Count Them!

Well, as much as I want to talk about the Canucks/Bruins game that will be over by the time you read this... I'm not going to. Whatever has happened has happened. The world continues to turn, and the sun continues to shine (I think). It would be nice if it turned and shined on the Canucks' Stanley Cup parade... but, I'm not talking about that.

Being worried about a hockey game is such a trivial thing. I got a wonderful story from the my Mom's cousin (my first cousin once removed for those who are keeping track) of her teenage years living through, and after, WWII as a German speaking person living in Poland. I found myself up past 1am reading the amazing story of her plight, flight, and rescue through those terrible years in Eastern Europe. I hope to have a link to the story soon... but having her share about needing to worry about getting food, water, avoidiing bombs and rapes, losing and trying to find her family... makes any stress that we feel nowadays seems trivial, at best. We really are a blessed people living in a blessed nation at a blessed time! Count them!!

So even if my team loses (not that I'm talking about that)... I'm blessed!

Lottie's Story

This is the story written by my Grandma's niece (making her my Mom's cousin... and my first cousin once removed). Most of the spelling and grammar is as she wrote it.

Lottie’s Story

The beginning: First of all I want to say that my family and I are German, born in Poland. We not for a moment thought of ourselves other than German. We had our own churches, all denominations, Lutherans, Baptists, Mennonites, what have you. The government of course was Polish, and Poles held high-ranking offices, like president etc. The main language was Polish of course, but we in the village spoke German all the time. My grandmother understood Polish but never learned the language, and pretty well those in our village that spoke Polish, did so with an accent, at least my relatives. In our nearest little town, Gombin, business was done in both languages, and the business people were mostly Jewish, also Polish or German. To that little town the farmers took their stuff to the market and also that was where you bought larger items like clothing etc. In school we were taught Polish and German and we kids spoke our language among ourselves. We had two Polish families living near us, they were for hire, when some farmer needed help, they were called on.

They spoke German as well as we did. Their kids went to school with us and there never was any trouble between us all. The Polish government was very satisfied with the German farmers. They paid their taxes on time, and the farms were very well looked after. First of all the earth was very rich, and the German people had everything in order, in other words they prospered. We also had many orchards. My family grew all the fruit possible. What we could not use ourselves was sold.

We lived very close to the largest river in Poland, called Vistula. In German Weichsel. Large boats and barges went up and down to larger cities, including the Polish capital Warsaw. There my father would take the fruit, mostly apples and plums for sale. We lived about 80 km from Warsaw. On two occasions my Dad took me along. I remember on the large market you could see all kinds if things that we did not grow. One man was selling something that looked so good, so I asked my Dad to get me some. It was watermelon. I sure did not like it. But with my Dad, you ate it, even if you hated it, so I did. My Dad also took me on a streetcar in Warsaw, we went to a zoo. For a kid seven years old or so, that was really something . None, absolutely none of my friends had ever been to Warsaw, never mind to a zoo. There I remember mostly big beautiful birds that talked. That impressed me the most, of course all the other animals like lions elephants etc. did too. One other thing I remember on that trip was that we got lost, and my dad was worried we’d miss the boat, and I was very very worried, probably cried. However, we made it home safely.

I also remember going on a school trip on the boat to another larger city called Plock, about 30 km from home. My parents gave me one zloty to spend for the day. That was a fortune in my eyes, but I blew the wad. That was were I tasted ice cream for the first time. Imagine that I was probably 8 or 9 years old and had an ice cream cone for the first time. How times have changed.

Our school was a typical country school. One teacher, one room, and the teacher had taught my uncles, so you can see, he was pretty old. But I was his pet. I was asked to do all the neat things, got to sing a solo in school plays, all kinds of neat things that happen in school. When the weather was bad, like snowy or raining, he asked me to stay over. The teacher and his family lived in the same building as the school, and the church was very close, just a few feet away. The teacher was also a very close friend of my grandfather. When we visited Poland in 1991 we stopped by the school, and after not seeing the place for 50 some years, there was hardly any change. It was not a school anymore, a family lived there, the kids were bussed to some other place, but the building had not changed and the church was used for Catholic services. Mind you it was very very run down. It brought tears to my eyes.

Tribute to the Uncle I Never Knew

by Kev Haug on Monday, 06 June 2011 at 18:00

According to my Dad, it is James Haugan's 42nd birthday today. I never knew much about my Uncle Jim, other than that he was hilarious, good-looking, and died in a car accident at the age of 20. I have seen home video's of him making people laugh, and there's a picture burned into my memory of him sitting with Curtis and Dean on a couch with huge manly man-thighs, and golden hair. Looked like a Hollywood Star if I ever saw one. He was dearly loved by all who knew him, a brother, a son, a friend, a fiance, an uncle. My Dad loved his little brother, I know this for many reasons, one of which happened two days ago, which I will explain later. When I visited Uncle Leroy, or Great-uncle Leroy, I was sitting in the basement with him watching some CFL football during this past summer of 2010. We got to talking about life, school, and whatnot, and we ended up on the topic of Uncle Jim. Leroy was living life away from the Lord, and he was sent to live with my Grandpa Miles and was straightened out. He came to know God, repented, and began his life on a new road. Years later, it was his turn to return the favor. Grandpa Miles sent young Jim, 20 years old, or around there, to live with Leroy at Peace River. Uncle Leroy went on to tell me about how wonderful a young man Jim was, how he had a quality about him that could only be described as "angelic", and how he turned his life over to the Lord during his time there in Peace River. There came an evening when they were eating out in Peace River and Jim had his first filet mignon. He, according to Leroy, turned to him and said, "I want to stay 20 forever." Uncle Leroy went on to tell me that he didn't know it at the time, but what he said was prophetic. Jim left shortly thereafter, but stopped in to say goodbye to Leroy and Shirley. Leroy told me that when he came to say goodbye he was glowing. Once again that word came up, angelic. Shortly after that evening, he died in a car crash. I left that conversation feeling that I came to knew my Uncle a little more.

Fast forward to this year, 2011. At a point during my school year I felt the need to see pictures and videos of my Uncle, and to show them to my girlfriend Sheila. I called upon Uncle Joell to hook a nephew up. In a matter of minutes I was in contact of a wealth of photos and a few videos of Jim. I told Sheila about how my Uncle was a movie star, how funny he was and how good he was at hockey. Once again a few blanks were filled.

My father and I watch hockey together. I should clarify, we watch a lot of Canucks together. My dad and his little brother Jim used to watch the Canucks together. It was a point of bonding for them, and it was one of many things that brought them very close. Hockey was one thing, in the very least, that the two had in common. I know for a fact that when my Dad watches the Canucks that he is cheering enough for two people, himself and his little brother.

It all came together during the last game, where the Canucks moved up 2-0 with a Burrows OT winner. The day was June 4th, two days before Jim's birthday. When the puck went in we both let out a holler, one that Richard Phillips would be proud of. We watched Alex Burrows fire an arrow up to the rafters for his late friend Luc Bourdon. I took a peek over to my Dad, normally a stoic Norwegian. His eyes were wet, my old man was getting choked up. Why? It was just game 2, wasn't it? It was much more.

I realized that whenever I watched hockey with my father, over these years, I was taking a spot. This spot was my Uncle Jim's. As brothers they would watch the Canucks, in 82 they lost out in the finals. 22 years after his brothers death, a son turning 20 this year had the privilege of sitting at his father's side finishing something that should have been accomplished a long time ago. When the Canucks score a goal, when they win a game, somehow, in some way, I know that the high-fives exchanged are not only between father and son, but between father and brother. I know that when my dad sees Burrows fire an arrow into the rafters for his late friend, he fires an arrow of his own into heaven for his little brother. Tonight in the Haugan house, as the Canucks attempt to go up 3-0, there will be three Haugan boys watching the game, one from a better seat than the other two.

In the end I can say this to all of those who have been separated from someone they love, from the book of Samuel. In David's own words comes our comfort. "I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." We shall go to him. Jim has left us, but all our family will be back together again, where many high-fives will be exchanged over a good many things, including the Stanley Cup we are all hoping the Canucks win this year.

Here's to you, the Uncle I never knew.

Pens!!!

We got some sample pens at the church office today. This got me to thinking (yes, it does happen occasionally). How many pens have I had in my lifetime? How many pens do I have now (either in my home or in my office)? I just pulled out 15 pens from the top drawer of my desk (not counting the pencils, highlighters, and crayons). 15. There are days that go by that I never even pick up a pen...let alone use 15 of them. At home, I know we have many pens scattered around the house. Probably hundreds. I can't remember buying any of them (my wife may have bought a few for the kids' school supplies) but do pick up all the free ones I can at hotels/conferences/promotions/stores/jail. Nowadays, I type on a keyboard almost every day, but often go days without using a pen.

Throughout my life I remember a few very important pens. I got one for being in the wedding party at Ron and Carrie Stare's wedding (I don't know where it is now). I remember that I used a pen to sign my marriage license, but I don't remember what it looked like. I remember the many pens I used to write exams in high school and college. I remember I used a pen when I wrote a cheque for my first car (a yellow Ford Fiesta). I remember I used a pen when I wrote the names of our children on the government forms after their birth.

As many pens as I have... it seems that when I really need one, I can't find one... or, if I do, it refuses to write.

Pens are now commonplace in our world. Even as little as 100 years ago, pens were hard to find, expensive, and delicate. A family would have only one or two pens for the entire household, and they were kept in special places to protect them. Writing letters was the only way to communicate over great distance so people developed their penmanship and used fancy lettering to impart their emotion and feeling into their writing. Today, people use emoticons :) . Pens, like so many things that had great value and importance in the past, are now so commonplace that we don't even value them anymore (unless we can't find one).

There are more Bibles around than at any time in history. In fact, there are probably only a handful of houses in Canada that don't have one or more of them. Is your Bible (paper and/or electronic versions) becoming so commonplace that you don't value it anymore? You see it lying around the house but never use it? Pick it up, crack it open, read the words in ink (or e-ink), and let this everyday book change your life.

Typed... not handwritten... by Joell