Three days of violence in Paris. People under siege. People taken hostage. Employees of a satirical newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, gunned down at work. Twelve dead that first day. Yesterday, it was a policewoman, killed in cold blood. Today, a kosher market was invaded and people died. I just heard that the original terrorists were gunned down as they burst out of the building near the Charles de Gaulle airport, where they’d been holed up. Jane and I were steps away from Charlie Hebdo a month ago. On the sixth of December, we explored the Marais District with a Discovery Tours guide called Lucie. As we began the tour, a huge contingent of bicyclists went by, making a racket, attracting attention. Lucie explained that this was typical of the area – there was always some sort of protest going on there. She told us that the people of Paris value their right to free speech and their right to protest what they considered to be injustice. She talked about the storming of the Bastilles, that occurred right down the road from where we were standing. (Did you know that there were only 6 prisoners there, and they lived in relative comfort, due to the fact that they were aristocrats, and although imprisoned, they were still entitled to many luxuries?) Certain Muslims are up in arms. They do not agree with “free speech” if it means Muhammad is mocked. Stéphane Charbonnier, editor and cartoonist at Charlie Hebdo, was among those killed on Wednesday. When the paper was hit with a firebomb in 2011, he stood defiantly among the debris and called the terrorists “idiots” who betrayed their own religion. He defended crude caricatures of Muhammad. "Muhammad isn't sacred to me," he said. "I don't blame Muslims for not laughing at our drawings. I live under French law. I don't live under Qur'anic law." There’s a debate raging around the world. Are these attacks based on the cartoons, which are crude and designed to be funny, mocking Muhammad whom the Muslims consider to be their prophet? Some pundits and ordinary folk are furious that anyone would do such a thing. Don’t they value their life? Charbonnier valued the freedom to write and draw what he wanted. "I don't have kids, no wife, no car, no credit," he told Le Monde. "Maybe it's a little pompous to say, but I'd rather die standing than live on my knees." Others believe the attacks are designed to provoke retaliation against ordinary Muslims. There are millions of Muslims in France, and less than 2% are radicalized. That’s still a lot of angry people who believe they have a cause, and want to recruit others to join their jihad. Could it be that the cartoons are just an excuse, and that the real intention of the radicals is to heighten suspicion against all Muslims? Quebec Newspapers Take a Stand Yesterday, Canada's French-language newspapers published a cartoon of Muslim prophet Mohammed on Thursday in solidarity with Paris's Charlie Hebdo, which originally published the cartoon in 2006. The caption read: "Attacking someone simply for their ideas and opinions is an unacceptable obstacle to democracy." Free Speech Oppressors have always sought to gag those who disagree with them. In 399BC, Socrates told the jury, “If you offered to let me off this time on condition I am not any longer to speak my mind... I should say to you, "Men of Athens, I shall obey the Gods rather than you." In 1215 Magna Carta, was signed. It is now regarded as the cornerstone of liberty in England, and had a great effect on the signers of the Declaration of Independence in the USA. Erasmus later wrote “ The Education of a Christian Prince,”and emphatically stated 'In a free state, tongues too should be free.' Galileo fought for the right to claim the sun does not revolve around the earth. John Milton, the poet, argued against restrictions of the freedom of the press. “He who destroys a good book, kills reason itself.” The French Have Fought Hard for Free Speech In 1770 Voltaire wrote in a letter: 'Monsieur l'Abbé, I detest what you write, but I would give my life to make it possible for you to continue to write.' 'The Declaration of the Rights of Man', a fundamental document of the French Revolution written in 1789, provides for freedom of speech . Freedom of speech means we tolerate those whose ideas we shun. For speech to truly be free, it must include things we disagree with. In 1929 Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, of the US Supreme Court, outlined his belief in free speech: 'The principle of free thought is not free thought for those who agree with us but freedom for the thought we hate.' Goebbels was in favour of free speech for views he liked. So was Stalin. Go ahead, say anything you want, as long as you agree with me. That is not free speech. That is not freedom of expression. In a free society, people must be granted the right to say what THEY think. Having said all that, I have to say this: for the Christian, there is no Free Speech. Whatsoever you do, in word or deed, do all to the glory of God. That’s the subject of another post. Meanwhile, I admire the Quebecers who stood in solidarity with Charlie Hebdo. I admire the courage of Sun News and Ezra Levant and Brian Lilley, who are willing to stand up and be counted as men who shun terrorism and defend the right of anyone to express their own opinion. I also admire the gumption of those who survived the deadly attack at Charlie Hebdo. They’re planning on publishing another newspaper next Wednesday. They posted this on their website: PARCE QUE LE CRAYON SERA TOUJOURS AU DESSUS DE LA BARBARIE… PARCE QUE LA LIBERTÉ EST UN DROIT UNIVERSEL… PARCE QUE VOUS NOUS SOUTENEZ… Because the pencil will always be mightier than the sword… Because liberty is a universal right… Because you support us…
0 Comments
I'm thankful for a bunch of things today:
My mom's birthday. Had she lived, she would have been 82. I wrote on Facebook, "I miss her. She would have been 82. She was intelligent, argumentative, creative, funny, passionate and feisty. I see her in my kids."
My children and I finished watching the show, "Call the Midwife", tonight. Spoiler alert... On the show, Chummy is a big, awkward nurse from a privileged background who attended boarding school and was never able to please her demanding, high-born mother. She wants nothing more than to have a relationship with "Mater", as she calls her mom, Lady Browne. Mater is bound by her place in society. There are rules as rigid as boot camp, and Mater is embarrassed by her gangly daughter. She sends her off to school, and spends very little time with her. What time she does spend is in criticism and condemnation. Lady Browne shows up one day, and we learn she has cancer and very little time left. Not only that, but Pater (Chummy's father) has abandoned Lady Browne, who is now penniless, but not willing to admit it. She spends some time with Chummy and her husband, Peter, and shows a soft side as she cuddles her little grandson. Tonight's episode was especially poignant for me, as it showed Chummy and Peter ministering to Mater in her dying days. That's all I will say about that... go to Netflix and watch the entire series, NOW. I sat with my mother as she lay dying, too. We had Doris Day singing in the background as we watched her breathe those terrible breaths, those rattly breaths that tell the nurse to tell the family "It won't be long now." It's been over 15 years since I lost her, and I still want to pick up the phone, to give her the news, to share the kids' latest accomplishments. I still want to run in from the mailbox clutching an envelope with that familiar writing on it, eager to devour what she's written. Like Chummy and Mater, my mom and I had differences that went deep. We did not share the same faith, nor the same political views, nor the same world view. She couldn't fathom why I'd want any more than two or three children. She rarely saw our children and wasn't much of a granny to them, as she was still working full time right up until she discovered she had stage four cancer. I like to think that if she'd lived, she would have taken the time to visit, to come camping with us, to sit by a fire and chat. But it wasn't to be. No matter our differences, I loved my mother. Happy Birthday, Mater. A snow squall warning is in effect for the next 16 hours. This will likely mean that roads will be closed, buses will be delayed, and kids will have an extension to their Christmas vacation. I'm watching the forecast more closely now that I'm a bus driver for Murphy Bus Lines. Years of being a homeschooling mama meant that I didn't much care if schools were closed. Stormy weather meant we'd load up the wood stove and hunker down on the couch to read great books. The kids would complain that we never got a day off, but their complaints fell on deaf ears. As long as my hubby was at home, I didn't much care if it rained or stormed. I care now. I'm concerned about getting down the lane to drive to town on time to do my circle check. I'm watching the snow flood the yard, wondering if I'll get a call early in the morning, delaying or cancelling the run. I'll have mixed feelings. Staying home an extra day just gives me more time to work on projects. I have plenty to do. I'm never bored. But driving the bus is fun! I was a bus driver in Milton back in the late 70's. Back then, we were permitted to take our own kids on the bus with us. I remember driving on school trips to the African Lion Safari, and the kids still talk about the time the monkey peed on the windshield! I drove for a few years, often as a spare driver, and enjoyed every bit of it. When our family expanded to 6 kids, I decided to forego the trip to get my license renewed. So what possessed me to become a bus driver again after over 25 years' hiatus? A flyer came in the mail. I thought to myself, "This is something I can do." We need the income. I like kids. I like driving. I especially like driving a big bus. Murphy Bus Lines sent me to Mitchell to be trained under Loralee. I liked her immediately. She's the same age as my eldest daughter, and she's full of spunk and humour. She has no problem pointing out errors, because she wants her drivers to succeed. I had no problem being corrected, so we got along famously. I got my license in November, but didn't start working until I got back from our trip to Europe in December. I worked one full week, and it was an adventure! I have a great run. Five in-town stops where I pick up groups of kids, then one country stop. Two schools. Sixty-three kids. I'm fortunate to have taken over from a wonderful driver named Kathy, whom the children obviously loved. She set a certain standard for the bus, and the kids all know the rules. Three "bad kids" (their words) sit at the front of the bus, which I'm told solved a lot of problems. I'm trying to memorize all their names, but it will take me some time. It's so much fun to watch the little ones, clad in snowsuits and carrying backpacks, trying to climb the steps. It's like climbing Mount Everest for some of them. You can tell when kids are loved and cared for and trained to be polite and respectful. Those kids say "Thank you for the ride" as they leave the bus. Those kids are clean and have matching mitts and sunny smiles and happy faces. You notice other things, too. One little girl is a bit of a sneak. She thinks I don't notice when she breaks the rules, pushing the boundaries to see if I'll run a tight ship. I'm watching and biding my time. I want them to feel as comfortable with me as they did with Kathy before me. On the last day of school before the Christmas break, one little girl asked me, "When is Kathy coming back?" I told her she wasn't returning. Her face fell. I felt so bad for her. Change is hard for kids, but they're resilient. They'll adapt. I think that in time they'll discover that I'm a good driver who cares very much for them. I wrote them a wee poem: Remember when you ride the bus Never make a great big fuss! Keep the aisle free of debris To let the driver clearly see. Talk to your friends, stay in your seat, Don’t have stuff to drink or eat. Use the garbage and “lost and found” – We want to keep you safe and sound. So we do. It seems like such an innocuous day, the third day of January. Everyone's busy recuperating from the Christmas Celebrations and New Year's Revelry. I think most people have taken down their decorations and breathed a sigh of relief to have less clutter in the house. (We're doing that job tomorrow.) We're barely into the new year, and the vast majority of folks who have made a resolution or two are having trouble sticking to the plan. I'm squeaking in at the end of the day, getting a bit of writing done, listening to the Word of God. I would have gotten to this sooner, but I did mountains of laundry today, plus replaced the baking supplies and utensils back into the drawers that needed to be emptied so my hubby could install new plugs into our new island. After making supper and calling the family to get their food ( we don't have a kitchen table yet, so we grab food and eat all over the house) the kids convinced me to watch an episode or two of Season Three of "Call the Midwife". I was already feeling a bit blue, knowing that today was the day of a funeral of someone we loved and admired. Add to that sadness the memory that today was also the day that my dear old Pops died. Pops was my mom's dad, a grand old Newfie who had a great sense of humour and many wonderful stories to tell. He died January the Third, 1987. I still miss him. So I got to thinking about life and death, about the pain and the loss that never goes away when you lose a parent, a child, a friend. I've lost grandparents, parents, inlaws, relatives and friends. I've grieved the loss of babies to miscarriage - my own and my grandchildren. I've gone into stores after the death of my parents and wondered how everything could seem so NORMAL... the cashiers were still scanning the produce, the shoppers were still pushing carts like nothing was wrong, and yet my world had fallen apart. How could life just go on? We watched Episode Four of "Call the Midwife" Series 3, and saw a terrible accident that led to the death of a loved one (I'm purposely being vague in case anyone hasn't seen the episode) and my heart was wrenched at these words of wisdom in how to deal with this sort of loss: You keep on living until you feel alive. That's it. That's how to do it. You keep putting one foot in front of the other. You keep brushing your teeth, taking a shower, making your bed. You keep pouring a steaming hot mug of coffee, adding cream and a dash of vanilla, in hope that some day it might taste good again. You just keep on living, until you feel alive. I think this advice applies to all sorts of pain and loss. Don't let it throw you. Grieve, cry, sorrow, pray, talk, sleep... do what you have to do for a time. Then get back to living. Today my hubby and I went and stood in line for a very long time, in order to pay our respects to the family of a good man, Bruce Lobb, who passed away last week. In 1989, we'd just moved in to the area, and were attending church at a little Bible Chapel in Clinton, about 20 minutes from home. We knew nobody in our little town. We homeschooled the kids, and hubby still worked in the city, so it took some time to build relationships. We'd only been here for four months when I got a call late one evening. It was the doctor. "Mrs. Billson, we've determined that you have a full placenta previa, and you must come immediately and be admitted to hospital until your baby is born." What were we to do? We had six children; my husband worked an hour from home, and here I had to leave and go to hospital for many weeks. I called someone from the Bible Chapel, explaining our predicament. It wasn't long before we got another call from Diane Lobb. She and her husband, Bruce, offered to take the kids. I will never forget their kindness. Imagine being willing to not only take in five girls and two rambunctious little boys on a moment's notice, but to homeschool them, too, while their mom was in hospital! Bruce and Diane did just that. (The two youngest girls ended up staying with another friend, but the Lobbs cared for the other five for six very busy weeks.) The kids have fond memories of Bruce chopping wood and skiing in the woods behind the house. After the baby was born, the Lobbs came to visit, to welcome our son into the world. They opened their home to a weekly Bible Study which we enjoyed a great deal. Both Bruce and Diane knew what it was to be hospitable. There was love and laughter in abundance. We went our separate ways many years ago, attending a different church and having a different circle of friends. However, even though it's been many years since we saw each other every week, the Lobbs hold a very special place in our hearts. We're so thankful for their example of a godly marriage and a home built on love and faith. \ I can imagine the welcome Bruce received as he entered the presence of the Lord. I'm sure he heard those blessed words, "Well done, faithful servant!" After a few fits and starts, I've decided to bite the bullet and write every day. If Tim Challies can do it, so can I.
I'll be writing about things that touch my heart: faith, family, food, health, home, creativity, current events. My world view is most definitely Christian. My life is shaped by the gospel of grace. 2014 was an interesting year: dreadful, special, challenging and eventful. This is the year that I lost a dear friend to cancer... the same disease that claimed my mom, my grandmother and grandfather. I hate this disease, and I view it with a mixture of grief and suspicion, hatred and respect. I know it can attack suddenly, without warning, and cause its victim to waste away, becoming bones with skin, fluid ballooning within. Nasty. Terrible. Yet, for the Christian, Cancer, where is your sting? You are the path to glory for so many people. You never win. This is the year my dear husband finally got his boat. We've been married for 41 years; Sweethearts since 1968. He's always talked about a boat. I've always said "Pooh, pooh." I thought a boat would be BORING. How would I sit and sit and sit while we toot around and do NOTHING? Boy, was I wrong. Boating is beautiful, fun, exciting, relaxing. It's a chance to get away, to sit on the waves with no one else in sight. It's an opportunity to sleep under the brilliant stars, waves lapping, doves cooing. The Grynch 'N Granny is a joy to us. This is the year that I finally got to go to Italy... and France. I've always loved the idea of travelling, but was busy raising a dozen kids and homeschooling all of them. There was never any time or money. An unexpected phone call from a friend resulted in an eight-day trip to Paris and Rome. The trip of a lifetime, for me. This is the year that my dear husband spent hour after hour, renovating our kitchen. We live in an old farmhouse, with a kitchen rebuilt 15 years ago... it sure needed an update! A family friend was renovating their kitchen, and was planning to toss out the 30 year old cabinets. When I saw that, I told them that I'd LOVE the cabinets...and they graciously gave them to us. Rick has spent hour after hour redoing our kitchen. I am so thankful for the new space - better layout, better flooring, better workspace. This is the year that I finally realized that I could be a Trim, Healthy Mama. I have fought the Battle of the Bulge since I was a young teenager. I broke my leg when I was 14 years old, and when I was in a cast, not moving as much as I normally did, I gained 30 pounds. I still remember the shame of hearing my parents joke about my girth as I walked down a path with a chubby friend. Over the years, I dieted, lost weight, got pregnant, gained weight, dieted, lost weight, got pregnant, gained weight... it was a never-ending cycle. My self-esteem was caught up in whether or not I was in a size 10. After a miscarriage in 1998, followed by a difficult pregnancy that necessitated bedrest in a hospital due to placenta previa, I ended up weighing more than my husband, who is nearly a foot taller than I am. I discovered the HCG diet, and took off 54 lbs. Kept it off for a few years, until I broke three metatarsals in my foot. Being sedentary caused me to gain over 35 lbs, again. I stayed fat and unhappy for a couple of years, then learned to eat a trim and healthy way. In 2014 I took off 30 lbs. In 2015 I hope to do the same. This is also the year that I did something I swore I would NEVER do: I had a breast reduction. In 1998, hubby and I went to the Cranberry Resort in Collingwood; lo and behold, when we got home, I was expecting baby #13! (I had lost baby #12 that summer, the year I lost my dad, my mom, my baby and my father-in-law. Annus horribulus.) While we were in Collingwood, hubby and I watched a show on television that showed a breast reduction in all of its gory details. I declared to hubby that I would NEVER do that. Fast forward to 2007, when I experienced a head-on collision that left me with daily, chronic pain. I was informed that I am in the "lucky few", the less than 15% of people that have ongoing pain due to a whiplash injury. Years of pain caused me to re-think my declaration of NEVER WANTING a BREAST REDUCTION. I've had large breasts since I was about 11 years of age; my injuries made my shoulder girdle weaker, so that the weight of my breasts exacerbated the pain. I decided to look into breast reduction surgery: I did it, it was successful, but I had all sorts of complications. Would I do it again? Yes, most definitely. Do I think it's an easy surgery? No, not for me. This is the year that I decided to go back to work. Ever since the car accident of February 8, 2007, I had not worked outside the home. Pain is my constant companion; I could not resume my work as a Communications Coordinator. The problem is, we like to eat. Money's tight. Hubby's unemployed. He's suffered from angina and leg problems that make it impossible for him to do lots of jobs... and hasn't found anything that he can do. He's taken all sorts of training and is able to teach Driving Safety courses, but so far has not found a job. So, what to do? I used to drive a bus, back in the day, when I was in my 20's. I let my bus license go when I had 7 kids and no time to renew my license. When a flyer came in the mail, inviting drivers to come and drive for Murphy's Bus Lines, I thought, "This is something I can do!" I applied, was accepted, and did my training. Started driving in December. I have the best kids ever! 2014 - loss of a friend; gain of a boat; loss of some weight; gain of a bus licence; loss of some breast; gain of some travel experiences. Loss of an old kitchen, gain of a new. Loss and gain. Gain and loss. This is a normal pattern in life. In this blog I hope to write honestly about loss and gain. I invite you, my readers, to ask me anything... I'll try to answer you as vulnerably and honestly as I can. I hope that my experiences will prove to be an encouragement to you as you navigate the streams and rivers of life. |
Archives
January 2020
AuthorJanet Matthews Roth loves words. Categories |