Lesson number 61

Patricia on her 60th birthday

When I drafted this list of 60 lessons learned over 60 years, I should have known that within days, it would feel out of date to me.

My 60th birthday came and went. The photo above was taken minutes after my pandemic birthday party ended, one week ago today on January 25. I don’t often take good pictures – but I like this one, snapped by my husband. I think you can see the genuine joy that was in my heart at that moment on my face.

Were it not for the fact that I had planned a “Zoom” birthday party, I wouldn’t have had the courage to host a party for myself. I’m uncomfortable with being too much the centre of attention. Even inviting my friends to a Zoom Open House – “come when you can, leave when you must” minimal commitment required – felt like a big ask. I worried that people would receive my invitation and think, “Who does she think she is?!” But a year of pandemic rules and lockdowns had made me lonely for my friends. And the reminders of our own mortality made me long to tell people how much they have meant to me over the course of my life while I could. Because, well, you just never know. Life is fleeting for all of us. I remember well my father’s 60th birthday party. We had a bit of a bash for him. He died at 70.

Besides, I truly never thought I would make it this far. And I felt like celebrating.

I have been blessed with many good friends. Dear people of intelligence and wisdom and good character who love me in spite of my many flaws. And so they showed up, and they shared kind words and jokes and memories on our call together.

A screen grab from my Zoom Birthday Open House.

I will never forget it. I went to bed that night overflowing with gratitude and thanksgiving. Over the days since, the kindnesses from friends and family have continued with notes and calls, gifts and messages. Just today, a kind and generous friend wrote to me that we need to “find ways to love on our friends through Covid,” because otherwise, she believes, a “little piece of our humanity dies through this pandemic.” So we need to “find ways to express ourselves outwardly.”

I think she’s right. And that, dear readers, is Lesson #61. If you find yourself in the midst of a pandemic, find ways to demonstrate your love to others. Do it because it will remind you of your own humanity. Do it because you never know just how much it may brighten someone else’s day to realize that they matter to you. Do it because, in the midst of this dark and dreary time, love still shines.

For my birthday, one of my wonderful friends – an artist through and through by the name of Lois Krause – took my list of 60 lessons and reduced each lesson to a single word, and then expanded those words into a poem. It took my breath away when she recited it, and so I asked for her permission to share it here. She gave it no title, so I’ve taken the liberty. I think of it as:

“Patricia’s 60 Life Lessons as Interpreted by Lois Krause”

My kids, their kids, these things I laud,

My spouse and things to learn  with him,

To travel, share a meal, a grin,

The Sabbath Day, a rest, a nap,

A walk, a diet, dog to pat,

Cooking, gardening, flowers and trees,

I’m thankful for each one of these.

Persist, forgive and try again,

Let go and broken fences mend,

Ask help and build your marriage strong

And give to those who don’t belong.

Give thanks and treasure time and sing.

Clean up and try in everything.

Prioritize and learn each day;

Speak gently and know good habits pay.

Be patient, know you are OK,

Good character will win the day.

Be humble, faithful strong and true

These are all things that we must do.

Know that it’s true you may be wrong,

But God can give your heart a song.

You can trust Him to bring you through

He’ll walk beside in all you do

And more than all of the above,

It’s true that we must love, love, love,

These things I’ve learned in sixty years,

These things I share with you my dear.

A new day

Photo by Cristina Gottardi

The poet Luci Shaw has observed that “There’s immense power in small things. An atom. A seed. A word.”

I would add, “A realization.”

You can live a lifetime with one understanding of a thing, and then in a moment, that understanding changes. And the power and potential for transformation is almost unlimited.

I have a person in my life I have found difficult to love. Years of offences both large and small, of hurts and wounds I felt as a result of that individual’s words or actions towards me, the necessity of having to forgive again and again; it all added up to a certain hardening of my heart, and to my expressions of love toward that person being done out of duty.

I have had to exercise deliberate—rather than spontaneous—acts of care for them, because I knew I was supposed to love. And I confess that I long ago concluded that my heart would never follow.

In church on Sunday, our pastor preached a sermon in which he spoke about the new commandment that Jesus gave to his friends as his life was nearing its end. “Love one another as I have loved you,” Jesus said. (John 15:12)

But what does such love look like? In defining it, our pastor turned to the Bible’s famous love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13, and its words appeared on the large screen at the front of our church. Although I have read and reflected on that chapter so many times I could almost recite it from memory, as our pastor read its verses aloud, one sentence jumped out at me. And it was as if I was seeing and hearing the words for the very first time.

“Love keeps no record of wrongs.”

In an instant, I realized that the record of wrongs I have been keeping against this person is years long. And I understood that love, real love, would let that record go, would tear it up into tiny pieces, burn it to ashes, and scatter those ashes to the wind, never to be thought of again.

I woke up this morning sensing a new beginning, and a new feeling of love (yes, a feeling!) in my heart for that person. And while the sun has not yet started to peek over the horizon as I write these words, I know that a new day has dawned.