Category Archives: Advent

Make Time for the Sacred: The Technology Battle is Over (and I Won)

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There’s only one way to spell ‘frustration,’ but I’ve invented a thousand ways to express it.

For the past week, As I’ve been creating my Make Time for the Sacred Winter Solstice Reflections. I’ve been fighting an epic, soul-crushing war against my laptop.

FRUSTRATION doesn’t cover it. That word is too polite. I was operating on a level of digital rage that involved a primal urge to launch my computer into the Pacific Ocean, or at least see what happened if I put the whole thing in the microwave.

(And yes, I know, it’s not the laptop’s fault. User error is a pandemic whenever I dive into new software. We are all just primates trying to manage a universe of wires.)

But here’s the brutal truth about perseverance: It works.

I was determined to get this course online before Advent started. I missed that deadline by four days and approximately 70 hours of lost sleep, but I PERSEVERED. The kinks are gone, the demons are exorcised, and the tech finally listens.

My course is officially ready.

The Invitation (Where You Come In)

Humans are fascinating creatures: we create complex tools, and then we struggle to use them. This Solstice reflection is a necessary pause from that struggle.

The Make Time for the Sacred Reflections is a beautiful, FREE way to prepare your heart for the return of the light.

Here is exactly what you get when you sign up:

  • Four Weekly Reflections: Delivered right to your inbox, running from now until the Epiphany on January 6th.
  • Flexible Access: Each week includes both a written option (to read and journal) and an audio option (for listening on the go).
  • A Sacred Pause: A simple, guided way to reconnect and reflect during the most chaotic season of the year.
  • And Bonus content — 4 questions to deepen your experience to prompt journalling should you choose.
  • A weekly meditation posted every Friday for your to savour over the weekend and into the following week.

This free gift ends January 6th. Release the procrastination. Get your pause now.

May you know the blessing of unquantifiable, every-present Love.

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There are countless things in life we cannot quantify, yet we invariably depend on them. The number of breaths carried by the wind remains a mystery, as does the exact count of feathers that grant a bird its graceful flight. The river flows with an untold number of droplets, just as uncountable snowflakes vanish under the warmth of the sun in this unusually gentle December.

Equally immeasurable are the memories of my sister, Jackie. I can’t quantify the number of times she crossed our home’s threshold, her arms brimming with her world-famous mashed potatoes (described as such by my daughter) and a myriad of treats for everyone – humans and dogs alike. She always brought along her favorite chilled white wine wrapped in a freezer sleeve to ensure it was ready to savor with our dinner.

I cannot recall the last Christmas dinner she wasn’t present at our table, always there to remind me to fetch the potatoes from the oven and to ensure everyone’s glasses were filled. Her mischievous request for “just one more wee drop of Scotch” from my husband, accompanied by a playful twinkle in her eye, remains a cherished memory.

I’ve lost count of the times she rang to remind me of a family member’s birthday (knowing my penchant to forget), or to check if I’d seen a post from The French Connection in our Grand Famille WhatsApp group. And, even though I cannot count the number of times she graced our home at family dinners, or brought over a meal when my husband was ill, or I was away and she was worried he was not eating, or how many times she phoned to say she was thinking of me, or called my daughters to let them know she was thinking of them, or asked about a friend she met but once at our dining room table, I could always count on Jackie to remember people, what they liked to eat, and didn’t, and to ensure whether the dinner was at our home or hers, that there was a special dish to please every palate.

It’s who she was. She cared. Deeply. Her life was an embodiment of selflessness. She was a pillar of strength and support for our mother, stepping into the role of caregiver after our brother’s passing in 1997. For 25 years, she was more than just the eldest daughter; she was our mother’s confidante, champion, a constant source of support and love.

Her caring nature knew no bounds, touching countless lives, though the exact number of people she affected with her kindness is beyond my grasp.

Today, as the earth tilts, welcoming back the sun’s embrace in the northern hemisphere, I can count my own orbits around the sun but not the individual rays that have caressed my skin. Yet, amidst all the incalculable wonders of this world, one thing remains certain: the love my sister and I shared. This love, vast and unmeasurable, is my constant. It’s a bond that transcends time, distance, and even eternity.

For this unquantifiable, ever-present love, I am eternally grateful.

Whatever your celebration, no matter your faith, may you too know the blessing of unquantifiable, ever-present love. May your table be a circle of love never-ending.

The return of the light

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There is a moment in eternity when the earth pauses momentarily in its orbit around the sun before it begins to tilt in the opposite direction. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, this is a beginning of the shift towards longer days, shorter nights.

It is time to welcome back the light.

It’s also a time to reflect, renew, and embrace the changing seasons. The Winter Solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year, is more than just a mark on the calendar; it’s a moment of deep spiritual significance, a time to welcome the return of light into our lives.

Tomorrow, the Solstice heralds in the longest night and the promise of returning light. My heart is both heavy and hopeful. This year, the Solstice holds a special significance for me. Just a month ago, on November 24th, my beloved eldest sister passed away. Her absence has cast a long shadow, yet the approaching Solstice reminds me that even in the deepest darkness, light and love continue to flow.

This year, it feels like a tender metaphor for my own journey through grief. As the earth experiences its shortest day and longest night, I too have been navigating through my darkest hours, learning to find light in unexpected places.

In honor of my sister, and as a beacon for all who are walking through the shadows of loss, I offer this blessing:

"May the Winter Solstice envelop you in its loving light and profound joy. Even as the darkness lingers, let the promise of returning light open your heart, mind, and soul to the enchanting possibilities of life. May it serve as an invitation to dance in the radiant embrace of love that endures and transforms, even through grief."

From Where I Sit

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From where I sit
face lit with the glow of my laptop screen
my fingers gliding across the keyboard
the soft chanting of Advent songs playing in the background
the steady welcoming hum of the furnace protecting me from the cold
lights flickering as cars cross the bridge carrying people into their day
misty air rising from the river flowing sluggishly between ice-clad banks
naked trees standing tall along its edges 
stretched out branches frozen into awkward shapes
like children frozen in a game of Freeze Tag on a hot summer’s day.
sun kissed clouds stretch out above the tree tops.
river mist rises in ethereal white wisps gracefully flowing like a river through the air

This is the beauty of my morning.
This is the world that surrounds me.
This is my morning light moving from darkness into day.

I watch the lights flicker, the river valiantly fight against becoming ice
hear the music full of voices chanting and violins humming
feel the warm air wafting from the furnace beneath my desk
from where I sit 
in awe 
of the sun 
lightening the dark surrounding nature’s delicate frozen dance 
as I sit 
breathing 
in nature's bounty 
soaking 
all my senses full of its breath-taking beauty

This day is soaked in wonder, awe and magic.
Let it flow. 
.

Ah yes. This is Christmas

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Joyfully, we gathered around the Christmas tree. We hung decorations. Teased one another. Laughed and shared memories of Christmases past and hopes and dreams of Christmases to come.

This morning, I walked into the living room, switched on the tree lights, made myself my seasonal eggnog latte indulgence, sat at my desk, and watched early morning traffic cross the bridge. It is sparse at this early hour. Car lights moving west to east, crossing over the river that flows in an indolent stream of shimmering waters growing ever slower as Arctic air swoops down to envelope us in its icy maw.

Baby it’s cold outside.

Inside, my world is wrapped in the scents and scenes of Christmas á la 2022.

Like pocketbooks all over the country, my yearning to decorate the house is thinner this year. Perhaps the austerities of the pandemic have invaded my senses.

The big [;astoc tubs full of boughs and decorations lay unopened. Some of them didn’t even make it up from the storage room downstairs.

The tree stands tall in all her glittering light, festooned with glass balls and ornaments, delicate butterflies and feathered friends.

I wonder if this simple yet beautiful display is enough.

If maybe this year, it’s time to pare down the excess of Christmases past and cull the bountiful stash of Christmas ornaments I’ve accumulated over the years.

Perhaps, in keeping with the austerity these inflationary times seem to naturally have ignited in so many, it’s time to declutter Christmas.

I sit at my desk and watch the river slowly shifting-shape from flow to frozen shape. The reflection of the Christmas tree lights shimmer in the window in front of me. Darkness holds the night still.

Long before Christianity appeared along the human journey, people gathered around evergreen trees to celebrate Solstice. For our ancestors, the evergreen and its constant colour, needs and scent, represented the promise of longer, warmer days to come.

In our gathering last night, we decorated the tree connected through time to this ancient symbol of the light regaining its strength over the dark.

In our gathering, our laughter, our shared history and love, we wove the magic of time and this season together into a beautiful tapestry full of the promise of Love. Hope. Peace and Joy.

Ah yes. This is Christmas.

.

Still (an Advent poem)

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We are on the edge of a winter blast descending. Just in time for Christmas!

Except, the promise is that by Christmas day, it will turn less frigid but not balmy.

It is the winter season here at the foot of the Canadian Rockies. Temperatures climb and plummet. Climb and plummet. And we adapt. And even in our adaptations we accept, grumbling is acceptable. Grumbling can be the norm.

Skies hang grey and sullen, clouding the sun like a teenager sulking in their room after being grounded.

Ice is slowly inching out from the river’s banks and gravel bars closing the gaps between land and water.

And the world waits.

My Saturday mood is full of anticipation. We are putting up the tree and decorating tomorrow evening. My youngest daughter, hopefully C.C.’s son and girlfriend and maybe even my sister and her husband will join in the festivities.

For me, this is Christmas. It’s not about the gifts. It’s about. gathering with those near and dear to us, creating memories, sharing meals and laughter and being part of something magical that embraces us in its beauty and joy.

In this Saturday morning mood, the muse visited and I heeded her call…

Still
By Louise Gallagher ©2022

Almost still
water 
shivers
held captive between a season
of bounty 
losing its strength
against winter ice
lined up like an army 
ready to advance
across the river’s flow
captured by winter
advancing with its relentless
Arctic breath.

Behind front doors
strung with festive boughs
and twinkling lights
we wait
still
hopeful
the light will return to
winter burnished skies
held captive within
the longest night’s
journey 
turning back
towards the light.

In the depths
of long dark night of winter 
someone whispers 
a child is coming
and the world holds 
still
its collective breath
captive in the hope
this child
will bring love, peace and joy
for all the world
to know
winter passes,
spring thaws,
and summer blossoms
turn with the season’s passing
into autumn’s bounty.

Please don’t let me die alone.

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There was a time when Terry drove a semi back and forth across America, delivering livestock to rodeos and ranches across Canada and the US.

He loved his life. The freedom of the road. The camaraderie of truckers. The unstructured life.

For years, he didn’t need one place to call home. He had the wide-open road.

And then, life caught up with him. A gambling addiction. Alcohol. His body wearing down sooner than expected. No life-savings.

He ended up at a homeless shelter.

But even there, Terry didn’t succumb to the ennui of that place called ‘homeless’. He volunteered every day. His favourite role was carrying people up and down the elevators. He loved having that swipe pass. He liked the status and the opportunity to greet clients and visitors on every ride.

“I’m driving them where they need to go!” he’d joke.

Terry joked a lot. “Life is so bizarre you gotta laugh,” he’d say.

About once a week he’d ask me to marry him and then rescind the offer. “I don’t want to have to fight C.Cl” he’d joke.

Terry was small in stature. Big in heart and attitude.

When a cancer diagnosis befell him, he swore he was not going down without a fight.

He fought hard, but within months it was obvious, even to Terry, that the cancer was winning.

It was a few weeks before Christmas and Terry was failing fast. He decided to take one more kick at the can and for his Wishlist ask that year, he told the young woman interviewing him that all he really wanted before he died was to visit New Orleans during Mardi Gras. I’ve driven through that city countless times with my semi but never during Mardi Gras.

The young woman who was interviewing him for the Wishlist (an annual event sponsored by an amazing couple Dan and Jenny) had met Terry many times volunteering at the shelter.

She decided she was going to make his wish come true.

Terry’s health failed to fast for him to go, but here’s where the miracle of this season takes center stage.

One of the media outlets who came to support Terry’s wish was the Calgary Herald. The reporter was so moved by Terry’s story, he wrote a full page spread.

That article was read by a woman in Calgary who happened to know one of Terry’s brothers who lived in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.

Terry’s brother had been looking for him since he’d run away from home at the tender age of eight years old and was picked up by social services.

When his brother read the story, he showed his wife who promptly went on line, found the number for the shelter and called me.

I was there the day Terry and his brother were reunited.

It was one of the most beautiful moments I ever experienced.

And though Terry never did get to Mardi Gras, before he passed we held a party in his honour at a Cajun bar in town. Over 100 people turned up to wish him well.

“I don’t deserve all of this,” Terry insisted.

“You deserve so much more,” was the response from pretty well everyone there.

See, when Terry was first diagnosed he insisted he did not want to die anywhere than at the shelter.

I don’t want to be in a strange place surrounded by strangers he insisted.

We did everything we could to ensure he was comfortable, safe and well cared for. But in the end, hospice was the only answer.

I drove him to the hospice the day he moved in. His brother met us there and spent the next two weeks with him.

And the most miraculous part of it all is that when Terry took his last breath, he wasn’t amongst strangers. His brother was sitting at the side of his bed, holding his hand.

This is a story Metro News did on Terry.

Wrap yourself in loving-kindness

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When I worked in an adult emergency homeless shelter, amidst the joy and laughter, the lights and decorations that adorn this time of year in the rosy glow of family gatherings and festive delights, the air was also filled with the sadness of loneliness and the heavy despair of homelessness.

For those without a place to call home, finding joy always came shrouded in the memories of joy lost, connections broken, family circles torn apart by poverty, addiction, violence and loss.

One year, we invited clients to share holiday messages to post on our website. I was always in awe of how excited those who participated were to have a chance to reach out to family and friends and let them know they were thinking of them and wishing them well.

One of those individuals was Zahir. His nickname was ‘Happy’ because he could always be counted on to lighten even the darkest moments with his laughter.

Zahir was diagnosed with a mental illness when his daughter was three. He was exiled from the family home and his community and began a long journey through homelessness.

He was in his 50s when we did a video story with Zahir one Christmas. We wanted to show the human side of homelessness. To help those who had never experienced it or judged the shelter and those experiencing homelessness, find compassion and understanding for those who used the shelter as their respite.

This video had an even more important purpose which would only be revealed several months later when I received a letter from a woman who had never given up searching for the father she’d lost when she was 3 years old.

As a child, she’d been forbidden from seeing or searching for, her father. As an adult, she made it her mission to find him. One of the things she did constantly, was search the websites of emergency shelters across Canada in the hopes of finding him. In her letter, she told me it was a miracle she stumbled across our video. She had started to give up hope of ever finding her father.

Zahir and his by-then 30-something daughter were reunited. At that reunion, Zahir got to meet his 2-year-old granddaughter and learned that he would be a grandfather again later that same year.

Zahir, despite his daughter’s requests he come live with them in another city, would not leave the shelter. It was the world he knew. And, though he never met his second grandchild, when Zahir passed away later that year, he was a very happy man. He had met the daughter he’d never lost hope of one day seeing again.

In the darkness of homelessness, Zahir held onto hope and loving-kindness.

May we all do the same.

This is the video that sparked the miracle of Zahir and his daughter’s reunion.

The Beauty throughout the year

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It is easy when I’m with my grandchildren to feel my heart breaking open wider and wider with each magical whisper of their voices, each lyrical laugh, each wide-eyed gaze they make.

Away from them, immersed in the mundane of daily living, I can sometimes forget that magic, wonder and awe are as present as the normal everyday things that fill my life.

It is in those moments of mundanity that I must pause, close my eyes, breathe and become present within the moment, present to the world around me, present with all that is within the moment.

All of it. The mundane. The exquisite. The superficial. The profound. All of it.

And when I do become present within it all, I awaken within the beauty and Love that is flowing constantly all around.

It is easy to forget. So much better to remember.

Solstice Morn ( a poem for Peace. Love. & Joy.)

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Bundled up against the chill of this December 21st morning, Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I head out for our early morning walk beneath the glow of the full moon waning.

It is still quiet at this early hour. A few cars. No pedestrians. Upriver, unseen, I hear geese squawking and chattering where they huddle on an ice island stretched out along a gravel bar close to the river’s edge.

It is in these early morning walks, my boots crunching on the snow, my breath forming an ethereal misty cloud in the air around me, that I feel the unfathomable mysteries of life moving deeply through and within me, connecting me to the wonder and awe of it all.

It is here I feel wholly immersed within the joyful embodiment of this precious moment full of life’s delicate, mystical enchantment.

It is here I feel one within the presence of the sacred nature of all of life.

It is here I awaken.

Namaste

____________________

On Sunday evening I joined in a Solstice celebration in the enchanted forest of Kerry Parson’s magical backyard haven.

We stood around a fire and bid farewell to the things that no longer serve us and welcomed-in the light.

The word for 2022 that arrived for me from the depths of the fire within was Transformation.

I am enthralled. Excited. Beguiled by its possibilities.