Easter Reflection

I thought I set this to publish automatically but obviously that didn't work out so it's late but this is my  Easter post.

 Over the years I have made it a practice to acknowledge Easter as a Christian festival rather than the cultural festival we all know and love. Today I continue the tradition.

Over the years I have wrestled with dogma and theology. "Jesus died for my sin" was the line I was brought up with. Churchy kids still parrot it. It's almost but not quite as fail-safe as the plain "Jesus" as the default answer to all Sunday School questions.

Then one day some online stranger wrote that teaching kids that their naughtiness was responsible for the death of an innocent is abuse. I wondered why I never thought of that.

I hate the philosophy that everyone is a sinner. I believe that most people want to be decent. I believe that our bad behaviours are often related to our education and life experience. I believe that culpability is on a spectrum. I had this conversation with a friend some years ago and I suspect he was a bit shocked by my rabid departure from standard teaching but in a moment of grace he reframed "everyone is a sinner" to "we are all selfish." Maybe I'm playing semantics but it feels more accurate and less accusatory.

We are all selfish would lead to "Jesus died because I'm selfish". Still quite a call.

I can be accused of New Age Heresy and I have many times been accused of soft, woke, liberalism.

Well, as insults they are pretty weak, unless of course one doesn't want to see justice and equality in the world.

Two thousand years ago, a revolutionary was tortured and killed because he disrupted the status quo, challenged the oppressor and valued the marginalised. 
After he died, there were eyewitness accounts of his resurrection.

I don't follow Jesus because he "died for my sins"

I follow Jesus because he stood up for women and children.

I follow Jesus because he modelled love.

I follow Jesus because he saw the unseen and touched the unclean.

I follow Jesus because he never glossed over hardship.

I follow Jesus because he suffered as we all do and throughout he was loving, strong, charitable and humble.

I follow Jesus because his story modelled all that is good and all that is bad in humanity but ends in the most unlikely, most hoped for, joyous, miraculous LIFE.

I follow Jesus because he is validation, inspiration and hope.

I hope that you all have a glimmer of hope at all the times you need it.

Happy Easter

Great Journeys

 Two years ago, I decided to take a trip on the transcontinental train, the Indian Pacific. Well, then my daughters wanted to join me and I wasn't going to say no to that, so the trip was delayed six months until we were all able to go. The day before we were to leave, I got covid. I spent the intended travel time in bed. Then because of Caitlin's round-Australia adventure, the trip was delayed again. 

Finally, it's here. A week from now I'll be on the train.

This week I am struggling with sciatica (or at least it behaves like sciatica but I don't think the sciatic nerve is actually involved) It has been painful and has reduced my mobility and tested my patience. Hopefully it will soon be a bad memory.

Today there was a family meeting at the hospital where Mum has spent many weeks. Her discharge had been set for tomorrow but she refuses to agree to some basic safety precautions and discharge has been set back by a month. I have begged her to just agree so the people can tick their safety boxes but it has not happened. 

Leaving hospital against medical advice seems to be the course she will take, although that may change.

I will support her wishes if she takes responsibility for them but so far, she keeps asking what I would do. I will not validate any plan because I will be held accountable when the result is unexpectedly (or expectedly) difficult.

Dad has developed what I call his hostage face. Many of the times I take him to the hospital he wants to be given medical attention. I always tell him it's the wrong kind of hospital. He does the hostage face and stares at any nurse, social worker or tradesman, hoping to catch their attention so he can explain how he is in imminent danger and can't get me to take him seriously.

I realise I probably sound disrepectful but I am not. I just want these intensely difficult days to be recorded so that when I look back and wonder if my memory is playing tricks, I have a record of what was happening.

I'm off to make a cuppa and go to bed, planning my train couture as I drift off to what will most likely be a broken sleep.

The Dementia Diaries

 While Mum has been in hospital, Dad has taken a downturn. He was forgetful and sometimes anxious about weird things; he needed help to navigate to most places, even familiar ones but he was mostly ok.

For some time he has had little appetite but was eating in a way that was almost normal.

I have discovered that dementia is like childhood: just when the carer thinks they understand what to do, something changes.

Last week I was surprised that there was an uneaten meal in Dad's fridge. I know what I have given him and most days I ask what he is eating. By my calculation he was out of food and yet, here was a full meal.

I had given him a large container of food and told him to eat half one day and half the next but what he had done was eat half, then half of half, then half of that. The quantity he ate each day was shrinking rapidly.

Aren't you hungry? I asked. "Well a bit more would have been nice"

It eventually became apparent that he was anxious about running out so decided to save some.

Apart from the fact I have supplied food for weeks now, he was unable to understand that the untouched food he was "saving" was as useful as nothing at all.

I have figured out that the favourites are divided and divided again while the "less favourites" languish.

The first Meals on Wheels delivery was today. I wonder how those will be prioritised.

One thing he always has is ginger beer, I can tell he drinks a lot of it by the number of empty bottles. On Sunday we went to the shop to get bread but we had to stop in the drink aisle. There were no 1.25 litre bottles of ginger beer so I suggested a six  pack of cans. Dad looked disgusted and agreed reluctantly.

"Those big bottles are just. so. convenient. I'm so disappointed"

Better luck next time, Dad