Let your Light Shine

Well, Advent 4 has come and already gone and the self-assigned "advent reflection" seems to have fallen by the way-side in the blogging world. After reading a comment left on my previous post drawing attention to the fact that there is more to the Advent season than simply allowing the Christ child to come to us, broken, lost and wandering really got me thinking. I do not mean to lessen the importance of our journey to the creche as Christian people and solemnly believe that it should be a time of reflecting as well as genuflecting; a time of looking back on where we have come in light of where we are going as well as taking the time to pause upon the truly incredible gift that we are seeking out on this somewhat dark night.

Perhaps I understated Fr. A's sermon notes, but do not think so. For you see, I am a firm believer that not unlike the Magi, the journey should not be perilous. Challenging, yes, but not difficult.

For the past three months, I have been working with various individuals who have varying disabilities. Some are battling through the teenage years of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Disorder, some are Manic, Bipolar, Fragile X Syndrome and some do not necessarily fit within a boxed category but cannot read, write, or function as a "normal" individual (as much as I hate the word normal). Two of the handful that have entered my life are, for lack of better description, non-verbal. Although they can tell you what they want to eat, when they are hungry, tell jokes, repeat phrases, answer short questions, and have a wicked sense of humor... they will never sit down and write a novel or be able to describe in any length, how they are feeling.

But the truly incredible thing about these two individuals, is that in speaking almost no words, are the Gabriel's of the 21st Century, heralding the coming of the Christ child.

I was awake all night on Friday, sitting in the shadows of Kristy's (name changed) living room as she paced, stomped, stormed up and down the hallway, around the dining room table and back to her room. The bedroom door must have slammed 102 times throughout the night and the bathroom door, 101. There was screaming, yelling, water-cup throwing and puzzle destroying. Although my urge was to jump up and gently guide her back to bed, I sat there. Did not speak, but just let her be. She is stressed and the only way her body can work it out of her system is through manic behaviour. Needless to say, when she finally fell asleep at 6:30 Saturday morning, I dashed off to bed to catch an hour or two before the other two ladies in the house were up and needed my attention.

There I am Saturday morning, essentially drooling. I do not function well with little sleep. The second staff showed up and took the other two ladies to finish Christmas shopping as I sat with Kristy and had a cup of tea. It's hard to not let feelings of shear exhaustion get in the way of compassionate care. It's hard not to say, "hmm - too bad. We're not doing anything or going anywhere today because I couldn't sleep last night", believe me! Kristy went off and came back with her winter boots, a fancy pair of tights, a long skirt and her winter parka.

"Shopping?"

"For what?"

"Mom and Dad and Kristy"

"You want to go shopping for mom and dad?"

"Yes please"

"Why?"

"Santa Claus is coming to town"

So, bundling up, we stopped off at the bank, grabbed some lunch and tackled the mall. At each stop, she sang the one line, "Santa Claus is coming to town" to everyone we passed. Some smiled, others ignored. The day would have been a write off if we hadn't sat and rested a while and grabbed a bite to eat. There we are, in an over crowded food court, eating the mall's sad excuse for lunch, when four carolers stood 15 feet away. They started singing "Silent Night" and two lines in, my lunch date put her burger down, and started singing.

She didn't care what others thought, I don't think she even acknowledged that there were other people there. But there was... singing loudly and beautifully. As soon as they finished, she stood up and bolted in their direction. Approaching the man on the end, she slowly put her hand out towards his. He did not even hesitate. He turned his page and took her hand in his. There she stood... swaying her hips to their singing voices, holding his hand and singing right along with them.

Standing a few feet away, my eyes began to overflow. Kristy may not talk a lot, but at the end of the day... she "gets" it. She understands what the true meaning of Christmas is and how special that little baby really is for bringing joy and love and peace and happiness into the world. And as I sit in the glowing light of these four candles, the song that comes to mind is,

"Let your light shine, for all the world to see

The brightness of your light within, the joy that sets you free

Let your light shine, to fill your nights and days

And all will see the deeds you do and give your Father praise"

Yes, at the conclusion of this Advent season, almost on the Eve of the Christmas feast... this little heart is singing The Beatitudes as loud as I possibly can. And giving thanks to a Father who has once again, reminded me what it is like when I open myself to the possibility of being touched by a child, touched by a king.

Muppets, Church and Belief

This will be a short post as I only woke up a short time ago and have to run through the shower before my dad gets back and we go to look at cars to replace the one that was totalled last week. (Stupid truck drivers!)

Yesterday I took one of the ladies that I support to mass. It's funny because although we are entirely two different people, her and I seem to understand one another on a level that is not quite where other team members see themselves.

Anyway, there she was - blessing everyone who would make eye contact with her, singing to hearts content (though completely out of key and incorrect words, it did not matter), and giving thumbs up to the guy behind us because he had a "lovely singing voice". She was smart enough to put two and two together because when Fr. A started talking all about "preparing the way", she tugged on my sleeve and not-so-quietly whispered, "we have to prepare for the Baby Saviour. He comes at Christmas, you know!"

It was a powerful moment on this advent journey for me because although we were sitting there for her that morning, I had a "Grinch moment"... you know, one of those moments where my heart grew three sizes.

There was Fr. A, preaching in a church that I left years ago to pursue a dream, speaking to a heart that has been self-inflicted with grief, hurt, and pity; nearing the end of his 10 minute homily, I could truly feel my heart getting warmer, praying for a sense of cultivation and watering.

"Fine. If you have crooked ways that need to be straightened, by all means, straighten them. If you have rough paths that need smoothing, then smooth them over. But do not do all these things in order to prepare to be touched by the Christ child at Christmas time... do these things because you are obsessive or compulsive or both, ok? God does not want you to come to the manger all high and mighty with all your affairs in order because then he cannot help you. He wants you to come, with all your crooked and imperfected ways, for it is only through the cracks that the light can shine..."

Left me a ponderin' late into the night last night and still sits heavy on my heart this morning. Maybe there is truth to what he was saying... I'll keep you posted.

I Once Knew

I once knew a very intelligent individual who had the personal ability to move mountains, change minds, and influence the hundreds by a single sermon. Although I haven't spoken with her in quite some time, she continues to cross my mind, invade my thoughts, and speak directly to my heart from afar. I think that after all was said and done, it was a tie whether I learned more from her powerful sermons each Sunday morning or the simple and seemingly innocent car rides each morning and evening.

I like to think of this individual as my wise shepherd, no pun intended nor does it bear much relation to her current role within the wider church.

Almost a year today, I found myself in the basement of a tiny, country, Anglican parish on the outskirts of the seminary town I was still residing in (although no longer studying). A friend was preaching there on the Sunday morning prior, and when an older lady stood up at the announcement time and invited the congregation to join her on this particular evening of mediated healing, I was overcome with that combo platter of guilt, heart tears, and a slight pull. There I was. The youngest of the crowd by at least a decade, maybe even two.

She asked us to close our eyes and spoke in this incredibly serene fashion about a journey that we were on. She took us down a winding path, through the trees that were taller than any house we had ever seen in our lives. She walked us past a babbling brook, where we stopped for water, up a long and meandering hillside, through a green and flush meadow, and through an old gate that was barely on its hinges. She walked with us into a quiet cove with vines, birds, trees, and a large rock. With the birds and the water in the distance, she sat with us in the warm sun as we waited for our special visitor to arrive. After not too long, our wise friend came around the corner and our hearts filled with emotions. While I can't speak for anyone else, my heart was overflowing with tears for I had not expected this wise friend to show up - in a dream or real life.

But there was more. My friend was bearing a box, wrapped with a bow. And it was for me. Opening it carefully, I pulled out a key. It was one of the old fashioned keys and in the end, was an engraved heart. Although my friend did not verbalize anything, her message was clear and articulate...

So, five days later, I was packing up my room, loading my car and preparing to drive across the country once again... all the way back home. I had no idea what I would do when I got here, or how things would look. And, although I am living in a basement somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in a house, I am not yet home. On one of our many car rides, this wise friend said something that has stuck with me through thick and thin. "If God is really and truly calling, he has not told my heart yet". She was referring to a turning point in her own journey and how everyone else seemed to vision her taking on a new role, but for whatever reason, she remained tentative.

It's been more than year and I think I speak for my entire being when I say, "Dotto, I just wanna go home, we aren't in Kansas anymore."

Last night, on my late night drive to the arena, I was listening the "All Christmas, All the Time" station on the radio, responsible for playing Christmas music 24/7 from now until Boxing Day when none other than Josh Groban's, "Believe" (from the Polar Express) was played. I had to pull over on the freeway, turn my hazards on, and go... "Ok. I get it. That is my heart you're talking to."

Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe

Trains move quickly to their journey's end
Destinations are where we begin again
Ships go sailing far across the sea
Trusting starlight to get where they need to be
When it seems that we have lost our way
We find ourselves again on Christmas day

Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe

Sisterly Connections

I am laying awake (when I should be sleeping), wondering how many places I have referenced "Wonder Chemist".

Annnnd, as means of an update, failing miserably.

Let me explain where this is coming from. Last week, I met up with my sister for coffee. Albeit, we share no common genes, bodily fluids (aka, we are not blood sisters), or similar dreams and aspirations. However, on various occasions, as sisters do, we have fought with one another, ignored one another, screamed about (not to, but about) one another, cried with, for and because of one another; we have pouted about one another, tattled on one another, envied the other, and wanted to punch, kick or otherwise seriously injure one another.

But in the same breath, I can only speak for myself here, I would never (ever) want to live a life without the other. We have seen each other at our worsts and still manage to sit on the sidelines of one another's lives to cheer, encourage, and motivate.

Anyway, contrary to what her family members would have done, she trudged over to a small coffee shop after her long day to catch up. Maybe next time, I'll let her pick the place because it never fails that I suggest tea/coffee, neglecting the fact that she does not drink hot liquids. Ever.

We sat there for what seemed like a few moments and caught up on one another's lives before she had to run off to get a ride home and I had to dash off to a meeting elsewhere. I know it seems weird, but for the first time in a year and a half, I almost felt human again. She did not have a gun or want to push me into oncoming traffic; she even hugged me when we parted ways.

The next afternoon, I got a text asking if she would see me at Taize with my guitar. I kid you not, every excuse that I pulled out, there was a logical, well thought out response. And, being politely persistent, sure enough - Sunday afternoon, I got a text simply stating what time she would be there to run through the song selection. Before I could really comment, she told me that whatever happened or whoever came, she had my back (so long as I didn't pick a fight with a nationally renowned body builder).

Showed up, played, and tried to pack up and leave in silence.

About 10 minutes down the road, en route home, she texted. "Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?"

"Yes, but in a different way than I expected"

"Explain?"

.... I will save the boring details of the conversation in the middle. It was what came at the end that means the most. Essentially, I told her that my heart was crying. I am pretty sure it was crying the words, "I want to come home". It was not referring to returning home to the white house with green trim, but a different kind of home. Whatever I tried to do, my heart would not cease it's tears. Most painful drive of all time.

And, although I wouldn't have predicted it, my sister got it.

So, I asked straight up - how do I make it stop hurting?

And this - in all her wisdom, is what she said.

"You don't. You let yourself heal. You understand that you've now taken the first step in getting back to what's important in your life. And, you stop pushing and stop running away."

Needless to say, her words resonate in an incredibly powerful fashion. And, tonight - keep me laying awake wondering, pondering, wishing. How did this blog get started? Oh yea! Because when we met for coffee, she inquired about the status of Wonder Chemist and I. Which got me thinking... have I called him Wonder Chemist outside of the blog? Hmmm...

I am told all too often that I speak in some bizarre type of code. And, I admit - that more often than not, I am tied up in speaking through metaphors or random hypothetical situations. While watching re-runs of an all-time favourite show this afternoon on Youtube, this poem was referenced and when I look up the poem, was astonished at how "perfect" it was in describing the human condition (as I see it). And so, I post it here... not to frustrate people, but to express it as it is.

O Capitan, My Capitan!

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

A few thoughts

So, as means of an update, this whole convocation thing is really throwing a wrench into the plan of continuing to believe that it's "just a piece of paper". There are a few people who were crucial in ensuring that I finished this journey - and none of which are going to be here for the "big" day. Let's see... one of them has purple duties in a small country down under, one of them has purple duties in the city nearby, and two of them live virtually, across the country. At the end of the day, I continue to tell myself that it is not a big deal and it is *just* a piece of paper. An expensive one, no doubt, but it is simply a symbol.

I am reminded of an evening in which I tried to teach the concept of a symbol to a group of youth who were preparing for a sacrament within the church. My definition has always been pretty traditional in that a symbol is a sign; a symbol points us to something bigger, more inspirational, and often, a lot more meaningful.

We were talking about what symbols were - how roadsigns symbolized a significant traffic condition (high fatality location, slippery surface when wet/cold, oncoming traffic, one way, etc) and how the sacrament we were about to celebrate together was very much representative of something more meaningful and powerful in their faith journey than simply a loaf of bread being passed around.

On that note, I totally understand how this whole whoopla is symbolizing something greater, buuuuuut, that doesn't change the fact that it stinks. Like a rotten egg would in warm sunshine.

And, before I leave to conquer the day and change the world, although the people I wish to say this to the most will probably never read it (or not read it for a very long time), I shall say it anyway.

"If every word I said

Could make you laugh,

I'd talk forever.

If the song I sing to you

Could fill your heart with joy

I'd sing forever."

(Beach Boys, Forever)

Annnnd to that, I would add,

If every prayer I prayed

Could make you stronger,

I'd pray forever.

If every thought I had

Could ease your pain,

I'd think forever

If every time I wrote

Could close the gap we had,

I'd write forever.

That's all.

It's just a piece of paper...

In less than a month, I will walk across a stage, shake some strangers hand, and pick up a piece of paper that says I have officially received my university degree. In facing deadlines in ordering tickets and such, I emailed a friend to find out for sure what her plans were in either attending or not. When she elegantly wrote back to say the timing is less than ideal and she would have to pass, my response to her was simple: "it's okay; at the end of the day, it's just a piece of paper."

It's true. There is nothing in the world that can even come close to capturing the last six years of my life, and most especially, not a mere piece of paper. It is a piece of paper that will probably never be framed and hung on a wall, rather it will sit, packed nicely in a box, and stored in the corner of my closet. It bears the signature of someone whom I will never, personally meet or have a cup of coffee with. People get all excited about receiving this piece of paper. A three hour ceremony, cap and gown, standing and sitting amongst strangers for an entire afternoon - people I will probably, never see again.

My degree is nothing special. It does not give me more relevant wisdom than the man I sit beside on public transit each morning. It does not qualify me as a better citizen, Christian, or friend. It is not unlike the relationships that fill my life; random text messages or emails sent to a friend in which the relationship is merely a ghost of the life-changing journey that was once traversed. It is a piece of paper containing words that are meaningless unless placed in a specific circumstance, much like the communication exchanged between two people who used to have something in common. And most of all, my degree does not give me the answers to the life-agonizing questions that keep me up at night.

The same way that I will stop investing time and effort and concern into relationships that are going nowhere or in which my effort is met with a mere mumble of meaningless words, I find myself wondering if all the hype and hoopla is required in order to get a piece of paper. Because afterall, when the day is done... it's just a piece of paper.

In attempt to clean my life up a little bit, I have spent the downtime while I am 'resting' going through various stacks of paper, numerous binders, and resources that I no longer need. It is my desperate hope that by purging my life of all that is from the past, I can truly move forward - wherever that might lead.

One of the piles I came across was a stack of old school student newsletters. As the Student Elected "Spirit Director", students could email questions to a published address and their questions would be responded to as best I could in the published newsletter. However, there was one question that I was never able to answer. I have since found out who sent it, and we've chatted over the years... she always asks if she will ever get her answer and my response has always been, "yes... soon, very soon".

Opening up the addressed envelope, I found her question neatly typed out. Re-reading her question and skipping my 10 page response, got me thinking. This is what she had to ask:

Have you ever wanted something so bad, but you knew that you would never be able to have it, no matter how hard you hoped and prayed and wished upon every star? Have you ever wanted something so bad that it hurt your heart to think about it... but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about it? Have you ever wanted something so badly that it was the last thing on your mind when you went to sleep and the first thing on your mind when you woke up the next morning... everyday of the week? Have you ever wanted something so bad that although it brought you tremendous joy to be near it or around it or to think about it, you still feel tremendous sorrow at the same time? Have you ever wanted something so badly that you knew you couldn’t have that you actually started to resent it, based solely on the fact that you could never have it, no matter what you did? How can a person start to forget about that something they can never have? How can a person begin to let go of the feelings and thoughts accompanied with that something? How can a person come to terms with the fact that, no matter how hard they pray of how much they dream or how many times they wish upon a star, they will never see that wish or dream or prayer come true? Is it even possible to let go of that something completely? Or will there always be a part of it stuck deep down inside of you, no matter how hard you try to let go? I know that you won’t have all the answers, but...

It's a long winded question and although I am sure it was on many students minds at the time, I always felt that it was too sensitive and too broad of a question to respond to in a short column. To this day, I am not sure what to tell her. Being completely honest with myself, the answer is yes. Absolutely I have felt this way, I *do* feel this way... I feel this way for three situations in my life right now.

In one situation, I want answers more than anything else in the world because the questions I have, are the questions that keep me up late at night. These ponderings are truly the last thing on my mind every night and (if I'm lucky enough to sleep) they are the first things on my mind when I wake up in the morning. These questions... the desire for answers... is a double edged sword because as much as I want the answers, it pains me know that the answers are beyond my control, beyond my asking. And yes, it is slowly killing me from the inside out, to know that realistically - while I might be able to understand very, very little in reference to getting answers, this wish - this want - this burning, seeking drive... will never work.

In another situation, yes. The difference is that the "thing" I want more than anything in the world, is a person or more accurately, a relationship restored with a person (people). It is the one thing that brings incredible joy into life and yet, in the absence of it, life is dull, mundane, and dark.

And in the third situation - yes. But this time, the "it" is something entirely non-tangible... a feeling, a drive, a forward looking desire.

And yet, being able to understand her question - her hurting search for an answer - I cannot answer it. If I could answer her, in theory, it would mean that I had the answers for myself. That I had lived through my own period of longing for something that I could pass on the infinite wisdom of days gone by. I am not sure what kind of answer she was ever expecting or if she even realized that her question could never truly be answered. Perhaps my response is a one word answer. Perhaps all she needed to hear was: life. Life will come and go, life will change and morph... and through that all, life will bring desires, pains, wants, needs, and above all - questions. But, as life always does, the circle will turn and experience will provide us with the wisdom we need to understand, to grow, to seek further.

How Do you Solve a Problem Like Maria?

Anyone who has seen the Sound of Music film from the 1960-1970's will be able to sing the first line of this song in which the sisters of the order sing about a woman who doesn't seem to fit quite right into the vision of their convent. The life long question that they sing about, is asking how they can solve a problem that is a person. Maria. (aka, Julie Andrews).

What Mother Superior eventually learns, through a series of events, conversations, and failed missions, is that most simply put: you can't.

You cannot "solve" a problem that is someone else. Sometimes, this is the most difficult lesson in life to learn.

The young man I support on a daily basis, will always suffer from the effects of his mother drinking while pregnant. He will never be able to see consequences before he is right in the midst of them. Regardless of how one attempts to reward this young man throughout his life, some would say that he is never, really able to appreciate them. He will do things because someone else, removed from his life, tells him that it's a good idea to do them instead of understanding why, how, or who.

I understand now (and only now) why parents of disabled children get so incredibly frustrated with the system. The system tries to put their child in a box, label them, and send them off into the world of man-eating fish.

Along with a few other mountains in life right now, I am attempting to climb this one. I truly believe, somewhere deep down inside, that this young man is no different than Maria. He is trapped in the walls of a convent, unable to express who he is as a person. A human being. A child of a loving God.

I have three hours before I will show up at work with him today. The topic of discussion that is waiting for me when I get there has to do with whether or not this young man is capable of raising and training a 9 week old puppy. While the majority of people seem to be singing about wanting to "solve the problem", I am internally torn. The problem that requires solving is not this young man, but the conditions in which he lives.

If you'll excuse me, time is running out. I need to try and find my voice - buried somewhere in this pile of blankets. Enough is enough. Someone needs to stand up for him, the puppy, and a future of hope and love. If no one else is going to, then look out because I will.

Life vs the Fog

It is not a large picture. It does not need to be. Everyone can relate to that feeling of helpless lostness when travelling through a foggy patch. I was reminded of this in a very tangible way as I was on my way home from hockey tonight/this morning (our ice time was at 11pm so I arrived home around 1 in the morning).

For drivers (around here anyways), driving in fog requires the perfect balance between driving with a sense of confidence and competence, and tentative caution. Realistically, one could hit a deer or moose and be in serious trouble at any point along the familiar stretch of road and with heavy fog, it is impossible to see anything until it is right in front of you... when it is often much to late to react safely. The same is true for cars or other hazards. A car may have applied their brakes in plenty of time, have properly indicated they are turning and yet... as the car behind them, one has no idea until they are literally feet behind the virtually stopped car.

However, for ones own safety, it is best to drive faster than a snails pace so as to not be rear ended by the over zealous truck that is screaming down the highway. Often, the fog will not lift or disperse if you drive slower... and the flip side to driving a relatively safe and quick pace is that one is through the worst of the fog within seconds and back to being able to drive safely with 100% visibility.

Funny how often life is manifest in the weather situation, do you not agree? How there are always going to be some moments in life in which, momentarily and short term - the answer seems to be that we ought to just stop. Pull over to the side of the road, maybe wait until mid morning for the fog to burn off before continuing on our way. There will most definitely always be those moments in life in which we can not see how many fingers we are holding up, let alone where to turn, where to run, where to hide, where to venture, where to conquer. Those moments in which we are truly overtaken by circumstances beyond our control.

The only challenge that the life/fog paradox poses is that with fog, even an elementary child could point out that the sun will eventually come out and burn through the lower level of cloud or after a certain period of time, the fog will truly lift and no longer be an issue. This is a proven, scientific fact. We know "x" will happen because "y, d, a and n" happened. But with life, the story is different. We don't know what the variables "y, d, a, and n" truly are. Nor do we have the insight to "guesstimate" whether or not "x" is even possible.

Someone should work on changing that sometime soon. Just sayin'...

Dear God

Dear God,

I just want to make it clear at the outset that a letter such as this does not constitute a return from my leave of absence, nor should it be heard as a plea, prayer, or "please" list; just for the record, a letter is not to be viewed as being on talking terms and in this particular case, does not require or necessitate a response (verbal, spiritual, physical, emotional... or any other way that the Holy Spirit may choose to correspond).

I know that we are not talking and may not for awhile yet, but, if we were... I might say this:

Gracious Father,

Years ago, you taught me in an incredibly tangible way, that we need to give to you what is yours; just as a shepherd is the only one who ever really knows his sheep and a master toy maker is the only that can ever truly fix one of his toys... only you can bring peace to minds and hearts of your children. In that spirit of internal healing and understanding, I carry two fellow sheep to the feet of the Great Shepherd now.

In a spirit of acceptance, may each of them in turn, come to know that your love sees no bounds or limitations, transcending all humanly created labels and illnesses. If they fidget while in your arms, may you hold them ever closer as a confirmation that they are not alone and are very much in the arms of love, both tangible and non. May each one of their many tears be dried and consoled and their pain, subside.

But most of all, may each of them be completely overcome and transformed by a sense of indescribable grace so that, once back on the ground, they are confident of the hills there are to climb, resting assured in the faith that you will not leave them to struggle or wander too far or long.

Praying this in the true spirit that unites us all as brothers and sisters in you,

Amen

I guess it's a good thing that we aren't currently talking because that prayer would be a lot to remember every night for a few nights. Oh, and just before I go to attempt sleep for an hour or two, in case you are wondering... I posted this on my blog because I once knew this incredible church go-er and role model who felt strongly that blogs were evil. She was (probably still is) incredibly smart and is right most of the time. I figure if blogs truly are evil, even a silly letter is safe not to be read by you while posted on a blog.

Signed awkwardly in silence

Me.

Lost

Others see me, and tell me that I am lost. They point me out to all their friends and whisper about how I have strayed from "the way", whatever "the way" really is. To them, I am different. I no longer do things the same way that they do, nor pretend to understand the same things they pretend to. Although I look the same as I always have, to them... for some reason, I am different.

But they are wrong. I dare not tell them, for I fear their reaction. I have not changed at all; au contrar as the French would say, for on the contrary, I have not changed. I have withdrawn.

I have pulled myself away from this insane world we all call home for a moment of solace. In an attempt to figure things out, I have pulled back. It is here that I sit, confused, quiet, and tearful. There is nothing that I can do to ease the pain of a loved one or to soothe their stormy lives and so here I pause. I am trying to find courage, discover strength, inspire hope. I am not punishing myself or satisfying those who wish not to see me... but simply problem solving or pondering the many paths I can take upon leaving this inner wilderness. I just need to think through what would be the best for you, one of the few people I would do anything for.

A little rattled

I was asked out today...

... by an occupational therapist who was working with the character I was portraying...

... who seemed to be quite serious about her question about going to the movies, dinner and coffee...

... and who may have been another female.

None of this was actually scripted in the role and while I was banking on some de-briefing afterwards with one of the trainers who was also there doing a role, I was unable to locate her after the sessions were completed.

Um.... can you spell, "AWKWARD" ?? Not really sure how to even go about de-briefing that experience. Hopefully, sometime before this gal graduates, one of her educators or peers will sit down with her and let her know that some things really ought to be left out of counselling/interview sessions with patients. Maybe?

If I could make you tea

what would I say? What would we chat about? Would I ask you all about heaven and what God really looks like? Would I beg for details on the heavenly choir? Would I ask you who you've met and what you've done? Would I tell you how great you look? How strong and whole you look? Would I ask you if you remember me like I remember you? Would I tell you tale of how I met a boy and how I managed to graduate from University with a 4.0 graduating average? Would we take our tea for a walk? Would you like to stretch your legs or do you get a lot of exercise in heaven? Would I share with you the excitement of learning how to wakeboard, the last Harry Potter movie or the fact that our hockey team is going to win ol' Stanley this year? Would I tell you about my hockey team and how it is shaping up to be the best season yet? Maybe I would tell you about the job that I got and how wonderful the people are that I work with and ask you about your most favourite job?

Would we sit in silence and simply sip our tea, doing nothing more than enjoying each others company once again?

Or would you want to hear about what is really going on and how I'm doing? Would you cut down my "I'm good" with a hearty, "I know you're lying, what is really going on?"? Would I be able to tell you how it sucks because in theory, it should get easier to miss someone. But you, seem to be the exception? Would I share with you how painfully horrid the last year has been because it was mom and dad's 25th wedding anniversary, and when everyone was having a grand ol' time, someone asked about you and where you were? Could I tell you about trying to do everything I could to help Gramma celebrate her 70th birthday without you by her side? Or what about the 50th wedding anniversary that also would have been this year? Would you be open to listening to me cry about all the "what could have beens" over the past 3 years and how, time after time, I screwed them up - with exponentially increasing amounts of mistakes and never learned until after the fact - how incredibly wrong I was, both about myself and the situation?

Whatever the case might be, when the strained tea begins to pour out in our cups signalling the empty pot, I would stop talking. And there I would sit, on the side of the hill, and hug you until you had to go. Because really, that's all that matters. Is that everything else aside, you know that you are loved and missed and thought of often. And in all truth, no one really needs words to express that.

Until the next time, Cheers Grandad!

An odd day

... and I'm still in bed.

It was a long night with very little sleep happening and while I cannot comment in detail, the summary sounds something like this.

Yesterday, I had two hours of training for an exam that I am working at the end of the month and while this would normally cause me to be absolutely ecstatic (and doubly so as the race car driving friend was DOING the training), it was an immense struggle. Because life happens, I had not looked over the material as well as I should have, even the intelligent questions that I had about it were asked all whilst still sounding stupid, and I even flubbed up one of the easier questions I was asked over that two hour span.

Then, while at work, the young man that I work with had asked if he could put his phone number and coinciding picture in my phone in case I was ever going to be late, (or whatever) and then I could call and let him know. Thinking this was a totally reasonable request, I did not even hesitate to pass my phone over. He was playing around with it as we drove the 30 minutes to our destination, not giving it back to me until we arrived to where we were going and he got sidetracked with catching up with old friends. Totally ok. However, as I was dropping him back off at home, he began apologizing and told me that he may have forgot to hang up from a call or two when he was looking through the contact list.

Sure enough, checking my "who did I call" list, I came across two individuals in my contact list that I had not called personally and whose calls lasted upward to 10 minutes in duration (presumably, this was the point in which their answering machine cut my phone off). Completely embarrassed and apologetic for potentially using up their mailbox, impacting their day, and the like... I called them both back immediately, apologizing for what had happened.

Then, last night on the way to hockey, there I am.... driving down the highway into the city when I start crying. There was no valid reason. I assure you. Rather, I was told by siblings that my car drew the short stick and would need to be parked outside that night so that they didn't have to get up and scrape their windows. For whatever reason, I felt the need to cry.

While at hockey, was defending our goalie in our end of the ice, when some large man from the opposing team came plouging into me from behind. This is, as you know hockey fans, illegal. After an NHL player got his neck snapped because of a hit from behind, this move is enough to earn you an immediate removal from the game as well as a review from the league in which you play. However, the referee felt that this hit did not even warrant a whistle and completely outraged, I first went after the player and then the referee. At which point, there was a game misconduct awarded, but not to the other man, but myself.

For what's it worth, I hate Oct. 7th. Three years ago yesterday marked the day I lost my grandfather and one year ago yesterday marked the day I got a phone call from across the country and seminary life as I knew it, was done.

Sigh.

Today is a day of trying to move forward and find tiny things in life to celebrate - like the fact that it is snowing outside. However, I think that the best way to accomplish that would be to pull the guitar, tune 'er up, and to sing the song that I wrote for a man who deserves to be remembered. Today just as much as yesterday and tomorrow.

Life in the real world

So...

In the real world (of the big, working people), one is expected to get up excessively early to shower before work. It is important to show up to one's job looking presentable and preferably, not smelling like bonfire smoke and a weekend of no-showers.

Check. I got up at 630, stood in line for the shower, put some food in my stomach, and was off to conquer the world.

Alas, I showed up with my tea in hand only to discover that there was a mix up at the office and actually, there was not going to be any training today. Greeeeeeat.

In the real world, people are able to wear runners or closed toe shoes to work, to work out, or when it's cold and miserable as it is today.

However, I joyfully received a call from my doctor's office to say that in fact, the surgeon that my family doctor referred me to, is unable to take my case at this time. Double freakin' great.

ANNNNNND, in the real world, people are able to send their regrets for a meeting, especially when the notice given to them was given on extremely short notice (ie: Friday night at 9pm when the meeting was Monday evening). Pretty hard to find a replacement on that incredible short notice, especially if you are an employee who believes that people's weekends ought to be kept as sacred, family time. So instead, apparently it's acceptable in the "real" world for a team leader (WHOM YOU'VE NEVER MET) to call you, yell at you, and expect you to drop whatever you are doing to attend a "meeting" where everyone can sit around a table, harboring all their negative energies toward each other, and chat about their true colours in that pathetically fake voice.

Fuck. Some days I really hate being a part of this ridiculous "real world" that is home to pathetic adults with screwed up priorities.

Lord I hope this Day is Good

This morning I am reminded of an eerie Anne Murray recording of "Lord, I hope this day is good". Today marks day four of training in which my patience is tested and my ability to hold my tongue is required. Who would have thought that 20 some employees, both old and new, are completely set in their ways? Who would have thought that adult learning would be a challenge in understanding: trying to figure out what baggage load people are carrying in with them to be saying what they are and doing what they are.

Today is the turning point from working 12 hours to 24 hours as tonight is the first hockey game of our official preseason and tomorrow transitions into the on shift 48 hour weekend. Oye.

Yesterday's work shift started with a call to my cell phone mid-afternoon informing me that the young man I support was on his way to the hospital for swallowing something that was ultimately dangerous.

Four hours later, my role transitioned to one of comfort and back rubbing as the induced vomiting began. Somehow this aspect of the job is considered required and covered by a job description. Who knew?!

It is quite the experience working entirely in the secular world, but more on that later. For now, I must drag my butt out of bed for another long day in the office.

"Lord, I hope this day is good

I'm feeling empty like you knew I would

I should be thankful, Lord, I know I should

But Lord, I hope this day is good

I don't need fortune and I don't need fame

Send down the thunder Lord, send down the rain

But when you're planning just how it will be

Plan a good day for me

You' ve been the kind since the dawn of time

All I'm asking is a little less crying

It might be hard for the devil to do

But it would be easy for You."

Stupid Phrase of the Day

I drove said friend back to her place so that I could stop by and pick up something that they had brought back for me from the neighbouring province while competing in auto-cross nationals.

Her husband was driving their car home and made sure to say, "so... I wonder who will get home first" as we were about to pull out of the parking lot. We followed him out of the lot and were doing very well until we surprisingly came to a set of railway tracks with the loud dinging and bars coming down.

Sitting there for a solid 15 minutes, we talked about graffiti, break-ins, stupid criminals, baseball bats, criminal charges for battery of a criminal... sure - definitely random things to talk about as we watched and waited for the long (and slow!) train to pass, but I think we were both exhausted.

When the gates finally lifted and we were on our way, it was when we went to turn left (across the lane of traffic) to head back to her house that I truly demonstrated how completely exhausted I was - mentally and all.

"Oh my! That is a very long lane of traffic. I wonder what the hold up is... did we pass an accident or something?"

Said friend simply turned and stared at me until I managed to glance over and meet her gaze.

"Ummm... do you think that it *might* have ANYTHING to do with the long train that we just watched go by?"

Oh. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Nevermind then. Resume previous conversation. Oye. Leave it to me to bring home the intelligent, misplaced phrases and questions. ;)

Don't Want the Day to End

Today whizzed by. In more ways than one. I was invited to attend an auto-cross event in which a friend and co-worker was racing her car (as well as her husband). They are truly wonderful people to be around and I think there was more laughing done today than in the past month. I was told this afternoon that I was a bad influence for said friend because she strives to make me laugh because when I am laughing, I say something stupid that makes her laugh and we get caught in this vicious (albeit, hilarious) circle.

And although I am completely exhausted and my pillow is calling me, I really do not want this day to end. I got word today that my next youngest sister is moving back home. While this is good news because it means that the relationship with her abusive boyfriend is going to cease to exist, it also means that family dynamics will once again be thrown into the blender. It means that my personal routine will need to change so that it can accomodate her schedule (which is quite different from mine) and personal and quiet space will become even harder to claim. We are both incredibly stubborn and while we used to be the best of friends, we now simply co-exist. Who knows - maybe having the prodigal daughter return home will be good for everyone, but I am just a little skeptical.

Annnnd, underlying this anxiety and array of mixed feelings, I am dreading the upcoming weeks. I work four hours tomorrow night (in which I am scheduled to work past my normal bedtime) and have to be at work for 9am the next morning. I am in training until 4:30pm and have to race over to Cory's house for 5pm. I get off from there at 9pm. This is the routine until Friday. However, added to those insanely long days, on Wednesday - I have to get up and be out of the house by 630am, drive to the local University, pick up some paperwork, and get back into the nearby town for 9am. On Thursday, after I get off work at 9pm, I return home, pick up my hockey gear and play a late game (1045 start, 2 hour ice slot). And Friday, go from work at 9pm, over to another house in which I am looking after 3 ladies (one of whom apparently does not sleep) and remain there until Sunday night at 9pm.

The next week is much the same - although the training goes from 9am - 5pm and then a frantic rush to get to Cory's house as soon as I can. The catch on the second week of 12 hour shifts is that Cory and Nathan are moving into a new house. This means that the upcoming two weeks will be primarily centered around packing them up, moving them out, unpacking them, cleaning old house (which will be a job and a half) and getting them settled in a new neighbourhood.

Oye. That said, as much as I don't want the day to come to an end - it will. It always does. Means that I should really turn in and try and sleep - although the adrenhaline from today is still surging strong...

If I can survive the next two weeks, stay tuned for the ridiculousness that will be my life.

Astonished

So I will need to finish this post at a later point as there are errands to run today as we are praying it might be the last day of harvesting for this season. Ah! So fast this year as a reflection on the poor quality of crops.

Just a quick note to say that yesterday was a rough day.

I was in a bad mood starting off my day because I drove 45 minutes to meet someone who, once again, did not show up, did not answer their phone or call or even apologize for not showing up. I am torn on whether I should scream or cry... so I did some of both.

Following this lovely start, I raced back into town to meet with Gramma. She recently purchased a laptop (so proud of her!) and needed help getting it set up and such. So, that required a bit of work yesterday and will take up a large chunk of this afternoon as well.

Annnnnd, to top the day off, I took Cory to the local leisure center to work out for a couple of hours. It was a great start - got our hot green bands of shame (as he likes to call them) and headed upstairs to do a few laps around the indoor track. I began jogging at a slow pace, but he was off - like the wind. Literally.

Omg - sweetest kid ever. He ran so incredibly fast and when he reached the turn at the other end, in his 19 year old sass, turns around and goes, "let's go turtle!" I had to laugh. He's hilarious. So as we continued doing some laps, he began to tell me that because he is "an Indian, I can actually run faster in bare feet - no shoes and no socks" - and off he went, sprinting to the end again.

However, there were two young men (probably not older than Cory) who were between Cory and I - one of whom, burst out laughing at Cory's carefree running.

To my shock, horror, awe, and pounding heart - it was my cousin.

Words cannot describe what I wanted to do to Matthew. Hopefully my temper will cool by the time Christmas rolls around and the whole family is gathered because otherwise, who knows what might happen.

A silent prayer was said last night in thanksgiving for the gift of temperance and patience - for if I had not had both of them last night, I would have mortified my dear (and stupid) cousin, right in front of his best friend and work out buddy.

What else can be done?

I once had a mentor and friend who used the phrase, "it'll plague me to my grave" to describe those undesirable, untalkable things in life that daily challenged her.

We all have that list of things that, regardless of what we do, will haunt our days until the day we die.

One of mine is the ridiculous, unfounded desire to please people in my life.

The habit is an unhealthy one and while I can recognize this basic fact - it is a behaviour that is insanely difficult to stop participating in.

I agree to meet people who repeatidly stand me up. I get all excited and psyched up to finally see them and catch up. At one point, we were as close as sisters could ever be. Now - I don't even know where we stand. I think I've seen this person twice in the last 8 months. We make plans, arranage the details, I clear my schedule... and they don't show. I sometimes wonder if it would be easier to just cut the loss and walk away, give up, refrain from putting myself in that situation on future occassions. Yet, when they send a public, somewhat sarcastic message about finally meeting up, my desire to please their request grows and I respond - placing myself in the vicious circle once again.

On other occassions, the innate "big sister" in me leads me to opening up in most intimate fashion either spiritually or emotionally (neither of which I am extremely comfortable with) to someone in order to pass on some, remotely related piece of life experience that might help in the situation of a close friend. In the desire to please this person, I go above and beyond what would be considered the norm. Kills me. One email or phone conversation at a time. The serious lack of response on their end is a toxin.

Slowly, I'm learning. As immature as it might sound to some, I make plans with the first individual in a public, busy place so that I may always have proof that I held our plans and showed up, but that no one ever joined me. I work to find the silver lining: a bit of individual time with a cup of tea is not the end of the world every now and again. With others, I am learning that I should not hold my breath for promised updates - when they want to fill me in, they will and their lack of updating should not be a reflection on who I am, but who they are. I am learning that emailing while they are at work, while convienient and possibly desirable for them, usually leads to frustration, hurt feelings, and a series of pointless wonderings on my part.

Contrary to the teachings, I am learning to take the approach of an eye for an eye: if someone wishes to see life from the position of my eyes, they have to be willing to enlighten me from their eye colour first. In order to take, there must be give. From my viewpoint, in the grand universe scheme of things, I deserve to take and not simply give in the give and take spectrum of life.

Maybe I'm just tired, whiney, or downright cranky, but realistically - I'm trying to level some relationships in life - something that has to be done if I am to survive the craziness. Notions of sarcasm and "fairness" only go so far. After that, what else can be done? Bring on the ritual sacrifice of eyes, ears, and any other dual body part we have!

Life is like a trip to the dentist

Okay, so this is going to be an exercise in convoluted thinking, but here goes. Last night was our first hockey game of the season and this meant that I had to dig the mouthguard out of my hockey bag, brush it out, and hold it in my mouth for an hour and a half. It was a test in patience.

Every year I go out and purchase and mould a new mouthguard, promising myself that it will fit and be strong enough for a few seasons of hitting, elbowing, and general tooth protection. However, every year I step out on the ice I am hit by the realization that my teeth have shifted ever so slightly and the mouthguard is now extremely uncomfortable. This realization lead to the impending trip to the dentist this morning to have impressions taken for a new one (a professional one that will hopefully last more than 30 games).

Life is like a trip to the dentist.

Climbing into the chair, the assistant clipped a drool cloth around my neck and begin to put the chair back into it's reclining position for when the doctor came in. At first, I was relatively comfortable - I got to lay there and "relax" for a moment or two.

But then the doctor came in, got his tools, and starting mixing up the cement for the impressions to be taken with. Annnnd, in typical Young Seeker fashion, it was at this moment that I realized how badly I actually had to use the washroom. Even after years of indoctrination from my mother (who works in the dental office), I once again – failed to use the facilities down the hall before climbing into the chair. The unfortunate ending to this story is that dental cement takes about as long to dry (and properly form) in one's mouth as regular, run of the mill, sidewalk brand cement. My bladder and stress level suffered horribly from my poor decision.

"Way why whooze wa waaaafffuum?"

"No, it's best if you don't move while the cement hardens because the more you move, the less likely the mouthguard will fit properly."

You see, at this inoppurtune moment, this young seeker realized just how similar life and the dentist visit really are. In life, we all need a drool bib from time to time - only, we use friends, family, or more unhealthy bibs like drugs, alchohol or shameful habits to catch the run-off from shit-ay circumstances in life that are beyond our control (and sometimes, even the ones that we have full control over!)

And to anyone walking by, the look of horrible discomfort on my face would have simply been attributed to dental-visit nerves, a painful procedure, or inadequate Novacane (freezing). In reality, the problem was an internal problem. I had to pee. In thee worst way. So often, we see someone, friend or stranger, and we assume that we know the causes of their distress or discomfort. 99% of the time, our assumptions are the wrong ones.

Finally, the comparrison is strikingly similar because even when the problem is an internal one, in reality, we are unable to communicate our needs, discomforts, or problems. We lack the language, the articulation, or the courage. Sure, I could have just stood up, walked out, and returned after I silenced the call of my bladder - but honestly... we don't. There are so many reasons and excuses for why we don't, but let's be frank about it - the bottom is that we simply hang tight, suck it up, and get 'er done.

Stop by next time for the blog: God is our Novacane.

Fool-proof Proof that God exists!

It is, by far, thee most childish and immature argument for why I believe God exists more than Santa, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy... but it is a proof that has never let me down. For some reason, it is the proof that I've always clung to and am reminded of each fall. Each time I remember this proof, I make the mental note of filing it in the back of the cabinet under "potential sermon illustration". Here it is.

I know that God exists because unlike Santa, God can hear the prayers that I say in my head; God can read my mind, but if you want Santa to know something, you have to either write it down or say it out loud. I know that God exists because unlike the Easter Bunny, God is capable of gifting more than chocolate and God doesn't leave a mess anywhere; God gifts things like love, forgiveness, grace, and peace, but the Easter Bunny is only capable of gifting those things which come in moulds - most often, in the shape of a bunny and rarely does the Easter Bunny gift anything aside from milk chocolate (not exactly a utility kind of gift). Plus, you don't have to clean up after God, he cleans up after you. But the Easter Bunny requires a pooper-scooper and a large pail in it's wake. Finally, I know that God exists because the rewards of making a sacrifice come in copious showers, but the Tooth Fairy never rewards more than a two dollar coin; God isn't cheap, but the Tooth Fairy certainly is. God understands that having an important, rooted aspect of your life is a painful, tedious process and never puts a numerical value on what is being lost, but the Tooth Fairy seems to think that Novacane makes everything manageable and clearly thinks that being able to break life into bite-size pieces is only worth small coinage. Plus, God does not hold our past against us but that stupid Tooth Fairy holds all the teeth in an envelope in Dad's bathroom - probably just to give back to us when we are old and start to lose these teeth.

I have been up for a few hours already, pre-sunrise thinking about this "proof" and how absolutely certain I was 18 years ago that the proof was infallible. Growing up on the farm, this time of year was one of mixed feelings. We only got to see my dad on Sunday mornings for church, if we got to stay up really, really late, or if it was pouring rain. He would always be out of the house before we got up in the morning and would never get back until after we were in bed. Every night, my mom would hear the instructions that she was to pass onto my dad when he got home. "Tell dad that as SOON as he gets home, to come and kiss me goodnight, make sure that Kristin didn't steal all the blankets or kick me onto the floor. Then, after he showers and eats his supper, tell him to come back in for one more kiss before bed, k?" She would nod, assure us that he always came into our rooms when he got home, kissed us goodnight, and made sure we were all tucked in. Night after night, my sister and I would be scolded for having to "use the bathroom" every five minutes, taking turns to see if dad was home.

If we were lucky, we would get to take supper out to the field for him. We would put milk in a canning jar and essentially, pack a small, cold picnic for him. Annnnd, if we were really lucky (and if the baby was sleeping in the car), we would get to go for a round on the combine with him. On the nights that we didn't go out to the field (we typically only took supper out on the nights where they were going to be combining into the early hours of the morning), we would leave him pictures, mis-spelled notes, and crafts by his plate for him to look at/read/admire while he ate his supper.

And this was the time of year, where part one of the proof was first discovered. Prayers were often said together, post teeth-brushing and pre-tuck in. Together, we would pray for good weather, good crops, safety, for people we loved.... and then silently, I would add a prayer for a whole day of pouring rain. I didn't necessarily want to contradict the good weather prayers that mom prayed for, but I just wanted one day of pouring rain so that dad could stay home.

Sure enough, after what seemed like eternity to a six year old, it rained. Two days straight. I didn't need to say these prayers out loud at bedtime for God to hear them. God heard my prayers for rain and didn't let me down. Now Santa on the other hand, should maybe take a lesson in the non-verbal, silent requests. If he did, I bet there would be a lot more Christmas presents of peace wrapped with a bow under the tree Christmas morning. And probably, a Transformer toy instead of that Barbie.

Thoughts on the day

There is no general theme to this blog, other than maybe the ramblings of a twisted and backwards day and it serves no purpose other than to blurt out the insane ramblings of today, in true Western Canadian fashion... by quoting an influential person from the United States.

In fairness, I shouldn't say that - Canadians are credible for original thought. But, today, I quote someone from the USA. I think I may have commented on this before, but when ++Schori was starting out her ministry, she was asked what the toughest thing for her was, as a Christian. Her response was simple, and yet - soooo incredibly powerful.

"The toughest thing for me is to remember that I am a beloved child of God."

This was the quote that immediately came to mind today as I opened up my email to read one of those chain letter emails that people forward around to everyone on their contact list that was entitled, "3 Things". The email was simple and read:

There are three things you need to do:

#1 Repent

#2 Forgive yourself

#3 Move on with your life

It went on to say that we cannot do anything to change our past, but we can always change our present and future because yesterday ended last night. It was one of those messages with divine timing, I assure you.

You know what though? Number 1 is honestly the easiest to accomplish. 2 and 3 still seem impossible. Instead of forgiving myself or moving on with my life, I am stuck in that vicious circle of repentance and penance (aka, self punishment). What can I say - if you cut me, I will bleed Catholic blood.

I honestly believe that moving onto #'s 2 and 3 requires a firm belief in that lovely statement of ++Schori, which - for this young seeker, is a long ways away. But at least now, I have something to work towards... maybe?

Not for the weak of stomach

Sorry, I apologize in advance for the "graphic" nature of the picture, but this dear toe is the subject of reflection this afternoon.

A few days ago, post the funeral of a young family friend, and before the craziness of this week set in, I went for a hike. Not an incredibly long journey, but long enough that I learned a valuable life lesson... hence, the reflective blog post.

Here is the short story of my toe, or "relatively short story" of my toe. When I was in grade 10, back in 2000, I was going to change from gym class, and had a heavy fire door opened on my toe. I was going into the gym and previous class was leaving. While wearing runners, my toe managed to get wedged between the bottom edge of the door and the floor, resulting in bleeding and a minor annoyance of pain. A few weeks later, before the nail had a chance to fall off, we were playing floor hockey in a friends basement and I managed to "accidently kick" (paradox, I think not!) the piece of 2x4 that was the beginning of them framing their basement. The nail fell off rather painlessly, but has been a pain in the ass ever since. I have had two complete nail ressections (removal of the entire visible nail), endless doctors appointments and open toed shoes, as well as one surgery to go in and remove the nail while also destroying the nail matrix.

Unfortunately, my toenail seems to be a close relative to the raspberry stalk because nothing will kill the damn thing. Since the surgery, the nail has grown back in on a sharp angle (like is seen above) and would catch on anything and everything, pulling it back a little more each time. Things like sheets, blankets, socks, edges of steps, the sidewalk, you name it.

So, really wanting to get out and go hiking this past week, I wrapped the toe in prowrap, and secured that on with a surrounding bandage of hockey tape. That sucker wasn't going to catch on anything as I hiked my way through the bush. About half way through the afternoon though, there was a twinge of pain coming from my foot. Sitting down in a resting grove, I carefully took my boot off, then my sock, and then the first layer of bandage before I noticed some blood.

Carefully cutting off the prowrap and tape together, I could assess the damage more easily. To my surprise, the jagged edge of a nail was gone and I only had some blood to deal with.

It's amazing what our feet can tell us. Before that afternoon, I never would have guessed that my nail had a purpose in my life, but in fact, it's purpose is pretty incredible. You see, when the little piece of nail was there, it was a reminder to slow down and watch where I walked, avoiding anything that might snag and hurt. But without the nail, I am still the same person. There was weeping blood to dry off and clean up, but eventually - the toe stopped bleeding and began to heal over. The pain subsided and I was able to hike back down, the same way I came up.

Sometimes, life is just like a toe. There are days where it might seem incredibly pointless to engage, as though it is something without a deeper meaning. However, if we are attentive enough to our own "selves", we know to look out for snagging material that will cause pain, further injury or headache. And sometimes, unfortunately, we will lose things in life before we want to. (I much rather would have preferred the nail to stay on until the doctor's appointment in September for him to see and evaluate!) But after some weeping and mouring, we will be okay, successful, optimistic in a brighter tomorrow. The pain will fade, the mess will be cleaned up, and the journey will be continued as though our crisis was nothing more than a resting place along the walk.

It seems so mundane and simple and I wish that I would have understood it before now, but I've always been a tangible learner and need to experience things to learn from them. I will miss Reed, the same way I will miss and wish my toenail was still here. Toes are certainly more beautiful when 10 are painted, not just nine; life more beautiful and spectacular with dear friends and near family. There will always be a gap in the nailpolish, but that's okay. My toe, just like my life over the past little while, was a learning experience I wish to never forget and may the (temporarily) nail-less toe be a reminder of the incredible grace and peace I experienced on that hillside that afternoon. And may this ugly looking toe be a gentle whisper reminder of the slow turning point to come back home, out of the bush - and into light of life. TBTG!