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?

early morning mind wanderings

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

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.

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

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.

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'

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.

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.

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

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...

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...

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....

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.

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

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