The Desert Fathers and their amazing wisdom...

I know this will sound completely bizarre, but I can't help but feel slightly unworthy to be on one of the most beautiful campus grounds in Western Canada. My day consists of the glorious sound of silence and is carried forward by both the classroom work and the daily office.

I feel as though I am floating on some imaginary cloud...

After Anne and I finally managed to arrive in one piece (not that we doubted or anything)... we settled into our suite. Being completely honest, as soon as I met the other individuals who were taking part in the course/retreat, I think the phrase "slightly intimidated" was an understatement. There are three of us who are not ordained (granted, the other gentleman has more education in theology than a lot of priests I can think of) and there are only two of us whom find ourselves under the age of 45.

With no real structure or class taking place on the Tuesday upon which we arrived, we began our studies yesterday with the Desert Fathers and have continued them today with Evagrius and the Praktikos. WOW!!!!

We have read the Life of Antony, a young man who literally was converted to the Monastic life through the death of his parents and whose life and maturity are two things that an aspiring Christian could only aim to tread ever so slightly.

Along with Anne and the others, I strive to grow through the practice of "asectism" (or a word that is spelt completely differently that refers to athletic training in the spiritual practice and life), while growing and centering in morning, noon, evening and compline as well as a daily Eucharist. It is absolutely glorious and I dare say... one of the most educational and growing weeks I have experienced thus far in my short life.

Tomorrow we will begin to look at St. Augustine, then start into Benedict's Rule... each lunch hour, a book is read - similar to what would have happened in Benedict's time and we are encouraged to keep silence as best we can. (Granted, email or blogs would of course, be excepted).

Last night, I had the amazing priviledge to study and cantor with our teaching priest, Compline. I don't think I was able to calm the excitement down enough to sleep until the wee hours of the morning this morning... it was AWESOME!!!

My thoughts and prayers go out to all those at General Synod this same week - I don't envy you at all, but instead, hold you in the highest regard. May the Spirit be with you as you continue to decide on our journey in faith as a community united in Christ.

cheers!

Vocare

Last Sunday was Pentecost and last Sunday was also the day I spent the afternoon and evening at Star of the North Retreat Centre in St. Albert (my old stomping grounds) for what was called a "Vocations Conference."

I feel as though I can not say anything too horrible about the whole thing as the idea behind the conference was geuine and because I also understand the logic in holding such a conference.

HOWEVER, I am having a really difficult time with what I have come back from it with and the questions and queries it has brought out of the woodwork.

In a quick attempt to find some way of figuring it all out, I would like to post the prayer that we were given prior to entering the final evening prayer session:

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and
the fact that I think that I am
following your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so.
But I believe the desire to please you,
does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire
in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this,
you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust in you always.
Though I may seem lost
and in the shadow of death,
I will not fear,
You are ever with me.
And you will never leave me to
face my perils or call alone.
Amen.

Profound, huh? I thought so... when I read it, I thought that I might as well have been Thomas Merton writing Solitude!

Searching to become a plumber or truck driver!

I am searching for a new vocation in life.

I guess that would go hand in hand with admitting that we (as meek human beings) can decide upon what our vocation in life will be and at the same time, completely neglecting God's hand in it, but all the same, I think that is a risk I am willing to take.

In light of the past 24 hours, I think I am willing to honestly and openly admit that I could truly never become someone who lived their life from within a church... it would be way too difficult.

Granted, I understand that no vocation is ever easy and that there are challenges and difficulties along the road and sometimes it would get rather bumpy. However, having to say goodbye to a church family that I grew up with, learned from, and knew God through - I think having to do it once in my lifetime is more than enough.

I had someone tell me that this is a poor decision to make based upon little to no factual evidence, but really, let's think about this...

How can you say good bye to someone who has literally seen you through the darkest moments of life? Can you? I mean, maybe I just have attachement disorders or something, but I will still march down to the other end of the hall and ask "Deany Questions", address sticky notes as MJ, and go to her when I am most elated or shaken from my pillars. But I can, because she is right down the hall.

But honestly, how can you say good bye to someone who was willing to put their entire day aside to do nothing more than comfort you in moments of trial and shock? Who will patiently drop the subject of anointing when you freak out and explain that it is for the dying and that you are not dying and who will taxi to the Cross Cancer Institute after being in a horrid car accident just so that the first time you walked through it, you were not alone.

How can I say farewell to someone who knew all about me, about the pain in my heart and the longing I had to serve, and who even knew my name before I stepped foot in her church; who welcomed me with open arms (although had me a little creped out at the beginning), encouraged me to share my story only by sharing hers first, who pulled out her rosary in the middle of an Anglican Church to prove her point, who offered to journey with me before she even knew all about me?

How could I ever imagine saying adios to an amazingly inspirational woman who literally took me into her arms when I couldn’t get through a service without crying after having lost my grandfather to cancer and then being diagnosed myself; who held my hand spiritually, emotionally, and physically until I had the courage to walk forward on my own and who sat with me when telling the HPO.
Como se dice, hasta leugo to a source of peace and strength: to a motherly woman who truly sat in silence for hours when I couldn’t cope with a second round of chemotherapy and when I finally tried to speak, said, “It’s okay… let them come.” And when we sat in the empty Cathedral, clutching to a stuffed animal like there was no tomorrow, I tried turning away to hide the tears when she put her arm around me, pulled me close and said, “it’s okay to cry you know… I sure do sometimes. I won’t let you fall, do you believe me? Do you trust me? It’s true you know.” And who upheld her word, never letting me fall that entire time, even if my own family did. Who arranged email correspondence with a parishioner from Church so that I could speak Spanish while away from school and who made it her point to fill me in on what was happening around the church and with the youth while I was gone.

Como se dice, hasta tarde to a woman who had most honestly earned the title of Priestly-Motherly type – who made an absolute point of visiting at least once a week with communion, prayers, and oil in tow – regardless of the weather or crappy bus schedules, who was completely willing to wear a mask so that I wouldn’t feel like a complete idiot, washed her hands, left the room to cough, and was totally content just sitting on the end of the bed so I could enjoy the presence of her company. Who would pick up a card and get the entire Tuesday night prayer group to sign it just to let me know that they were thinking of me.

I can’t, but at the same time, I know how stupid it is to say, “let’s keep in touch” or “let’s do tea” because the reality is that it doesn’t happen.

And so, sitting here in a fit of tears, I have realized that there is no way I could be a priest. Even if she is excited, on some level, there are a lot of relationships that probably won’t carry over to the new church because it doesn’t even exist yet. Until Palm Sunday, I couldn’t even stop in and visit her at the new church.

I understand now the heartache and difficultly in leaving a church from another perspective and it doesn’t look any easier. I want sooo badly to talk to her, but until I can actually bring it up without tears welling in my eyes, I think I better wait. Darn it! Now the comment on a friend’s blog makes way more sense. I wish I was more perceptive on these things!!

"Choose your favourite Gospel and re-read it"...

At the time, it was the most stressful and "odd" sounding advice I think I remembered hearing. I had made the decision that I was going to go ahead with joining the Anglican Church and had met with the parish priest twice. Prior to our third meeting together, I began to panic that I did not "know enough" about the Anglican church to go ahead with joining it.

In my naive way of going about things, I actually emailed the priest and asked her to come up with a quiz: some way of measuring what I had learned about the Anglican church and it's history, it's liturgy, it's life and culture. I wanted to make sure that I was completely prepared for what I was about to enter into.

This particular priest, in her infinite wisdom, simply replied to my email by saying... "choose your favourite Gospel and re-read it before we meet again."

Now truth be told, I remember worrying about what she was going to ask about my favourite Gospel, how in depth I needed to know it, and interesting facts about what might be specific to that Gospel and biblical trivia. Just to cover my own butt and in a burning desire to be accepted into the church, I called another clergy member within the Diocese and sought her opinion on this question... which Gospel she thought would be a safe bet. The advice I received was to stick to the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke and that John was a little too different.

This put me in a tough spot. John is my favourite Gospel by far. But, in trying to fit in, I re-read the Gospel of Luke AND John. I was going to be over-prepared so that I could decide and defend a gospel when asked.

I got to the meeting and sure enough, after opening in prayer, I was asked about which one was my favourite. I decided to start with one of the Synoptic - and began to try and defend and talk about the Gospel of Luke. But it wasn't long before I surprised even myself... there was nothing really to say about Luke's Gospel. I mentioned his attention to widows, orphans and aliens, and that it was of a social focus, but that was pretty much it.

Knowing that it was going to be one of those "now or never" moments, I looked up at this mentor and nervously said, actually my favourite Gospel is John's. Immediately, I started working through the reasons why... John is the only Gospel that mentions the calling of Nathanael... how Nathan (for short) was hanging out under the fig tree and minding his own buisness. Peter came up to him and started to tell Nathan about this "dude" that was in town and that this "dude" was the Saviour... and that Nathan needed to come and follow this guy. Nathan made some smart comment like, "what good can come from where he comes from?" and all that Peter replies is, "Come and See." When Nathan eventually gets up from sitting under the tree and meets up with the Lord, Nathan asks him why the Lord didn't come and call him personally. The Lord repsonds by saying something like, "if I would have called you, you never would have believed and followed and I knew that!"

What kind of invitation is that? Well, who knows... but John won my heart right then and there. That was all it took for me - and I think that God may have realized that I wouldn't follow or respond to his call any other way. So, what does God do?

I took a class with Ms. Chocolate-Adoring friend in the realm of social justice. Somehow our group project ends up being on the topic of Women's Ordination (from an RC perspective - where it is not even allowed to be discussed). Ms. Chocolate-Adoring friend mentions along the way that we could interview her bishop... who just so happened to be one of the first women ordained in Canada and was the first woman bishop. We go and interview both of the local bishops - the RC and the Anglican... take both of their stories and complete our project. Over the span of the term, I become better and better friends with Ms. Chocolate-Adoring friend and so would meet with her once a week for a casual lunch.

Somewhere along the line, I received an email from her... I think I may have even saved the email in my hope chest. All it read was, "Hey... we did our report on Women's Ordination... there is an ordination happening at the Cathedral in the coming month where two women will be ordained. Would you like to come and see? We could make an evening out of it."

That was it. That was all it took. I attended the ordination, excited beyond all reason. Cried all the way through the sermon, and knew that the deeper sense of calling might have some level of validity.

Who wouldn't fall in love with a Gospel in which they can see themselves in... as a character of denial and fear?

It was the best advice I have ever received along the path of discernment. Maybe try it... re-read your favourite Gospel and see where it takes you in life. You might be surprised where you end up... I know that I still find myself surprised at the power of the Spirit in my life. I can't wait for Pentecost!!! Go Spirit Go!

POLL... what is a miracle?

Okay, I confess... something is really kind of bugging me... not bugging, but ummm...challenging me.

How do you define a miracle?

Senti-MENTAL bumpkin!

:)

My grandma taught me a lot of things, but having been raised as a "farm girl" or "country bumpkin" there was the odd occassion where I would find myself tearing up over something really touching or "spa-cial" and hearing the words spoken across the room of "the word senti-mental is pretty darn close to semi-mental don't you think?"

She was a funny and inspiring woman. We would have celebrated her 76th birthday on the first of the month - it's kind of hard to believe that the last birthday we were able to celebrate was 70. It seems as though she only left us a year ago.

In the madness of unpacking and trying to have the place "liveable" before I start classes next week, I came across one of the boxes that I kept in my hope chest full of old cards and letters I had received. And, as I started to sort through them, there was one in particular that I longed to find. After opening and closing just about every card in the old shoebox, with only a few remaining to be re-cherished, I found it.

It was a rather plain card and didn't have any special poetry on the outside or anything. There was a picture of a flower garden and the green, sparkled words that read: "Happy Birthday". It stopped there, there was no "grandaughter" or anything like that... my grandma was very simple and reserved.

On the inside of the card, there it was. Written in her now-cancer ridden chicken scratch, the message I will always remember fondly when I remember her. And so, although not in handwritting, I would like to share the message that she shared with me:

Believe in yourself - in the power and strength you have to control your own life, day by day.
Believe in the strength and wisdom that you have deep inside, and your faith will help show you the way.
Believe in tomorrow and what it will bring, let a hopeful heart carry you through.
For things will work out, if you trust and believe - my darling, there's no limit to what you can do.

So there you have it... the no limit rule. The birthday present that accompanied the card was a beautifully knit blue afghan. It had all the shades of blue you could ever imagine... all the pastels, endless skies, and deepest oceans are tied up with her love in a blanket.

I was telling New Roomate that she was welcome to use it on those absolutely crummy days when it feels like there could never be another day with sunshine, as long as she never washes it.

It may sound outrageous, but it's not like a pair of gym shoes or sweaty t-shirt, it is my grandma. And, on those really crummy days, if you wrap yourself in it's wool, you can still smell the perfume she wore her entire life. You can cuddle yourself in it's embrace and feel her hugging you from above. On nights where you long for a sense of home or belonging, she is there.

It's kind of like God, except that God doesn't need a blanket to embrace us. I had a rather interesting experience this morning, where a priestly type somehow wrote the sermon on the wrong readings. Instead of just skipping over the sermon, this priest (I'm sure) simply opened themselves to channel God's love and grace. The prayer before the liturgy started was about asking God to be with us, in what we said and did, as we lead the worship.

The only reason that I put full faith in the Holy Spirit is because this priest had no idea what was going through my head - I haven't blogged on it, and surely have not said anything to them. But there it was... half way through their sermon, while their back was facing me, God reached out - put His loving arms around me and picked me up. It was weird - it was like time stopped. Because there I was, being caressed in God's arms - the priest had seemingly stopped talking and it was as though no one else was in the church.

Anyway, perhaps the title "senti-mental bumpkin" is not all that far off because I can't even describe what it was like today without getting the goose-bimples and teary. How immature my faith is - there is O soooo much to learn before I will know how to fly.

Solid Stone

I once had this professor who had some connection to our family. Her actual title was "Lecturer in Theology" I think because at the time that I met her, she was still in the process of completing her Doctorate. If you want to talk "source of inspiration", her direction is where you would look. She is fearless, amazing, and forgiving. There was one moment in our relationship that I still reflect upon with a smile: she burnt me a CD of what she called "God Songs."

I don't remember the artist or even the title of the song, but I know it was a folk song with an amazing message for hope and inspiration to advocate for change.

The chorus of the song started out by acknowledging the fact that we enter the world as a lone entitey... we are cut from the cord and left to ourselves (somewhat) to function and that someday, alone we will die. The most moving part though is when she says, "Solid stone is just sand and water... sand and water and a million years gone by."

I can't stop thinking about this...

Each and every time I visit a friend in Jasper, I try and get to Athabasca Falls or Malinge Canon because the beauty of these natural landmarks take my breath away. The thought that rock can be shaped so gracefully and artistically by nothing more than moving water - astounds me. Sometimes you'll see rock that has been shaped away and water just sits there - stagnant and stale and one can't help but think about what it would be like to live one's life without ever trusting and changing. (We had a quite a discussion about what this might look like almost a year ago when I was seeking reception into the Church, didn't we Adela...)

Well, tonight I sit here... after having had three steamed milks, gone for two walks, napped at various points throughout the day, watched Princess Bride with some of the residents, and picked up the key to our new place.

I feel sick to my stomach and I can not stop crying. I have never before felt so utterly helpless. I was created with a compassionate heart and part of me feels slightly violated. There is nothing worse than trying to do everything you can and then having it be thrown back in your face, your trust in the good of all slightly altered, and feeling partily abused in the process.

Having been where this other party is coming from in so many ways, I don't understand. Granted, it took a little while to get there, looking back now - I only wish that I would have hastened in pressing charges against the power seeking father. Instead, thinking I had taken the high road in pleading with my letter writing skills, I had to deal with a power seeking single father of a friend who acted out of selfishness and greed. The $%*@% decided it best to save the police some trouble and ended his life before any legal action reached him.

Selfish and full of hate, his method was a rifle in their front porch area. Can you spell mess? Uh, yeah. It's funny though because if any of my family would have gotten to him first, they probably would have done the exact same thing. Same weapon, same place, same end to a life of cruel and illegal behaviour.

I don't understand.

I don't understand... I don't get it... I don't know if I want it to make sense.

I can't comprehend the fact that there is nothing I can do. In fact, if I would have only heard this phrase once today I probably would have ignored it, but two clerical, wise, trust worthy, and lovely people have said the exact same thing.

I have finished reading through Mark, and have just surpassed the half way mark of John. I have a few ideas on what could be done, but I 'm torn.

I'm torn because I can not stop thinking about the whole metaphor of sand and water and stone and the Falls.

So imagine that we as God's children, are a piece of beautifully handcrafted stone. We are solid in our belief system, in defing who we are, and we are comfortable in the waters we have grown up in. How much control do have over how we are shaped? Do we have control? The water is going to rush over our jagged cliffs and hopefully wear us down to soft, carefully molded corners; it will break us in places we wish it wouldn't, but out of it spurts forth a beautiful waterfall.

Does this mean to say that if there is enough water pressure and build up, the rock will eventually give way? Does this mean that if the water is strong enough, anything is possible?

God is obviously the water, but God works through us - through God's children... so then (in a messed up way) this brings me back to - "what do you want me to do Lord?"

I refuse to give up. I am frustrated, hurt, crying, numb, confused, and saddened - but I was 6 months ago, and look where I am now. There is something, I know there must be something. I just need the Divine source of inspiration to guide my footsteps and give me the words of hope that I need to share.

Please pray.

Walk and breathe

Those have got to be two of the most difficult things to remember to do. And even though I am trying to remember how to breathe, I am finding it extremely difficult to walk at the same time.

It is so weird... it feels like I am walking in a life that is "SOOO close" to mine, but at the same time, it's not. (Or it feels like it's not mine). It feels as though I am wandering aimlessly around, struggling to stay in between the lines on either side, and concerned about getting to the destination - like finding that I can't trust myself or the path that I am on to get me where I am headed.

Continuing to walk forward, my life seems to nearly touch where I was - having to go back in some of the same directions and places, but not sure why. Instead of the walk being a calming one, I find myself more agitated than ever before... the winding path and the trusting where it is leading.

And, I don't.

I have a "tea time" booked with a good friend and partner in crime late next week and I have promised myself to remain patient and involved until I can think a little more clearly on this.

See, God and I have this "love-hate" relationship going on... I love the fact that God loves me enough to give me a brain and free will, but I hate the fact that I feel the desire to exercise both.

Angelic Encounter

Okay, so you can totally call me a quack, and maybe I am - but I honestly think that I met an angel. I guess that in my defense, an angel is "simply" defined by someone or something that is a "messenger of God" and so therefore anyone who shares God's love for the world.




Ms. Tanya Ponich: a 28 year old young woman who I am priviledged to call a friend. She has something that makes her extra special and a glorious addition to this world of ours: an extra chromosome.

"Hello Angela, I hear that you are not feeling well"

"Hello Tanya. You are giving your presentation today, right?"

"Yes. Listen to me. I know about God and I know about angels. (Priestly-Motherly type had just finished a sermon that had mentioned angels and sharing our stories and how we can then become someone's angel) I am an angel, God uses angels to give people messages and there is something he wants you to know. Would you like to know it?"

"Sure"

"You need to take care of yourself Angela."

I couldn't say anything... I just kind of sat there in a "whoa" kind of state. She bent down and the next thing I found her embracing me into a beautiful hug. And then, she walked off to prepare for her presentation. She is one of the most amazing spirits I know. During her talk, she read most of it from a pre-typed speech. She would be reading a paragraph and when she was telling a story that she must have told a hundred times over, she paused, turned the page, and said, "Oh!" laughed and began to remember the story on her heart.

She got to the end, looked to her mom and said, "I think my mom must find me funny because I look at her and she is smiling everytime." She closed her written speech, clasped her hands together and said, "Now people sometimes choose not to listen or take me seriously, but I do know about angels and I know about God. I know that someone in this room is very happy (as she raises her index finger in my direction) and I know that parents love their children and that children sometimes don't love their parents. Sometimes parents try to decide for their children, but that doesn't work." Laughing at herself, she proceeded, "And sometimes people make mistakes. John said that everyone makes mistakes. You need to write it down on a piece of paper, scrunch it like this in your hand, hold onto it for a little while, and then throw it away."

Tanya is right. Sometimes God uses her as angel. I could pull apart what she had to say (both in our conversation and in her presentation), but I don't think that is needed. The message that she proclaims everywhere she goes, she is a blessing.

You can read her story in a book entitled, "Big Enough Dreams". Check it out! Or, attempt to meet with her in person. She will read you like a book! But seriously, a wonderful young woman to be around. I can't wait until Friday!

This is Holy Ground

I can't sleep... what else is new? I am blaming the steroids that I am on... excellent for a million other symptoms, but definitely do not aid in sleep!

This is a picture of the grotto behind St. Albert Parish, apparently a replica of the south grotto at Lourdes which I will see next Spring (yay!). Each summer, a pilgrimage is held here. That one weekend in the year when we haul out all the old, falling apart bright green benches and line them up on the lawn. We would rent a sound system, put the keyboard on a trolly, set up a little tent and have a make shift choir. The first reading would be in English, the second in French. We would always sing songs of Mary and each year, it was always the same: Hail Mary, Gentle Woman and Immaculate Mary. One year we did the song that they sing on Sister Act but our music minister thought it would be too "young or generational" to clap like they do on the movie.

Hail Holy Queen and throne above, O Maria...

It is the one weekend a year when a person sees a procession that makes them feel all warm and tingly... there is the cross and candles, but instead of them being followed directly by the readers, Knights of Columbus members that are of 4th degree are dressed in their special "Knight" uniforms and are carrying swords and wear cool hats. They stop and line up just outside of the fence that you can see, lining either side of the walk. Swords raised to touch the opposite Knight's sword in the air, they make a little bridge for the rest of the readers and clergy to process through to the raised and set altar. And, it is the one weekend a year where it is not uncommon to see multiple clergy members vested and co-presiding. (Don't forget that in the Catholic Church, priests tend to be few and far between these days and churches are being closed because there is not a priest to run them...). Instead of the regular three masses on Sunday morning, all three are combined into one. It is packed... people come from all over the Diocese and surrounding provinces to participate or witness this "Holy" event. With lawn chairs and blankets spread anywhere grass can be found, a 10:30 liturgy very easily lasts until 12:30.

It is always marked by a Parish picnic and celebration with BBQ's and games and even a street hockey tourny in the parking lot. It's hard to believe that something that was so... reverand and sacred can be transformed into something so lively, music that is older than my dad being turned into dancing and joy. (Not that old music is not joyful, but...)

However, at 2:30 in the afternoon there is the Rosary and Healing Hour. And once again, the Grotto becomes a holy place with the marking of the sacrament of healing and prayers.

It's interesting... I woke up thinking of the song that my sisters and I played for a family reunion once entitled "Holy Ground" It is a beautiful song and when you add the likes of my sister's dove like voice, a handcrafted flute arrangement to sit on top of the piano music and singing and top it off with a three part harmony as Katie plays double stringed notes on the fiddle, it's not surprising that my mom sat in the front row and could be seen crying. Whether she was actually moved by the song or was just brimming with pride, I'll never know... but I do know that it was a moment I will never forget.

The song talks about us standing on Holy Ground, but says that the only reason we're standing on this ground and that this ground is holy is because the Lord is present and where He's present, it's holy. The second verse says that our hands are holy hands... that we're lifting up holy hands and the hands are holy only because the Lord works through them to make them holy. Finally, the song closes out by saying that our lips are holy too. That we are speaking or singing with holy lips for the reason that the Lord speaks through these lips and therefore... (can you guess what conclusion follows?) these lips are holy lips.

Without wanting to completely destroy the song for those of you who haven't yet heard it done properly, it is truly an awesome song. It strikes me as profound - not musically - but lyrically (if that's a word). The notion that if we so decide, wherever we walk - we are walking on holy ground. Obviously we are born with the same hands and lips that we die with... sure, the cells regenerate and eventually the cells or skin we had at birth will be completely replaced and one could argue that we truly do have "new" hands or "new" lips, but that's not the point. The point is that our hands, our lips, our feet, any part of us can (or is) holy at any time because we choose to allow the Lord to be present and to work through us - to others.

Really, don't kid yourself... the ground at the Grotto was not blessed by the Pope - the altar and actual grotto itself has been blessed many times - but the grass? No way. The dirt? Forget it! It is cut just like any other grass, fertilized, watered, trampled upon, picnics are held on the exact same ground that people are healed or pray upon. What makes it holy and a holy place to worship is what happens there or even more importantly, who we invite to be there with us.

There is no reason why your home can't be a holy home, your food... holy food. No reason why your actions can't always be holy, your cooking, your watching of a hockey game. (That's right... cheering on the Oilers can be a holy Sunday afternoon activity - especially if you cheer them on with the Purple One or other deeply rooted disciples of Christ). Why? Because wherever we invite the Lord to be, He's there and therefore, it's holy.

Communion in bed? Holy! Annointing with your head on your pillow? Holy! (Okay, granted these are sacramental things... and are holy by their very nature) A conversation with a friend? Holy. A card you send to someone because you're thinking of them? Holy! Cleaning? Holy!!! And people wonder how I can get so childishly excited over something as normal as Sunday Eucharist or Evening prayer or Morning prayer with other people... just imagine - if all these things on their own are completely and 100% holy - just imagine how SUPERLY HOLY a massive combination of all these things are? Like 100 000 000% holy - and that is cool (and exciting).

I wonder where the craziest place is that the Lord has ever travelled is... or the strangest situation that would only happen every 1000 years. Hmmm... I am going to ask him - see if there are any really cool places I could invite Him to come once I am able to get there. Or things that He doesn't get to do very often, I want to invite Him to those things... just to live on the edge a lil... SWEET!! I am going to invite him to watch the Oil this afternoon. I'll make tea and toast with jam - I hope He likes jam...

I can't bear to say goodbye

Last night was a particularily long night with many a trips to the bathroom. I take the joy in small servings as my night was spent popping gravol, I rejoice in knowing that for the past 20minutes, I have been able to keep a piece of buttered bread in my stomach.

As means of distraction, I tried to think about the whole idea of hope and what I could honestly say that these youth wouldn't have heard before. I tried re-playing in my mind every step of where I made decisions with a feeble attempt to identify that one life changing moment in which I found the "new hope"

I couldn't find a single thing. In fact, I now think of myself as a coward more than anything else.

There was someone who, while sitting on a cold floor, grabbed each foot and layed out what the future could look like: known outcome or hope. And it was certain that others voiced their opinion and thoughts on the matter, whether I sought them out or not. I tried reading various sources on cancer and death and new treatments... I listened to various medical views and staff and even spent endless hours attempting to pray about it.

And all these things helped, there is no doubt about it... but the only turning moment or comment that really resonnates deeply right now is someone begging the question, "So... what - this means that you are going to start saying goodbye to all the important people in your life?"

I realized then, that I couldn't. I have never been really good at saying goodbye to anyone of value, human or pet, concept or belief. I am a traditionalist and it still shocks my closest friends that I joined another ship in the harbour with regards to my religious practice. I knew that there was absolutely no way that I could even begin to say goodbye to all these people, dreams, or hopes for the future and so that left me with either saying goodbye to all these things or fighting it off as long as I could. And, if it wasn't meant to be fought then I would just slowly slip away and wouldn't ever have to say goodbye.

This means that it wasn't so much finding a new hope somewhere as it was just trying to avoid the undesirable. Hmmm... is that finding hope? Or just hiding from something really scary and hard to do??

She's like the sister I never had...

Okay, if anyone would have told me in August that Alison would turn into my big sister and be the sister that I never had, I honestly would have laughed in their face. I cried when Chelsy left and wasn't really sure about meeting this Alison person.

While it might come as a shock, I am actually quite shy and meeting new people and being out going is really, really hard to do. (I have to stand in the mirror and coach myself for hours before I leave the bedroom!)

One Sunday at Christ Church, the presiding priest stood before the congregation and welcomed everyone and made a special note of welcoming Alison "back home"... September soon rolled around and I guess that sitting beside someone in an office each day of the week begins to have an effect on people. I soon made my work schedule so that I would go in a few hours each day.

We would laugh and joke and tease and tell stories. We both managed to get our work done and her company and friendship was more than I could have asked for or ever imagined. I have to be honest, there were a few moments where Alison answered the phone, barely able to say what she had to without laughing as we had been laughing hysterically (or she had been laughing at me) seconds before the phone rang. Hardly knowing any of my new Anglican family, she took me under her wing and introduced me boldly to every face that walked through the door.

When Michael pulled me aside after church one Sunday to ask if I would be interested in helping with youth ministry at Christ Church, I found it odd that Alison simply wrote her number out on a sticky and said, "Call me after you talk to him!" but didn't say anything more. Apparently Michael had spoken to Alison as well and the plan was for the two of us to do it together. She might disagree, or perhaps one of the youth will stumble along on the blog and call me a liar, but it couldn't have worked more perfectly. We made an awesome team and there was no turning back. Spending 6 days out 7 with each other, it didn't take long for me to realize that she was one heck of an awesome person and disciple of Christ.

We would often joke around that whenever I had to call in a favour, she would add it to my tab and eventually, that could be cashed in for a grilled cheese sandwich at the Silk Hat around the corner. It was where Alison took me when she found out that I was a sucker for grilled cheese sandwiches... it was our place to eat. We didn't need a menu, it would never change... an iced tea, diet coke, and two grilled cheese sandwiches please!

First, she became my best friend... that person I could call or text or email day or night, she heard about the latest crush and even the weird stalker who sent flowers. She was the one who told me to give them to Cathy in accounting and surprise her. Then she became my partner in crime as we knocked the youth off their feet with a flip up in programming and activities and broke the new Dean in with the appropriate survival kit.

But more than that, somewhere along the line - I don't know how and I don't know when - she became the sister that I never had. The older sister who would look out for my well being when I couldn't do so myself, who took a genuine and "older sister" attitude when things needed to be said or done.

There is one night that I will never forget. I knew that she often stayed up late on the computer or watching tv, and I had returned home after first being diagnosed. I couldn't stop crying and nothing seemed real. I texted her cell phone asking her to call me if she was still up. It was almost midnight and the odds were slim... but two seconds later, my cell phone rang. In a broken voice, fighting back the tears, I mangaged to say "hello" in response to her. She didn't beat around the bush or even try and sugar coat anything... she asked straight up... "what's up Ange?"

"If someone found something out that was particularily bad, would they need to tell their Bishop? Would they need to tell their employer? Alie, I don't want to... I can't take time off..." and quickly fell apart again.

"Where are you?"

"HUB Mall"

"I'm on my way, I'll be there in 15 minutes. DON'T GO ANYWHERE!"

There she was... I think she hugged me for a solid 15 minutes as I cried on her shoulder. We began to walk as I am one of those people that needs to move around. We walked until 2:30 in the morning. She didn't say very much, she let me vent. She asked some questions, but didn't push advice or opinion... she just listened.

When I could no longer go to church and lead the youth group, she would ask for suggestions and totally go in on her own. The Sunday that I received permission to go, she made all the arrangements with the people she needed to and we sat up in the choir stalls - with her right by my side. There was no way she was going to make me go through any of this alone. Christmas eve, we were both scheduled to serve and I was SOOO excited. Exhausted, but so excited. Alie showed up with a white blanket for me to use in case I got cold - the white would blend with the albs. She brought a bottle of orange juice in case my sugars got low or I needed a boost. She wasn't leaving me.

On the rough days of chemo, she wouldn't ask if I wanted company - she would simply state... "I'll see you tonight! I want to watch the hockey game with you" and then would ask Jane later if it was okay. When things got really rough and I was feeling tied down to staying inside, she showed up, kidnapped me and we drove through Brite Nights after a cup of hot coco from Timmy's. We walked the Leg grounds and admired the beauty, she gave me daily updates on what was happening at work or church, and passed on every greeting and email that came through for me. Knowing that stuffed animals were my soft spot, she went and made Booker, but she didn't stop there... she made an entire scrapbook of his life before he came to live with me... making sure to get to every important person I looked up to in life, including a special prof from St. Joe's. There was a picture of our lil' youth from Christ Church, priestly types, co workers, my family at Christ Church... the whole shabang. When I received an invite to the Comfort of Christmas service and really didn't want to go alone, Alison sat right there with me, holding my hand, embracing my pain, and supplying fresh kleenex.

When I got the good news about the cancer working it's way out, I was sooo excited and honestly waited for her to get home from school in Japan, which is like 2 or 3 am our time, just so I could tell her and not have her hear from someone else. She is one of those people who has forever left footprints on my heart no matter what happens in the future.

She accepted a teaching contract that would have her in Japan until the end of July. Just recently, she was offered to stay on until at least next January, possibly even longer. Just like I was when she first told me that she got the job, I am excited for her. It is truly the opportunity of a lifetime and she is living a dream... honestly. She is living in a culture that she doesn't know or even understand what they are saying the majority of the time. She is already involved in church and has adjusted better than I could ever dream of doing.

But tonight was a rough night. I came to bed two hours ago and have spent a good hour and half of that crying. I miss her horribly... and it's not just that I'm missing my best friend, I miss my older sister. I miss calling the office and playing jokes... I miss the jokes about how much it cost me to photocopy on coloured paper and topless Tuesdays. I miss the Silk Hat trips - and they just aren't the same. I took two of my newly adopted siblings there and I even took my real sister, but it feels wrong. It feels as though I am betraying the sandwich place she entrusted to me to care for when I eat there without her. I miss her crazy shoes that I could never walk in and her logical yet goofy way of dealing with people on the phone or at the door, or even more, I miss the "I'm watching the game with you tonight even though I couldn't name 10 Oilers if I tried" routine that I think was secret code for "you need company... you need me" and yet, she got it everytime. She just knew.

But she's in Japan. And yes, I lay awake at night when I can't sleep and instead of crying into the pillow I can chat with her on MSN and she'll call and we get all caught up. She still tries to defend me when she's across the ocean and an entire day ahead of me and when people visit that aren't supposed to visit, she tells them that their time is up. And yes, I can hug Booker, but it's not the same.

I promised to wait to have my first Gin and Tonic with her when she returns this summer. That's what I need to look forward to - sitting on a patio in the sun, dreaming about who we're going to marry one day, what we'll name our kids, complain about the younger siblings, maybe go shopping, eat a grilled sandwich... do all the things that people do with their older sister.

But that doesn't mean that I won't miss her like crazy and wish like there's no tomorrow that she was here right now, holding my hand, saying that everything will be okay, laughing, joking, teasing, and being Alie. Why? Cuz she's like the sister that I never had...

Just accept that it's something I'll never know...

I had a wonderful conversation with a priestly friend last night. It was lovely... but it really got me thinking. More often than not, I think I forget about this whole interconnected weird circle of relationships that happened when God created only one man and one woman. It got me thinking of just how true a passage like Gal 3:28 "there is neither Greek nor Jew, slave nor free, woman nor man for you are all one in Jesus Christ" really is.

Truth be told, I think we are closer than what we first guess.

In my senior year of high school, in a small country high school, it was the first week of classes when three students in my year junior (my sister's grade eleven class) were driving back to their home in Gibbons. The driver of the small car made a left hand turn at the intersection of Hwy 28A and 37. Her call in judgement was ever so slightly a few seconds delayed and the vehicle was propelled right through the intersection on the front of semi trailer truck. The student in the back seat was thrown almost 20yards into the ditch and the other gal was taken to hospital, but died in route. As per "Murphy's Law" the driver walked away without any broken bones or internal damage and just had a few scars to serve as a physical reminder of what she had done that afternoon.

It was a horrible start to the year. The one family wouldn't even let the driver of the car into the church for the funeral. They let hardly any students into the building while the other family held a memorial in the junior high school gym and buses upon buses of students filed in.

I guess me - being the person that I am - I couldn't handle to still see the hurt and pain when the joys of Christmas rolled around and I couldn't listen to one more complaint about weird counsellors walking the halls, "just checking in"... so, I did something about it.

I started with the staff - over 70 staff members, but I wanted to try it on them first. I printed out fist sized cartoon frogs with googly eyes and speckles, coloured each one, and attached a little cut out message that read something like: "You've been F.R.O.G.G.E.D! Thank you for being the person who has allowed me to Fully Rely On Great Guidance Every Day... you have made a difference in making my day just a little better, hopefully this will brighten your day." Or something really corny and goofy. Explaining my plan to one of the guidance counsellors, she agreed to meet me at the school at 7am the next morning. Getting up at 6, throwing on some clothes and throwing my books together, I drive through the snow to arrive at school 90min before I had to be there. We got in and stuffed each one of these frogs into every staff mailbox in the office. That was it... now I just had to sit and wait.

Some teachers laughed, others didn't react at all. Some got teary eyed and others showed their homerooms... that was all I needed... if I could get one positive reaction from the student population - get one smile out of 300 kids, that was all I needed to make it worth the time it would take. So, the same thing... this time, over 300 little frogs and messages were separated into envelops and handed out to all the homeroom teachers to pass out to their students.

It worked... student population had a slight increase in their moral... some put them up in their lockers and made me laugh when I walked by, others would tell their friends that it was at home on their fridge or mirror. Sure, some showed up in the garbage or on the school grounds, but it helped one student, and that's all that mattered.

Playing dectective is fun although I have to rule out one more suspect and the secret friend has buzzed again - this time, creating a hotmail account called "littlebuzzzz" to email me from. They have really thought this through. That, and I have now heard from more than one reliable source that when someone shared my exciting news with other people, she "lost it"... from what I would assume is the same relief that I have.

The point of the story is that sometimes we never know how we touch the lives of those around us. The only thing that we can be certain of is that each person we meet, speak to, or interact with... we will impact their lives somehow - the question is how. Will they look back and regret the time that they spent with us, the time they met us, or even the time spent trying to avoid us?

I guess it's something that I'll never know... just how interconnected we all are.

If you are open, the possibilities are endless...

I don't know if it's true, but the rumor is that every Sunday in the city of Vienna there is the most amazing music ever composed played in cathedrals all through city played free of charge. It is a practice that has been around since before the first World War, and I'm sure it still happens on a regular basis.

And rumor also has it that there was a college aged student who made her rounds from church to church one Sunday listening to the free performances when she came across quite a crowd gathering at a Jesuit church. Maria Kutschera.

It was Palm Sunday and thought perhaps the crowd meant Bach.

But, trapped in the church by all the people she was greatly dismayed to learn that there was only a sermon. The message this preacher delivered quite upset her. She had been raised in the church but had stopped believing in God years prior. Rather angry, following the service she found the priest and grabbed his arm and began yelling, "How can you believe all this?"

(Memo to self if ever serving in ordained ministry... if preaching on the love of God, make sure to run and hide right after the service!)

His response surprised her because all he said to her was, "Meet me here Tuesday at 4:00pm" and it changed her life. Her childhood was anything but pleasant.. her mother died when she was young and she was forced to live with an older cousin. She rarely saw her father and he died before the age of 13. Being taken in by an abusive uncle she gave up on having any faith.

On Tuesday, she sat down with the priest and spewed off every argument against God that she had ever heard in her life for more than two hours. When she finished, the priest sat across from her in silence. She thought of more that she could say and continued and again, when she thought she finished, the priest sat there in silence. But still, she thought of more anger against God and continued on. This time, when she had finished and couldn't think of anything else, the priest finally spoke.

"Well my dear, you have been wrongly informed," he said. Realizing that at one point in her life she was a practicing Christian asked her, "when was the last time that you went to confession?" She was completely disarmed by' his unwillingness to acknowledge her doubt. Instead, the Jesuit received her mad ranting as a confession. "Take courage," he said. "I am going to pronounce the words, 'thy sins are forgiven' ... God will forget them, and your soul will look like the soul of a newly baptized person."

And low and behold, when he said the words, Maria found all of her arguments and hostility melting away. She felt as if she was floating on a cloud... confession was indeed good for the soul. From this experience, rumor has it, she became so zealous that she decided to join a convent and her story (from this point forward) may become very familiar to the average person. Maria Kutschera eventually became Maria Von Trapp whose life is ever captured in the movie - The Sound of Music.

Now the moral of the story is not that everyone should run to their parish priest and grab them after the service on Sunday (in fact, please don't!) and freak out at them because they have gone off the deep end, waiting for the (sacrament) of confession and being absolved of their sins... but instead, to look at the wonderful things that can happen if we are honest. Maria allowed herself to be honest with her feelings of abandonment and frustration with God; she didn't sugar coat her anger - she let God take it and mold it and God made something wonderful of it. He took the clay and molded it into one of the most amazing sculptures. Just think... he can do that with you too, if you let him.

I've been "BEE-at-a-fied"

Just kidding, seeing as how the Anglican Church no longer is naming any saints, I think I gave up that dream when I was received this past summer at Christ Church. Perhaps I will be named a saint within the Catholic Church for some crazy reason like writing theology. I mean, seriously - Teresa of Lisseux was named a saint because she developed the whole notion of "little steps" to heaven and she was in her early 20's... it could happen... although JPII was the one who was really big on naming saints so I think I missed the boat. Oh well. I can put my dream of becoming a saint up on the shelf with being the first woman Pope because neither one will happen.

Okay, all joking aside, everyone is a saint for something or someone and hence the whole notion of the communion of saints that we proclaim our belief in each time we pray the Apostle's or Nicine Creed, but this is not meant to be about saints, nor the process to sainthood... but about bees.

That's right... I have a mystery on my hands and so if you like mysteries... let's review the evidence up to this point in time.

1) A nicely wrapped package that came home with MJ from Executive Council
a) It was given to MJ by Priestly-Motherly type to pass onto me
b) Also in the "pass along" line there was a prayer book from a friend (signed by them), and a picture drawn
from a youth at St. George's.
c) The package had my name written on it, along with a message saying, "Just BEE-cause"
d) The package was wrapped in yellow paper with little bees all over it
e) Signed from my "Secret Friend"
f) My thoughts would be that it was sent from someone who was at camp this summer or the Jr. High weekend in Barrhead where we implemented the "secret friend" game.
g) The gift was a mixed CD entitled, "Sing, Sing, Sing"
h) It included songs by bands like Kutless, Jars of Clay, The Wailin Jennys, and various other jazz artists or contempory Christian music

2) Another nicely wrapped package was delivered to the windshield of MJ's car (that was parked in the alley behind the Cathedral) for the AIDS closing service
a) This was wrapped in yellow paper with a Blue's Clue's sticker holding the flap of paper down
b) A cute little card written by someone who knows scripture and can quote from Son 4:1
c) A small pop up bee on the front and a golden message written quite neatly saying, "may your day be filled with (a little ornament bumble bee) - UTY!"
d) Signed from my Secret Friend
e) This CD is entitled, "When the Rain Comes"
f) Again, with a range of artists ranging between comp. Christian to jazz.
g) The whole CD and card were in a plastic bag with MJ's address written on the top in marker

It's very mysterious. I have begun my investigation, raising question with 5 different suspects.
1) Ms. Seminarian from Toronto
2) Ms. Wax from Edmonton
3) Ms. Amazing Prayer also from Edmonton
4) Ms. Scrapbooker from Edmonton
5) Priestly-Motherly type (from Edmonton)
(I have also begun interogating MJ, but she is just been the messanger that this individual is using in delivering their gifts... but it has to be someone who knows the vehicle driven by MJ in order to put it on her windshield and someone who knows that Priestly-Motherly type can get stuff to me during visits and such).

Here is where I am at:
1 - claims to have a knowledge of all the artists on the various CD's, but promises to have no way of sending such things all the way from Toronto to an agent here in the city. Further investigation has been postponed.


2 - claims to take an interest in helping to get to the bottom of this generous person, but suggested the individual in toronto... this lead is going nowhere. This agent would not have been able to get the second package to MJ's car on Friday night and therefore, further investigation has been halted here as well.


3 - jumping to every conclusion possible, emailed this individual to thank them for the gift the first time around, but this individual claimed to not know anything of the gift. They acknowledged passing the prayer book onto Priestly Motherly type, but said that was all they gave her.


4 - started to laugh at the use of wording on behalf of the secret agent and therefore, although it would seem within their nature, I am inclined to think that Ms. Scrapbooker truly has nothing to do with these actions.


5 - this is my greatest lead, although really nothing to go on. If the individual were to pass the first dropping of the gift onto her, she would have been able to know who it was... however when questioned in an email about this particular mystery, no answer was given... rather the question avoided. Either Priestly Motherly type knows or has been sworn to secrecy. Hmmmm....

Well, that is where I stand thus far on the mystery front... there remains two suspects to bring into question and I believe that if one of them knows, I can break them. (Not literally of course!)... however my next line of questioning shall be directed at the following three secret agents:
1) Chocolate is my friend agent - who knows MJ's vehicle and where she parks
2) Chocolate's other half... who would also know the inner workings of MJ
3) Ms. Amazing Prayer because she again was present at the scene of Friday nights service
and 4) Ms. Other Priestly type... who was not only at the camps, but knows MJ and Priestly Motherly type and knows that they would be reliable messengers...

Any other ideas???

I have a feeling...

I could be wrong, but I have a feeling that I am holding seeds that need to be scattered.

But, there is only problem...

... the seeds are sticking to my hand!

Just kidding. But all joking aside, it is slightly frustrating to know that I am holding the seeds to plant in the garden, the sun is shining, the weather people are forcasting rain (although we all know that they don't always know everything), the soil is tilled, and everything seems as it should.

Why then, can I not cast them?

I know with all my heart that I can talk about leaving discouragement behind and finding a new hope, and I totally know that I can write about my trip with cancer, and Christians in community... well, I'm a Christian and I definitely know about communities - being totally uplifted by them and all. And having prayed about two of three, I am confident that I am not alone and like Jeremiah (not the fish, the prophet) the Lord will work through my words, but I just can't seem to start.

The deadline for the "trip with cancer" is Monday and so in an attempt to write it, I began floating through old blogs and re-living the experiences that seem like forever ago. It's hard to imagine the first experience of hair loss now as I have been without for ages and the fear that ate me up each night when I am on the highway driving straight for the turn-off that reads "Remission"...

It's hard. Typically my creative juices flow during a run - that's how I have written all my best papers, class projects, youth reflections, talks or articles.

Hmmmm.... how else can I dry my hand off so that the seeds will no longer stick? Perhaps I need not worry about casting them in the right rows or places, not be concerned with how many I throw each time but rather, just begin to cast them and leave the rest to God.

I have a feeling that's how all great gardens are made, not because of the planter but because of the maker.

Lil' One

It was like having a twin growing up, but instead of dressing alike, mirroring each others personalities and joining to the others hip everywhere we went, we did the exact opposite. Only a year apart in school (because of how her birthday fell... not because I failed a grade!!! - just for clarification), we honestly had everyone convinced in high school that we were cousins. Yes, really tight - but cousins.

It was until our Biology teacher was walking down the hall and heard Kristin laugh that she finally clued in, after we both missed the same classes throughout the term for family stuff and we spoke of 'mom an dad' in class... it was the laugh that gave us away.

She was sitting on the bed this evening, after having left her own birthday celebrations, when she said, "hey Ang... do you remember how we used to fight until we made mom and dad go crazy?"

Exhausted, all I could do was smile and nod. "You bet I do, but I finally figured out the cause of all those fights..."

"Really? What was it? That your shelf was messier than mine? That you always got to play the left hand in our piano duets? Or do you think it was just because we fed off one another so well?"

"No Kristin... the problem was that mom and dad couldn't stop at one. They just had to go ahead and have at least two kids." Unable to contain my smile, I quickly added, "they should have stopped while the going was good!"

That was it. We spent a solid chunk of time reminding each other of all the times that one of us stepped in to save the other. There were so many... we truly have had each others backs over the last 20 years.

When I was in grade one and Kristin was kindergarten, our parents went to Hawaii for a week and brought back with them a box of chocolates. Chantelle was just a baby - maybe a year - and the chocolates had been hidden in my parents closet. Kristin had a nack for causing trouble and one day, when trying to find some new dress up clothes, came across this box of hidden chocolates. I don't think it would have been so bad if she could have stopped at one... but like someone else I know (hi chocolate loving friend at the end of the hall!), she ate the WHOLE BOX!! As sneaky as she was, she managed to eat it all without getting caught red handed. However, it didn't take my mom long to discover that someone had been in her closet and so she came storming into our bedroom and said, "Kristin, do you know what happened to Mommy and Daddy's closet?" And Kristin, with her face covered in chocolate, shook her head. Trying to be the good big sister, jumped in and tried to cover by saying, "No Mom, but Kristin saw Chantelle going in there and tried to stop her mom. She tried to pull her away from your chocolates mom, but Chantelle took a chocolate and just wiped it all over Kristin. Yup, it was Chantelle!"

Memo to self... never have three kids because two always seem to find a way to team up on the third one!
Second memo to self... never try and cover for your sister who is seriously, covered in chocolate and deserves discipline. Lying is bad!

Then Kristin reminded me of the time that she jumped to my rescue... when my mom was working part time, rather than going home to an empty house we would walk through the trees and hang out at Grandma's house until mom got home. One Thursday, my Grandma heard our dog barking and sent my Grandpa to find out what was going on. Yup - our house was definitely being broken into. Grandpa came running back and told my Grandma to call the police and so she did, but as soon as she called... she went back to help my Grandpa catch the robbers. A few minutes after she left, the phone rang. Kristin, Chantelle, and Katie all looked at me and said, "you're the oldest... you answer." So, taking a deep breath, I answered the phone. The nice lady on the other end was very sweet and understanding. "Is your mom there?" "No. My mom is at work, but this is my Grandma's house but is at my house trying to catch the bad guys with my Grandpa."

"Oh, so that is your house being broken into?"

For whatever reason, when she asked our address, I just started crying. I didn't handle crisis situations very well at that point in time. Kristin grabbed the phone from my hands as I sat there in shock, being consoled by my 5 year old and 7 year old sisters. A little embarrasing now, but then... nah... my world had stopped. What if they took my Cabbage doll?? Or worse... my books!! Kristin explained where we lived, apologized for my behavior and said that she would have my Grandma call back as soon as she got in but that this lady better send her cop men out to our house soon because my Grandpa took the shot gun to our house with him. (Which he totally had... my family is a farm family... what else can I say). Kristin continued to say, "and if I go back over to my house and have to clean up some bad guys blood and stuff that would be very disgusting. And I wouldn't like it one bit. So I suggest you send your cop men before I hear the gun go off! Good-bye." Then she casually hung up the phone.

A conversation like that today would have social services at the door waiting to interview everyone...

Good times.

Anyway, tonight we celebrated "Boke's" 20th birthday and while she doesn't read the blog or even know it exists... I hope she knows just how proud of her I really am. Studying buisness and following her dream to walk in my dad's footsteps, she is awesome!! My best friend and partner in crime...

Happy Birthday lil' one!

The Greatest Lesson of all

I think that the greatest gift (or perhaps the second greatest gift because a man named JC is already THE greatest gift...) for anyone, any time of the year, through the most challenging parts of life or when beginning a new (and somewhat) scary journey is not the gift that costs the most or even stands out as the most pretty... it is a rosebud.

I don't know where she got it from or who taught it to her; I don't know why my dream was re-living this particular childhood memory or why I find the lesson in it so very profound... but I am blaming it on the Massively-Insane-large-sitting in my stomach milkshake from last night.

I love my grandmother. She has taught me how to knit, cross stitch, boil potatos without them boiling over, how to camp, the song, You are my Sunshine, bake, and follow my heart - wherever it shall lead. But more than that, she taught me a lesson about life that I dare say is the greatest lesson of all. A lesson of trust and submission, a lesson I will carry with me on this road in life, through seminary and God willing - ordained ministry of some form or another.

I was really young and we had gone camping with my grandparents. It was normally tradition to either go for a bike ride or "nature walk" at some point every day and looking back, I have a feeling that the long bike rides my grandad took us on were to leave my grandma a few moments of silence and sanity. She never came for the bike rides, but she was totally there for the walks.

She understood, I think better than anyone, my "I'm the oldest and I can do it by myself" attitude and so on one of the walks, she plucked a tiny wild rosebud off the plant as we sauntered by. Handing it to me she said, "I bet you that you can't open this flower without breaking a single petal," and the challenge was on.

Much to my childhood disappointment, my wise and all knowing grandmother was right and the more I saw defeat approaching, the harder I tried. I think I must have broken every petal at least twice before I threw it in the bush and mumbled, "I bet you that you are right."

She smiled, embraced me in a sideways sort of hug and spoke a poem that went something like this:

It is only a tiny rosebud: a flower of God's design; But I cannot unfold its petals with these clumsy hands of mine. For the secret of unfolding flowers is not known to such as I. It is GOD who opens this flower so sweetly, when in my hands it fades and will die. If I cannot unfold a rosebud, this flower of God's design, then how on earth can I think I have wisdom to unfold this life of mine? So, I'll trust in Him for His leading each moment of every day. I will always look to him for His guidance each step of the pilgrim way. This pathway that lies before me, only my Heavenly Father knows. So I'll trust in Him to unfold the life moments, just as He unfolds the rose.

Now that I remember it, I just need to work on the "trust" part of it. Oh Boy!!

A tiny serving of God's grace...

Perhaps it was the fact that my family sat in the same pew every Sunday from the time I was 5 or maybe it had something to do with altar serving almost every Sunday from the day I turned 7... or, who knows... maybe I was just born a church nerd. Whatever it is, intrinsic or learned, I have a deep love and admiration for churches and stained glass windows. I'm not at all shocked to admit that it was through this burning love, I received a tiny portion of God's grace this evening.

I was able to fall asleep but it only took rolling over once to realize that Milkshake the Insanely Massive was still sitting in my stomach and he didn't care much for movement. And so flipping through library books most sanitized, there she be.

Much to my tearful eyes did appear, a picture of the Holy Family illuminated by God's perfect light and radiating God's unexplainable love.

I tried to get up - I needed to tell the world, the entire Alexander clan of this gift of grace and peace that had come over me. Perhaps it's a good thing I didn't because I am still shaking with so much excitement, and bursting at the lips with chocolate milkshake, I probably would have fallen down the stairs. A piece of the broken puzzle has been found! And that piece is me!!

Truth be told, of all the people that could be illuminated the most from the picture, the person I least suspected was Mary, but there she was... full of grace and one with the Lord; holy and blessed and praying over none other... but the Son of God. I sit here and wonder, did Mary know how very special this babe would be? Was she aware of the pain and suffering he would one day face? Did she kiss him good night, and if so, was she really that close with God in heaven? What were her prayers for this child? When she looked down in awe, did she ever wonder, how can I do this? or I'm much to young or what if...? Did she know then just how hard it would be to let go and let God at Calvary? Did she understand the rollarcoaster of emotions that Jesus would carry her through from a panic striken mother to a devout follower and disciple?

I can speculate, but until I meet her in heaven, I will never know. But it doesn't matter because ultimately, at the end of day, whether these questions have known answers or not, Jesus Christ is our Saviour - the one and only... healer and physician of all.

But do you know what is more important than that?

That even taken over by fear, hundreds (I'm sure) of questions, doubt, speculation, hesitancy, frustration and being completely overwhelmed, she said yes to God.

She understood one simple fact and that was that God loved her so much and knew (like really truly knew her) her and... wait for it... amoung all the women God could have chosen, he chose Mary.

The greatest part is that Mary was never alone. Gabriel walked the first stretch with Mary and then it was her cousin Elizabeth. Along came Joseph and then later, Jesus, and at his death - the disciples. Although it probably seemed tough at the time, Mary was truly - never alone. She had support, a mission, and the love of God... that's all she needed.

God could have chosen a million other people to walk in the shoes I am stumbling in now, but he didn't. He chose me, and by golly - I can't let him down. So, with Mary as my guide - with all my Gabriel's, Elizabeth's, Joseph's, JC's, and disciples, I continue forward... embracing each step with as much strength as I can muster.
I have been chosen, I have support, a mission, and the love of God. What more can I ask for?

Rules? Nah... who are you kiddin'?

"There are some people who feel that the rules do not apply to them..." and "no one is having trouble with the rules but you..." When she says them in her sweet, supa Nanny way with a certain aire of authority, she almost sounds as though she could be the Queen getting after one of her subjects for stepping out of line. She says it with such grace, I was rather flabbergasted to finally understand that she was talking about me and to me.

Perhaps that is why to this point in life, I have been drawn so strongly to youth ministry... a ministry where you can make up the rules as you go. This picture still makes me laugh until my sides hurt. Brittney (the gal featured in the photo looking like a drenched sailor) and I (who may or may not be the life size bunny) decided that the RC Church did not celebrate All Saints Day as much as they could and thought it would be valuable for that to change. So, dressed in a full (yes FULL) bunny suit (from head to toe - with little bunny booties taking the place of my regular shoes) I hopped from the back of the Church to the front when everyone had sat down after communion - wiggling my nose and shaking my little tail - to make the announcement that there would be an All Saints Day party the following weekend after all the services. Going without my glasses as to not see anyone's reaction, I did fine until I got close enough to the front to see Fr. Andrzej, our polish priest, almost crying from laughing so hard.

(That's right - Catholics know how to party... Anglican's may get a visit from St. Nicholas but the congregation at St. Albert Parish got a visit from the Easter Bunny... who we actually tried to pass as "St. Bunny" because of course the Easter Bunny has no Church significance what so ever, but "St. Bunny" was the patron saint of all bunnies who lived in bunny land!).

However, it didn't seem to matter what I tried in youth ministry, whether trying to claim to be "St. Bunny" or take youth on a ski trip in which we spend the night in the Emergency room of both Canmore and the Foothills Hospital in Calgary for a slight overdose of alcohol for a certain individual (not me!) who snuck off... not once did I get in trouble for breaking the rules. I followed the general protocol, but did completely outrageous things like a Halloween/All Saints party without a single mention of "rules". (Granted, I would never try this in the position I have now because I think my employer might have a slight heart attack...)

With knowing this, does it surprise you in the least that when rules are put in place to eventually make me better, I still have no desire to follow them?

Let's go over some of them...

1) I am to wear a mask at all times - sleeping or awake (unless eating) to prevent any germ from floating into my body. Apparently my body is in overdrive and a small bug could turn out to be fatal.

2) The number of people (total) I am to interact with over the remaining 5ish weeks of chemo... is 5. The same 5 people the entire time. HA! I am breaking that one by simply living where I am. And this means I need to receive permission from my oncologist tomorrow to go home on Sunday for my sisters birthday supper. (They better say yes because otherwise they are setting me up to break yet another rule!)

3) There is sanitizer by my bed and is to be used before I get in bed, while in bed, and before I get out.

4) Anything I touch is to be regularily washed (clothing, bedding, blankets), and anything touching my mouth (like eating utensils) are to be sanitized or boiled before I use them. Books, pens, my glasses, handles of doors, my computer keyboard, the shower... you name it - supposed to be sanitized or disinfected regularily because I simply can't afford to have any bug.

5) Avoid live animals (they are apparently prone to carrying germs in their fur or saliva) and refrain from going in public (and by refrain, they really mean - don't try it unless you want us to admit you!)

6) Anyone that I do come in contact with is to be sanitized (kind of funny if you think about it) before coming in contact - ie insane hand washing followed by disinfectant hand sanitizer and should be wearing a mask to contain their germs - whether they are aware they have them or not.

7) Stay warm! Apparently when your body gets cold, it suppresses your immune system? I think that's the reason they gave. Regardless, staying warm is now a rule - not just a good idea.

8) On off days of chemo I am to use a saline solution, while wearing a mask, to clean around the PIC line site.

9) I have one week from today (Thursday) to put back at least half the weight I have lost. One week. (And no, I don't wish to discuss the consequence of what might happen if I don't)

10) Stay hydrated. The hydration via iv that I receive at the Cross (while it feels very strange) is to only partially replace the unhydrated cells that dried up from the drugs of chemo. Rather stupid, but so be it.

Any-who, there you have it - the top 10 rules to getting my life back. Slightly stupid or a lot stupid?? Hmmm... wouldn't you feel a little odd if you had a mask on and anyone and everyone around you had a mask on? If beating cancer is largely mental, I don't know about anyone else but some of these rules make it pretty obvious as to who is sick and who is not, who has an immune system and who has none...

So here I lay - wearing two pairs of pants, a hoodie, my coat and covered with an electric blanket, a quilt and a fleecy... wishing it were all finished, whatever the outcome will be. Waking up in the darkness and asking the question, "where am I" for the millionith time since the end of November, crying as silently as I can into my blanket - which I can still smell through the mask, thinking and debating which rules are bendable and which are not, and pleading for the achey pain to cease and ever so softly uttering the words, "My God, my God, why have you foresaken me?" until I once again fall asleep, awaiting the next awakening and sweet Canadian-British sound of my name, carrying with her the next dose of required medication.