a year of waiting.

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...

first thought.

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.

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?

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

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.

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.

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...

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

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.