relaxed and random.

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.

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

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

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!)

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

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...

--------

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?

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.