a backpack or bookends

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.

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.

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]

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...

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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.

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

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

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.

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?