Border Crossing: A Spiritual Journey by Katie Funk Wiebe
By Katie Funk Wiebe
During this publication, Katie Funk Wiebe speaks in truth, faithfully, and movingly of life's later border crossings and exhibits that during the twilight time among evening and fading day a few of life's higher sorrows but additionally better joys might be felt. She conveys her adventure so powerfully and authentically that it turns into common. somebody suffering during the discomfort and promise of crossing into one in all life's new levels will locate in those pages a kindred spirit.
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Extra resources for Border Crossing: A Spiritual Journey
A few years ago, I turned sixty-five. That was a big event. No little glitch in the road, but an all-out welcoming party to membership in the graying majority. Sixty-five was a benchmarkno doubt about it. My cousin Henry Funk sent me a specially designed membership card, making me, with due pomp and ceremony, junior member of the senior division of the Funk family clan. I felt almost as if I was being enrolled in an athletic club about to prepare for the Olympics. Now I know I was. My daughter Joanna, a graphic artist, sent me a personally designed card that stated, This is to certify that Katie Wiebe, having achieved sufficient experience and savoir faire, is now authorized to engage in spontaneous and outrageous behavior, including staying up past her bedtime, roaming the world, talking to strangers, and, of course, wearing purple whenever the mood strikes her.
If I have learned anything about myself as I look back, it is how little I have galloped at breakneck speed, how little I have known passion for truth and justice, not even as my father knew passion for the downtrodden. When he saw suffering, he hurt with the person and did what he could to help with his limited means. He anguished over the violence and killing in the world but felt helpless and sometimes concerned about what the people would think of him, an uneducated immigrant storekeeper, speaking out.
Mother, never having worked outside the home, had fewer adjustments to make than Dad. She continued to do with joy what she had always been doingcooking, cleaning, reading, sewing, and knitting. For decades, Dad enjoyed being the manager of a corner grocery store in a small village in northern Saskatchewan. He got up early, before we children did, ate a hasty breakfast, and strode off to the store. From the upstairs Page 28 bedroom with its slanting roof, I could hear his quick footsteps on the wooden sidewalk alongside the house, followed by the gate creaking open and slamming shut.