sadly my grandmother and his mother never got along ‘to put it mildly’. Living a stone’s throw from each other didn’t help, and it must have been very distressful for both of them. I’m sure it was a series of misunderstandings and misplaced pride on both sides that caused the rift, but those feelings perpetuated themselves as life continued and offenses piled up – the older boys tormenting their Gramma Harrison with childish pranks. I never knew my Great Grandmother Capitolia Harrison, she died when my dad was only 13. But I kinda suspect if she’d been alive when I was little, I still wouldn’t have known her. It’s sad that friction and even enmity in families can be such a thing. And sadder still that it can ooze into future generations long after the original offences are forgotten. (hmmmm, a life lesson there for sure)

Many years later, while expecting my first child, I told my mother I was considering the name “Afton” as a good name for our new baby if it was a girl. This was my Grandfather’s sister’s name. My mother was mortified and told me that Gramma Harrison would be most UNhappy with my choice, as she very much disliked her sister-in-law. I didn’t want to bring any grief to my grandmother, so I abandoned the idea, but I was curious about the harsh reaction. My mom had never even met her, but she knew she didn’t like her. None of OUR kind liked HER kind. I regret never knowing that part of my dad’s family. They all lived in the same little town, and attended the same congregation on Sundays. Tragic when you think of it. I wonder how they reconciled those feelings after they all met each other again in the next world. I bet there are many regrets from their current vantage point, about how long they allowed their feud to continue – well into the fourth generation, for assumed offences that many years ago ceased to have any relevance.

Leland and Pearl Harrison had a lovely cozy ‘little’ home. Emphasis on little again. And it was always clean; Gramma was fastidious about clean. She had iodine on a kitchen shelf and woe be to any kid who fell and scraped their knee. Iodine hurt worse than the wound. My dad inherited her fear of ‘germs’. He was only 6 years old when his oldest sister died of typhoid fever, but it seemed that the years following her death were ones of hyper anxiousness on the part of his mother; today we would call that PTSD.

My younger life was greatly influenced by the religion of ‘not-spreading-germs’. That rule was pounded into our heads. More than the reality of God, the goodness of our Saviour, or that families are eternal. From the vantage point of adulthood, I empathize a lot more with my father’s preoccupation with washing hands and clean dishes. Typhoid fever is a terrible disease caused by a salmonella bacteria that is spread through contaminated food or water. It is most common in rural areas or developing countries where there isn’t modern sanitation. I guess small farming communities on the Canadian prairie in the 1930s qualify. It rarely occurs in isolation. It is ugly and painful and very contagious. Those who contract typhoid continue to be contagious long after they’ve recovered. Though my dad had few memories of his older sister Dorothy, or her sickness, he was raised by a mother who lost her daughter to typhoid, and who undoubtedly had others in her household sick with it. I was raised by a father who was raised by a mother who suffered PTSD from losing her daughter to a disease that had the potential to take more. It helps me to understand my father better.

~

Grampa often asked us “whose kid are you?”

I would answer “I’m Wes’s daughter Grampa. I’m Cindy.” I was never certain whether he was teasing or if he really didn’t know. But now, I’m quite certain our sheer number and the fact that we only showed up for a few hours once a year in those days, didn’t help. There was never a hint of any question that Gramma knew us, though. She would cup our faces in her hands and kiss us and tell us she loved us. She knew where we fit in and who we belonged to. HER!

He’d call my sister and I “Winder and Cinder” which would always make us giggle, and implied to us that he at least knew OUR names (Wendy and Cindy). Some days anyway. He was a tease in every way. It was the only way he knew how to deal with people. And he teased my gramma mercilessly.

There may have been a time early in their marriage that she laughed at his teasing, but she wasn’t laughing when I knew them lol. He’d tease her, and she’d lash out with “BUD!!! . . . . . .”. Then he’d respond with “Don’t be mean to me, Mama. You know you love me.” It was very entertaining to us grandkids, but I felt a bit bad for Grampa because it seemed he was always the injured party. One day, when I was a young teenager, I confessed to my mom that I thought Gramma was mean to Grampa, and that she hurt his feelings. Mom told me he’d often reach over and lift her dress with his cane – which embarrassed her and prompted her rebukes. I had never observed that important little detail, which undoubtedly explained her sharpness when she’d lose her patience. No wonder she’d get mad at him.

He was also very accustomed to being waited on hand and foot. She took care of his every need. It probably never occurred to him to peel a potato or wash a dish or even push the toaster down. She fed him every meal he ever ate.

In those days 70 years old was a lot older than it is now, and though he never drank a drop of alcohol or smoked a cigarette in his life, he was not the picture of health. His sheer inactivity was probably his biggest problem. From my vantage point now, I think he deserves some credit for holding his own when literal hoards of adult children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren and other relatives would descend on their home on given day throughout the summer time. In that small house, there was only one place for him to be – sitting on his kitchen chair in the doorway of the kitchen.

I wish I had known the man inside him. I never did, but I treasure the few memories I share with my siblings and my cousins of him. As scary as those moments were while we lived them, they make us chuckle as we relive them now. He died when he was 80 years old, one month before our first child – a son, was born. They overlapped for that short time in the spirit world. I hope they knew each other.

Happy birthday Grampa.

My guess is you’re celebrating with Lemon meringue pie. I’m quite certain they serve that in heaven. It was my dad’s favourite too; perhaps you’re sharing it together.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

* Grampa died March 17 1978. Leland Albert Harrison
* Gramma died 12 years later, at the age of 88, April 16 1990. Pearl Cora Reece Harrison