nuts 'n bolts

2012.

2012-01-03T16:26:00.005-08:00

The champagne has been uncorked, the ball has dropped. 2012. Another year over, a new one just begun.

It's been just under two years since I last posted anything on my blog, but over the past few days a couple of people have mentioned that I should get back into writing. A two year writer's block is quite a feat to overcome, so you'll have to bear with the poor grammar, incomplete sentences and lack of focus.

2011 has come to an end. Reading through my last New Year's post at the beginning of 2010, all I can think about the fact I thought 2010 would be a year of change is this: You haven't seen nothing yet, Matt. 2011 was indeed a year of change.

2010 brought ten new fingers and toes. 2011 brought another set. 2010 brought a new job working for the Mennonite Central Committee in their Vancouver thrift store. 2011 brought a transfer from British Columbia to Ontario, plus increased responsibilities at the thrift store I now manage. As a result of these two major changes, we're now living in a new place, with a new job, and two children. It was definitely a challenging year, and so in some ways I look forward to 2012: a year of routine.

It's kind of sad thinking that this will be a year of routine. Much of my blogging and life over the years before the need for a steady income have been anything but routine. In some ways, I miss that. But in more ways, I don't. Perhaps it's a pro / con thing, where the joys and challenges of marriages and parenting outweigh the joys and challenges of the non-routine existence. To be honest, I don't think I could have handled much more of the non-routine existence. And as much as I have written about my lack of passion, perhaps I have just naturally gravitated towards those things that I do desire, and having a family of my own is one of them. So is having a steady income, though at times the former necessitates the latter.

That's not to say that I wouldn't still love to go on an impromptu road trip across the country, or a sudden train trip up north. But those things will come. Over the summer we drove from Nova Scotia back to Ontario with two kids and, well, the whole adventure of a roadtrip is pretty well over when you have to stop every hour to deal with something going on in the back seat. Sigh.

Did I, five years ago, think I would be living back in Ontario working in a thrift store and looking forward to routine in five years time? Definitely not. Is this the best place for me? Definitely so.

thoughts on God [pt. two]*

2010-03-22T20:51:00.007-07:00

My biggest issue with atheism / anti-theism concerns its assumption that humans are the pinnacle of the natural world. Oddly enough, I also battle against my own anti-atheism concerning this point. Here's why: Christianity also assumes that humanity is the pinnacle of the natural world. The only difference between the two is what prompted the human race to begin with: chance or design. Under chance, humanity is the pinnacle of the natural world because it was selected to be so. Through millennia of evolution, humans rose to the top, able to think and to know that they think. Under design, humanity, too, is the pinnacle of the natural world because it was also selected to be so. God's design put Adam and Eve in the garden, capable to think and to know that they think--to do right and wrong, and to know the difference between the two. And it's true: God breathed new life into the father of humanity and declared him to be very good. Christians like to emphasis that, of all creatures God created, only mankind was made in His image. At a glance then, whether by chance or grand design, both theism and atheism point to humanity as the end goal of the natural world. Despite this, I still cannot believe that I am simply a pawn in evolution's game.

History has proven one thing to be true: when a human (or group of like-minded humans) decides that his will, his desire, his goals and aspirations are of primary importance and carry supreme authority, he will do whatever it takes to enforce them on others. Think the Crusades, slavery, Joseph Kony. The convenience of misinterpreting the Bible for personal gain is evidenced through the various practices of religious violence over generations of Christians, supposedly acting in the name of God. So the solution for atheists is simple: reject God. The rejection of God is placed into human hands, who have complete freedom to make and do whatever they choose. Thus, faith in God shifts towards complete faith in self--in humanity. So, when personal experiences of a supreme being (see part one and comments) is filtered through the atheistic lens of human reason (and science), it cannot be quantifiably proven and, is therefore considered false. But the problem is not God. The problem is the very thing to which atheism would have us turn. Whether God exists or not, humans will always have to contend with human nature. The atheistic belief that the end of religion will naturally result in the termination of violence is naïve at best. Atheism does not resolve the conflicts that result from the human desire for power over one's own choices, direction, and enemies.

So, where is the difference within Christianity? If, as mentioned, humans are still the pinnacle of the created world, how is it different from atheism, and why should there be any different result within Christianity? The critical difference is in the source of human existence. An atheistic, god-less, chance-based world leaves the betterment of a happenstance world in the hands of happenstance humans (religious or non-religious). A theistic, God-centered world leaves the betterment of a designed and created world in the hands of a sovereign creator. The difference is huge. Instead of looking to self for the reason and purpose of existence--not to mention hope--Christianity points to God. God created man for His glory, that their lives would bring glory to Him (perhaps part three will delve into God's ego). The rejection of God only serves humanity in its narcissism and pride. Christianity, on the other hand seeks the pure entrance of God in Christ into the stained realm of creation. Christianity admits that without Christ, who offers freedom from the delusion of atheism and the desire for self-sufficiency, there is no hope for humanity.

*with excerpts from a personal paper on theism.

joy.

2010-02-27T08:30:00.009-08:00

The moment came, and the moment passed. It was a moment filled with pain, anxiety, expectation, relief. And when the moment ended, all that remained was joy -- a moment filled with immense joy. Caleb Allan Mitchell Kok came into this world in the middle of a Monday afternoon with a strong, healthy cry of freedom. Music to our ears.

It is difficult to imagine, before the birth of your child, what life will be like when he's born. All of the planning, purchasing, and parenting tips can only prepare you to an extent, beyond which, everything--everything is new. You can't simply research, compare prices, and then put an order in. It's not like buying a new computer. There is no manual to bring home, no extended warranty, no 24/7 customer service support line. It's you, and a newborn. And to this point in my life, I can imagine no greater joy. There is nothing like lying back, with your child sleeping on your chest, his little body rising and falling with each breath.

Immense joy.

Heart-filling joy.

We know that we are blessed to have a healthy, whole, and (occasionally) happy child. Truly blessed.

the anticipation of things to come

2010-02-10T21:23:00.006-08:00

Crib? Check.
Diapers? Check.
Stroller? Check.
Car Seat? Check.
Clothes? Check.
Baby? ...
Baby? ...

No baby yet. While Vancouverites have been counting down the days until Friday, Susan and I have been counting down towards a different sort of event. Five days away from the "official" due date, and all we have to show for it is one enlarged belly and a house full of baby supplies. What began nine months ago as a tiny seed (I'll spare you the details) has now grown full term. Some nights, when I'm lucky and baby co-operates, I can actually watch baby move around in his/her little home, though we have yet to try the Maltesers experiment.

I've been given a lot of advice from fathers lately. 90% of the advice has to do with sleep. "Get your sleep now!" is the running motto of many experienced dads. Meanwhile the other 10% generally ask the question, "Are you ready?" And my answer has consistently been, "We're as ready as we can be." Sure, materially we're ready. All the necessities have been bought. Our spare room is furnished, stocked, and baby-fied. Mentally, I guess we're ready. Prenatal classes are over. I now know the various positions to support my wife through the labour process (and am consequently extremely thankful that I have an external, painless role in the process). But seriously, how can one really be ready for this?

I figure we've got at least 18 years of raising this child before letting her/him explore life free of full-time parental guidance. That's a lot of training, encouraging, paying, challenging, supporting, caring, paying, loving, paying, blessing, and yes, paying. And looking at our culture today, I fear for the world our child will grow up in. We will raise our child knowing God because, honestly, we can see no better way to live life. It has not always been an easy way of life for us (and we are aware it will never be an easy way of life), but it has undoubtedly and always been the most challenging and rewarding. I guess that's one of the joys of being parents, to walk with a child through the challenges and rewards of life, and to experience faith through their eyes.

thoughts on God [unfinished]

2010-01-30T18:31:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, I finished reading the book god is not great by Christopher Hitchens. Out of its reading, I have concluded this: It is near impossible to discuss faith with a person who holds strictly to science and reason. I imagine such a conversation going something like this:

"Well, the Bible says..."
"I don't believe in the Bible."
"Then Jesus said..."
"Jesus never existed."
"Okay. Then faith tells me..."
"Faith? Bah!"

Pointless. Absolutely pointless. The most contested area between the atheist and the theist revolves around the reality of the metaphysical, and the existence of God. Atheists, if they hold to a strict naturalist worldview, will never consider whether or not anything exists outside of the quantifiable physical world in which we live and move. In my estimation (and experience), this view is extremely limiting and potentially dangerous. Case in point:

Several years ago I was part of a team leading a group of teenagers through the streets of the Downtown East Side of Vancouver. In an unplanned moment, due to a need to fill some time, we decided to do a "prayer walk" along East Hastings, starting from Main and walking West towards Pigeon Park. I ended up with a group of about 10 teens, and we decided to simply walk East to West on the North Side of Hastings, praying silently as we went. It wasn't long before we were stopped by a woman in the most unusual way. All I remember of the words in her half-minute montage, and only because they were directed at me, were "You son of Satan!"

Let me clarify. As a group, we were not loudly stating our prayers--we were not obvious in our actions as we walked. And before that day, and since that day I have walked along East Hastings a number of times and never been stopped, approached, or yelled at. This has become a moment in my mind that clarifies, solidifies and proves to me the existence of a world outside of the physical, quantifiable realm. It may not be enough for the greatest of skeptics, and I will accept that. Hitchens may suggest that this woman simply had a mental issue, which is medically speaking very likely. But then, my question is, Why at that moment? Why did this woman decide in that moment to spew her words towards us, as we walked and prayed? And more importantly, Why those words? Of the wide variety of expletives available in the English language, why did she choose to get the devil involved? The worldview I adhere to suggests that we are living in both a physical and spiritual world, where a battle continues to rage between God and Satan--a world that we can encounter from time to time.

You may ask, Why do I not experience this more often? To which, I can only restate what I have written about before: the distractions of the culture we live in greatly diminishes my ability to recognize God in the everyday. And perhaps, that is the struggle of atheism. In a world where reason and science rule, in which humanity is the apex of evolution, it is a wonder that one would look beyond himself and the physical world in which he exists. If one does not expect to know anything outside of himself and the physical world, how can he experience anything else? Without the experience of God, modern society would simply turn into the narcissistic, ego-centric, self-gratifying, greedy, and sexually confused kind of world we are all a part of. The distinctiveness of the Christian faith should point foremost to a Creator God through whom all things live, move and have their being.

Of course, this unfinished thought did not touch at all on many of Hitchen's tiresome, sarcastic and anti-religious tirades concerning the historicity of religious wars and the unfounded proofs concerning the Bible (valid points which I hope to get to eventually). But without at least a hint of the existence of God, there would be no point in bringing that up. Perhaps in a future post...

Oh, lympics.

2010-01-07T20:24:00.009-08:00

The west coast winter we are experiencing this year is a far cry from last year's weather. While we were snowed in by Christmas day 2008, barely a flake has settled on the ground this season--which is a real shame considering the amount of money the cities around here have put into upgrading their winter equipment. All for naught, it seems; at least, so far. Bad news for the hundreds of thousands expected to arrive in a mere 30 days. When it comes to the Winter Olympics, snow is kind of a necessity.

Not a day goes by around here that the words olympics, vancouver, twenty-ten, or flame do not cross my eyes or flow past my ears. Today was all about warning the commuters to plan a different work schedule during the Olympics so that their regular lives do not interfere with the excitement. Already the fences are up, roads are closing, tents are erected, and the street signs warn of parking and stopping limits between February and March. Oh, and on the cover of our local Metro last week was a picture of some guy hanging an Olympic banner on downtown light posts. The photo generated so much excitement amongst us 7am commuters, it was palatable.

There are other words that cross my eyes and flow past my ears, too. Protest, deficit, anti-corporation, human rights, displacement, F$!# 2010.

I really don't know what to think of the Olympics. Yes, they are a giant, enormous waste of money; for Vancouver, for its taxpayers and even for ticketholders who, like me (if I watch), could get a better glimpse of the games from the comfort of a living room couch without the debt-inducing cost of a ticket--and with cheaper drinks and snacks to boot. Unfortunately, I simply cannot get excited about sports in general, so I am definitely not one to get all antsy-in-my-pantsy about the event. But I can't say I'm anti-Olympics.

Anti-Olympics. The problem with the pervasive anti-olympic attitude around here is that it seems to be no more than a revolt against, and does not seem to be a positive force for change. Yes, the money could be better spent on social issues, on the homeless, in the education system, to reduce debt or avoid the HST. But it's not. And it won't be. One group recently announced a "Prorogue the Olympics" campaign. With one month left to go, it, too, seems like a wasted effort. No amount of protest or graffiti will stop 300,000 people from invading the city. And tackling a torch-bearer will not prevent the lighting of the Olympic cauldron. Awareness of a cause may be promoted, but there is little that foreigners could or care to do--too many of them are here just for a good time. Protests didn't work in Beijing, they won't work here.

I am not against protests, don't get me wrong. Protests raise awareness for necessary changes--and there are a lot of necessary changes in Vancouver alone that have been overlooked and shoved to the side for the sake of the games. Olympics or not, these changes would likely not have been addressed anyway (sorry for my pessimism). At this point in the game(s), perhaps it's time to consider positive alternatives.

And there are positive alternatives. Buying Sex is Not a Sport "is a grassroots campaign to raise awareness and effect change around sex trafficking and the 2010 Olympic games." More than Gold encourages Christians to serve the masses as they live in and travel around Vancouver. Home for the Games invites homeowners to rent out rooms, with half the profit earned going towards the fight against homelessness in Vancouver. And I'm sure there are more positive initiatives taking place during the Olympics. Seek them out, and get involved.

The Olympics is at its root, and as far as I can tell, still about athletes competing against each other to win a prize. For those athletes who win, there is an incredible sense of accomplishment and joy as their national anthem is blared across the stadium. And for those who lose, the opportunity to participate is reward enough. Sure there is a ton of money involved in the back rooms of the elite, and corporations have spent and will receive millions of dollars over the course of the two week event. But aside from a massive, complete, counter-cultural initiative to address the capitalist mindset that thrives off the people (read: you and me), little can be done about such extravagances (again, sorry for my pessimism). This is an opportunity for us to leave a positive impression on the masses. Scream and yell, hold your signs if you must. I will choose to effect a positive experience on our visitors.

so this is the new year.

2010-01-01T17:04:00.004-08:00

2009 has come to an end--the year of waiting. Aside from the slow growth of Susan's baby bump, not much is new, not much is different. We began 2009 in the same jobs we ended 2009. We began the year at the same church we ended the year. And we're still living in the same basement suite. I am one year older, one anniversary wiser in marriage, I've had seven or eight more haircuts, two or three pairs of jeans replaced along with two shoes, countless numbers of fill-ups in the Civic, and thousands of kilometres added to the odometer. Not only was it a year of waiting, it really was a year of inactivity in the grand scheme of things. Sure, we were kept busy at work, at volunteering, with places to go and people to see. In that sense, this past year has flown by. Another year has past already. But in hindsight, the year of waiting was just that. A year of waiting.

Waiting for what?

Sus and I talked a bit last night about the upcoming year, 2010, and what it will bring. Change. Twenty-ten will be a year of change. There are some expected changes to come, such as the addition of ten fingers, ten toes and--heck--a whole new body to feed, clothe, sustain and love in our home. With this addition comes the expected change to our lifestyle: a one-income family we will be. But we are also anticipating change there, too. With a job that is slowly driving me to insanity and a requisite internship coming up, we are expecting (hoping, praying) there to be a significant career change--or at least, direction. We talk about this often, Sus and I. At times out of excitement and anticipation, at other times out of frustration and worry.

It's a tough thing to trust when plans don't go as planned. I realize that is an odd sentence, but it's true--sometimes plans just don't go as expected, and what remains in the settled dust is trust. And that's where the excitement and anticipation comes in. We trust in someone bigger than ourselves, and we have to trust in God's unpredictability. It is the most frustrating and most reassuring place to be. And we, in our family of two-going-on-three, have experienced both frustration and assurance over this period of waiting, usually at different times. It's one of the awesome experiences of marriage, to support and be supported when needed. And with the expected changes to come this year, mutual support will be in high demand.

Welcome, 2010!

seeds [part three]

2009-08-13T15:10:00.006-07:00

After a summer-long hiatus from West Coast precipitation, it was really only a matter of time before the skies clouded over and the rains began. Summer rains are not so bad, though. There is still warmth in the air, and with the lack of any sort of moisture for months, the grass is in desperate need. So is our garden. While we've been enjoying the vegetables of our labour, we admittedly haven't been paying much attention to its nourishment and replenishment. For good reason, though; in lieu of catering to the growth of our garden, Susan has been busy looking after the growth of a different sort of seed.

It's clear that I am amazed by the growth of our plants from tiny seeds to their present state of, what seems like, taking over the garden. Thousands of leaves, plenty of blossoms and countless root systems developed, all from what once were seeds. And there will probably be a hundred tomatoes grown, another hundred blueberries, hundreds of peas, a couple dozen carrots, and plenty of squash by the time our summer winds down. It's still a mystery to me. Yet, even more mysterious is the growth that began a mere 13 weeks ago. From a seed infinitely smaller than a pea pod, a child has begun to form. While we have the awesome responsibility of ensuring that the right foods are eaten, the appropriate medication is taken, and as little possible stress is experienced in order to provide the best environment for our child, we ultimately know that his (her?) formation is out of our hands. Like the rain falling on our garden outside my window, it is only God's provision that will allow our child to shape and develop.

And by all accounts, all is well. We watched our baby in action earlier this week, moving around and getting comfortable inside his temporary home. (For the sake of this and future posts, our baby is a "he" until we see otherwise). Though he is only three inches in length, most of his parts are there. Already. He has fingerprints. He has nerves. Reflexes. We watched his heart pounding inside his tiny frame. A mystery, and a miracle, at its finest. Perhaps the only greater mystery is how it can be denied that what exists inside Susan's body is a living child.

Three months down. Six to go.

on direction

2009-08-06T20:45:00.006-07:00

Direction
--not intention--
leads to destination

--some sage advice from our pastor the other day.

When my internal ponderings unhinge themselves from thoughts of work, marriage, home, etc, I consider, once again, my role as an employee, husband, man, Christian, [soon-to-be-father]. The thoughts come not in a narcissistic, egotistical manner, but in a more rounded set of introspections as one who finds himself in a vast, fallen, sometimes harsh and always complex world. In truth, the questions always (must?) come back to me and what my role within this framework is to be. Am I holding up my end of the bargain? Am I just doing and not being? Is waiting a good thing?

A series of questions crossed my train of thought the other day via a sermon:

What path am I on?
Where does it lead to?
Is that where I want it to end up?

All the best intentions will never lead to desired destination. I can intend to drive from A to B, but without direction, I'll likely end up at Z. To some, direction comes easy. For me, not so much...but that is changing. On top of these questions have come a number of challenges:

A challenge to be wise.
A challenge to be a man.
A challenge to be Godly.

I'm learning that without wisdom, I have no direction. And I am no longer just leading myself. My "i's" have become "we's." The easy thing to do is just let things be and see how they work out. But I know that's not what is expected of me, as a husband, as a Christian, as a man. So what's left? To pick up the pieces. To pick up the pieces of the past, examine them, rediscover them for the misdirection they have offered, to put them back down. And then to walk on. Lack of direction has left me with nothing but dreams and intentions. These, too, I must re-examine for their worth and potential, and then do with them what is best--what is manly, wise, and Godly.

Direction
--not intention--
leads to destination

We had a bird, briefly. (Or, the misadventures of Sweets)

2009-07-07T21:29:00.005-07:00

We had a bird, briefly. To Sweets, a poem:

Oh little bird Sweets,
how bitter did you tweet.
You were a beautiful hue:
white and turquoisy,
'til you got stuck to some glue.

Your feathers ruffled,
and your colours muffled.
So back to your friends you go.
Tweet little budgie,
a party for you they will throw.

seeds [cont'd]

2009-05-06T21:49:00.008-07:00

I just started a class on the Gospels today, and one of the first assignments was to read through the book of Mark. Since this whole garden thing started, I've noticed more and more the amount of times the idea of seeds and planting is written about in the Bible--either in actuality or in imagery. My ears have become more attuned to any mention of seeds and planting than they've ever been. It's kind of like owning (or previously owning) a Suzuki Swift. Every time I pass another Swift, I notice it. It's not intentional; it just happens because I was associated with that type of car and immediately take notice of it. Yes. Reading about seeds and planting in the Bible is kind of like owning a Suzuki Swift.

Jesus said, "The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how. The earth produces by itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come."

Now I know there are scientific and biological reasons for plants growing and sprouting the way they do. Our beans and our onions are doing this, but my naivetée in the science of plant growth renders me astounded by the fact that actual plants are sprouting out of what were once tiny seeds. I sleep and rise night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; I know not how.

It seems that one of the current fashionable ideas about the kingdom of God is that it is 1) a present reality and 2) a future reality--that the kingdom of God is here now and is coming soon. It's a complicated theological idea, but one that, even in this short parable, seems to hold some truth: the kingdom of God is a present reality as it grows and ripens and will be a future reality when it reaches full maturity. The coinciding fashionable idea about the kingdom of God is that we are a part of it--that we are in this kingdom even now, and we are a part of its growth and maturity. There was a time when I thought I had all that figured out, but in a sense, I am relearning what this means--that it is more than simply doing what is right but in believing what is right. The "doing" is nothing without a solid foundation of faith. I think. But if there is no faith, than what is the point in doing? Right? All that to say, that this kingdom--this present and future reality--must grow out of something, just as seeds grow out of soil. Maybe faith is the soil from which this kingdom grows.

What if Susan Boyle Couldn't Sing?

2009-04-22T09:31:00.001-07:00

By now we've all heard the story, we've all seen the video, and if we're the sort of person, we've cried the tears. But, as Dennis Palumbo asks in The Huffington Post, What if Susan Boyle Couldn't Sing? What a great question.

Palumbo writes, "the unspoken message of this whole episode is that, since Susan Boyle has a wonderful talent, we were wrong to judge her based on her looks and demeanor. Meaning what? That if she couldn't sing so well, we were correct to judge her on that basis? That demeaning someone whose looks don't match our impossible, media-reinforced standards of beauty is perfectly okay, unless some mitigating circumstance makes us re-think our opinion?"

I don't know what my natural reaction would be to the video, had I not watched it already knowing the outcome. But I can guess that Palumbo is right--that had she not been able to sing so well, I would have felt justified to judge Boyle based solely on her looks. Sad, n'est pas? How is it that I--that we--have gotten to a point where looks are all that matter? And I say 'we' because, from the amount of hits her video has received on youtube, it seems that all of us with an internet connection or any access to the media reacted the same way to watching Susan Boyle walk on stage as Simon Cowell and the rest of the audience did. "Don't judge a book by it's cover" is the absolute basic lesson we can all learn from this episode. The cliché doesn't give any justice to the fact that we all, on a daily basis, are quick to judge. And worse yet, we are all capable of justifying it. Truth be told, however, it's easier to judge than to blindly accept.

So what more could we learn from her if the beauty of her voice hadn't blinded our vision? Jean Vanier, in his book, Becoming Human, offers an answer. He suggests that fear is the basis of our prejudice and exclusion. "When we have constructed our lives around particular values of knowledge, power, and social esteem," he writes, "it is difficult for us to accept those who cannot live by the same set of values. It is as if we are threatened by such people." We are threatened by those who don't live up to our "media-reinforced standards of beauty" because it is easier to look down on them than to relate to them. For in relating to them, we become them. And in becoming them, we recognize that on the most basic level of our lives, we are all human. We are all the same.

That is the deeper lesson that can be learned from Susan Boyle. Yes, the story is a feel-good one. It's a story that leaves us full with some sort of joy and contentment. But I don't think it's because we've all taken a bite of humble pie. For when the next contestant walks on stage who looks like Susan Boyle and sings horribly, we will only validate our initial derision, forgetting that Susan Boyle ever existed.

seeds.

2009-04-21T20:53:00.005-07:00

We planted a garden a few weeks ago, Sus and I. It was one of those early spring days with a bit of summer flavour--flip flops and all. Perfect for an afternoon of planting. Neither of us have really tended a garden before, so this garden of ours is really an experiment in many ways. It's an experiment in tending nature. It's an experiment in discovering what can grow in our garden. It's an experiment in quantities, as we have no idea how many plants a bag of seeds will bring us--though it did take a little while before I realized that we had enough seeds for several feet of rows, not inches, as I had misread. And it's an experiment in patience.

Today we've begun to see the veggies of our labour. Little green shoots of carrots, onions and peas have emerged from their darkened slumber, breaking through the soil. Grasping their first breath of sunlight. It's a beautiful thing. I am quite amazed by this whole phenomenon called gardening. Three weeks ago the tiny seeds we delicately dropped into little holes in the soil seemed incapable of anything, let alone anything the size of a carrot. Yet, the beginnings of real vegetables are poking through. That vegetables actually grow from seeds only millimetres in diameter confounds me. I know there's a lesson here.

pockets of sadness.

2009-03-28T08:04:00.005-07:00

Listening to Q yesterday, one of the guests said something quite profound, though I'm not sure he realized it. He was referencing an interview earlier in the week with Charles Montgomery who suggested that Vancouver ranked low on the "happiness" meter. So a few days later, this guest, in the midst of a rant on how great a city Vancouver is, despite the statistics, mentioned that within Vancouver there are "pockets of great sadness." Those words immediately resonated in my mind. Pockets of sadness. He, of course, was referring to the Downtown East Side.

But in his study, Montgomery wasn't talking about the amount of happiness on the East Side, where one might expect there to be a deep level of disatisfaction in the poverty-stricken neighbourhood. He was talking about the upper-class West side of Vancouver. His study ultimately reveals that "the richer the city you live in Canada, the less likely you are to be happy." We've all heard these studies before, and we've all heard the cliché: money doesn't buy you happiness. And as much as we know it's true, we all have this built-in, media-driven tendency to buy the next best thing that will truly make us happy, don't we?

But are the pockets of sadness really in the areas where we find the greatest amount of need? Or are they in the areas where we find the least amount of want?

The Beatitudes

"God blesses those who realize their need for him,
for the Kingdom of Heaven is given to them.
God blesses those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
God blesses those who are gentle an lowly,
for the whole earth will belong to them.
God blesses those who are hungry and thirsty for justice,
for they will receive it in full.
God blesses those who are merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
God blesses those whose hearts are pure,
for they will see God.
God blesses those who work for peace,
for they will be called the children of God.
God blesses those who are persecuted because they live for God,
for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs."

non-emergent

2009-03-14T08:23:00.006-07:00

The one hour time difference has brought some minor changes to my morning commute. Six o'clock is once again shrouded in darkness, though by the time I leave for the bus at seven, a bit of light begins to filter through the black. And on the kind of mornings we've had over the past week (bitterly cold and brilliantly clear), the sunrise is in its full glory by the time I start heading Northeast on the skytrain--the perfect vantage point from which to view the silhouetted frames of Mt. Baker and his mountainous friends in the far East. I've taken to simply enjoying the morning nature show from the skytrain until we start heading West and the sunrise continues out of sight--at which point, I pick up whatever free newspaper I'm handed on my way into the 22nd Street station. Or I continue reading my book of choice for the daily commute.

I just finished the book, Why We're Not Emergent (by two guys who should be) by Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck. It was lent to me by a friend in perfect condition though now, with a bit of travel under it's belt, I've managed to dog-ear the corners. We had gotten to talking about the Emerging Church Movement and, after explaining a bit of my experiences and questionings in the past, I soon had this book in my hands. Limitied to one hour a day on the bus and skytrain, it took a while to get through the book, but on finishing it I thought I'd offer my unprofessional critique. I often read books uncritically and never actually process what I'm reading, but I want to change that. I'll start with this book.

Within the first chapter I realized that I may relate more to this book than I anticipated. DeYoung is a Reformed pastor in Michigan--the mecca state of the Christian Reformed Church--so he immediately gained my attention. Kluck, a sportswriter, attends the same church as far as I could tell in their writing, so it is obvious that the criticisms in this book towards the emerging movement would be Reformed in nature. DeYoung does an excellent job of thinking critically through the printed words (ie. books, blogs) of some of the major emergent leaders: Brian McLaren, Rob Bell, Leonard Sweet, Erwin McManus. Though (unfortunately) neither author ever had a conversation with any one of these guys, DeYoung is able to pick apart what he believes to be theological unsound statements and beliefs held by the emerging movement. And he does this well, challenging the movement to stop asking questions in some key issues of Christianity [around the foundational aspect of Scripture (The Bible tells us what is true. Our thinking about God, ourselves, and the Word should start with the Bible and never contradict the Bible. In that sense, what's so wrong with calling the Bible our foundation?), the desire for Christ over doctrine (Once we say something about why Jesus is glorious and what His life was like and what it accomplished, aren't we settling back into dogma and religion again? The Jesus-versus-theology mantra is centuries old, and it makes no more sense and no more converts today than a hundred years ago.), propositions, hell, salvation, and others] and to start providing answers. There is too much confusion in all this questioning, and there are some absolute truths that we must hold on to, he might say.

I had a tough time getting through Kluck's writing. While DeYoung wrote from a more theologically sound view (the advantage of being a Reformed pastor, I'm sure), Kluck attempted to draw his reader into various anti-emergent conversations he's had with others along the way. It was distracting and lacked what one might call a Point. And maybe that was his point--to show that non-emergent folk can have intelligent conversations and learn from them, too, just like their emergent counterparts. From the start though, I was distracted by his writing, I wasn't looking for the [churches] with the biggest projection screens, the coolest "gathering place," or the best film discussions, and then proceeding in the same chapter and the next to explain how movies such as Rebel without a Cause, Jerry Maguire and Thank You for Smoking are relevant to his discussion on being non-emergent. That and his use of Wikipedia as a source for his understanding of what "futurist" means. All that to say, if you want to learn from this book and gain some valuable, theologically sound insight into some concerns about the emergent movement, read the chapters written by DeYoung, who finishes the book (and this short book review post) well:

In the end, it all comes back to God. We become what we worship. If God is relational, inviting, and mysterious overwhelmingly more than He is omnipotent, just , and knowable, then the gospel becomes a message overwhelmingly about community, inclusion, and journey. But if God is overwhelmingly holy, righteous, and graciously sovereign, then the gospel becomes a message about sin, justification, and undeserved mercy. To borrow from Jonathan Edwards, what we need to recover is a vision of God in all His "diverse excellencies."

Brandon.

2009-03-06T22:29:00.010-08:00

we watched a documentary last night on the fifth estate. when the story of Brandon Crisp came out late last year, i remember feeling a sense of disbelief that a 15 year old boy would run away from home over having his video game taken away. disbelief and sadness, actually. at the time there was speculation about foul play, but when the story wrapped up in the news three weeks later, Brandon's body had been found at the bottom of the tree he fell from. this story breaks my heart.

perhaps a natural reaction to a story like this one is: who's to blame? the parents? call of duty 4? the video game industry? Brandon? to be honest, i'm not sure anyone is to blame. this story is the tragic result of a perfect storm combining all these fronts. that said, however, i am a little disappointed with the entertainment software association (esa) and major league gaming (mlg). while the documentary intentionally left the viewer with a sense that both organizations are solely to blame, it at least opened my eyes to what goes on behind the scenes in the video game industry--and perhaps some things that need to change.

regardless of how a mature-rated game ended up in the hands of a 15 year old, it is obvious that the rating system does not work and is not at all taken seriously. and i don't think it ever will--it's too late for that. but while the esa and mlg portray their organizations as the providers of entertainment, it is clear that they really don't care and are content with the lack of ratings accountability. and it's not because they just really love providing entertainment for a generation of teens and young adults. it's because that generation are easy targets for marketers which, in turn, makes them a huge profit. why try to fix something that's broken in your favour?

finally, let me say this: i love video games. when my brothers and i were growing up, we would go out and rent the latest console (back in the days when the n64 was the coolest) and spend the entire night playing the latest video games. just a few weeks ago we did the same. i know how addicting video games can be. and i know that if we had an xbox 360 , xbox live and call of duty 4 at home, i would have no reason to leave the house. it is that addicting for me. in that sense, i understand Brandon's obsession with the game. but matthew bromberg (mlg) is right: ultimate responsibility should lie in the hands of parents who should have the most say in how their child spends their time--an increasingly difficult task in a world where teens can find their sense of belonging as much on a soccer field as in an online community.

there are no simple solutions to make sense of Brandon's death.

to view the full robbie cooper video, 'immersion', click here. To hear an interview with him on Q, click here.

a red light day.

2009-02-18T20:54:00.001-08:00

Some days it seems like all I come across are red lights—literally and figuratively. I must have been stopped at 75% of the intersections I came across along my delivery route today. And right now I am being stonewalled by a homework assignment that I simply cannot wrap my mind around.

I'm going nowhere,
All the lights are changing green to red.

--David Gray

a year of waiting.

2009-02-05T19:08:00.002-08:00

It's the beginning of February and I'm just now getting around to writing about last year. 2006 was a year of completion. 2007 of experiencing. 2008 was, if I were to put into one word: newness. I think. It's the first word that comes to mind, but it was chased into my head by another word: commitment. Newness is fitting though, what with a new job, a new wife, new home, new school ... new life. Instead of turning a page to a new chapter, it's almost like I finished the prequel and cracked open its sequel. And within this first chapter of newness is a deep awareness commitment. No longer can I get bored and move on--of these new experiences, I'm in it for the long haul. This is the first chapter of many, and I'm eager to see what happens. Which brings me to 2009. This time, I'm not going to look back in January 2010 to figure out what the previous year was all about. I already know what 2009 is. 2009 is a year of waiting. ...let me backtrack a few weeks.

New Year's Eve was spent on a little plot of land called Mayne Island, between the Mainland and Vancouver Island. A few folks from our Bible Study got together for a few days in order to ring in the New Year with a bit of a spiritual focus. Somewhere between reminiscing the year gone by and thinking about the year to come, 2008 slid into 2009. Champagne was opened, glasses were clinked, the Happy New Year song was sung. My wife and I kissed.

The Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says, 'Only in returning to me and waiting for me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.' But the Lord still waits for you to come to him so he can show you his love and compassion. For the Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for him to help them. [Isaiah 30:15,18]

January 1, 2009 began with those words and with a challenge: are we willing to actively wait for God? Even more so, are we willing to actively wait for [and within] His will? Patience is a lost virtue in our society. Perseverance, non-existent. And I've grown accustomed to pursuing the next best thing to come along. But with all the newness begun in 2008, it strikes me that each new circumstance carries with it a long-term commitment. We don't know exactly what we're waiting for, but waiting patiently is what Susan and I felt called to in this new year. In time I will be finished school, Susan will be ready to move on from her job, and we are open to whatever possibilities are open to us. And the hard part . . . the really hard part is ... waiting.

one month 'til...

2009-02-03T18:22:00.005-08:00

first thought.

2009-01-26T18:58:00.003-08:00

Somewhere in the semi-state of consciousness between turning my alarm off and slowly slipping out of bed this morning, a thought crossed my mind:

Through the eyes of the innocent,
softer, and deeper, is love.

hope.

2009-01-20T21:02:00.007-08:00

The fog has settled into the city. For days now a thick cloud has enveloped the shoreline of the Fraser River, plunging any bridge that dares to cross it into a vast expanse of gray. And now, with one out of the three main bridges into the city closed for an estimated four weeks, the amount of cars disappearing into the fog on the other two bridges has doubled in capacity. It's a commuting nightmare.

But, there's hope--a silver lining on the fringes of this endless Vancouver cloud. Surely, Barack Obama will swoop in to save the day for the overanxious, claustrophobic bridge commuter. We've pinned all our other hopes on this man for the regeneration, regrowth and replenishment of this world, so why not add a bit of traffic to his endless list of "We Can's." [fingers crossed] Yes, he can!

Today marked the inauguration of America's 44th President. I managed to catch Obama's swearing-in and speech on the radio between deliveries this morning and was quite impressed by his on-stage charisma and authenticity. In commentary after commentary on the event, one word re-emerged time and again; a word that contrasts--like Obama's smile--the prevailing attitude otherwise portrayed by the media in this "global economic crisis:" hope. I'll readily admit that I am just one more person who has jumped on the Obamawagon, but I struggle to not pin my hope on a President. It's too easy to step back and expect the leader to do all the work while we reap the benefits. And I think Obama understands that, which I think is why I like him. He touched on every popular 21st Century topic in his speech, from the environment to love to cooperation to responsible economic leadership. And he made it clear that it is not his sole responsibility to work these things out. His words, though spoken to the citizens of America, resonated around the world: "What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition...that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world. Duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task. This is the price and the promise of citizenship."

Not only does he believe in the possibility of equality, he knows that we all play a role in achieving equality. Words like that can too easily be missed in the hype of a misplaced hope.

snowcouver?

2009-01-07T17:55:00.008-08:00

It's raining in Vancouver. Hallelujah.

In years past, perhaps my number one complaint about living in 'Raincouver' is just that--the rain. Not this year. With the rain comes some sort of semblance to life once again. I walked on pavement today, perhaps for the first time in a month. Add to that joy, this: the buses are on time, the skytrain is back on its normal schedule, and I'm not pushing our car out of another snowdrift. [We'll not mention who exactly put the car in the drift in the first place]. But this oft-repeated predicament on the snow-covered side streets of Surrey raises a fundamental question in my Ontarian mind: why am I stuck in a snowdrift on a street...again? Back in Ontario, this was never a problem. It was a cycle as simple as this: 1) Snow 2) Plow 3) Repeat.

Vancouver, however, is not known for this white, fluffy precipitation. In a city not used to massive amounts of snow, little resources exist to deal with it when it piles up on city streets. Here, the cycle looks a little lacking: 1) Snow 2) Repeat.

As the snow continues to pile up on the streets of the city, nothing but the smooth summery tires of civilian transport exists to crush it into oblivion. Plows are few and far between here, something everyone east of Abbotsford must be aware of. Heck, in Ontario, my siblings and I even had pet names for each type of plow we'd watch pass our home. They were the A&W burgers of the street: there was Papa, with it's crew of double-bladed, highway-clearing Papa friends; Momma took to the main city streets, leaving a trail of salt in her wake; Sister took care of the side roads; and best of all, there was Baby. I remember hearing the constant drone of Baby as she tumbled up the sidewalks of Grimsby, leaving nothing but a clean patch of cement for the foot commuter. Alas, this family of snow-crushing machinery only exists in areas where...well...where there's snow. A lot of snow. The highways of the Lower Mainland are lucky to have Sister scrape over them.

It seems the snow was a short-lived (albeit month-long) adventure. It won't take long to get used to the rain. I heard my first complaint about it at work today: 'When's it ever going to stop?'

100 today

2008-12-05T13:34:00.003-08:00

As of today, Canada has lost one hundred troops to the war in Afghanistan. To be honest, I don't know where I stand on this war. Though it has been going on for six years the only time we hear about it is when the number of casualties rises. Out of sight, out of mind. Quite a while ago I spoke with a friend who knows a Canadian soldier in Afghanistan. My friend quoted the soldier, saying something along the lines of, "Being a soldier is our job. It's what we decided to do with our lives, so we shouldn't be harassed by our fellow Canadians for being in Afghanistan." I had never thought of it in that way before, that our soldiers in Afghanistan are doing a job which they have trained for. Sure we can argue about the politics and the ideology behind our presence in Afghanistan, but we must remember that for better or worse, our troops are there because this is where their employer sent them.

100 is a number. Here are their names.

oh, Canada.

2008-12-04T10:02:00.010-08:00

While I'm not generally one to get into politics I gotta say, Canada must have the most unique leaders in the world. Just a few weeks ago we had an election in which the Conservative Party, led by Stephen Harper, won a minority government. A week ago the losing parties, Liberal, NDP and Bloc Quebecois decided that Harper was doing such a horrible job when it came to the economy that he should be removed. So they grouped together and decided to take him out, politically speaking. Okay, so there's a heck of a lot more to it than that but it's a start.

I'll be honest. I was tempted to vote for the NDP this year, but got sick of hearing Jack talk about the kitchen table. Even if I could understand Mr. Dion, I wouldn't have voted for him. The Green Shift didn't sit too well with me. And since I didn't have a Marijuana Party in my riding and the only other option was the Communist and Green Parties, my vote went to the Conservatives. ...not that I would have voted for the Marijuana Party. I've noticed their permanent local headquarters are on East Hastings--likely a strategic move to take advantage of the countless homeless folk just up the street.

Am I happy with the Conservative Party? I suppose I am one of the few who reads CBC News online and does not have a complaint against Harper. This morning he managed to suspend Parliament in order to save his party from falling to the coalition party of Liberal, NDP and Bloc. Smart thinking? I think for now, yes. I still can't understand Dion, and Jack still rants about nothing but the kitchen table. The last thing Canada needs (besides this endless talk of economic doom and gloom) is a coalition led by Dion, a temporary leader, propped up by power-hungry Layton and Duceppe which, for all we know, will only bring further trouble to our economy and country.

Cartoon by Graeme MacKay

the world is just awesome.

2008-11-24T10:20:00.004-08:00

We picked up the BBC's Planet Earth series yesterday and, one and a half episodes in, I'm hooked. So far we've watched scenes from the Arctic, Antarctic, deserts, rainforests, oceans and mountains. I am absolutely amazed at what happens in the wonderful world of wildlife around the globe. Makes me wanna ....

...and on...

2008-11-12T21:36:00.003-08:00

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my place in the sphere of postmodern North American Christianity. I suppose this thinking comes from a foundational re-grounding of my faith by way of “settling.” It is difficult, at times, to accept the regularly scheduled week, regularly attending church and Bible Study and the acquisition of things. I fought against most of these elements of settled life for quite a while, and it is taking some time to get used to it all. The truth is, we’re here and we’re trying to make the most of it. I’m learning to live a regular life in our postmodern North American society, and it feels … okay. Lately it has even been feeling … good. And I think it’s because I have settled.

No longer am I simply doing what’s next, or what “feels right.” No longer a nomad, I have reason and time for introspection. My faith is being re-grounded, reshaped and solidified through an incapability to escape. I am no longer doing things to please God. Instead I am getting a better grasp of this God for whom I do things. We are receiving solid Biblical teaching, not from a pastor whose attempts to break down the traditional church mold trump the truth of the Gospel, but from a pastor who really speaks foundational truth. The Godly wisdom he imparts parches my thirst. I am challenged in my faith by others and as hard as it has been to take, I need it. In some ways it feels as though there has been some heavy duty chiseling happening. My cynicism towards the church has dwindled. I have read more from the emerging church movement and have begun to question it’s attitude and theology. They, too, have missed the mark, I think. Cynicism gives rise to pride. I am guilty of that, and am coming to grips with it.

My blogging has been slagging lately, partially because of busyness and partially because I find myself relaxing instead. At some point I hope to return to semi-regularly blogging, maybe when this semester is over.

300,000

2008-09-28T18:00:00.004-07:00

Today has been a momentous day! Swift has hit another milestone in her life: 300,000 kilometres. Good 'ol Swift. I still remember the day she hit the 200,000 mark back in October, 2005. It was like yesterday in my mind. *Sigh* They grow up so fast...

i like mondays.

2008-09-22T11:07:00.005-07:00

Mondays are for me, in some ways, just an extension of the weekend. No work. Just school -- at two in the afternoon. It makes for delightful mornings. Mornings such as this that began with a little Halo and coffee followed by the completion of this week's online English assignment in which I had to define such terms as irony, cliché and simile. I needed that reminder like a fish needs a bicycle.

perspectives

2008-09-13T12:44:00.008-07:00

The other night we hung out with a couple friends for a late-night coffee and apple pie. We brought the coffee, ready-made in a carafe, and they supplied the coffee. It was swell. During the course of our conversation, I commented on the fact that I had to get up early in the morning in order to catch my bus to work. [Yeah, that's right, a bus. I have joined the throngs of transit commuters who daily cram themselves, like teenagers playing Sardines in daylight, into the tight quarters of a city bus and even tighter quarters of the Skytrain]. With Swift enjoying a shorter drive to Susan's work in the opposite direction, commuting has become my only option. It's really not so bad, except for the early morning rush to catch a city bus which, incidentally, will not wait for you, even if you're just meters away from catching up to it. It was this early morning start that I made a comment about. "It's even worse now that it's getting darker and darker in the morning," I said. To which came the response, "Actually, I kind of like getting up before the sun. It makes me feel like I'm starting the day right." I had to make it clear to him that, for me, getting up before the sun definitely means that I am starting off the day completely wrong. Perspectives.

Over a year ago, I wrote this article about my time spent in Northern Ontario for the online publication, Wrecked for the Ordinary. There were some initial comments to this article, one of which coming from one of the girls I regularly interacted with on the reserve. But over time, as new articles came in, mine was archived and put away, digitally. About a week ago it was found by another person, a parent, from the reserve who did not take kindly to what I had written about my experiences. They were offended. Very offended.

I received an email from Jeff Goins, the editor of Wrecked, who had made some initial responses to the criticisms offered by the parent, and he wanted to make sure I knew what was going on. I was shocked. My initial reaction was a mixture of fear (that I had written something offensive to which I should recant), anger (that I had been misunderstood) and concern (that this parent might share this article with another on the reserve and offer their interpretation of what was written).

Perspectives are interesting. While I can understand this parent's reaction, as one who's life and home have been written about, I am perplexed by their words. I re-read the article to figure out if I had been offensive, if I had insinuated that the children in Aroland are "pathetic" (perhaps the most distressing statement, to me), but have decided to stand by what I've written. I wrote about my experiences and feelings in Aroland and really, the whole point of the article was to bring awareness to a cultural group that in my opinion has been misunderstood, even by myself. By no means is my understanding of First Nations people a complete understanding but my experiences are valid, as is my perspective from these experiences, from which I wrote. While I still value the parent's perspective, my hope is that they would come to a clearer understanding of my intentions for writing.

i have a desk.

2008-08-04T10:09:00.003-07:00

I have a desk. Or should I say, We have a desk. It has been quite some time since I have been in a place I can call my home, and that day has come complete with an office ... and a wife. Well, she didn't come with the place, nor did the place come with her. I moved into this basement suite on July 1 and was soon joined by Susan, officially on July 26th, 2008, the date of our wedding. No longer will I be aimlessly traveling the countryside. Short-term plan: school for me while Susan continues her job with a preschool in White Rock. Long-term plan: unknown. By the end of my schooling in 4-5 years I will have a teaching degree and, what with having our summers off and opportunity to travel within our profession, who knows where we'll be? We're committed to eachother, and we're committed to discovering the path God has for us.

Marriage is pretty sweet. We've been married for just over a week now and I'm still trying not to twiddle with the ring on my finger and I'm still getting used to not sleeping alone (while vainly attempting to remember that there is someone beside me when I flail my arms while in restless sleep)). I think one of the biggest learning curves in marriage is the idea of not being an individual, but a couple. I've learned much of the selfish nature of mine simply through our relationship, through my futile attempts to care more for another than for myself. The learning curve has been frustrating at times, and challenging all the time. Challenges aren't a bad thing, though. In our vows, Susan and I committed that we would "allow God to use [the other] to build His qualities in [us]. Part of that is understanding those things that drive the other person crazy and adjusting [my] set habits built during years of single life to satisfy the other. "It's not always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise that moves us along". Susan and I are still learning what it means to be in relationship, and I'm convinced that this could be a lifelong lesson. But it's a lesson we're committed to and as we keep to our vows, we can only trust that it's all a part of our growing in character and faith.

We have a desk. In an office. In a suite. In Surrey. A new chapter begins...

all apologies.

2008-06-11T21:09:00.007-07:00

Today was a momentous day in the Canadian House of Commons as our Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, stood before a gathering of other politicians and, more importantly, a gathering of First Nations members, and apologized. An excerpt:
Mr. Speaker, I stand before you today to offer an apology to former students of Indian residential schools. The treatment of children in Indian residential schools is a sad chapter in our history.

In the 1870's, the federal government, partly in order to meet its obligation to educate aboriginal children, began to play a role in the development and administration of these schools.

Two primary objectives of the residential schools system were to remove and isolate children from the influence of their homes, families, traditions and cultures, and to assimilate them into the dominant culture.

These objectives were based on the assumption aboriginal cultures and spiritual beliefs were inferior and unequal.

Indeed, some sought, as it was infamously said, "to kill the Indian in the child."

Today, we recognize that this policy of assimilation was wrong, has caused great harm, and has no place in our country.
The aboriginal community in Canada has been seeking an apology for a long time, indicating that it will help to put the pain behind them. My hope and prayer is that this apology will be more than a political posture, but will truly bring closure for both sides so that reconciliation can continue.

pillaged!

2008-05-05T18:27:00.005-07:00

I knew something was amiss when I noticed my change-holder, expertly crafted from the finest popsicle sticks by one of the girls in Aroland, resting uneasily upside-down on the corner of a stack of picture frames I had sitting on my passenger seat.

Swift has been through a lot in the three years I've owned her. She's had her extremeties ripped off not once. Or twice. Three times. She was once kneed in the back by a teenager while he struggled to climb over her. She's been bumped and bruised several times in Northern Ontario, including a vicious attack by a six-year-old hockey-stick-wielding maniac. She's made it over the Rockies twice while at the hands of two adventure-seekers who refuse to stop her at the edge of a field, simply for the photographic opportunity.

But now, in her retirement years, I have decided she needs to spend the rest of her days in peace, commuting only minutes to work everyday with her evenings spent at the end of a calm, quiet, cul-de-sac. Or so I thought.

I stared at the overturned change-holder in wonder, thinking to myself in typical Steve Urkel fashion, Did I do that? But upon further reflection I realized that, no, I could not have unwittingly done something so obvious. Besides, if I did dump out the contents of my change-holder, would they not be glittering back at me from all over the seat and floor? One would think so, but they were, in fact, gone.

The next thing I noticed was the radio. Um, let me rephrase that...

The next thing I noticed was the lack of radio. It was gone. My sole reprieve from the insanity of BC driving ... gone -- expertly and unceremoniously removed from it's once permanent home in the console. And with it, my latest relaxant: The Verve: Urban Hymns. Gone.

Swift had been pillaged for all she was worth: six dollars in change and a CD Stereo system. Oh, Swift.

counter-culture

2008-03-27T18:46:00.015-07:00

I recently stumbled across a website for an online campaign, Make Affluence History. I'm not sure how long this campaign has been running and I have a sense that it doesn't have as strong a following or is as global as another, much-loved and popular campaign, Make Poverty History. Yeah, it's great to have a global campaign against poverty, but the convenient aspect of such campaign is that we can still support the cause from our homes and the comforts we refuse to leave behind. We can wear a wristband in the name of a good cause and pretend that we've done enough to solve the problem we think we're addressing. Oh, wristbands...

This campaign against affluence reminds me of #6 on the recently updated seven deadly sins. Gone are the sins of lust, greed, sloth, gluttony, envy, pride and wrath. Today's sins are meant to reflect modern society, though I tend to think that adding "polluting the environment" was more of a response to popularity trends than anything else; like what any politician would add to his (her?) platform in order to obtain votes. Though I doubt, with items such as "birth control" on the list, people are flocking to the Catholic Church for it's updated list of sins.

What I like about the Make Affluence History campaign is that the idea behind it (social awareness and real action) is so counter-cultural. I have for years attempted to write something here about counter-culturalism, but have yet to string my words together on this topic in any coherent manner. Though I like where I was headed in the following unpublished post, also titled "Counter-Culture", written last September:

I'm ready to buy into the system. The system I have fought against for so long has finally latched it's little hooks into my wandering mind, and taken hold. I want it. It is whatever it is you see as you sit in your living room. The TV, the couch, the bookshelf. It is whatever catches your eye as you roam around the office. The new computer, the steady income, the established position. The title. It.

This as I read a book entitled: The Jesus of Suburbia: Have We Tamed the Son of God to fit our lifestyle?

A couple of nights ago, I sat on the edge of a lake in Algonquin Park. It is one of the rare places in Ontario where you can sit still and literally listen to nothing, except for the odd tent zipper opening or closing and a distant loon call. ...or a fireside debate. At one point during the night, either through a need to discuss certain matters, or through a boldness brought on by a safe amount of alcohol, I asked the question to my fellow church-going camp-mates, 'What do you think of church?'

'It's over-rated,' came an immediate reply. Impressed by such a quick response, I asked why that was his first reaction. 'Because it's what you said last week,' he replied. Touché.

So what does any of this have to do with "the system", or "The Jesus of Suburbia", or Algonquin Park, for that matter? It all comes back to something that has long sat in the recesses of my mind, occasionally coming forth to remind me that there is something more to the faith I adhere to. It is one thing that brings hope and despair to the life of one who is required to live out their faith in the North American context. It is the understanding that, in his lifetime, Christ was counter- cultural. It's what made him so compelling to the masses, and so problematic to the church authorities of his day.

I'm not sure if I'm still ready to buy into "the system"...

[as I defined in another unpublished post from last February:

the system

We're surrounded by it everyday, so it's hard to notice. It's like the air we breathe. The ground we walk on. The route we travel to work. It's called 'the system'. And like all these things, it changes. Our air is less breathable. The ground transforms from dust to concrete. Our route is widened and more stop lights are added. The system confines, all in the names of 'freedom' and 'progress'. And we keep with the system because it's far better than any other system anywhere else in the world. Or so we think.

The system surrounds, infects, pervades all aspects of North American life as we know it today: cultural, financial, economical, religious, educational, our global perspective. And the system is run by one thing: money.

It doesn't change. And if it does, it does so incrementally, that the change is only recognizable when it's taken away for a period of time. Only when it's replaced, or when the routine is returned to do we see the change. And the potential harm it is.

It's the system.]

...but I'm still captivated by this idea of being counter-cultural. Last night I enjoyed a Starbucks Grande Caramel Macchiato with the leader of our small group, an older man recently retired from teaching. We got to talking about being counter-cultural, he and I. I told him a bit about our struggle in registering for wedding gifts, that we have a desire to register only for the things we need, but find it hard to justify the expenses of even these things. And since we do plan on living here for at least a couple of years, we recognize that the things we are registering for are needed. We love the idea of being Christ-like in a counter-cultural sense, but are caught between that and the reality of where we live. Ha. It begs the question, doesn't it?

Footnote: I'm actually quite disturbed by the fact that my intended mockery of the WWJD bracelet early in this post has bitten me in the ass. Quite disturbed.

the epitome of laze.

2008-03-17T12:52:00.011-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, while catching up on some taped Lost episodes, we were interrupted by the requisite commercial break, including one about this refrigerator. Fridges have come a long way since the birth of freon. Not only do they come with ice-dispensers, but with TVs, internet, self-ordering functions, and yes, even door-ajar alarms. But this fridge has even beaten that idea with its self-closing function. That's right. The doors close on their own. It is, in my estimation, the epitome of laze. I'm the first to admit that I enjoy lazing around, so please note the hypocrisy in some of what I am about to say, though in my mind I make a distinction between sitting around doing nothing and allowing my fridge to close itself. It begs a fundamental question concerning needs vs. wants.

The idea of needs vs. wants mainly comes from recent experiences as Susan and I have been registering for wedding gifts. There are certain things we need. As we're pretty much starting out fresh, we need a kitchen table and we need dishes to eat off our table. We need a bed and we need blankets to keep us warm in that bed. We need living room furniture and we need snack bowls to eat from while we sit in that furniture. This may even go beyond what others may consider needs, but we genuinely think we need these things. The difficulty we've been having has been those other things that, well, we'd like to have but don't necessarily need. I'd like to think we would use a blender, but I'm also aware of the fact that the idea of having a blender is much nicer than the reality of using one. Do we need a 4-popper toaster? We can probably get by with a 2-popper, but we've registered with a company that only seems to carry 4-poppers. Do we need the expensive duvet and duvet cover? No, we could probably get by with an Ikea version of the same, but Ikea doesn't do gift registries. Do we need the $200 pair of kitchen chairs? No (see our Ikea quandry). How about the $200 coffee maker? ...wait, is that even a valid question? Of course we do! (note previous remark about hypocrisy).

Contentment in material possessions is difficult in our culture, isn't it? How do we balance out the things we need with the things we want? Or should there even be a balance? What does it mean when we read David's words in the oft-quoted verse, The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not be in want? (Psalm 23). Does David have no want because God has given everything he ever wanted? Or is there no want because God is everything he needs? Easy for David to say, he probably didn't even like coffee. But if the latter were true, how does that fit into our North American culture where God so easily takes a sideline to our credit card? Where our wants and needs can be bought just around the corner, whether we can afford it or not?

When I was in Northern Uganada a couple of summers ago, we were encouraged to discover how God was challenging us in our lives. I left pondering the question, why do I need God? I'm not convinced the answer to that question will easily come while I remain saturated in our culture. Where every drive to Vancouver reminds me of the insurmountable wealth this city boasts. Where the average house costs a little less than $500,000, the highest average in Canada. And I'm convinced that the church here will never be able to answer that question, because it's too busy fighting. Or maybe that is the challenge: to discover a need for God in an individualistic, materialistic, increasingly lazy culture. I'd write more, but I left the fridge door open.

some things are worth committing to...

2008-03-12T21:00:00.003-07:00

Spring has sprung in the West. I've counted 4 robins so far, seen daffodils rise from their hibernation, and felt the warmth of the sun on those oh-so-rare sunny days in BC. Change is in the air, I can feel it. This isn't going to be one of those foolish posts where I state I will do better in my blogging and then fail to do so. While I have accomplished most of the things on my to-do list, I've become more and more aware of the effect that routine has on one's time. The weeks pass quickly from one to the next. Here we are, mid-March already. Since writing about being complacent, I've discovered that maybe my complacency is more a result of being in routine of busyness than of being lazy. I always found something else to do instead of the things I had on my to-do list. And, I'll admit, I had a lot on my mind dealing with a topic of great fear and struggle: commitment.

There are some things in life that I have committed to out of obligation or temporary desire or need. I've committed to a job temporarily for the security that money brings. I was committed to a certain gas station for the two Air Miles I collected on each fill-up (until I discovered that they profit over $44 billion annually). I'm committed to Apple computers, despite the fact that my previous laptop died due to a defective part and this laptop is on its way out due to the same issue. Incidentally, I'm committed to making foolish, spur-of-the-moment purchases (ie. defective iBooks and snowboards...James?)

And then there is the commitment to end all commitments: marriage. It took a little while for me to get around to this one and it was, in fact, much harder than I expected. Not because I don't love Susan, not because I wasn't convinced that her and I could be together for the rest of our lives (heck, I tried convincing her of that for three years before she caught on), and not because, deep down I knew that part of my reasoning for returning to BC was for her. These things I know, but there was still that part of me that wrestled with the idea of giving up some of my individual freedoms to be with another for life.

We talked last night, Susan and I, about this whole 'love' thing. We both know that there will be times where our love for eachother will be more out of choice than of desire. We both know that love can be tough, that relationships can be a struggle. But the awesome thing about commitment is that we're sold on eachother. And we're committed to eachother, no matter what. I'd like to believe that I know exactly what I'm getting myself into, but I'm learning that life is about learning, about discovering, and yes, about relationships.

oh, complacency

2008-02-18T12:58:00.004-08:00

I'm trying something new. It's been almost a month since my last post, which is quite distressing and disheartening. I'd like to say that I am uninspired, but I know that's really not true. I've just grown complacent. Lazy. My week has become one of routine. Up at 7:30, work from 8:30 until 5:00, go home or to Susan's, then go to bed. Throw in a Monday night Bible Study and a weekend of pure nothingness + one church service, et voila. C'est ma vie. Oh, complacency.

It's been a long time since I've had a steady 9-5 job, and I'd kind of forgotten what it feels like to be in a routine. But I'd like to say this wasn't intentional. The thing about slipping into a routine is just that -- it's something you slip into. My hill of complacency began with the new year, as I started at this steady job at a print company. Gone are the days of Santa Claus photography, of mornings off and the freedom to do whatever I felt like doing whether it be job-seeking, photography, dreaming, or video games, or nothing. So, down I slid, but gently, so as not to awaken my restless soul. I'd like to say I'm content, and I am, for the most part. But there's that restless side of me that wants to be let out, if it could only break past my accustomed laziness. Emails sit in my inbox, unreplied. Friends await phone calls, undialed. Uncles and youth deserve a visit, unaccomplished. Thoughts demand paper, unwritten.

The to-do list in my mind grows untouched, and I simply sense it's growth, unrestrained. And so, here's what I've decided to do. My lunch break generally consists of an hour sitting behind my computer, diddle-daddling on Facebook, on cbc, on eating my peanut butter and jam sandwich. My new idea, my intention, is to use it wisely, and productively. Perhaps a daily blog will come out of it (don't hold your breath, though). This could even be called an un-Lent. I'll start doing something, dang it. And maybe I'll get somewhere....

memories...

2008-01-19T10:22:00.001-08:00

The last few days have been, in my mind, interspersed with memories of the year gone by. 2007.

Reading my post from just over a year ago, I got to thinking of the year that just was. I remember that day, sitting up in Nakina just after Christmas when Amanda asked me what the year 2006 meant to me. And now, one year later, I'm trying to think of what 2007 was. I don't think that when I was asked that question a year ago, I would have thought that just a few months later I would be back in Nakina, spending my summer in Aroland. Already last summer seems like a distant memory. Looking through the photos of last summer bring back some great memories. Aroland definitely stands out in my mind when I think of 2007. I think of baseball, swimming, kayaking, biking. I think of the kids, of Merl and Cody, Brady, Bethany and Tammy, Niki, Tiffany and so many more...there's at least 30 names and faces in my mind still. And I think of Mary, who, only after a few months, miscarried. From that whole episode, I've learned to trust God to do what's best. John and Janet remain in Aroland, continuing to serve the community in any way they can, .

2007 was, for me, a year of experience and experiencing. From the breaking of a heart to it's mending in unexpected ways. From returning to an old life to beginning a new one in a brand new place. From urban life to the almost extreme of rural. New cultures and a new way of life. And finally, settling and constantly learning to be content, whatever the circumstances. There's something to be said about contentment.

what do you want for christmas?

2007-12-22T10:24:00.004-08:00

Santa rides the escalator. It's unbelievable, I know. You'd think with his ability to travel the globe in a singular night, he'd at least be able to call in a reindeer when he wants to get to the second floor of a mall. But, no. He rides the escalator. This is what Santa does when he's bored. He wanders. Not that he's been too bored lately. There has been a lot of kids who'd like a word with the man in red. Ah, Christmas. What would it be without Mr. Claus and us elves?

My life as an elf began with a simple, innocent reply to an employment ad on Craig's List: "Wanted: Photographer. Email resume and availability to address below..." Perfect, I thought. Dreams of driving around Vancouver, camera in hand and freedom to snap whatever and wherever filled my mind. Though, in hindsight, I should have been tipped off about the reality of the position by the email address to which I sent off my resume. It consisted of two words: "hyper" and "busy". Dense, Matt. Dense. One week later I found myself behind a camera in a North Vancouver mall, ringing bells in order to attract the wandering eyes of children before snapping their photo on Santa's knee. One by one, the families line up like dairy cows queuing for their daily milking. Then in ones and twos and threes and fours, the kids crowd around Santa, or simply sit on his knee. And await the question.

I'm not sure I ever grew up believing in Santa Claus. Either my parents never properly introduced us, or my older siblings ruined the falsity of it all at too early of an age for me to remember leaving milk and cookies out the night before Christmas. Come to think of it, we never really had a night before Christmas full of expectation. Our night before Christmas was our Christmas, and was always the same: church and then presents. So, unless I was told that Santa came while we were in church, I guess I never believed in the guy. And here I was, day in and day out, reinforcing the lie that the man in the centre of my viewing lens was the Santa Claus. "Say cheese!" Click.

While the image transfers from lens to computer to paper, Santa Claus has a one-on-one discussion of all matters important. He asks them their name and how old they are. He sits them on his knee and whispers gently in their ear stories of life in the North Pole. Watching him at work, watching the look in the eyes of a child as they are told the story of a magic apple almost makes me want to believe in him as surely as the children do. But when all of the formalities are finished, he comes to the moment every child who believes in him waits for. He asks the question.

"And what do you want for Christmas?"

I see this happen over and over again. The question is asked, and the list that has sat so patiently inside the mind spews out of innocent mouths. One child, as Santa tells me later, wants a Robot for Christmas. But not just any robot: "By the way, Santa," he says a few minutes later, "I want the robot to clean my room." I watch this scene play out, child after child, list after list. A young child jumps on Santa's lap and waits to be asked the question.

Enter a young girl, about 12 years old. She is dressed all in pink, and stands beside her father, waiting for a chance to sit on Santa's knee. But she must be patient, as there are many more children with a wish list on their minds.

"I want an iPod," says one child.
"Transformers!" yells another.

You almost wouldn't be able to tell there is something wrong with her, this twelve year old girl, if she only stood still. But then you see her walk. She limps a bit, evidently by her right leg, which seems to be unable to bend as well as the left. And then there's her arm. It doesn't move so well, either. In fact, it seems permanently stuck in an upright position, bent at the arm, holding her slightly contorted hand ever so close to her face. And still, she waits.

"I want a Barbie," a young girl announces.
"I want a Motorola Razr flip phone with a 3 year talk-and-text plan from Rogers." Teenagers.

The girl still waits. Perhaps it is autism that has stolen some of her ability. But she smiles. And when it is her turn, and Santa beckons her to come and sit on her knee, her smile grows ever wider. She will soon be asked the question. And so the young girl sits on Santa's knee. "Say Cheese!" Click. She continues to smile through the small talk, and patiently listens to Santa's reassuring words. Finally, the question. The question.

"And what do you want for Christmas?" he whispers.

"I want ... a new brain ..."

...so, what do you want for Christmas?

winter in white rock.

2007-11-26T23:45:00.000-08:00

I had a job interview tonight at a church in White Rock, an upper-class town on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately, my interview coincided with the first real sign of winter in BC: snow. I say unfortunately for one reason, and that reason has to do with the reaction BC drivers tend to have towards the fluffy white stuff: panic. Sheer panic. A drive that should have taken 25 minutes turned into an hour and a half of agony as traffic came to a grinding halt, and I showed up for the interview half an hour late. Granted, there was quite a bit of snow, and most of the Lower Mainland has no way of cleaning it up. It usually sits on the ground for a day at most before warmer temperatures melt it away. But I'm not sure there was enough snow to account for the poor state of traffic I encountered everywhere I turned. So, in memory of this night, a poem:

Winter in White Rock

Snow fall, snow fall, it covers the land,
Roads are a mess, with not a spot of sand.

Cars in the ditches, hazards aglow:
Oh look! A Mercedes is stuck in snow!

Luxury cars, they put up no fight;
Beamer to the left, Lexus to the right.

Snow fall, snow fall, it covers the land,
Roads are a mess, with not a spot of sand.

seattle.

2007-11-15T21:51:00.002-08:00

This past weekend brought an experience much enjoyed in the grand city of Seattle. It only takes a couple of hours to drive to the Emerald City, plus an hour or two for border traffic. Not bad for a lazy Sunday afternoon. I love Seattle. It settles nicely between Vancouver and Los Angeles on my rank of places I would love to live. Not only is it a beautiful city, but it is also extremely well designed, infrastructurally. Seattle boasts a well-organized spiderweb of bridges and tunnels and real highways, of which none exist in the Lower Mainland of BC. It's such a joy to weave through four lanes of highway. Vancouver has so much to live up to.

This latest venture to Seattle brought us to the Moore Theatre to catch Rob Bell in all his story-telling and deconstructing glory. He has an incredible way of picking apart the Christian faith, shuffling it around, and reorganizing it in an easy-to-understand-and-follow manner. Not that he gives a 'how-to' guide towards a better Christian life, like the latest book in the For Dummies series. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he published a book entitled Christianity for Dummies somewhere down the line. Never mind.

But one thing I do value in Rob Bell's words is his understanding of culture, and how certain ideas and stories in the Bible would be understood and read inside that culture. It's a perspective thing. Why would God ask Abraham to sacrifice his only son? Because, in those days, many cultures followed gods that demanded such a sacrifice. Child sacrifice was just a step towards appeasing the gods, and so it may not have come as a surprise to Abraham that the god he chose to follow would demand the life of his son. It's what you do to keep the gods happy. What's different about this god is that, at the last minute, he stops Abraham in mid-stab and provides an animal in recognition of Abraham's faith. The point of the story, according to Bell? Abraham's god is a god of provision. His god is different. His god cares. Unlike the gods of the surrounding cultures who would have allowed the murderous appeasement to continue.

The other aspect of Rob Bell's teaching that I much enjoy is the connection he makes between such age-old faith issues like sacrifice and present-day realities. Is sacrifice dead in our current Christian sphere of life? We'd like to think so. I mean there's no slaughter, no fire, no altar anymore. But we do still have the guilt and shame that was so directly associated with the sacrifices of old (the sacrifice was basically used to 'wipe the slate clean', so-to-speak. Forgiveness of sin came through sacrifice). So how do we deal with that now? Could it be the legalism that the church has fallen under? The 'do's' and 'don'ts' of Christianity? 'Do' this and you'll be right with God again. 'Don't' do this and you won't fall away. Yeesh. Not only does our society continue to pump fear into us, but so do many of the words we hear from the pulpit. And I'm not advocating a watering-down of the truths found in the faith, either. But there has to be a balance.

So what I love the most about the way Rob Bell's mind works is that he weighs everything out on the words and actions of Christ. Why is the altar no longer present in Christianity? Because a final sacrifice has been made. No more blood needs to be spilled. We hear it over and over again, but still struggle with this new foundation of faith: Grace. ...we'll save that topic for another day.

For more from Rob Bell, read his books or watch his movies.

african children's choir

2007-10-29T14:30:00.000-07:00

hyundai.

2007-10-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

Great Hyundai commercial about commitment. Kinda too bad it comes from a car company though.

100k. settling. & leprechauns.

2007-10-15T15:57:00.001-07:00

Apparently, I'm Irish. While staying with a family in Idaho a couple weeks ago, I was questioned by one of their son's girlfriends:

Her: Are you Irish?
Me: I sure am! Blah blah blah. Why do you ask?
Her: Because your ears are pointed. You look like a leprechaun!

It's been a good month.

Almost two months after leaving Nakina, I once again find myself and Swift in British Columbia. And I wonder if it is sad that Swift holds such a high pedestal in my life as to necessitate her mention here. But 100,000km after buying her two and a half years ago and a full 278,000km into her 10 year life, I almost think she deserves some kind of longevity medal. Seriously. Swift rocks. And this was her latest adventure as Jimmy and I once again made the cross-country trek, in reverse. And through the States this time, hence my recent discovery that I can easily pass off as a Leprechaun. ...though I'm still searching for that pot 'o gold.

At any rate, my pot 'o gold must exist in British Columbia, as that is where we traveled, following the rainbow in my mind. And while I have yet to even begin a trickle of financial windfall (a.k.a. a job), I have determined one thing: it's time for me to settle. This is it for me. A couple of days ago I was driving around Abbotsford, and without even thinking the words before they spewed out of my mouth, I said to myself: 'It's good to be back.' The jigsaw puzzle is coming together, piece by piece. And for anyone who knows me well, it may only be a matter of time before I begin the removal of pieces again, but hey. That could just be the Irish in me.

well, it's something.

2007-09-14T19:36:00.003-07:00

sometimes, you don't quite know what to do with information. with facts. with statistics.

I just finished reading the book, Race Against Time by Stephen Lewis, the former UN special envoy for HIV/AIDS in Africa. It was lying around the house I'm staying at in Waterloo and, what with having little to do, I picked it up and began reading. The reading of this particular book follows closely behind the reading of another fantastic book; one that I must read again: 28 Stories [of AIDS in Africa]. Okay, so it's not a fantastic book. Well, it is. But it's a book that brings the statistical fact that 28,000,000 (that's million) people in Africa live with HIV/AIDS down to an individual level. This woman has HIV, this husband does. This child.

And yet, in this world so far removed from the one in which the epidemic exists, they remain just as they are written: stories. Stories of survival, despair, and hope. Stories of another time, another place, another life. If we choose it to be so. For these stories are of today, and are of our world, and are taking place in our lifetime.

Still, it seems we do nothing. And by 'we', I do not necessarily mean you. Or I. As individuals it is difficult to put a dent into an issue as complex as AIDS in Africa. The issue itself, at the core is not the problem. There are 28 million humans living with HIV/AIDS in Africa. That part is simple to understand. What is difficult for the individual to understand and change is Western government policy, apathy, budgetary commitments, and backsliding. Granted, governments have a responsibility to its own people that it must commit to. And even there, it fails. What government does not have a single complaint against it from one of the thousands of sectors of it's society? But perhaps, what we fail to realize, what I have come to understand further through reading this book, and perhaps what the point of this post is this: our governments have made commitments to the developing world. Commitments that it continually neglects, postpones, and vacillates endlessly on.

There are a few links that I have put up on the side of my blog. They have been there for some time, with the expectation that one might stumble upon it, scroll the cursor over and click. I will now emphasize a few of them. 1) The UN Millenium Goals. Read them to understand what our governments have jointly committed to doing to improve millions of lives in the developing world. 2) Human Rights Watch. Understand a little about what's happening to human lives here and around the world. 3) Micah Challenge. Sign the Micah Challenge to hold the UN and it's member states to it's commitments with the Millenium Goals. If you're not a fan of the Micah Challenge, go to Make Poverty History. 4) Free the Drugs. I was told about this one recently, and am not positive about it's validity so it's not on the sidebar yet. Read it to understand what it's about, and sign it if you understand and agree.

I don't attest to know all the ins and outs of the UN, it's policy-makers or it's member states. Nor do I know a lot about the epidemic of HIV/AIDS in Africa and other developing nations. What does seem to be consistent, however, in the small amount of books I have read that mention these things, is that not enough is being done. And that profits take precedence over humanity. With that in mind, I end with the final paragraph of Lewis' book. I was recently asked if I am a pacifist. Perhaps, for this reason alone, I will become one:

In 2005, the world will pass the trillion-dollar mark in the expenditure, annually, on arms. We're fighting for $50 billion annually for foreign aid for Africa: the military total outstrips human need by 20 to 1. Can someone please explain to me our contemporary balance of values?

in a community of God doubters...

2007-09-03T15:06:00.001-07:00

The other day, I was shown a website for a church down in North Carolina. On top of their awesome Jesus Video parodies, they have a pretty interesting slogan: a community of God seekers, God followers, and God doubters. Hm. It's a slogan that fits well with the emerging church philosophy and it's response to postmodernism. Links abound in this post!

God-doubters. There is a movement, it seems, of churches who are trying to be everything that a church is not. The Meeting House, in Oakville, Ontario, has a slogan that basically states just that: a church for people who aren't into church. What? Are people getting sick of the church? Or are people just longing to see more from church? ...maybe a breakdown of the facade of perfection that many of our North American Churches portray. To suggest that their church is a community of God-doubters seems just as blasphemous as a church that claims it is a community of sinners, isn't it? Wait a minute...

So what's with this movement? Why are there now whole communities of Christians who claim to be anti-establishment, in a sense? Are their churches simply formed by individuals who have grown tired of church, and long to build something new and unique, with new and unique names? Or are they churches that have been built upon a deeper understanding of the world in which we live, the people who live in it, and the questions they are asking? Perhaps the most appealing aspect of the emerging church movement is that it replaces the idea of fixed doctrines and static beliefs with more flexible doctrines and a lot of asking questions. To them, faith is less about answers, and more about questions. It's a dialogue, not an indisputable statement of fact. While this has created animosity between mainstream churches and the emerging movement, it has also, in my opinion, given the church a glimmer of hope. A dose of reality. I have often been told that, when Christ was asked a question, he didn't provide a quick, ready answer. He responded with a question. He was into this dialogue thing. His parables often needed interpretation because he didn't always state outright what his point was. And though he might not answer a question, or might not interpret his parables, he was viewed by many as one who had authority.

So, the question: Does a community of God seekers, God followers and God doubters lose it's impact on the world? Or, through it's authenticity and lack of false-pretense, does it actually earn it's authority?

the end of the beginning.

2007-08-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

I don't know why that's the title for this post, but, for just a split second in the random meanderings of my mind, it made sense. I've been back south for about a week now. My brother and I made the drive last Saturday, leaving Nakina around noon and arriving in Hamilton at 3 the next morning. I've been in Hamilton since, hanging out at my bro's place. It's been a semi-relaxing time and I've managed to maintain my Nakina schedule of staying up until the early hours of the morning and waking up in the late hours. There's a little coffee shop around the corner that I have frequented over the past few days, and I have spent some time wandering the streets of Hamilton, observing people, capturing the creativity in the architecture, listening to the chimes of local churches, and remembering what it is like to be bombarded by the constant noise a busy city brings.

Swift (a.k.a. Tigo, as named by some of the Aroland kids) remains in Nakina, getting tuned up for her next road trip. It might be her last. I'll return to her in a month's time, after I fulfill a couple of commitments here. I've been busy working on a bit of a side-blog that will document the stories behind a number of my photos. The idea came to me while up North, but the possibility of doing so there was severely limited by a lack of internet. There's still much to be done on the site, but I have found that, whenever I see an artistic photo, I want to know how the photographer came to be in such a place, or meet such a person, or what the significance of that particular photograph has to the artist. Or, I'm just dreaming that people will be interested =).

I'm not fully convinced yet that my time in Aroland, or with the kids in Aroland is entirely over. I initially went with an understanding that I would be there to see if I could be of service for longer than my commitment of four months. I can see the value of continuing my work there, but find it hard to imagine myself living in Nakina at this point. Time will clear that up, I'm sure. In the meantime, I've got a month at home, enjoying the company of family and friends, with the additional bonus of a canoe trip, planned for a couple weekends from now. I look forward to the peace that only the shores of a small lake in Algonquin can bring.

kayaking [pt. 2]

2007-07-22T21:09:00.003-07:00

Read Part One

We decided to wait until a break in the storm, as the idea of packing up soaking wet gear in the pouring rain didn't appeal to any one of us. Everything seemed secure, and we figured we would be fine until the rains stopped again. Not long after, the sun made it's first appearance of the day. It broke through a small hole in the clouds, and we made our move. The rock became a bustle of activity as tents came down, tarps were folded, kitchen supplies were gathered and kayaks were filled. We each grabbed our wet wetsuits, slid them uncomfortably over our skin, donned our spray skirts and lifejackets, and were ready to go. One by one, a kayak was placed in the water, someone jumped in while two others held it in place, and he was pushed out into the roller-coaster of waves.

Kurt and I were the second last to go in our kayak fit for two. He jumped in the front while John and I held it steady. As Kurt slid his spray skirt around his cockpit, protecting him from any water that would try to infiltrate it, I jumped in the back and attempted my spray skirt. The waves bashed our kayak from both sides, and I was forced to give up as we banged into the rocks. We were pushed off, just as a wave crashed into the side of our kayak, filling my cockpit with water. Paddling as hard as we could, we managed to get away from the rocks before any further damage was done. As soon as we were safe enough in the open water, we swung our boat around and I grabbed my camera. After snapping a few shots of John preparing his escape, I packed up the camera and we, too, headed for safer waters. It was the most adrenaline-pumping fun I have had in a long time. We paddled our way a few hundred feet to the backside of an island. There, protected from the wind and waves, we eventually found a new campsite. The storm seemed to have subsided as the rains stopped and we were able to set up camp and hang some of our clothes on a clothesline. The Coast Guard reported that the storm was only going to get worse as the day progressed, but our area seemed further unphased by the weather.

We ended up on a campsite that had been frequently used over the years. It boasted such amenities as clotheslines, a picnic table, some counter space next to our a well-planned fire pit and a plaque naming our new location. A paddle had been nailed to one of the trees long ago, and either through abuse by human hands or by Lake Superior weather, it had broken in two. The plaque appropriatetly called this place 'Broken Paddle Campsite. It was a little disappointing to be on such a civilized campsite in the middle of Lake Superior, but it was a much-needed reprieve from the worry of the potential disaster we had just averted. We slept in the rain that night.

Sun. The morning met us with the warmth of the sun, and we capitalized on it in order to dry the rest of our damp clothes and equipment. We took our time getting ready that morning for two reasons: we needed to soak up as much sun as we could before jumping into our kayaks, and we had our best breakfast yet. Time has no relevance when pancake batter is mixed and heated over a morning fire. Satisfied with our sweet escape from bland oatmeal, we gathered our gear and prepared for another day of paddling. We left with the sun ahead of us, but were well aware of the clouds that loomed all around, their bottoms darkened by the shadows of their towering peaks. It rained off and on as we kayaked, and the waves once again began to grow. The winds pushed us along, however, and the kayaking was easy. We pulled up to shore for our lunch, where we huddled together in the cove of a cliff while we ate our regular lunch of soup and noodles. The winds persisted.

As the clouds continued to block and reveal the distant sun, we repacked our lunch gear and hit the water. We paddled East with the wind and the ever-growing swells, eager to arrive at the final campsite of our trip. Soon, the land that bordered our route to the North came to an end and we struck for open water, Battle Island in the distance. We had no intention of approaching our lunch site of 3 days before, as it would take us off course, so we continued with the island to our East. As the swells grew, we would at times disappear from each other's view as we became separated by the peak of a wave. We estimated the height of the waves at 2 metres. The further we got from shore and the closer we got to our destination, the larger the swells grew. As the peak of a wave passed beneath the centre of our kayak, it would throw us slightly off course as our rudder would leave the water, hovering above it until our back end was gently lowered back in as we entered the waves' trough.

Soon we could see the opening between two islands that we were aiming for. The waves continued to grow, and soon were at an estimated 3 metres. We would lose each other for several seconds as our kayaks entered separate troughs simultaneously, a mountain of water between us. Apprehension was in the air as our paddles continued their monotonous strokes through the waters. Waves broke ahead of us, and we knew it would be difficult to steer our kayaks through the narrow passageway that lead to the relative safety of a bay. As we approached the opening, it became clear why the waves were breaking so far out in the lake. Rocks. We had to pass between a set of rocks straight ahead and a set of rocks to our right in order to get to the passageway. As we altered our course, the waves broadsided us and water would spill into our kayak. I was with Cody that afternoon, and we knew that all we could do was paddle. And paddle we did. As we passed between the rocks, the set of rocks to our right broke the waves up so that they became much more small and manageable. We were the first ones through, and had not looked back as we steered through the obstacles. Finally, we swung our boat around and I again grabbed my camera to capture the efforts of our fellow paddlers as they navigated the rocks. We all cleared the obstacle safely, though we each had a story to tell of nearly capsizing. Another adventurous day was behind us, and we paddled the calm waters of the bay where we set up our final campsite.

Our final camp was set up in the rain, which came as no surprise. We had taken down camp in the rain, kayaked in the rain, breakfasted, lunched and suppered in the rain, and so it was only fair that we now had to set up camp in the rain. We had our final supper under a tarp, and stood around the fire to warm us in the cool evening. Not long after, each of our three tents were occupied by a leader while the kids stayed with the fire singing Johnny Cash, and a host of other songs we requested. The night was cool as we slept, the sound of a light rain pattering against our tent flies. The final morning of our trip began with Cream of Wheat, and the excitement of knowing we would soon be back in the Suburban on our way to Transformers in Thunder Bay. We had a couple of hours of paddling ahead of us, and we were eager to begin the day on the water. Our site was packed up, our water bottles filled and our breakfast was eaten. We were soon on our way.

Coming out of the straight, we were immediately hit by wind and waves, while rain gently fell on our kayaks. We paddled. The waves battered us broadside as the crosswind had built them up from the open lake to the West. We paddled. We passed by the points of several islands, knowing that each was another island closer to our destination. Rounding the final island, we could see the buildings of Rossport in the distance. We paddled. Each stroke brought us closer to the sandy beach where our trip would end. As our kayak scratched the soft sand of the beach, we jumped out as the excitement of using a real toilet became a reality. Soon we had all of our kayaks emptied, and all our gear lying in wait to be loaded into the truck. I stood staring down the road when an amazing thing happened. A blanket of rain made its way up the street towards us, soaking everything along its path. It poured. The final rainfall soaked everything we had left in wait, leaving not one item dry in its wake. It was the final kick in the pants on this trip, and it came as no surprise. Our week had been plagued by wind, rain and waves, it was only fitting to finish with a good drenching. We threw all our wet gear into the truck and jumped in, leaving the weather, the waves and the excitement of Lake Superior behind us.

More Photos (lots more)

kayaking [pt. 1]

2007-07-18T20:52:00.003-07:00

Last week was spent on the waters of Lake Superior. It was a week of rain, hot sun, cold water, and windy days. It was a trip of almosts. We almost lost our kayaks, almost lost a tent, were forced out of a campsite by mother nature, and almost capsized in 3 meter waves. And it was the most fun I have had in a long time.

Our trip began two Saturdays ago, kind of unexpectedly as Jordan and I were not planning on going until the number of kids increased, necessitating our help. So seven of us, John, Jordan, Dillen, Cody, Keith, Kurt and I jumped into the Suburban in the early afternoon and made our way to our launching spot at Rossport, on the shores of Lake Superior. We were met by rain right away. It would become a constant for us, as 5 of the 6 days we were on the water left us wet either in our kayaks or at the campsites. We took it easy our first day, making our way to a sandy bay where we set up camp. It was a relaxing night for those of us who did not have to train in a wet exit (how to get back in your kayak when you capsize). And the sand made for a comfortable night's sleep. The rains poured on us that night, but we awoke late in the morning to a bright sun and wispy clouds overhead. Our morning was spent puttering around the campsite, eating our oatmeal while we walked along the rocks that extended along the sides of the bay to the open water of Lake Superior. At the edge of the bay, we built a monument of rock called an Inukshuk (though the terms Shuknook, Shukshoonk, Nookshuk and Shusk-a-shook-shuk were all used to describe our creation, as none of us were really sure how to pronounce it). We departed our campsite a couple hours after noon and began our days travel.

We lunched on Battle Island. Situated on the opposite end of the island is a large lighthouse, manned over the summer by two senior volunteers. We went for a hike to see it, and spent a few hours on its surrounding large rocks, watching the kids play football and eventually watching the football float away into the vastness of the lake. Continuing on our way, we picked up the football as it floated along our path, something we would grow accustomed to doing during the week. A few hours later, we arrived at our next campsite, a rocky outcropping on the edge of a bay. It was a beautiful afternoon, and not a drop fell from the sky. We got there early enough to give us time for a swim across the bay. Though we camped close to the water, we weren't too concerned about rogue waves sweeping us off our rock. The water was calm and the sunset left us feeling as though we were in a bit of a paradise. We all went to bed early after a long day of paddling.

The next day was the most beautiful day of our trip. The sun shone over us as we cruised the cold waters of the lake. Unfortunately, our attire was meant to suit the water, not the air, and so our wetsuits kept us sweating as we paddled. It was a long day of paddling as we planned on camping on one island, only to find it inhabitable. We continued on our way, hoping to find a site that allowed the evening sun to keep us warm as we set up our camp for the night. An hour later, we found our perfect camping spot -- another rocky outcropping that looked out on the seemingly endless waters of Lake Superior. It was about the most exposed campsite we could have found, but on such a beautiful day and after a great sleep the night before on a similar outcropping, the thought of what could happen never crossed our mind. We spent the afternoon relaxing on the rock, leaving our mark with sidewalk chalk and building a bonfire on the edge of a perfect cliff diving spot. We enjoyed a round of soup, topped off with cherry-covered bannock. It had been a perfect day. We left the flies off our tent as it was turning out to be a perfectly clear night as well. And we slept soundly under the stars on our perfect little campsite.

The next morning, I woke up around 9:30 and looked up. Clouds. They weren't the kind of clouds that cause one to sit and stare at, trying to imagine what shapes they create. They were the kind of clouds that cause one to get out of the tent as soon as possible in order to put the fly on, in expectation of the raindrops that were sure to fall from them. John had been up for a while already, securing our tents and stowing all of the equipment we had left scattered around the night before. Soon we were all up, working frantically to prepare our campsite for the weather. We set up a tarp over our fire, gathered large rocks to tie our tents down to, and attached our flies. We planned on waiting the storm out. The storm, however, had other plans.

Soon enough, the rains came. Our regular morning meal of oatmeal was had under the tarp with much difficulty. While some of us ate, others would stand on opposite sides of the tarp to hold it steady as the winds picked up and threatened to rip it apart. We ate quickly, made a pot of coffee quickly, and then lowered the tarp to the ground, covering our kitchen supplies. While some of the group returned to a tent to stay warm and dry, John, Keith and I remained out to finish off our securing. As Keith and I stood beside our tent, a gust of wind grabbed it and started pushing it towards the water. We chased it down and secured it with even more rocks. The kayaks were covered with a tarp and tied together with the reasoning that if the waves came too high, they would have more difficulty carrying away all five kayaks at the same time. We found as many rocks and ropes as we could to secure our tents and, satisfied, we all retired to our tents to wait out the storm.

The thing about constant wind over a large body of water is that it tends to cause waves to increase in size. We hunkered down in our tents, listening to the sound of the waves breaking all around us, and even coming close enough to touch the corner of one of the tents. During a break in the storm, Cody ran out to go to the bathroom, and on his return he came by our tent, telling us he was going to grab a deck of cards and come back so we could play a game. We never had the chance. A few minutes later, we heard Cody yell, "Our kayaks!" Under normal circumstances, one could assume that Cody was just joking around, as he often does. But these were not normal circumstances. And his scream coincided with the sound of what could only be our kayaks banging into each other as they were being swept into the lake. Sure enough, as I jumped out of our tent, I looked over to where we had docked our kayaks. The spot was empty, except for the waves that had commandeered the kayaks position. Cody had managed to grab onto the end of one of our kayaks and was holding on for dear life, effectively saving them all as they were tied together. Jumping into action, I ran out and grabbed the other side just as Jordan arrived in his polka-dot boxers. Then, joined by John, and with the rain beating down on us, driven into our skin by the forceful winds, we managed to pull the kayaks ashore and onto higher ground. A quick decision was made, and we all agreed to it. We had to get off this rock. Fast. ... read Part Two

pow wow.

2007-07-15T12:09:00.003-07:00

A couple weekends ago was another cultural experience for me, as I attended a First Nations Pow Wow on Mount McKay in Thunder Bay. I was spending the weekend with Josh, a friend and young adult from Aroland. He had previously educated me on First Nations culture and traditions, and I was eager to spend a weekend with him in the midst of hundreds of other First Nations people from the greater Thunder Bay area (by that I mean within 10 hours of driving or flying).

We drove into the city in the late afternoon on Friday, and began our weekend with some Chinese Food. It's a real treat to be back in civilization, and I never realized how much I really do miss suburbia. Though Thunder Bay is an old relic town, far removed from the more modern cities such as Toronto or Vancouver, it boasts a population that is 200 times the size of Nakina, where I live. Thunder Bay has the basic necessities of life: a mall, a Future Shop, Starbucks, Tim Horton's, four-lane highways, and stop lights. I've noticed that my driving has digressed as I have become accustomed to small town driving: yield signs, potholes, and no need for signalling turns. With the Chinese sitting weightily on our stomachs, we made our way through the First Nations Reserve at the base of Mount McKay, and winded our way up the road to its plateau.

The Pow Wow didn't officially begin until Saturday afternoon, but already there were people pitching their tents and setting up their snack and souvenir shops around the pow wow grounds. I imagined that, traditionally, there were no vendors selling hot dogs and bannock burgers around the site where the drumming and dancing was to occur. But today's pow wows aren't just for the native culture. They also are a display of how life was before the White People came, and are open to those same people who like to eat hot dogs and bannock burgers. We stayed on the pow wow grounds for a few hours while Josh caught up with some friends from other reserves, and I hung out with some of the kids from Aroland who had arrived on a bus that night. My experience of the pow wow was slightly diminished due to the fact that Josh and I had chosen to not join the tent-dwellers for the evening. We left to find a place to stay.

We arrived late at Keith's place. Keith is a cousin of Josh's, and a former resident of Aroland. He is also an amazing artist. We spent the first half hour in his room, flipping through his drawing book, mesmerized by the life-like characters he created on its pages. Our tiredness quickly overtook our interest, and we were soon sleeping uncomfortably on the two couches in Keith's living room.

The pow wow began in the early afternoon on Saturday with a Grand Entry of all those who had come, dressed in their native regalia. Pow wow's are a step back in time. Each participant made their way around the centre gazebo, where a handful of drummers beat a single drum simultaneously and monotonously. While they drummed, they sang. There never seemed to be any words, only vocal peaks and lows in a well-rehearsed pattern. Meanwhile, the dancers walked, skipped and glided to their beat in a one-two step pattern. This went on for hours. Only once during the day did the drumming and dancing stop.

I had noticed that everything had stopped, and that a few of the older men were all standing in a small circle to one side. Asking the man beside me what was happening, he explained that they were having a ceremony. A feather had fallen. A few of the regalia worn by the men had wreaths of feathers on the back, and one had fallen from its place. A fallen feather represents a fallen relative, and the men were standing over the feather, saying a prayer for the relative. It was a five-minute long ceremony, after which they picked the feather up and gave it to someone else in the group, as it could not be returned to its original owner. Soon the drumming began, and the dancers slowly made their way back out onto the pow wow grounds. The Pow Wow was back into full swing, and it continued that way until late in the evening, as different drumming groups had an opportunity to showcase their talent. The next day was no different. The Pow Wow began with a Grand Entry and ended late in the evening on Canada Day.

While the festivities came to a close, I returned to my car to wait for Josh as he said farewell to his friends and family. As I passed the ridge of Mount McKay, it became clear to me that there was more to see. This night was not yet over, for in the city below, the population was celebrating the birth of a country. I joined and was joined by a number of others who were eager to see the constant display of light and sound from Thunder Bay. We stood there for another half hour, watching as hundreds of fireworks were set off in backyards, followed several seconds later by the sound of each explosion. Canada Day was spent between two worlds. One celebrating a history not-yet forgotten, and another celebrating the beginnings of a country that was then determined to see the end of a beautiful culture.

the coptics. [pt. 2]

2007-07-03T09:21:00.002-07:00

"The Egyptian Coptic Church" is a sequence of words that has never crossed my ears before. I had never heard of this denomination of the Christian faith, and was curious to find out more while a group of them lived in Nakina and served in Aroland. All I knew of this group beforehand was that their priest (or Father) had to wear his uniform at all times, and that they were going to have mass every morning. Based on such little information, I had already decided what the Egyptian Coptic Church is: another church bound to a series of man-made laws that overshadow the teachings of Christ. A harsh judgment, sure. But I, along with a number of other young adults have become jaded with the structured, institutionalized churches of our North American society. Turns out, the Coptic church far precedes even the discovery of North America. It also turns out that they are, in fact, Egyptian, and date their beliefs to the gospel writer and apostle, Mark.

The Coptic church claims to have stuck to the original traditions handed down from the apostle Mark to the present day. I experienced and learned a number of these traditions: the holy bread with it's thirteen stamped crosses, the reciting of the Lord's Prayer, the reciting of Psalms, facing east while in communal prayer, the saints and the status of Mary, the incense and the chanting of Scripture. While many post-Reformation denominations form and divide over such trivial matters as whether congregates can wear perfume in the sanctuary (true story), the Egyptian Coptic Church has remained unwavering in the issues that matter. In some ways, it has no choice. Any decisions passed down by the Pope are established and made into law -- no questions asked. While it does put a lot of power into human hands (though the Pope is accountable to its council), it almost leaves no room for the questions that we (those of us who feel we have a better understanding of truth simply through our attitudes towards our modern day North American churches ) have. . I'm still deciding whether that is a good thing or not.

If I were to look at my beliefs, they would look like a mishmash of post-Reformation churches: Christian Reformed, Pentecostal, and Mennonite. I was raised in the Christian Reformed Church, experienced much spiritual growth through the Pentecostal Church and was educated under the Mennonites -- all the while learning more about the nature of an infinite God. My experiences with the Coptics has, in a way, grounded me. I have begun to ask a different set of questions, even of the benefit of Martin Luther's Reformation. Though many of Luther's issues with the Roman Catholic Church of his day were valid, was it necessary to break off from a belief rich in history and tradition? Is that what he really hoped for? This only resulted in a hodge-podge of denominations, each claiming to know the answers to every question of faith. Many of our modern-day North American churches root their beliefs in a set of man-made doctrines. These doctrines were written down hundreds of years ago in response to the heretics of their day. In essence, they were "solid" answers to valid questions, and have since never been questioned in return. And so, the debate continues between child and adult baptism, predestination, the power of the Holy Spirit, the infallibility of the Bible, and all the other theological questions that various demoninations differ on. This brings me back to the only question that should really matter: what does it mean when Christ says to love God and love my neighbour in the world I find myself in?

the coptics. [pt. 1]

2007-06-24T20:07:00.001-07:00

They came. And they went. This past week has been busier than any week so far in Aroland. A group of 28 young adults from Mississauga spent an entire week serving the community of Aroland. They are the Coptics. Twenty-eight people from an Egyptian Coptic Church, wanting to serve closer to home than their previous experiences in Africa and Mexico (though perhaps a flight to either country would take less time than a drive from Southern to Northern Ontario. Who doesn't love a road trip though?). It has been an interesting experience in two ways: 1) being on the flip-side of a mission trip and 2) a new understanding of a faith group I had never heard of before.

I have been on a number of mission trips before. Though I have only ever played the role of a leader on these trips (Mexico, Michigan, Ontario, California), there has always been a responsibility on my shoulders for the group I am serving with, as well as those we are serving. Never have I been the 'co-served', so-to-speak. Though the Coptics were directly serving the kids and the community of Aroland, they co-served those of us who have a longer-term, direct vested interest in the community. I have gotten to know quite a number of the youth in Aroland and, in a way, felt responsible for how they were treated and served by these young adults from Southern Ontario. At times, it has felt like I have been running a babysitting service in Aroland, and am simply maintaining control. This past week has shown me that I have been doing more than that...without even really realizing it. I wanted to protect them, and in recognizing that, I learned that I deeply care for the youth in Aroland.

Not that I had anything to worry about. The group worked amazingly with the kids. I observed many handshakes, many high-fives, and many high-energy games. I heard many positive and encouraging words spoken to the kids, and I read them on the backs of their signed t-shirts. And I listened to their questions about the validity of short-term mission trips. That question has been around for a long time. It is a question I have never fully had an answer to, mainly because I have only ever been the short-term missionary -- the one who sweeps in for a week, does some work, and leaves everything behind. The question is a valid one. How can short-term missionaries possibly be effective? Why is it so important to befriend a kid in Aroland, if I only plan on leaving that kid behind?

Yesterday, one of the teenagers told me of an encouraging word he received from one of the Coptics. In a way, it serves as an answer to the question of the effectiveness of short-term mission trips.

"Tamar told me I have potential," he said. "What's potential?"

This ninth grade young man learned something invaluable: That he has potential, something he had never heard of before. To have a group of 28 young adults pouring out their words of advice, wisdom and hope, has accomplished more in one week than one or two of us could have in a month. These kids need to be hearing what the Coptics had to offer -- even if it is just one word that sticks in their minds for years to come, providing constant encouragement and hope. From what I observed in this past week, there are at least 28 youth in Aroland with a word like that. Thanks, guys. ...read Part Two

the driving range.

2007-06-10T20:42:00.001-07:00

Today we went to the driving range. The nearest golf course is an hour away from Aroland, which really isn't that bad. The kids are often wandering Aroland with their golf clubs, whacking their balls into the forests.. They are actually really good golf players, but their knowledge of how a driving range work is limited, as I was soon to discover. We got to the range around 6pm, and retrieved our buckets from the pro shop. Now, i have been to a number of driving ranges in the past, and usually one of two things happen: either we are given a bucket full of balls, or there is a ball dispenser that fills our buckets for us. Neither option was available to us at the pro shop. We were simply given our buckets and told that the driving range was across the street. So, the six of us walked over to the driving range, empty buckets in hand. I kind of assumed we would find a dispenser at the range itself, but that wasn't the case either. All we saw was a giant open field with distance markers, golf balls and broken tees scattered about. Odd, I thought. And then I watched. Even odder, thought I. For, as I stood there, I watched three of the boys, buckets in hand, walk out into the open field and proceed to pick up golf ball after golf ball. it was like an easter egg hunt set to the easiest level.

"This is how it's done," said one of the boys. "We have to collect our own balls."

It simply didn't seem right.

And so, while they continued on their golf ball hunt, I trekked back to the pro shop, hoping to get some answers for this peculiarity. Maybe things were really done different up north. Still, come on. There was something fishy going on. The minute I walked into the pro shop, the girl behind the counter smiled and looked at me. She said one word that confirmed my suspicions: "Balls?"

"Yup," I replied. She pointed, and, lo-and-behold, over in the corner was a large tub of balls, ready to be shoveled into the buckets for the driving range. A couple of minutes later, I left the pro shop with 6 pre-filled buckets, a golf cart to deliver them with, and a great story...

dogs.

2007-06-08T10:50:00.002-07:00

Dogs abound in Aroland. Many of them are ragged, rough and large. Often you will come across a few of them hanging out together, waiting for a lone dog to come across their path. I have seen several dog fights in Aroland, and have rescued one or two along the way. One dog, Trigger, seems to remember the day I kicked his attackers off of him and brought him in the Shack to lick his wounds while I dripped some hand sanitizer in an open wound on his neck. Now when he sees me driving towards the Shack, he will often sprint along my car and meet me as I get out. It probably helps that I feed him some dog food. He was one that got away.

I attended a dog funeral yesterday. Cody and Brady, two brothers in Aroland, had a little dog called Sebastian. Cody found his body on the side of a back road the other day and threw some logs on it. Apparently Sebastian was a little promiscuous, and the other dogs got jealous. Promiscuity kills in the dog world. As he finished telling us about it yesterday, he asked if we wanted to go see. "Sure," we said. I really don't know why we decided to go check out a dog's carcass, but that's what we did. We brought a shovel along, too. Sebastian needed a proper funeral. There were a couple of interesting elements to this impromptu funeral. Brady, the younger brother, didn't want to see his dog in it's expired state. Cody explained that he might get angry at the dogs who killed him. Brady said he was afraid to look. It took a little coaxing to get him out of the car and, in his own way, say good-bye to his dog. "I'm gonna hit this golf ball," he said. He set down the golf ball that he had hit and retrieved several times over during the day, grabbed his driver and took a swing. The ball was gone. And so was his fear and anger, it seemed. His way worked.

Sebastian was kind of gently lowered into a fresh hole, dug by Cody. Somebody mentioned something about saying a prayer. It was a half-joking, half-serious comment, but nobody wanted to say it. So I simply prayed that God would take good care of Sebastian and that Brady and Cody could get another dog. "Yeah, a better dog," said Cody. And with that, we hopped in our car, and drove away.

elusive bears

2007-05-28T16:19:00.002-07:00

The drive from Nakina to Aroland and back generally consists of two things: trees and potholes. Lately, I’ve been adding bears to the list of sights to see. Bears are elusive creatures. For weeks now, I have been trying to get a decent picture of one in particular. It usually seems to be wandering close to the road, just past the railway tracks close to Aroland. Yet, whenever it rests its beady little eyes on my Swift, it takes off into the forest and out of sight. Dang thing. The other day I was driving a few teens from Nakina to Aroland when we spotted her. Jumping into action, the two boys advised me to honk my horn and drive up to the bear in an effort to ‘tree’ it. It worked! The bear ran only a few feet into the woods and began its ascent into the closest tree it could find. It would have been a great opportunity for a picture, had the weather cooperated. It didn’t. It rained.

And the one thing that I thought I had going for me turns out to be my downfall. I had long hoped to slowly creep up to a bear in my car. Swift is fairly bear-shaped. It’s got a rather large rear end and a beautiful sharpened front that sits close to the ground. With the potholes constantly shaking and jostling my car, she even moves like a bear. Surely she’s the perfect disguise. Alas, the creeping thing has yet to pan out. I can only imagine it has to do with colour. Swift is green. The bear probably mistakes her for some sort of sea-sick relative and runs in the opposite direction. My only hope is to find someone with a black Swift. With a gray interior. And standard, as bunny hops might help in the disguise. Yeah, that’s a hint, James.

time passes by

2007-05-20T09:52:00.001-07:00

it's amazing how quickly time passes. almost one month ago, i drove my little swift into this little town with little clue as to what i would be doing. one month later, i sit in my little swift outside the local elementary school, 'borrowing' their high-speed internet connection. it's a decently warm day here in nakina, which is nice as the sun continues to melt the snow. yeah, that's right. snow. it fell from the sky a couple days ago, and on days like today it seems to be quickly disappearing into the earth. yeesh. 25 degrees earlier this week to freezing rain and snow a couple days later. northern ontario at it's finest, i'm sure.

as in the days of youth pastoring, i find myself questioning my effectiveness among the kids in Aroland. and i am learning to be content with the fact that this is likely a consistent concern among many who work with kids, teens, adults, elderly. it's part of our human desire to feel effective, useful, needed. i am not being asked for miracles. i am not being asked to solve the problems in Aroland. i am not being asked to meet every need that passes through my ears. for now i am simply being asked to show love to those whom i cross paths with in aroland. for some of these kids, it means encouragement, for others tough love, for others it's about reminding them that they have value. and for me it's constantly reminding myself that i don't have the answers, that i, too, am learning. it's reminding myself to put my pride aside -- that i am just like everyone else. no better, no worse. the difficulty is not in the reminders to humble myself, but in actually doing it. Pride can be such a blinder. For me, and likely for many in our culture.

radio.

2007-05-15T11:29:00.001-07:00

Last Saturday, John Reynolds had the opportunity to share what he is doing in Aroland on The Drew Marshall Show. He was interviewed along with a survivor of the Canadian residential schools ("a religious system that abused [him]"). To better understand the current situation in many northern reserves and learn about one persons experience in the residential school system, download the mp3. Find the May 5 broadcast with John Reynolds and Rene Meshake.

shooting stars and satellites.

2007-05-09T00:11:00.000-07:00

One of the amazing things about the North is the vastness of stars. I’ve noticed them several times while on my drive from Aroland to Nakina late at night, and tonight I decided to just sit on the back porch and stare at them for a while. There are two things that amaze me about the night sky: shooting stars and satellites. If you watch the night sky long enough, you will eventually see the dim light of a satellite as it maintains its orbit around the earth. To think that we have left our mark in the vastness of space is amazing. Yet, amazing as they are, they are in no comparison to nature’s satellites. The fact that there are objects crashing to earth, burning up in the atmosphere with such fanfare and beauty, blows my mind. It’s so easy to get caught up in the day to day and forget that we are just a speck in the vastness of this universe. Literally, just a speck. What is man that You are mindful of him?

.Sunday

2007-04-29T09:25:00.000-07:00

Today I find myself at a new home, in a new town, doing a new thing. After a great week in Mexico and two awesome weeks in BC, I flew back into Thunder Bay on Monday morning. Following a pit stop at Starbucks for my last experience with a Starbucks coffee and high-speed internet, I began the trek up north to my new stomping grounds, still unsure of what to expect.

While in BC, I got an email from Ryan in Nakina. At one point in the email he mentioned something about getting my feet on the ground, and that they would be hitting the ground running. He was right. Between Nakina and Aroland, it’s been a busy week. A week of remembering names from my time here in December, of meeting new kids and new faces, of finding new muscles in my body, of learning the rules of floor hockey and of completely enjoying the life up here. I’m not sure I can call it the ‘Simple Life’ here, because this week has been anything but simple:

1) Hanging out and cleaning up around The Shack in Aroland
2) Refereeing a full day of floor hockey between area elementary schools
3) Hours of biking around Aroland with the kids
4) Weight-lifting with a teen in Aroland
5) Sorting and organizing wilderness trip gear
6) Moving boxes of clothes for a garage sale

Though most nights ended late for me with closing The Shack around 11 -11:30pm and then driving the half hour back along the potholed road between Aroland and Nakina, I have found myself going to bed with a smile on my face. Despite the busyness, it’s been a great week. Right now I feel like I’ve quietly slipped into life here.

And today it’s Sunday. A much needed day of rest. While it’s tempting to sit here and plan out a schedule for The Shack, or to drive out to Aroland to hang out with some of the kids, I now recognize the importance of taking a day to sit back and relax. Those things need to wait. Tomorrow’s a new day...

religion at a pub.

2007-04-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

It doesn't take much to become involved in a conversation about religion. And more often than not, the topic is not even breached by the 'religious' ones....

This weekend we found ourselves at a resort in Kamloops. All eleven of us. We know eachother through school and through school connections. Over the past year we have all moved our separate ways, only to return to this chalet that overlooks Sun Peaks for a pre-wedding celebration. Our numbers will be reduced to nine in a short week's time.

Last night, we hit the town. ...well... We hit the village. Ski hills always have a village, and this one is no different. Though, with the end of the ski season, the village seems more like a ghost town. Those that remain behind are the outdoorsy type that find value and contentment in hanging around the ski resorts year round. Four of whom we met last night.

Part of our pre-wedding celebrations involved dressing up the bride and groom and heading to the local pub in search of a dance floor to bust some moves. The only pub open had no dance floor, and played 80s music all night long. Hardly conducive for us Dutchies (plus some) to break out our amazing dancing skills. And so, our night involved sitting around a table making as much noise as possible and talking to our local pubmates while enjoying the antics of the bride in her snakeskin pants.

Ski bums are cool folk. The four we met at the pub had an uncanny interest in our group. Probably because we tripled the amount of people in the pub while tripling the noise level inside those four walls. Our conversation began while paying the bill.

"Where are you guys all from?" one pubmate asked.
"The Lower Mainland area," I replied.
"How do you know eachother?"
"Most of us went to school together in Abbotsford."
"What kind of school?"
"It was a Bible College."

Let the religion discussion begin.

For the next hour and a half, four of us found ourselves engaged in conversation with the four of them. They were surprised by us. Surprised that we would walk into a pub at 11:30 at night. Surprised that we would order beer, and not 'specialty coffees', as was one girl's expectation. Surprised that we were 'cool people'. And perhaps they were surprised that we didn't sit and preach. We listened, we engaged, we challenged as much as we were challenged. I think in the end, we all learned a little more.

And we all agreed on one thing: Religion sucks. It truly does. Religion is the paintbrush that so easily strokes any person who might believe in a god with the same colour as the abusive priests, the hypocritical homosexual pastors, the adamantly anti-gay marriage campaigners (all three of which were mentioned by one pubmate as reasons why religion sucks). It's so easy to overlook us regular hypocrites, sinners, and God-followers when religious hypocrisy is such a mainstream idea to the atheist. The perception of Christianity is so easily skewed when human nature is involved. Does hypocrisy exist? In all of us, I would think. We all fail. All of humanity fails. Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist. That's just one thing that makes us all the same. But there's an expectation that Christians are perfect. Far from it.

Is the pursuit of a god just a crutch? A cop-out? Potentially, yes. If we let it become that. If the pursuit stops. If those of us who profess Christ fail to recognize 'the golden rule' that is so well-known (even by our pub friends): If love of self becomes more important than the love of our neighbour (and, ultimately God). When that happens -- and it will -- hypocrisy is soon to follow. Thank God for grace and forgiveness.

relaxed and random.

2007-04-10T14:39:00.000-07:00

slightly more enjoyable than sitting on planes and slightly less enjoyable than sitting on trains is another favourite past-time of mine: sitting in coffee shops. It's a beautiful day in BC. A day in which I find myself hanging out in the Crescent Beach area of South Surrey taking in the sun, the beach, the railway that hugs the ocean's shore and the relaxed atmosphere of a local coffee shop. Today has been a day of catching up. On email, on photos, on Facebook, and on friends. I know these next two weeks will pass quickly, so I hope to enjoy as much of this atmosphere as I can before heading back to Nakina and the Starbucks-free world of Northern Ontario. Since my time has been spent catching up, I have had little time to reflect on my recent travels to Northern Ontario, or on Mexico. With those two events in the back of my mind, I have discovered a new joy: younger siblings. I've been staying at the home of one of the boys that I took to Mexico. They've taken in another roomer from Holland, so right now there are 5 boys aged 11 through 27 staying at my adopted home. Younger siblings are great. I find myself just sitting back and watching the antics of three brothers mocking and hitting eachother, laughing and talking together, and basically creating and maintaining insanity in their home. Younger siblings rock as much as older siblings. It's nice to be the older brother for once though.

lessons learned.

2007-04-08T20:09:00.001-07:00

Another week flown by. The past 7 days have been spent with a group of 40 teens in Juarez, Mexico. It’s hard to describe the week that was. I am learning never to underestimate those whom I see as inferior. And it’s not the Mexicans I speak of.

One morning in Juarez, I stumbled upon another lesson in life…a lesson in humility. While seeking out my third cup of coffee, I happened to catch the tail end of an impromptu prayer session. Walking into the dining room at our work site, I came across a young man pouring his heart out to God. He sat at the table fervently praying for our team, for the Mexicans we served, for Juarez and for the hearts of everyone involved in our trip. His hands moved eloquently with the words he seemed to so carefully choose. The clarity with which he spoke seemed to contradict the person I saw him to be on the outside. And yet his words were so impactful, it brought a few of us to tears. Here was a young man of 22 years old, pouring out his vision, his dreams, his heart and passion in the presence of the few of us fortunate enough to observe and listen. Here was a young man completely devoted to what he believed and what he desired for our team and for those we served. Here were prayers straight from the heart. Prayers that in an odd sort of way, put me to shame. For though this 22 year old may look and act several years younger due to Down Syndrome, he has the one thing we so often lack: The faith of a child.

Kudos, Jasen

turning the page.if life is a book, it probably has a lot of chapters

2007-03-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

I have often seen a book as a great metaphor for life. When fairly significant life changes occur, I tend to symbolize these moment as the beginning of a new chapter in my life. It seems I'm turning the page once again.

Chapter Seven

When I was in Nakina, I was presented with the opportunity to work with John Reynolds and the youth of Aroland for a longer period of time. It was an opportunity that excited me when I was up there, but was only something I kept in the back of my mind for the next few months after returning to the Grim. My desires to return to BC always remained, yet despite them, the timing never seemed fully right. I couldn't justify returning with nothing to do, and none of the passenger rail companies in BC responded to my resumés. So I began to resign myself to the fact that I would likely end up remaining at the print shop for a while until something else came up. Then came the call that I was being "let go". Something came up. Perfect. My decision to quit the night shift job was not as rash as it may appear, as I had always intended to quit before heading west in late March. And so begins chapter seven.

Around the same time as the job situations came up, I received an email from John. He was wondering what I was up to, and if I was still thinking about Aroland. Suddenly, the idea of Aroland worked it's way from the back of my mind to the very front. Three weeks later, it seems I'll be packing up the Swift for Northern Ontario. I leave Monday. The plan is to drive to Nakina, then fly out of Thunder Bay to Vancouver. From there, I will fly down to Mexico with some youth from the old church for a mission trip, then return to BC for a wedding in late April. Then it's back to Thunder Bay, and up to a new life in Nakina.

I've committed to being up north for four months, from May to August, giving me enough time to understand the needs in Aroland and whether I can be of service for a longer period of time. Since my work will primarily be volunteering with the Reynold's and with the youth of Aroland, I will be needing financial support. For more information on what I will be doing, please read my Support Letter. If you would like to support me financially, click here. Though I'm not sure exactly what to expect when I arrive in Nakina, I am expecting chapter seven to be a huge challenge. Pray.

Postmodernity, Atheism, Christianity, Questions

2007-03-13T13:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not much of a YouTuber. Despite the hype and the innumerable mentions on nightly news, I've never caught on to the fad. Until today. I had no idea there was this secret underground world of Christian vs. Atheist debating going on via video. Encroyable, I say! I don't profess to know much about Atheism. Heck, I don't profess to know much about Christianity. It seems that whenever a discussion, editorial, video, blog, or any form of interactive media touches on why one chosen path is superior to the other, a heated debate ensues. More often than not, the debate occurs between head-in-the-sand, self-proclaimed Christians, and head-in-the-sand, self-proclaimed, 'free thinking' Atheists who banter back and forth with no real point. Search for "blasphemy challenge" on YouTube and you will come across a host of videos dedicated to an organization's call for people to 'commit the unforgivable sin' and deny the existence of any god. Read through the comments, and you will inevitably come across a debate where both 'sides' attempt to 'prove' why their 'belief' is 'right' and 'true'. Postmodernity in essence.

What is postmodernity? For the purposes of this post, I will use only one part of the ever-broadening definition of postmodernity, that is: all truth is relevant. That what you believe is fine for you to believe it. Meanwhile, I'll believe what I want to believe, because it works for me. There is no foundational truth in which to place our belief system because we will all have our own.

There are elements of truth to that. What I believe is based on my experiences, my understanding, my upbringing, what I read and how I interpret it. However, for me all of that is filed under the foundational beliefs of Christianity. Ugh. Ugh because that label is so despised by the 'rational-thinking' atheists in the world. To them, I have bought into a system of comfort. I've been brainwashed by a human contraption. Could it be that they have simply bought into a different system of comfort?

What I've come to understand through reading the various comments and debates on YouTube is this: Nobody has it all figured out. It takes faith in the words of a centuries-old book to believe in God, and it takes faith in scientific theories to believe there is no God. Neither 'side' has their faith figured out. All we can do, really...is ask questions. When the question-asking stops, legalism sets in. It becomes harder to grow in an understanding of what your beliefs mean when the answers are already provided for you by way of a faith doctrine or the doctrine of rational-thinking. For the Christian, the question we need to be asking should be: what does it mean when Christ says to love God and love my neighbour in the world I find myself in? Start there, and the questions will never stop. For Atheists, the question they need to be asking should be: Why do I find myself in this world? To atheists though, maybe there is no point to our existence. I think it would take a lot more faith to believe that. Then again, I am biased.

the B-I-B-L-E (yes, that's the book for me!)

2007-03-05T19:46:00.000-08:00

I've taken to reading the Bible lately. It's a Lent thing, don't ask. Funny how one can pick up a book on any topic and start reading it with no thought as to what the 'underlying meaning' is behind the words read. Not so with the Bible. Since birth, I've been told that there is meaning behind everything that's written between Genesis 1 and Revelation 22. Everything. So, say when you read about the Israelites slaughtering the Canaanites, we're taught that God was giving them the Promised Land. If the Canaanites stayed, they would taint the Israelites, we're told. And that just couldn't be. Complete, total annihilation. And the Israelites failed. Complete, total failure. They got tainted. So we go through the Judges, who basically set the Israelites straight before dying and leaving them to their own waywardness. Proving that God cared for them because he sent them various Judges to rescue His people, we're told. How I would love to read the Bible for the first time. Maybe then I could get through more than 5 chapters at a time. It's ingrained in us, I think. Those of us who have been listening to or reading this thing for decades; we're conditioned to read between the lines. At all times. No longer can a story simply be a story. It has to have some sort of profound meaning. I'd probably read a lot more if I could just read it as a story. And if I hadn't heard most of the stories since birth. Yet, despite all that, I still love what I read ... between the lines ...

a backpack or bookends

2007-02-28T08:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we make decisions. Other times, decisions are made for us.

I've been fired.

Ha. I'm laughing. This is great. Okay, so I haven't really been fired. I've been 'released'. Freed. As my boss put it, he's throwing me into the pool. He's letting me go. The print industry is slow these days and I'm too expensive to keep as the sole employee of a small business -- the same business I considered purchasing on my return to Ontario. So, I did what every rational person would do in such a situation: I called up my other boss at the group home and told him I'm quitting. No more night shifts at the group home. And no more day shifts at the print shop. As of March 16, I'll be unemployed. And as of April 1 I'll be homeless, as my parents are also forcing freedom on me. They're not heartless and cruel. They just want their life back. I don't blame them. Ha. Nothing surprises me these days.

I have a tendency to take some things in stride. It's a tendency that drives my mother crazy. But I can't help it. It's who I am. So, now I am faced with a question: a backpack or bookends? It's been brewing in me for a while to just pack all my stuff into a backpack and take off for unknown destinations. What holds me back is the other desire: to find a home, a wife, and a bookshelf on which to hold all my books. To settle, or not to settle?. That is the question.

pain.

2007-02-26T20:43:00.000-08:00

I think if we were given a reason for why there is pain and suffering in our world, we would use it as an excuse to not care for those who are experiencing it. Now we're left with the option to care. Because there's no reason for it.

The other day, an email was waiting in my inbox. It was from a youth who is working through an age-old question of faith: Why does God allow suffering in our world? Her question wasn't raised through class discussion, a youth group Bible study, or through a sermon she may have listened to. It was not philisophical in nature. It was not even blatantly theological. In fact, that wasn't really her question. Her questions were raised through her experiences in life: Why is a friend, who has been through so much crap and who doesn't have a strong relationship with God suddenly being dealt another rotten situation? Why is my life so easy in comparison? And what do I do?

Whew.

I could have responded with one of many Christian clichés about sin and the fall of man, but I think answers like that are designed to give us an excuse to carry on with our lives with our backs turned. Especially here in North America. I know I've used that as an excuse, and I continue to do so. She's probably heard all the clichés anyway -- after all, she did grow up in the church. What I've discovered in my few and brief experiences of talking to, listening to and being around those who suffer, is that I become the better for it. But I don't think that others are meant to suffer for my sake. For my growth. There's a balance that needs to be found. Though I'm not sure I've found it yet. I remember an episode that took place in Uganda last summer; something that I wrote about, but never posted here. It's the story (and thoughts) of Xavier:

We were brought to one of five campuses of the Kampala Pentecostal Church (KPC). In some ways it was like walking into a North American church. In others, it was a brand new experience. We sang the same worship songs, with the added bonus of a 50-something voice choir and 2,500 strong congregation. Following a message on loving our neighbours, we walked back out onto the streets of Kampala, right past a man sitting on the corner of the parking lot. He sat with his wheelchair, crutches, and a pan. As usual, questions, concern, and a bit of frustration weighed down my thoughts...all compounded by the fact that this man was sitting right outside a church where those walking past had just listened to a sermon on loving their neighbour. Looking back towards him, and then looking towards the team I could tell that Simon had possibly similar thoughts running through his head.

"I can tell you're thinking," I said. "What about?"
"Same thing as you," he replied.

So, together, we walked over and sat with Xavier. Unfortunately, that was about the extent of our knowledge of Xavier as he was rather hard to understand. After our brief and disjointed conversation, Simon left some money in the pan and we walked back to our waiting van.

Much of the past few days has been spent trying to understand the desire to care that I feel when I meet the David's, the Justin's, the Xavier's. What is it about? There's a tension that happens between whether it is about them or about me. David still sleeps in the roundabout. Justin still walks several miles to his bed. Xavier will still sit at the corner of Buganda Road and the KPC parking lot. And I will return to my bed, my car, my job. I will return to a better life, as I understand 'better' to be. And I will leave David, Justin and Xavier behind.

Compassion is a fickle thing. Does God give a heart of compassion to change others, or to change the compassionate? Or is it both? Will David remember the white guy who gave no money, gave no food, took no pictures and asked questions? Will Justin? Xavier? Or are the stories I've heard, the poverty I've seen, the lives I've collided with in Uganda forever remain solely with me?

I still don't have the answers. Which in a way, is cool. Because I couldn't give any answers to the youth who was asking the questions. It's something she'll have to figure out as she discovers her own heart of compassion. All I could tell her is that all she could do -- and all she is called to do -- is walk alongside her friend. And it was in that reply that something profound struck a chord in my thoughts. That's really all Christ did. He didn't leave this world in perfect order. He didn't heal everybody. He had to leave behind the broken, the hurting, the lame, the deaf....

And he told us to walk with them in his place......

Many people use the excuse that there is too much pain and suffering in our world for there to be a God. God or not, pain and suffering will still exist. The choice remains ours.

two.

2007-02-24T07:51:00.001-08:00

She's two years old now. Well, technically she's ten, but I've only really gotten to know her over the past two years. Happy Birthday, Swift! It's been a good year for her. She has continued to serve me faithfully, from daily commutes in the Lower Mainland of BC and a 4,000 km journey home for more daily commuting in Southern Ontario. This year has proved much less expensive than last year with my only expenses being oil changes, gas, insurance and two speeding tickets. But she's entering the terrible two's, and I'm worried she'll start acting up. I think she has bladder control issues....I noticed some yellow snow under her front end this morning. Oh, Swift.

purpose[fulness]

2007-02-20T10:09:00.000-08:00

It's coming back. ha. It's all coming back to me now. My apologies to all non-Celine fans. Especially to those of you who now have the song stuck in your head; her voice torturing your inner ear. At any rate, the lyrics ring true.

Youth work has not really been something I've been involved in since returning to Ontario. ...Well...I have been. But I haven't been. Let me explain:

The week I got home, I was 'informed' that my church was in need of some leaders for the grade 9 boys. I say informed because the underlying intent in my informant's mind was to play the guilt-trip card that I so easily fall for. And I fell for it. Next thing I know, I'm spending my second weekend in Ontario with a group of youth on a retreat. And thus began the saga of this burnt-out-former-youth-director-struggling-to-find-his-way-in-life-grade-nine-boys-youth-leader. [Fortunately I had some affect on one other person to join me in this struggle (thanks James)]. While we have managed to put together some decent group material for our kids, I've realized that I am doing to these youth exactly what I feared I would do to the youth in BC: not care about them. It's a harsh realization. I simply put my time in, about 4 hours a month. Beyond that, I am not involved in the lives of these youth, something I know is the foundation of youth work. I just do what I have to do month after month. Because I suckered myself into it.

Which is a thought that will lead into the point of this post: purposefulness. I was asked a little while ago which of the jobs I have worked were the most enjoyable. Truth be told, there are aspects of every job that I have enjoyed. If I were to be honest, the job I currently have is a dream job for many: I sit behind a desk most of the day and am only required to do 'work' when a customer walks in the door. Upon further reflection of her question though, I have in a roundabout way asked myself a different, related question: which job have I felt the most purpose in? The answer to that is a lot less complicated. Youth Work. There has been purpose in every job I have done: whether it be carting around barrels of maple syrup, cutting flowers, delivering newspapers, or printing menus and business cards. But I have only truly felt purposeful in my work with youth. It's like the difference between breathing in fresh winter air and breathing the air in my car today after I stepped in some dog crap. Either way, I'm breathing air. Youth work just feels better deep down. [not that my other jobs have been crap...it's just an analogy that works for today because of stupid neighbour-lady's dog]

I can smell a hint of fresh air. It's coming. I'm not gonna rush it...it'll come when the time is right. First things first though: I gotta get Celine's voice out of my head...

--------

Purpose

I need to elaborate on what I mean by this word. I want to stay away from any reference to the word 'purpose' that might automatically put into the reader's mind two things: 1) The Purpose-Driven Life and 2) Rick Warren.

The 'purpose' I am referring to makes more sense when put it into the words of James as we discussed life over our regular $2.50 pasta meal last night. I wish we recorded the conversation (as we often say after such conversations), but here's the gyst of what he said and what makes sense to me as I type it out: it's like there's a sine wave of what you know you are capable of (gifted in) and what you are actually doing--and whether they line up or not. It was along those lines, and maybe something I'll elaborate on in a future post. Hope that makes sense.

Back to Post

Max.

2007-02-14T17:16:00.000-08:00

there lives in grimsby a man by the name of Max. if you have lived in this town long enough, chances are good you have crossed his path. rarely will he cross yours, as most times it's you who walks by while he stands still on the street or sits on a chair in the local grocery store. long-time residents of this town affectionately (or not-so-affectionately) call him 'crazy Max'. it's not really that he's crazy, per se, but it is clear that he has some wires crossed. he used to live just up the street from us, so i would often walk past him while delivering newspapers in the neighbourhood. i remember how he would always comment on the weather.

'hi Max, how you doing?'
'oh, the weather is great today. just great. yup, the weather ... i say, the weather is great today.'
'it sure is, Max. have a great day!'
'well thank you. thank you. yes. thank you...yes...'

that's Max.

Max doesn't much talk about the weather anymore. it wasn't uncommon in the years before leaving the grim that i would see Max standing on the street corners in the very early hours of the morning. he didn't much talk about the weather then either. in fact, he didn't really talk at all. he yelled. and he would yell at no one and nothing in particular. Max picked up a very colourful language, too. i still remember the day i watched helplessly as some local teens swore at him while he stood in front of milk 'n things.

i've run into Max a few times since returning to the grim, most often as he sits just past the express check-out line of our local food basics. tonight he sat there drinking a one litre of chocolate milk. it seems he had a bad day today, though he wouldn't elaborate. he was just too tired to elaborate. maybe it was the weather. it hasn't been so great lately.

california

2007-02-13T13:00:00.000-08:00

The snow has been falling all day, gradually creating drifts and piles as each unique flake attaches itself to the one that landed just ahead of it. Fifty centimetres of cold, fluffy snow is expected to fall by end of day, so naturally, my mind has jumped into the Swift and driven to California. Fortunately, blowing snow tends to keep the customers away, so my mind can lay on the beach without a care in the world. I hope it goes surfing.

oh, California.

The last time I was in California, it was in the burning heat of summer. 40º celsius, baby. I'm not sure if it's the actual thought of California that draws me to return, or whether it's just the heat. I get an urge to return to it's heat every time I watch CSI:Miami and the show cuts to an aerial shot of buildings on the edge of the water, heat waves dancing on the TV screen. Maybe it's the thought of sitting on the edge of the ocean, breathing the salty air into which I throw all my cares. That rhymes, and will one day make a great line for a song or a poem. Or, 'one day' will be today:

Waking up in California

The morning sun dawns through the shadows
Of a gloomy winters day.
Weary eyes lose their waking battles
And join my body where it lay.

While my mind wakes up in California.

It tans where sun and ocean collide,
Breathing in the salty air.
While in peaceful rest, the time I bide,
And to the wind I throw my cares.

For now I wake up in California.

a Rwanda in the making

2007-02-11T16:31:00.001-08:00

there exists in Africa a country directly south of Egypt called Sudan. undoubtedly you have come across this name through blips in news reports, the scrolling marquee of a 24-hour news station, or an article hidden in the back pages of your local newspaper. with each report, you may have come across one of many catchy, but ambiguous phrases such as 'Save Darfur', or, 'the worst humanitarian crisis in the world today'. Sudan, with it's western Darfur region, rests two countries north of another name you will have undoubtedly heard: Rwanda. it is being said that the crisis in Darfur is reminiscent of the atrocities that occurred in Rwanda in 1994. some similarities are clear: an unco-operative government that perpetuates war, rebel armies, ill-equipped 'peacemakers', strife between ethnicities, millions of displaced locals, hundreds of thousands killed. and first world nations that base decisions on their bottom line.

like me, you may be asking yourself: what can i do about it? here's what you can do.

life.

2007-02-02T06:58:00.001-08:00

i was watching The Hour on CBC in the wee hours of the morning as i waited for my night-shift to end. apparently (and i'm sure this isn't news to many, as i know i've heard it before), the #1 fear of most people is public speaking. #2 is death. interesting. i don't necessarily fear death -- and it's not because my faith tells me that there's a 'better life' beyond life here on earth. i don't think much about heaven, probably because there's too much happening in regular life to allow for such distractions. no, i don't fear death for the sake of faith, but for those times when life's realities and struggles make death seem more easy to deal with. this may seem morbid, but i know i'm not the only one who has had such thoughts. and such thoughts bring with them a choice. i know i will always choose life.

unfortunately, some do choose death. and even more unfortunate are those who are brought death by the cruelties of humanity. i recently finished reading Shake Hands with the Devil by Roméo Dallaire, the Force Commander of the UN troops in Rwanda during its genocide of 1994. Dallaire fills his book with personal experiences in the field during the genocide, from witnessing the slaughter first-hand to dealing with the bureocracy of ignorant and apathetic first World governments. in the end, Dallaire speaks of hope in the idea of the future being a 'Century of Humanity' (an idea he picked up from the former Secretary-General of the UN, Kofi Annan).

A Century of Humanity.

the prospect of such an ideal astounds me. to be in a world where we can all put aside our differences -- political, cultural, tribal, religious -- impresses on me a huge desire to actually see it happen. normally, i would finish this post by writing something about the fact that such an ideal exists -- in a time beyond this life. it would be a great tie-in to my comment on heaven, but will accomplish nothing in the fact that we are all still in this life -- on this earth -- together. and it will only be an ideal if it exists in the thrones of cabinets and political postings where wars and economic sanctions are formulated. an idea of this magnitude must begin at the grassroots level. with you. and with me.

it's called life. living. it's something we all do -- why can't we just do it together?

early morning mind wanderings

2007-01-15T22:07:00.000-08:00

I have a love / loathe relationship with mornings like this....those early mornings that I find myself tossing and turning in bed, desperate for the sleep that escapes my wandering mind. I went to bed two hours ago but have yet to sleep. I'm not sure whether it's the coffee I had 7 hours ago -- which really shouldn't be affecting me -- or whether it's the remnants of a weekend working the graveyard shift. At any rate, I think my body hates me, so now I've decided to do the next best thing aside from sleeping: blog. Take that, body! Ironically, despite the fact that my mind has been running a million miles a minute the past two hours, I really have nothing significant to post. But, hey, it's 2007! So why not a review of the year that was. When I was up North, I was asked what 2006 meant to me. I think I answered something along the lines of 'discovery', but as I thought about it more on my train journey back south, I came to a clearer picture of this past year. It was a year of completion for me:

I actually graduated from a post-secondary educational institution (where I learned all those big words) with a two-year diploma in Youth Work. Not a huge accomplishment for some, but it deserves a notch in my belt.

I managed to accomplish one of my life goals - Africa. While it now seems a distant memory, the experiences still exist in the recesses of my mind, occasionally recurring as I read about Africa, or catch a glimpse of a World Vision ad on TV.

I left a job and a position that had been my ultimate goal throughout my time as a youth-worker-in-training. I have no regrets about leaving the position [aside from the relationships built and left behind], and I value the experience I had working within the walls of a church, but at times I wonder if my next decision was the best one.

That decision being the end of my time in BC. Permanent or not, I found myself packing all my worldly possessions into the Swift and heading East in pursuit of possibilities. It is the final mark of completion in the year that was.

2006 was filled with possibilities, challenges, new experiences, decisions to be made, consequences of decisions made, times of joy, times of frustration and sorrow, and, overall, just the inevitability of history being made one minute to the next.

2007 will be filled with the same, I'm sure. In some respects, I feel as though I'm exactly where I was a year ago and in other respects, my experiences have shaped new aspects of my life, or altered pre-existing aspects (for better and worse). I think this is where I write some wise words about making better choices, about 'keeping the faith', about waiting in eager expectation for what's to come in this new year. But I think I'm finding myself entering the new year blindly, with no clue as to what it might bring. It doesn't leave me waiting in eager expectation, it doesn't bring insights into how to make better choices, and January finds me struggling to keep the faith. And all the while, minutes eternally pass by, never to be repeated. Maybe it's time to make the most out of those precious minutes -- to squeeze the life out of all 60 seconds. Maybe...just maybe...it's time to sleep.

Aroland

2007-01-03T10:08:00.001-08:00

The train pulled into a station 11 hours later, at 4am. Nakina. As the snow fell lightly out the windows of Train #1, I once again gathered all the necessities of life that were crammed in two backpacks and walked off the train into the –10 degree weather of Northern Ontario. Soon I would find myself sleeping comfortably in the wood-stove warmed home of superfriend Ryan and his wife, Amanda, in apprehensive expectation of the days to come. While this trip would be a getaway from the norm of Southern Ontario life, it would not entirely be a holiday during this, the holiday season.

A couple of months ago, I got a call from Ryan, who was in search of a youth worker to lead a group of teens into the neighbouring First Nations reservation of Aroland to hang out with the kids for a week. I told him I’d get back to him. He got back to me first, saying that the group of teens would not be going up, so my assumption had been that the trip was off…until a late night phone call. John Reynolds, a man with a passion for First Nations youth, called to see if I was still coming up to work with the kids of Aroland. A bit confused, a bit curious and a bit hesitant I told him I’d get back to him.

Two weeks later, I found myself in a taxi cab, chasing down a train.

Little Africa

Five days of driving in and out of a First Nations reservation to interact solely with its future generation cannot and does not bring a full picture of life on a reserve. What I saw from the outside – as an outsider – did not line up with the statistics I had inside my mind. And the statistics are mind-boggling. But, like Africa, they tend to be statistics of a situation that seems to be bigger than the assistance of any North American with a desire to help. The irony of it is that these are statistics from within North America, where the major concern is not AIDS. Or famine. Or tribal warfare. In Aroland, and in many reservations across this first world country, kids face the consequences of their parents drinking problems either through dealing with an alcoholic parent or directly through the effects of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Here, and in many reservations across this first world country, kids face the reality of a friends’ or a community members suicide. Here, I have heard of a 12-year-old girl drinking hairspray for its alcohol content. And like most kids growing up in North America, there is the constant pressure of drugs.

It’s sad to think that I feel like I needed to see a drunk parent, or a stoned kid, or a funeral for a victim of suicide to believe that these statistics are realities. I had to see the IDP Camps in Northern Uganda to know such places existed, despite the sponsor-a-child commercials. I had to see Ground Zero in December of 2001 to comprehend the reality of September 11, despite the television repetitively showing the twin towers collapsing. But what I did see in Aroland were kids. Kids are kids, no matter where you are in the world. And I can only assume that life will not get easier for them as they age and come to grips with the reality of the world they are brought up in.

There is a certain amount of joyful freedom in being a child, though I will admit that the kids I saw in Aroland have experienced more in life than I had by the time I turned nine. And they seem to be aware of that fact. As I was talking to a group of the First Nations youth, something I said triggered a response that still rings in my ears: ‘Yeah, but you don’t know Aroland.” He's right. My knowledge on the history of First Nations communities and reservations is vague at best, let alone their current situation. And so these thoughts are as of yet unfinished. And so is the processing of my experiences in Northern Ontario.

the rail.

2006-12-28T09:27:00.000-08:00

Rail travel is not meant to be as adventurous in the 21st century as it was in the days of steam trains, but I’ve discovered a way to re-create the past.

Currently: traveling Toronto to Nakina, VIA Rail: 3:00pm.

This 20 hour train journey was to begin promptly at 9am from Union Station in Toronto. At 9:15am, I find myself questioning the passenger behind me in a line of people walking towards Gate 10. The questions in my mind are verbalized as I become aware of the fact that my train was to depart from Gate 8, and I suddenly find myself herded along with the other passengers past the pillar with that label. “Where are you headed?” asks I. “Ottawa,” he replies. “You?” Knowing full well that Nakina, my destination, will mean nothing to likely every other person I unexpectedely find myself boarding a train for Ottawa with, I reply with my trains ultimate destination, “Vancouver.” And the reality of stupidity crosses my mind. I have just spent the last half hour waiting in line for a Gate that has been fully opened for likely an hour, welcoming those guests who wish to travel from Toronto to Vancouver via Nakina.

Finding the nearest VIA representative, I explain my situation, knowing full well that it is a hopeless one as the next train headed to Nakina leaves Toronto on Thursday, two days away. Mine is the route less traveled. Thankfully, the holiday spirit is still in the air as the VIA rep goes to ‘see what she can do’. Five minutes later, she returns with the hint of a smile – the kind of smile one gets when they know that it is guaranteed to be returned with another smile. “I found you a ride to Washaga”, or whatever it’s called. Washaga, Washabo, Wash-something-or-other. Whatever it is, it’s the next stop after Toronto for my train, and it happens to be an hour and a half north of Union Station. And I need to get there, pronto.

Ten minutes later, my ride arrives: a brand new Lincoln cab, driven by Sadar of Niagara Tours, complements of VIA Rail. The chase is on. Like two armed bandits, Sadar and I gallop full throttle in pursuit of the promising loot of a passenger-filled train, it’s rising steam disappearing in the distance. We have an hour and a half to meet up with a train that is, by VIA’s timetable standards, 1 hour and 20 minutes away. Under normal circumstances, this would be no problem. But the man at the reins is riding a new horse, and decides that this would be a great time to break in his trusty steed’s cruise control. Time is ticking as we pull into Barrie to check our status on a map and fill up on fuel. 50 km away, 25 minutes to go. With the cruise control mastered, Sadar sets our pace at 140 km/h , and we gallop down Highway 11, past Orillia and all the other towns along the way. My train is to arrive in Washago at 11:08am. We trot into the station at … 11:08am.

Suspense-filled pause.

A man waits alone on the platform, taking in deep breaths of nicotine, luggage at his side. Jumping out of the car, I dash over to him with one question on my mind: “Are you waiting for VIA?”

Suspense-filled pause.

“Yup,” he replies. And with a handshake and a hug, Sadar proudly declares our victory to timetables and runaway trains. Mission accomplished, Sadar jumps back in the saddle of his new pride and joy, and rides off into the, er…midday sun… with promises of a future meeting in Grimsby to discuss our adventurous tale over a round of Tim Horton’s coffee.

And now, four hours later, I find myself on the elusive train as it courses it’s way through rocky passages and lightly dusted snow on green pine and white birch, interspersed with the lakes of which can only be found in Northern Ontario. In the distance the sound of a train whistle emanates from the diesel engine three cars ahead, whose constant drone provides a perfect backdrop for the music that quietly plays through my headphones. I love train rides.

freedom in flying

2006-12-06T09:19:00.000-08:00

There's something about flying that brings with it a deep sense of freedom. I don't know what it is really, but the peace I feel as I wait for my flight number to announced, the absolute state of relaxation I feel as I sit through the protocols of airplane safety is, truly, profound. Maybe it's because I know that everything I really need in life is "safely stowed under the seat in front of me" or buried beneath the belongings of my traveling companions in the cargo hold under my feet. Perhaps my sense of freedom comes from knowing that all obligations, all commitments, all of my daily duties have been left behind with Pearson International Airport.

Currently: Flying 482 mph at 36084 feet, Toronto to Vancouver. Home to Home: 2pm

I crave this sense of freedom that I feel right now. I have longed for it since returning to Ontario. And I find it ironic -- not that this freedom comes as I return to BC, but that it comes to me while in limbo - while flying thousands of feet above the earth that forces me to make decisions. Any decisions I make right now cannot affect my immediate life - except for the stupid decisions that cause emergency landings and terrorist interrogations. But those daily decisions that we make everyday have no impact on life when in the air: Should I get up today? Should I fill my car with gas? Should I print that job now, or wait for a more 'convenient' time? Do I make that phone call? Send that email? Talk to that person on MSN? None of those decisions can be made here. There truly is a sense of freedom in flying.

Plans. Our world seems to revolve around plans. We've got a 'plan' for reducing emissions in Canada. We've got a 'plan' for Iraq. We've got a 'plan' to solve the AIDS crisis in Africa. Those are the big things, but we're told we need to make plans for our lives. Plan your retirement now! Plan your child's education finances now! Plan your budget. Plan your funeral. Plan your holidays. Plan your day, right down to the quarter-hour. It seems there is no escaping our culture's need to plan.

Maybe I rant against our need for plans right now because I have none. No plans. Naughta. It seems that the things I plan end up finding a wrench in the gears at some point anyway. I'm trying to remember what the Bible says about plans. Oh yeah: Commit your plans to the Lord, and they will succeed. [Why do I remember that?] How much time do we spend planning our next plan and not committing our plans to the One who will allow fruit to come from them? It's a lesson I continue to learn. Over and over and over again. Okay, so it's a lesson that goes in one ear and out the other. Over and over and over again. And yet, I continue to plan my plans and assume that they are okay because they seem right to me, they seem like a logical next step in this plan-driven world I find myself in. And it feels right, dang it.

Does this all mean that we are really meant to live life on impulse? And does that really just boil our existence down to the age-old concept to fight or flight? If that's true, my impulses are locked in flight mode. Ha. The irony of typing this as I sit on Westjet flight #803 is, well....ironic. Maybe it's time to fight. Maybe we really are meant to, at some point, stop acting on impulse and fear, buckle down and strap the boxing gloves on. The question is: which battles do I choose to fight, and on which battleground? And perhaps the bigger question is: will I choose to fight alone?

mirrors. part two.

2006-11-25T01:17:00.001-08:00

4:00 am, somewhere in Hamilton

I just watched somebody kick the passenger-side mirror off my car. Frick. Why me? Oh, Swift.

the gears keep slippin'

2006-11-20T09:05:00.000-08:00

it's analogy time, boys and girls! it's been a while, but today is actually a good day, so i figured it'd also be a good day to blog since it's not guaranteed to last and i'll need to remember this.

it seems the gears are starting to engage.
they've been slippin' lately.

the gears i speak of are the ones full of facts that you know are true...but are unable to make an impact because they are facts that have brought about unwanted change. they're the kind of facts that would make more sense if you were able to remove yourself completely from a situation and look at it from all possible angles.

the facts have been spinnin' in my head for weeks.
they just haven't engaged.

today it feels like they have, at the very least, brushed against one another and caused a minute shift in positioning. looking back, the facts themselves have never changed....they were there from the beginning. and they've been staring us in the face for months. yet we chose to keep them from engaging. and the longer we held them at bay, the more strain they were under...until a series of (un)fortunate events brought about the needed release of the disengager.

and the clock began ticking again.
and time hit home.

there's that funny word again. time. ha. i smile.

starting over.

2006-11-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

ontario has yet to fully feel like home. i know i had to come back to figure out if there is something for me here....a potential future. i know i had to cross one more 'what if' off my list of possibilities, and if i choose not to pursue this path then my future will be as blank as a fresh sheet of 28 lb. Hammermill laser paper. that's some print talk for ya. there's so much in this world that can be done, but i find it hard to figure out where to start and how to make it fit my life. three years in BC didn't reveal my future, but they did help me understand myself more than i had known in my 23 years in Ontario. and that i certainly don't regret. but just when i thought i had some things figured out, they end up being the very things that throw everything off balance and [once again] cause me to refocus. this month will be a month of answer-seeking and decision-making. i've been here before...i can do it again. frick. i wish i could take to heart the things i write in this blog.

Edgar.

2006-09-18T13:17:00.000-07:00

he sat on a busy street corner in downtown seattle. Edgar. in front of him lay various items he hoped to pawn off for some food money. as the more elite passed by, Edgar would ask for any change they could spare. few did. we passed by. so often we accustom ourselves to turning our head, ignoring the eyes of the homeless, in the hopes they would pretend that they are okay with us passing by in our ignorance. but Edgar said something as we passed. something different, inaudible. but it necessitated clarification. we passed by.

and then we turned around.

it did not matter to Edgar that we had no money to spare. he was more than happy that we turned around to listen. the next hour was spent listening to Edgar describe his life on the busy streets of downtown seattle. Edgar had a purpose. Edgar had a calling. Edgar's calling was to speak words of truth to those who shared the sidewalks with him night after night. Edgar also had a fear. Edgar's fear was in his lack of safety as he spent his hours on the busy streets of downtown seattle. with tears welling in his eyes, and through cracked voice, Edgar said something i have never heard spoken so emotionally while talking with one who spends their day on the streets of a busy city. 'i don't want to be here,' cried Edgar. but he knew he must. he had a calling. and as if they were spoken in the next breath, i remember the words of Edgar that confound my mind when i hear them coming from those i (we) consider to be the runt of society....locally and globally. 'god is good'.

yes, the poor we will always have with us. because we have much to learn from them.

near death experiences

2006-08-29T11:18:00.000-07:00

you know that there's something wrong with a car accident description when the term 'landed' is used.

so, here we are driving a recently purchased toyota MR2 along the winding roads of abbotsford when, well, the rubber left the road. MR2s are only two-passenger vehicles, and there were only two of us in the car at the time....me as the passenger beside someone who is still learning to test the limits of his three-week old car. the limits were broken that day. the beautiful thing about MR2s is that they sit low so that when, say a large rock is side-swiped at high speeds, there's no flipping involved. just some airtime as the impact sends the car twisting in the air, nose down. accidents are surreal moments in life when you know exactly what's going to happen, but can do nothing about it except hope that it ends well. and it did end well for us...the car faired a bit worse, but considering the possibilities....i'm okay with that.

There is a time for everything...

2006-08-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

I love writing. I had to prepare a devotion for a youth leader's meeting the other night, and it gave me an opportunity to put together three elements: 1) the verse that has stuck in my head the past few weeks; 2) the fact that i kept coming back to Ecclesiastes while on a solo camping venture to figure my life out; and 3) Sunday morning's sermon on listening to the voice of the Shepherd:

Time is a funny thing. The past few weeks for me has brought up many questions about time. And about timing. Human timing, God’s timing – and the difference between the two. Often when we look back, it’s easy to figure out whether the decisions we make, the actions we take, and the paths we have walked line up with the path God has set for us. Only in hindsight do we truly know whether we have made the right decisions, taken the right actions and patterned our lives within the will of God. However, when we are in the midst of decision-making and action-taking, the question of God’s will is constantly before us. And the question has to be raised: “Am I listening to the voice of the Shepherd?”

I have a difficult time listening to the voice of the Shepherd. I know I should know what he sounds like…I know I should know the voice of my Shepherd, but this world is so full of voices that it’s often difficult to decipher the difference between what I want and what the world wants, from the voice of the one who cares the most for me. And it is most important during those times of decision-making that one needs to be tuned into the voice of the Shepherd, so as not to lose his whisper in the screams of the world.

It is in the silence of nature that I most easily hear that whisper. And it was in solitude that I heard the voice of my Shepherd. More than that, I felt the whisper in my soul. In my gut. And that whisper brought to me such peace in the decision I faced that when the doubts cross my mind (and they do), when the questions come (and they do) and when the frustrating task of having to trust God with an undetermined future is placed before me (constantly), I constantly need to remind myself that yes, I do hear the voice of my Shepherd.

Our task is simply to ask. And then listen. And we will all hear the voice of our Shepherd in the best way he knows we will hear him. And not only must we listen, but we must also obey. Solomon writes in Ecclesiastes 7:13, ‘Notice the way God does things; then fall into line. Don’t fight the ways of God, for who can straighten out what he has made crooked?’

Only the Shepherd knows where the grass is. Our duty is to follow him to it. Whether the path is straight or crooked, our duty is to fall into line. And only then can we feast.

the path i'm on...

2006-08-08T11:32:00.000-07:00

Why is it that some people, by the time they're five years old, know exactly what they want to do with their life? Why am I 26 and still figuring it out? As of September, I'll be on a new adventure. Paid youth work didn't stick. It was good...it had it's moments, it's joys, it's frustrations...but ultimately, it didn't stick. It couldn't stick. I can do it and I can make it look good, but the work of youth ministry is not my passion. I have a passion for youth, I've determined that (ha! I do have a passion), but it's not something I want to get paid to do. I don't want it to be an obligation. I want to be involved with youth out of a desire of my heart, not out of a desire from my wallet. Frick. I hope that thought stays in my head. Frick again. What the heck do I do now? I'm pretty confident that I 'fell into line' [see previous post], but it leaves so many unanswered questions. I think that as much as there are people out there who have one objective goal for work, there are others of us who just don't know what to do because either the options are overwhelming, or what we most want to do will cost a fortune or will cost a lot of time. Or all three. Or the thing we want to do most of all is out of our reach because VIA Rail isn't hiring right now. ha. Frick x3.

down the crooked path we go....

2006-07-28T23:30:00.000-07:00

Notice the way God does things; then fall into line. Don't fight the ways of God, for who can straighten out what he has made crooked? Ecc. 7:13

an explanation will follow in due time ...

home again, home again. jiggidy jig.

2006-07-24T13:44:00.000-07:00

well, kinda. i'm actually quite homeless at this point. i have until August 18 to find a place to live after my house-sitting experience is over. that gives me a couple of weeks to mull it over before getting down to it, i guess. me and my stupid procrastinating ways.

we got back late last night. all twenty one of us. here's a fun equation for you to try one day: 17 teenagers + 4 leaders + two-day road trip + 50 more teens + 7 day California mission trip + 2 more days of road trip = tiredness, exhaustion, good memories, tears and laughter. and frickin' good times. it took a while for that to sink in, but when it did, it did. Okay, that might not make sense. note the previous remarks about tirendess and exhaustion. it feels like my brain is on autopilot. it's felt this way for weeks. since Africa. I feel so far removed from Africa now, which really sucks. I understand why though. Life must go on. But it still sucks.

i have felt such a lack of motivation over the past few weeks. even in California it felt like i was just doing what i had to do. it's not that i didn't enjoy it, i just had a hard time getting into it. it could have been distractions, it could have been the deep ponderings of my mind as of late, it could have been post-Africa processing...heck. i don't know. i hate decisions. i've had to make one for months now and i can't bring myself to make it.

starbucks

2006-07-08T15:36:00.001-07:00

While passing through the Starbucks today, I noticed the weekend edition of The Globe and Mail. Weird.

Updated

2006-07-04T11:03:00.001-07:00

Back in Canada. If you've kept up with my blog...I just added a number of posts. Start down the page with Africa pt. 4 and work your way back to the top.

Africa pt. 6

2006-07-04T10:54:00.001-07:00

Last Day
Currently: flying between Kampala, Uganda & London, England: 11:30am (Uganda Time)

The journey is over, the experience complete. The thoughts still brew. I have left a world of lack and have already re-entered 'normal' life. A personal TV screen stares back at me blankly, offering its multitudes of entertainment choices: drama, comedy, thriller, action. I choose not to watch it now, not because of what it represents following a three week third world experience, but because the movie I was watching bored me. And I was too far in to switch stations. So now I sit with the airplane radio caressing my ears with the sounds of The Verve. I have missed music. Already I have made a plan to listen to one of two U2 songs when I return home: 'One' or 'Where the Streets Have No Name". It's one of the first decisions I will make as I return to the driver seat of my car.

It's hard to say what kind of an impact these past three weeks will have made on me. I fear that I will remain unaffected. That I will drive along a pothole-less highway through the clean air of BC. That I will not notice the lack of children on the street, holding out their hands as I drive by. That I will return to a house that does not require a gate, or barbed wire, or bars, or a generator. That I will again drink water from the tap and even open my mouth in a warm shower. That I will play my radio and forget the beautiful, energetic, rhythmic sounds of the African Children's Choir who awed us with their version of 'Lean on Me'. These children, hand-picked out of a life of poverty to enjoy a top-rated education that wouldn't even get recognized in Canada...these children sang. They clapped. They danced. They sang.

"I just might have a problem that you'd understand..."

I try to understand their problems, but have only witnessed them.

I do not know what effect Africa will have as I return home. I return home thankful, though. Thankful for going. For seeing. For doing. I return home with a glimpse of a bigger world...just a slice of a bigger world. I return home wanting to see more.

Africa pt. 5

2006-07-04T10:24:00.001-07:00

Sunday, July 2
Currently: Guest House Balcony, Kampala: 8am

I guess I can choose 1 of 3 options as to why I ended up in Fort Portal. 1) I'm a sucker who simply can't say no to desperation; 2) It was chance; 3) God. Maybe God knew I wouldn't say no, so He rigged it up that Mark would be in the same city on the other side of the world at the same time. And then He changed our plans. Neither Mark or I know why things went the way they did. I now sit here three days after returning to Kampala, trying to figure out God's purposes in all of this. I don't know. Fort Portal was an experience, though. After five hours of driving on what could possibly be the best road in Uganda, we arrived at the local government leader's office. Our mission for the trip: meet the leaders and check out the work that David and his wife Linda had been doing the villages through the organization. After engaging in some small talk with the government officials, we hopped in David's Toyota Corolla and headed to the villages. Roads do not exist, so we went offroading along the foot paths, traveling from house to house. The organization has been working on providing goats and pigs for the villagers for financial and physical assistance. Our first stop was Dorothy's place. She lived in a typical village house: small, 20' x 10', mud enclosed, tin-roofed building. The mud was cracking off the house, revealing it's supporting latchwork of bamboo sticks. Dorothy lived with two orphaned boys and an elderly lady. And Dorothy was crippled. Here the kids did not smile. All four of them sat on the back step of the house, waiting for the westerner to arrive. The westerner arrived, shook hands, attempted conversation and was quickly led away to check on the pigs. They were alive and well. And so, like the Canadian tourist I had just become, we walked away from the pigs, past the family to the car where we drove to the next project house. And at each house we stopped at, the westerner was told about the tragic situation of those living within its walls, and how more funds were needed to better their lives.

I, the westerner, appeared to have dollar bills dancing around my head. I had become the sole target of a fundraiser, representing the material wealth that is North America to the material poverty that is Africa.

Midday, we stopped for lunch at a local house, where I was treated to the new tastes of millet (sp?) and chicken gizzard. My stomach held firm. Following a few more house visits and fund requests, we came to another project. Along a dusty Ugandan road was a small brick-making operation by some of the youth of the village. Here, before funds were even available, a young man by the name of Robert had organized a mini operation. And through a little ingenuity, an elderly man had built a water system and mud stomping machine to help in the process. It was my highlight of the day. Here were people putting their minds to work without financial assistance. Of course, the fund request came, but it game me an opportunity to understand a concept brought up at the conference -- the best resource is the mind. Ingenuity, practicality...thought had gone into this operation. It was here that I saw hope for Africa. A young man and an elderly man had put their minds to work to give them purpose. Asking for an opportunity to speak, I commended the two for putting their minds to work, for working together, for not waiting for the funds. And to the crowd that was gathered, I daringly advised them that their minds and their hearts is where to start progress, not with outside funds. I pray those words do not fall on deaf ears.

With that said, the crowds dispersed and we headed for our home in Fort Portal. We stayed with Charles, a youth pastor in the local Anglican church, and his wife. It was a joy to stay with this couple, he an amazing man of God. ...hard to describe. The next day we visited the local market where everything from soap to cows were being sold. It is here that the tradesman, the crafters, entrepreneurs and farmers gather to buy and sell, eeking out a living on their hard labours. Following the spectacle, David and Linda dropped me off outside of the Anglican church to walk home while they visited a family. As I walked back to the house, I noticed a small cemetery behind the church. About 12 gravestones covered the small plot, dating from as far back as 1906. One grave was for the first black Bishop in North, East and South Africa. As I left the graveyard, I seemed to have walked onto a scene from a movie. Walking past the church, I heard the sound of a small choir resonating from inside its walls. Curious, I removed my hat and walked into the tail end of a time of fellowship. As the service ended, the people joined in song as they greeted eachother and left the sanctuary. I spent some time with the dean, who greeted me, and returned home with Perez, a local, and Sandra, a friend of the family and missionary from Colorado. Some of the neighbourhood kids were playing in the front yard as we returned. While they played, and while we talked, I picked up a girl about 2 years old and held her in my arms. She was as content as could be, so I wasn't too keen on letting her go. After a while, we went inside where Sandra and Charles showed some of the pictures of their work, and the children left for their own homes. At 9pm, we had bread and tea. An hour later, we had supper. We ate our meal under the glow of an oil lamp as the rolling brownouts had left Fort Portal in the dark. By 11pm, supper was over and it was time for a shower. Running water is not existent there, so my shower consisted of a bucket of water, a washcloth and soap.

The following day consisted of more visiting, more fund requests, more chicken gizzard, and a party in my...er, Ginger & Mark's honour. There were speeches, there were dramas, there was dancing and there were songs dedicated to Ginger and Mark. The villagers had prepared so long for their arrival that it just made sense to sing their songs as practiced. None of us had planned a last minute change. It was a privilege to observe the event as it played out, to speak on behalf of Ginger and Mark, and to receive gifts on their behalf. I'm glad the hen was for David. The final drama gave a clear and disheartening picture of how the villagers viewed their own situation. While tsks of acknowledgment echoed beside my years, I watched as a poor father confronted the fact that his daughter had become pregnant..a direct result of his inability to provide for her education. This, followed by the monologue of the mother as she confronts the beast, whose name is 'Poverty'.

It now leaves me with the question: will a people who see themselves as poor ever recognize the riches they have in their mind and their heart?

The drama was meant to break my heart over the state of their poverty. It didn't. What breaks my heart is that they see me as their only solution. Western money will not solve the poverty of Africa. This I have heard from the church leaders of Africa. This I have come to know from my experiences in Fort Portal. How can a fatalistic people ever see past their material poverty? By recognizing that the root of the poverty is in their minds. To quote Darrow Miller in "Discipling Nations", the mindset I have seen in Fort Portal is this: " 'I am poor. I will always be poor, and there is nothing I can do about it.' (fatalism) Or, as many say today, 'I am poor because others made me poor. They are going to have to solve my problem. I cannot' ".

So now, today -- Sunday -- this leaves me with the question: what do I, as a North American white Christian male do about the poverty in Africa? How can I support them without supporting their mindset of poverty and need for Western money? How does an entire nation come to recognize the wealth in their minds? In Uganda, I have observed this: a country desperately trying to become 'Westernized' by culture, by wealth, and by religion. I see a country not economically or infrastructurally capable of obtaining this goal...and in fact, I fear them achieving it. The western world has lost our path...and we are leading the rest of the world astray. I saw more joy in Uganda than I have ever seen in Canada.

I see in Africa a people who have so much unrecognized, unacknowledged potential, only being told by the parent what it should do, how it should do it, and then given an allowance to do only what the parent wants and thinks is best for the child. And while these discussions take place, I have seen in Northern Uganda a people at war with itself. But it was there, in Kitgum, at the FHI base that I saw hope for Africa. A people determined to not be wiped out. A people determined to see change, to see lives transformed -- not by money, because money would have no use there -- but by recognizing one's own potential to create change. By recognizing that a healthy spiritual life is not the end all and be all. It's where one starts the process of renewing the mind, the heart, the soul and strength. There is hope for Africa. Pray for it.

Africa pt. 4

2006-07-04T09:43:00.001-07:00

Day 11
Currently: Hotel Room, Kampala: 10:30pm

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a bit cynical towards the church. And anyone who knows me well knows that I have no answer to the question: What are you passionate about? I have been asked that time and time again over the past couple years and have never been able to provide an answer. Sometime last night, either in those vague thoughts that cross your mind right before you fall asleep, or in those thoughts that pop into your head at 2am during the few minutes you find yourself awake, a realization dawned. As I have been given time to think about it while fully awake today, I've discovered that this realization has potential. And a formula: Positive Cynicism = Passion. Negative cynicism allow me to sit back and criticize where as positive cynicism forces me to get up and do something. I'll have to test this formula back in Canada.

Day ? -- Saturday, June 24
Currently: Hotel Roof, Kampala: 10am

One can see pretty far from the roof of a hotel. I'm watching a hotel employee cart a wheelbarrow full of garbage into the bushes beyond the neighbouring parking lot. No surprise...garbage in Kampala is like people in Pidibe -- who cares where it ends up, as long as its out of sight.

Day ? -- Sunday, June 25
Currently: Hotel Balcony, Kampala: 12pm

Well, I've lost track of the days. I guess that's what happens when you don't keep up with a journal. We’ve been at the hotel for a week now and have gone through 18 sessions dealing with culture and Biblical Worldview. And tomorrow will begin our week of training. It's a rare treat to get away from here though, as we live at and are taught here. But we did hit a local Chinese restaurant the other night to experience new flavours. Rice, potatoes, mashed bananas (matoké), tough beef, boiled eggs and chicken have been our staples for the past week -- breakfast, lunch and dinner. But we're alive. Mark's suppose to fly in from Ontario tonight, so we're hoping to have a mini superfriend reunion in Kampala, Uganda tomorrow. It's a small world.

The conference is host to about 8 countries, all African except the US and Canada. It hasn't quite sunk in that I sit among church and youth leaders from some of the most tumultuous countries in the world. Sudan, Congo, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Ethiopia and Rwanda are all represented here. To sit beside and listen to a guy my age tell me that twelve years ago in his country, the majority of his family of nine were killed by the Hutus in the genocide of Rwanda is really a profound thing. To hear how his surviving sister died two years later, but that he now has friends who he considers to be his sisters & brothers is an amazing thing. And to hear him say he is happy is a miracle. True happiness comes from the heart. I will never ever fully understand. I can read books, I can watch movies, but I will never understand.

Wednesday, June 28
Currently: Youth Pastor's Home, Fort Portal: 10am

There's been a bit of a change of plans here in Uganda. As I finished writing the last sentence on Sunday, there was a knock on my door. Someone was here to see me. It turned out to be David, the contact Mark was to meet up with here in Kampala. David was in a pickle. Mark had to cancel his plans to come to Uganda at the last minute, leaving a panicked David with a program set up, but nobody to join him. Mark's intentions were to come with a friend to see the work accomplished through their support of a local NGO. And so now I find myself in Fort Portal, 5 hours west of Kampala, filling in for Mark and his friend for a few days.

Africa pt. 3a

2006-07-01T06:09:00.001-07:00

Saturday, July 1
Currently: Internet Cafe, Kampala: 4pm

I'll update more in a few days when I get back to Canada...computer and internet access has been limited over the past while, and I had a last minute change of plans that sent me five hours west of Kampala for a few days. I'll fill you all in in a couple days...back to Canada July 3rd.

Africa pt. 3

2006-06-18T02:16:00.001-07:00

Day 6

Currently: Hotel Room, Kitgum: 11pm

Too much seen today. Too much to know how to process. It was a busy day as we visited two IDP Camps as well as the night commuters of Kitgum. A quick history as I understand it will help explain:

There has been a war going on in Northern Uganda for the past 20 years between the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Ugandan Military. Eighty percent of the LRA consists of children who have been captured and forced to join. The children are trained by force and threat to kill, maim, rape and terrorize their friends, family, and neighbours. They are the Acholi people. The LRA consists of Acholi, and the majority of the Northern Ugandans are Acholi. In 2002, the Ugandan Military was given permission from Sudan to enter its country to seek out and defeat the LRA who had been hiding just inside Sudan’s border with their leader, Joseph Kony. When the attempt failed, the LRA increased in brutality, killing more in that period than in it’s entire existence. Kids were forced to kill their own people. As a result of the increased violence, many Acholi families fled to the bigger cities for protection, where they camped. The government of Uganda stepped in and established Internally Displaced Peoples (IDP) Camps for the protection of those fleeing the violence, and eventually forced all the villagers into the IDPs, where they remain. Out of fear, many children now walk to Kitgum and other major cities at night for the protection from the LRA that a busy city brings. They are called night commuters. There is much more to the conflict in Northern Uganda, but this is enough to understand.

The first IDP we visited held 16,000 people. Humans. Mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, daughters, sons – from babies to as old as they can survive in these conditions. Huts barely 6 feet in diameter spread across the camp, 2 feet apart from eachother, 1 house per family. Kids holding kids. Shoeless, bloated stomachs, runny noses. It seemed unreal to me. I was walking through a sponsor-a-child commercial. That is exactly how it felt…except here I saw smiles. Kids always smile. It’s the teenage mothers, holding their young child, telling their stories of abduction, torture, forced marriages, rape, forced marches and escape who don’t smile. Words cannot describe, pictures cannot speak a thousand words.

The next camp in Pidibe held 41,000. A majority of the huts lacked their thatched roof due to a massive fire in February. Here we hear more stories and see more suffering, all the while passing through row upon row of houses covered in plastic tarps labeled ‘Unicef’.

The houses here are not homes.

Driving from camp to camp, complete with a military escort, we caught glimpses of life as it had once been. Crops, streets, fringed with people walking, carrying their means of finances on their heads. And homes. The homes of those in the camp dotted the plains, overgrown, empty, abandoned. The huts had not thatch, the brick houses slowly crumbled to piles. Some homes had been obviously burned, possibly the result of an LRA attack. Just one of many attacks that led to the IDP camps and the displacement of hundreds of thousands.

And yet, there is hope for the camps. While we were in Pidibe, several leaders within its churches were being trained at the FHI base so that they can return with the ability to recognize the signs of depression and psychological challenges faced by the girls who have given birth to the child of a rebel while in captivity. These girls will in turn get the counseling and life skills training they need. It’s hope. It’s a start. It’s something.

We returned to the Food for the Hungry (FHI) base to join the trainees in an African tradition of sorts. With a campfire blazing, we joined in music, dance, jumping, clapping, drumming and sweating before enjoying the cooked meat of a couple of goats we saw walking around the day before. Then, as the stars came out above us and lightning lit up the clouds far in the south, we enjoyed stories told, songs sung, skits performed and some traditional singing by the trainees of Pidibe, the Acholi people.

We then left to observe another Acholi tradition of a completely different sort – the night commuters. Kitgum plays nightly host to over 9,000 children. Children. Children who walk miles for the relative safety of a shelter, only to return home in the morning to carry out daily life. They are the night commuters. I asked Justin, a 17 year old boy who has spent the last 5 years walking every night back and forth, “What would make you happy?” His simple answer is all the Acholi people want.

“For there to be peace.”

These are some of the experiences…the feelings stay here.

Day 7

Currently: at the computer, day 9

Friday was our last day in Kitgum. We spent the morning with the trainees at FHI before being given an hour to process. To reflect. To answer the question: what is it that God would have me take from Kitgum. An hour later, it came down to a deeper question for me: Why do I need God? I returned to Kampala with that question in my mind, and there it still sits. I do know how to find the answer, though. That’s where the hard part comes in.

Day 8

Currently: in the sun, Hotel in Kampala: 5pm

It’s a lazy day here in Kampala…a day of rest. It’s kind of nice to have a day of nothingness. Doug, Macklin and Peter have gone white water rafting on the Nile while the rest of us stayed back at the hotel. So, three Setter’s games and one chess game later, here I sit with the sun beating down on my back. As much as this would have been my only chance to raft the rapids of the Nile River, I figure such an experience can be had anywhere. It’s not the rafting I think I am missing out on as much as seeing the Nile. Mind you, I’m not too keen on swallowing it after being thrown overboard in a whirlpool. I like lazy days.

Sometimes it feels like we’ve been here for months, sometimes for days. So much has happened since we’ve come to Uganda. So much seen, heard, felt, experienced. I wish we had more time in Kitgum. It feels like we only saw the tip of the iceberg. I feel like I’m just beginning to understand the magnitude of what is happening in Northern Uganda. As we flew back down to Kampala yesterday I couldn’t help but wonder if the houses we were flying over were abandoned…they’re owners huddled in a hut in an IDP camp, longing to return home. I would have liked to spend more time with the people there, to hear more stories, to ask more questions to…understand. Understand…I had to search for that word, but I still don’t think it’s what I mean. It’s more than that. I want more than to hear their stories. I want to care for them. It’s important to hear the stories, but I think that’s where I get the impression that it’s just the tip of the iceberg. It was too fast. Twelve people listening to the horror stories of a young girl does not seem like enough, and I think our whole team would agree.

Africa pt. 2

2006-06-13T21:42:00.001-07:00

Day 4

Currently: in my room @ the guest house: 5pm

More touring today. We visited a number of churches today to get a glimpse of how the DNA conferences have impacted the mission of these churches in Kampala. This will be the same conference we go to next week. Amazing to hear how the churches have begun to impact their community simply by recognizing the mission God has placed on the churches. To them, it’s become more than just preaching, but living, caring, loving. I look forward to the conferences to get a glimpse of how Canada’s churches can be impacted in the same way. Touring has gotten easier to do, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because we’re in a van with tinted windows. Maybe it’s because it’s simply gotten easier. I’ve learned to wave and smile as we drive by and to enjoy being waved and smiled at in return. That uneasiness returns when it comes to photographing…I find that I need to take pictures discreetly as often as I can. If you’re in the right place, the instant you pull your camera out you will quickly find yourself surrounded by kids all eager to have their picture taken. And I feel a tinge of guilt as the shutter snaps. It’s a bit of an irony. I know part of the reason I am here is to see life as it is in another country…in the third world. In Uganda. But I don’t want to be seen by the people here as just that. I’ve seen enough pictures of smiling black African children. I don’t need to be taking them. So when us ‘whites’ pull into a parking lot and are quickly discovered by children, I feel a tinge of disgust when the cameras come out and kids are told to give a thumbs up so someone can get a perfect picture.

I want to know these children.

So as the pictures were being taken, I walked down the fence separating the parking lot from the street and sidewalk. It didn’t take long to be spotted by a young boy on the other side, and he walked over to me. Soon, he was joined by others. I love that Ugandans speak English. As an old, withered, crippled woman sat begging beside the street, I talked to these children. I find I have become indifferent to the reports I have heard abut the plight of children in Africa. I have heard over and over that they are orphans, and I found myself this morning wondering if what I hear is as true as they say, or if they are stories told simply to pull at heartstrings. I found myself this morning wanting to know the truth…to hear it for myself, not to hear it from a voiceover on an AIDS video or a sponsor-a-child commercial. And so it came to be today that I met David, and four of his friends on the street in Kampala. As perfect pictures were being taken further down the fence, I found out that David, who is 13 and his friends, who are 9-13 hold their hands out for food. I found out that they do not know their father. The nine year old girl is a true orphan…both parents dead. When I asked where they slept at night, they all pointed to a building across the street. But when the word they said didn’t connect with where I saw them pointing, I shifted my eyes from across the street to the middle of it. While two infants sat bare-bottom on the dusty street of Kampala, five feet away from who I imagine to be their sister waving her hand to passing cars, occasionally reaching out for a donation, I asked the kids, “Where do you sleep?” Turning around, with their fingers in the air they replied, “Roundabout”. And there, surrounded by swarms of cars and vans was their bed – a dirt and grass roundabout in the middle of the city.

“Do people in Canada live here?” asked the nine year old girl, pointing to the street.
“Yes, but they are usually much older – not many kids do.”
“If they do, they are picked up and taken away to live somewhere else?”
“Usually,” was my answer. Pause “What do you think of that?” I asked.
“I think people from there should come here and pick us up.”

It was a moment in which I couldn’t say anything…and I felt like I couldn’t do anything. And even now, I’m not sure what emotions I’m feeling. So, I removed my hand from David’s constant grasp…and waved goodbye.

Grabbing my camera from the van, I managed a picture of the infant on the street before being surrounded by smiling kids, thumbs in the air. Faking a shot, I returned to the van where the others joined, and we drove away. Whether in Canada or Kampala…life must go on. There is much more to see.

Day 5

Currently: at the computer: 7:30am

Been awake since 4:30. Obviously not the only one, as the moment I walked downstairs an hour later there was a Settler’s board set up and three of the team waiting for a fourth player. Perfect. Hm. Now, after yesterday…it’s weird to think that we sat at the table with our coffee, far removed from yesterday’s experience. Today is the day we head to Northern Uganda, to Kitgum. We will be visiting Internally-Displaced-Peoples Camps as well as missions set up for children who have escaped the Lord’s Resistance Army. Easy enough to type…not sure what it’ll really be like until we’re there. It’s gonna be a long, hard three days.

Africa pt. 1

2006-06-12T03:41:00.001-07:00

Day 1

Currently: Flying over the Hudson Bay: 9:45 pm (BC Time)

Not quite sure what to think at this point. I’ve met five of our team: Dave, Macklin (an English chap), Jason (?), Jeff, and Doug (old roommate). Had some interesting conversations so far. It seems I am in the presence of greatness. Macklin has the highest respect for Dave, a ‘humble man, who truly deserves an award from Canada for the work he does’. I have been told straight out that this trip will change me…this in the midst of discussions on business, finances, and other matters beyond my depth of comprehension. The sun is just barely skirting the horizon in the deepest shade of red I have ever seen the sun in. As we soar atop the world, I suspect the sun may not even set before night falls in London. After a bit of thought and reflection on, among other things, a phone conversation with my brother…I’ve decided to focus on praying for three things during this trip: 1) Eyes to see what God wants me to see; 2) Ears to hear what God wants me to hear; 3) Wisdom to do what God wants me to do.

Day 2 or 3 (not sure)

Currently: About to land in Entebbe, Uganda: 7:00pm (BC Time), 5:00am Uganda Time.

It’s technically been 24 hours since this trip started, but I’ve lost 10 hours of my life with the time change. I’ll catch them on the way back to Canada. Our layover in London proved expensive. Doug and I took off to see the city, since neither of us had ever been. $150 Canadian later, we managed a train ride, a local beer from a local pub, complete with the best plate of nachos ever had by man, and a whirlwind walking tour of a small section of London – which included a stop at a park where the locals sunbathed in the thick grass like it was a beach. Between their expensive way of life and their peculiar habits, I may never understand the Brits.

Day 3

I’ve discovered it’s Monday, so that officially makes this Day 3.

Currently: in my room at a guest house in Kampala: 10:30am (Uganada Time)

I’m pretty sure the local rooster’s internal clock is as screwed up as mine, since it started it’s morning crowing at 10am. Our group is now up to 10, with the London addition of Peter, Paul, Marg and Robyn. And Jason’s name is now Simon. We drove for an hour and a half from the airport in Entebbe to the capital, Kampala. I felt like a rich, white tourist. The scenery is beautiful – the poverty obvious. Somehow I didn’t expect to see the shacks, the garbage, the dirty streams of water flowing between houses quite yet. Not so close to a capital city, at least. Mexico x100. By the time we were on the road, about 6:30am, there were tons of people out – standing, walking, scootering, biking, sweeping, selling. Many of the kids in school uniforms…a number of young men in military uniforms, some with a gun strapped to their back. And they all stared as we drove by, looking out the large windows of our bus – 10 white folk and 4 black. I felt like they looked at us as though we were on a tour of a zoo, safely protected from the animals in our ‘tour bus’. I hope that’s not what we are to them…but it was the sense I got as we drove by. Then again, maybe that’s what I am. We go on a tour this afternoon…I’d rather not go if that is how I am seen. I’d rather get to know the people, not drive past them. It’s nearing the end of the rainy season. Today’s rain just started.

Ontario.

2006-05-20T11:20:00.000-07:00

Home. Is it? I'm not sure. Right now I'm sitting at a desk behind which I once sat at every Monday through Saturday for four years @ Pics Plus. It's the long weekend so I figured it would be safe to work one day and not have to worry about how to use these new machines. Work accomplished so far: 5 pages faxed; 64 pages photocopies; 1 price quote; 2 print jobs, 1 laminate. Phew. So far so good. All that with 8 customers. I don't much mind customer service. A chipper 'Good morning' seems to go a long way with some people. There's always the oddballs (the 'Katz's', the 'Red Baron's' and the 'Crazy Purse Lady's'), but they seem to be so few and far between that their purpose in being customers seems to be more that they can be talked about for years on end than for the pain in the butts that they are in the moment. It's funny. While stores come and go along this stretch of Grimsby's Main Street, it still seems that things stay the same here. Same faces, same stories, same music, same news. Maybe I've become somewhat accustomed to constant change. I go home to a new house, a change in job schedule, a change in life schedule...kinda been the way my life's been the past few years since my first jaunt to BC. Come September though, I'll jump into a regular rythmn. 40 hour work weeks, steady apartment, no school. A routine. Routine is what caused me to think about heading west in the first place and it seems that after 3 years I may have found a routine out there. Yeesh.

It'll be a challening routine though. The routine of youth work is to try not to get stuck in a routine with youth. Or they get bored. It's always gotta be exciting it seems...little do they realize that life isn't always exciting. Sometimes I think we're playing a trick on them. But how fun would it be to just do the mundane, ordinary life thing? Exactly. So we make them think that life should be one excitement after the next and hope that they come to grips with the ordinary later on in life. Man.

And then some routines never leave you. I turn the lamintor on in the same way...shut it down in the same way. I key in sales the way I've done for four years and collect change in the same order. And people still call for their ink cartridges. Routine is a part of life I guess.

holey jeans batman!

2006-04-23T21:44:00.000-07:00

currently listening to: matt good. white light rock and roll review. good stuff. on to matters of the day. it was sunny. super sunny and warm and sunny and blue skies and mountainous distances and sunny. BC extraordinaire! the day was spent in the church running a team meeting for our summer mission trip to california and then doing all the last-minute-planning for a church service that ended two hours ago. sundays are no longer a day of rest. i'm tired, my feet are sore and i always leave services in which i am involved in planning wondering if things could have been different. or if things should have been different. or if i need to just sit back and understand that God enjoyed it. services can be stress city. i was gonna write about a holey jean incident that happened last week, but in the end decided it wasn't worth it. the title's staying though. i like it. two more days of work before i hit the beaches of california. i intend to spend my time soaking in much of the sun i missed out on today. good times had by all...

ahhhhh....

2006-04-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

as of 1:30pm on this very day, i have been set free. with many strokes of a pen i wrote what will likely be the final two exams of my post-secondary education existence (CBC-wise, as least). not only is that chapter of my life done, but the book has been closed. ahhhhh...

so what next? actually it'll be a busy summer:

1) next week: Los Angeles for a youth-worker conference (a.k.a. beach)
2) May 1: begin full-time youth work
3) mid-May: Ontario for a few days (want a day off, Paul?)
4) June: Uganda for three weeks
5) July: Back to California for a 10 day mission trip (+ road trip!)

and in the midst of it all--full-time youth work [nervous laughter]. nervous laughter because it's a daunting concept. full time youth ministry. is this what i signed up for? well...technically i haven't signed the papers yet, but things have been progressing towards that signature on the dotted line. yeesh. i was asked the other day what my ideal job would be. funny that youth work didn't top the list. train engineer did. or train conductor...as long as i'm on a train going somewhere. it's always been on top. weird. does this mean i'm barking up the wrong tree? it might mean that if so many people didn't want me to stay at the church. ah well. i guess time will tell...for now i'll enjoy this newfound freedom. a woo and a hoo!!

toes.

2006-03-19T23:29:00.000-08:00

sometimes when i hug people...i step on their toes. think about that one...not only is it true physically [i inevitably do step on someone's toes when i hug them] but it's true in more than the physical. sometimes to show someone you love them, you have to step on their toes. we need to be challenged. we need the wake-up call. we need to know that our toes aren't the only toes in this world of toes. the problem comes when we are so afraid of stepping on eachother's toes that we keep an arms-length away from eachother. this method works in our individualistic society that is north america, but it can't work in a church that wants to be community-focused. we need to hug eachother...and when we do that, there's gonna be some toe-steppin'. the question is this: what will we remember more? the pain? or the hug? pain subsides, but everyone always wants more hugs.

procrastination is the key.

2006-03-11T16:26:00.000-08:00

That's my life motto. i won't mention what the key opens, it sounds positive with that part left out. so, speaking of procrastination i have discovered some great methods:

1. blogging
2. cleaning
3. reading (yes, ma...reading)
4. Lost (what's in the hatch?!)
5. church work (when schooling needs doing)
6. school work (when church stuff needs doing)
7. driving four hours to vernon to do nothing
8. creating to-do lists
9. sitting and thinking. possibly my favourite past-time.

i have a 1500 word essay due next Thursday. I've got 300 words written in 5 hours....it's really not that big of an assignment, but i'm loving the class so i actually care about getting a good grade. plus i've got to read three chapters of my psych text for a test monday. after monday i won't have time to do any homework. it's saturday afternoon, and i now have a 1200 word paper to write. and the library closes in 15 minutes. my weekend will be a write-off. reading break has come and gone...you'd think it's called 'reading break' for a reason. not me. yeesh.

happy birthday swift!

2006-02-23T23:13:00.001-08:00

It was a mere 12 months ago that she was born. Or should I say 'adopted'. Brought into the family. And was she ever a beaute! Beautiful, bright, sparkling eyes; silky smooth exterior; clean emissions; healthy sheen. That's my Swift! Instead of the once-a-year birthday-only gift giving, I opted for a much more extended and expensive show of appreciation. Here's how she all added up:

Purchased at 178,000km @ $1200.00

1) Engine Tune Up: $100.00
2) New Tires: $230.00
3) Five Oil Changes: $120.00
4) New Exhaust System: $300.00
5) New Windshield Wipers: $30.00
6) New Pair of Brakes: $80.00
7) New Headlights: $30.00
8) Re-attach passenger mirror: $1.50 (screws)
9) Re-attach driver's mirror: $1.50 (screws)
10) Pliers to remove old mirror screws: $2.00
11) Screwdriver to attach replacement mirrors: $15.00
12) Gas to keep 'er runnin': $1200.00
13) Insurance to keep 'er legal: $1200.00?
14) Tickets to stop me speedin': $530.00

Current Odometer: 216,000
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Total Mileage: 38,000 km
Total for all this TLC: $5040.00
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Cost / Kilometre: $7.55

Owning a car: priceless.

Happy Birthday Swift!