Sometimes in life, one needs to listen more carefully. My daughter came home from school one day last year and I asked the basic questions: how was school today? What did you do? The standard response from my 6 year old daughter would be suitably vague, focusing on recess more than anything else. Needless to say, I was somewhat surprised when she told me that her friend, Empria, was buying a vest for her friend, Lydia, and it was really expensive and really fancy. I asked how much. My daughter told me it would cost over $10 000.00.

As a teacher myself, and as a parent who understands all too well the symptoms of hyperbole, I wasn’t too phased. But then, my daughter asked if she could help buy the vest, too. I told her we would talk about it when mom got home.

The next day, a note came home with my daughter. Her teacher was informing parents that Empria’s friend, Lydia, was a young girl with cystic fibrosis, a debilitating genetic disorder characterized by mucous buildup in one’s airways. Empria and her family were hoping to help Lydia’s family out by purchasing “The Vest”, a pneumatic device that is fit to the wearer to shake mucous loose, improving the quality (and quantity) of the CF sufferer’s life. The vest would cost over $10 000.00.

So much for hyperbole.

Perhaps out of paternal guilt for not listening to my own daughter, out of concern for another father’s daughter, or because I knew I knew men who could help with this, I decided to get involved.

I brought the cause to the attention of my school and my own students. Staff and students, within days, had raised a few hundred dollars. However, another major fundraising effort was already in progress and I knew that there would be little more I could achieve there.

I then approached the Alberta Widows Sons, the Masonic Motorcycle Association of which I had recently been elected Vice-President. I explained the situation and the Brethren present at that meeting handed me hundreds of dollars in cash. Some of the Brethren had friends who died at early ages from the disorder. These stories really hit home. At the next Widows Sons meeting, it was decided that we, as a group, would match our members’ donations. This brought in more money, matched, resulting in over $1000.00.

My daughter and I brought our donation to Empria’s house to pass on to Lydia’s family. On the way home, my daughter told me the sunset looked like a big eye.

This time I listened to her. Looking up, I saw…something oddly familiar…like an All-Seeing-Eye…

So much for not getting involved…might as well go full bore, I thought.

I began approaching other Masonic groups including my own Lodge (Britannia #18 in Ponoka) and concordant bodies through members I knew. Not all these requests were acted upon, but I didn’t mind: money was coming in for Lydia’s vest, and every cent counted.

One of the members of the Widows Sons, WBro Reg Karbonik, also happened to be the Master of Redwood Lodge #193 in Edmonton. He and his Lodge mates decided to take this project on more fully as well, with several donations and a collection at their annual Klondike Lodge held in Fort Edmonton Park last summer. The Brethren of Redwood came through: their final donations, along with other donations from other non-Masonic groups that Lydia’s family and Empria’s family were working with put us over the top.

We presented the vest to Lydia at the newly renovated carousel at Fort Edmonton Park. The event was wonderful: a great day, members of the Widows Sons in their vests, the Master of Redwood Lodge, WBro Reg Karbonik and the Master of Britannia Lodge, VWBro Murdoch Cameron in attendance as well.
And we met Lydia, for the first time. She had had a very difficult summer, but she was in high spirits. I know she didn’t fully grasp the meaning of the gift given to her that day, but it was apparent in her mother’s and father’s eyes that the effort was appreciated.

As Empria, Lydia, and my daughter played around the playground, I paused to think about the few months that Masons had devoted to a small girl from an unknown family…

…I thought about how many times we don’t do something we could have…

…and I thought about how important it is to stop and listen sometimes to that small voice.