When you are looking here... it's happening there...

Okay, I admit.

It is a super lame title for a chapter. Let's see you come up with something more creative than that after a full day of studying ob-gyn and community health. Ugh.

So... this summarizes my life to a tee...

I am house-sitting a dog for friends of mine and I return home from a long day at school to the foul smell of dried dog-piss. Worst. Smell. Ever! Some people will say that nothing is worse than the smell of brussel sprouts, but they lie. Tell them to look after a poorly trained puppy and then they will understand that nothing really beats that smell on the foul-scale.

Anyway... house-sitting a dog. That was the point of the story... not the smell thing.

So I take the dog's mat outside into the backyard when I let the dog out. Standing the mat against the fire pit in their backyard, I get the hose and spray the living snots out of that stupid mat in hopes that the smell would leave. After spraying it for an extended (!!) amount of time, I leave it propped by the fire pit and run back into the house to scrub the kennel down. This smell has GOT to go! However, I was so focused on scrubbing the smell out, I forgot to watch the mat and dog in the backyard. Needless to say, this severely untrained puppy took the wet mat and dug a hole in the backyard and proceeded to BURY THE MAT! So, now I had to re-wash the mat, wash the dog, ANNNNND fill a giant hole.

The same is true internally. I was so focused on the fact that these two years would be a time of spiritual seeking and reconciling and while I was giving that my full attention, I failed to see how other aspects of my life were starting to heal up.

Two years into my first undergraduate degree, my naive and positive outlook on life was violently shattered. Fast forward through some hospitalizations, panic attacks, and months of counselling and I would have sworn that I was "good to go!"

However, then as a requirement for this undergraduate program, I found out that I was required to do an ob-gyn, maternity, post partum rotation. I did everything I could (EEEEEVERYTHING) I could to get out of having to do this rotation. I contacted the course lead and begged to do my entire rotation in post partum, working with newborn babies... the answer was a bold-type NO. I asked my post partum tutor if I could do the duration of my assignment with infants rather than labouring moms and again, the answer was... NO. Though, the tutor actually laughed a little before she said no. I visited my wonderful family doctor and requested a doctor's note to excuse me from this rotation for "religious reasons". Her initial reaction was just laughter. I guess I have a way of sounding funny when I'm really worked up?

My family doctor actually did come 'round once she knew my reasons for wanting to avoid the placement, truly giving me the choice of whether or not to go through with the rotation. In her best wisdom, she helped me figure out what the pros/cons were to both doing or neglecting the placement and then willingly wrote a doctors note to excuse me from having to witness any births and sent me on my way with Ativan.

To my surprise, once I finished up the post partum portion of the placement and transferred over to the screaming moms in agony, the labour-tutor was incredibly understanding as well. Our discussion went something like,

"I really, really, reeeeeally don't want to be here"

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What can I do to make your time here manageable?"

"Let me go to the pre-term unit and play with pre-term babies all day?"

"Not until you see a birth. It is actually a beautiful thing. Don't you want to have kids one day?"

"Heeeeeeeeeeeello adoption!"

She thought that I was "genuinely humourous" and literally walked me through the process as best she could. Together, we chose a woman who was labouring with her fourth child. When it came time for this patient to push, she pushed for a grand total of 3 minutes and 21 seconds. At which point, I happily excused myself and went to spend the last portion of my placement in the nursery.

But the weirdest thing came of my experience at the hospital. Aside from deciding with certainty that I would NEVER have kids of my own, I began to feel as though I could conquer the world. Really, as lame as it sounds, I had just overcome that which previously, scared me to the point of not sleeping, not keeping food in, and not really breathing. I most certainly did not execute myself in perfect form or with the utmost grace, but I did it! It was not tear-less, anxiety-less, or sarcasm-less, but it also was not me-less.

From there, I had the courage to somehow follow through with one of my assignments to follow a midwife around for a clinical day. I swear it is only by the utter grace of God that I, one student among 70-0dd students, am selected for a midwifery experience rather than any of the other long list of possible experiences. There, I spent 11 hours learning that the hospital way is not the only way and that there are humane experiences of pregnancy. 11 hours in which I was not forcing healing to happen, and yet... it was. Just learning the fact that contrary to the hospital pathway, particular patient histories do not always necessitate cesarean sections and that the pregnant couple have full power of decision making, not un-involved physicians who get paid more for 'complicated delivery procedures' was enough to perpetuate healing.

Aaaaaand, as if that wasn't enough of a step forward, yesterday found myself sitting at the University Health Services awaiting an 'initial intake' with a psychologist. Unlike this time last year, I was actually able to articulate three 'priority needs' for the 12-sessions I am entitled to as a student. Granted, my second and third priority and reason for seeking psychological services both had "related to number one" written beside it, this is both huge and awesome!

Finally, as a true testament to the grand improvements that seem to be happening in life, I was able to attend not one, but two massage therapy appointments in the past three weeks. While these appointments would be heavenly relaxation to most, being able to trust someone enough to be able to lay on my stomach, having severely limited vision because of having to put one's face in that stupid face-toilet-bowl-shaped-thing, while the almost-complete-stranger makes physical contact with the clothes-limited me... is... exciting beyond words!

For those who know me even slightly, they know that this last step is truly reflective of the inner healing that has already started. Seeds that were planted in this heart of dirt over these past two years are now sprouting through the black soil in search of the sunlight warmth. I only have a mere 6 months left in the program, but that is more than enough time in my humble opinion, to continue on this journey. And, as I said to someone today, even if I never actually nurse a day in life (I *will* nurse, but if I never got the chance to), I now understand why I embarked upon this particular journey almost two years ago.

So, while I was busy trying to scrub the smell out of this spiritual kennel of mine, the healing was continuing to grow in my flower pot. The seeds that were planted over the years by nursing instructors who claimed that my brick walls were too high and suggested some level of psychotherapy... those incredibly loving people who let me hang out and play music with them every now and again without any church requirements, constantly reminding me of the fact that I am loved for who I am and where I am on this journey...those people who remind me all the time that ultimately - I just need to be me. Me, the genuinely humourous child who needs the reminder to water the plant every now and again.

Crazy how that works, isn't it? I should know by now that things never really happen how we plan them out to, but rather - they happen when we least expect them, don't feel ready or worthy of them, and when we have the inner strength to laugh at the pure irony and coincidence of the timing of them.

A Time for Change

For years... literally, more years than I can remember, I have had this set of flannel sheets. They started off being a royal blue with little yellow stars and cute little sheep as the print; however, after all this time, the blue is now a blue-grey hue, the stars are essentially white (occasionally a yellow one pops up) and the sheep are now replaced with holes of worn fabric.

I know that I need to change the sheets and put my summer ones on, which is normally a happy thing. But today... today there is the realization that when I take the sheep off the bed this season, that will mark the end of their reign as my sole set of comfy flannel. It is like the end of an era.

"...now I lay my sheep to sleep, I pray the Lord their soul to keep..." Well, not quite, but... kinda.

I have fought this life transition so hard and so stubbornly, it is starting to reach the point where my sheets almost have their own aromatic odor. Let me state that I have washed them through the winter, but up until now, I just have not had the inner strength I need in order to change them... one. more. time.

But something changed inside of me this week and I cannot quite put my finger on what that is. I can identify the turning point as being a chat with a friend on our break at an exam... but I cannot put my finger on that "one" thing that changed in order to make this level of inner peace possible.

It was kind of cool actually - it was like a turning point in our friendship. There she was, all wise and crap, being all logical and continually saying, "... but I don't understand your resistance". And for those of you who know this stray little sheep well, know that this would normally make me turtle. My "usual" response to a phrase like this would be, "yea, you're right. Should just get 'er done" and then make a mental note not to share my inner turmoil with that particular friend in the future. But this time... this time, something was different. Maybe it was her patience in waiting out the awkward silence as I tried to find the words to articulate my puking-in-my-mouth fear of the change. And lo and behold, I did!

So together, we sat for no longer than 30 minutes, but we managed to come up with a workable solution: going to talk with someone who would know more of how to help me face this transition... this upcoming hill. And no joke, I slept better that night than I have in weeks.

This week, I found myself sitting in the office of a most superb health professional - you know, that kind that (unlike the majority of their colleagues) goes above and beyond the call of duty. And by the shear grace and "rah-rah-rah" strength of distant friends, I was able to share with her why I could not face the sheet-change era of my journey.

SHE THANKED ME! I am still in shock. This health professional actually thanked me for sharing this piece of my journey with her... she said that she was humbled... and thanked me some more. We chatted briefly about what my two options were - she wrote a note essentially giving me and the higher ups permission to delay the sheet change and then she gave me a list of options that were available for support should I feel called to take the plunge and change the sheets.

It blows my mind... a month ago, I would still be fighting the higher ups, the health professional and the friends... I would fight until I was blue in the face that I needed these sheets to cling to every night for safety... for security... for peace of mind... and for the ability to remember to BREATHE. But this morning, I find myself thinking about actually changing the sheets.

The weather outside is gorgeous - so I could wash my summer sheets and hang them outside for "to die for" summer smell and I could cut these sheep up so that I had a new saxophone-polishing rag, piano dusting rag, and maybe even a square or two for the quilt I am working on (there are some decent patches left on these sheets).

I don't feel like I have the strength or courage to conquer the world yet... but I feel... okay. at peace. rested. I have finally been given the keys that I need to unlock doors which were previously bolted, boarded, and blockaded.

Then again, maybe I am just finally maturing.

Oh the Lord Heals in Mysterious Ways

I think this is going to be the title of a song soon to be written at a later date; I honestly thought that there was something already by this title, but I cannot find it anywhere... which only means... it remains to be written.

:)

So if there is anyone out there who thinks that the Holy Spirit is just a silent partner in the Trinity, they really just ought to walk a week in my shoes to find out that this is not at all the case. The most recent example in which I am left with my mouth hanging open in awe took place last Sunday.

It was a Sunday morning in which I had no other commitments in my morning; I was not scheduled to play music anywhere, there were no exams to work or papers to write. I was not scheduled to be at work until 1300H, which left my morning, wiiiiiiide open.

Late Thursday afternoon, I received a very delayed response from an old friend apologizing for missing my earlier email regarding Ash Wednesday service times. She told me about the upcoming services for Holy Week and mentioned that it would be great to see me if my schedule permitted. I sent a quick reply back mentioning the idea that I might be present on the Sunday morning and left it at that.

I arrived to the church 4 minutes before the service was scheduled to start, found a make-shift parking spot, and quietly "snuck" into the church without really making eye contact with anyone or chatting about anything; I managed to find a seat in which there was plenty of space between myself and everyone else near the back of the church (easy for a quick escape).

The service started out as "normal" as normal could be. The words found their way to my lips without any struggle or prolonged searching... it was like I hadn't been away from the church at all.

...and then the first reading started...

"The Lord said to Samuel, 'How long will you grieve over Saul?'" and it was as though there was no other place I was supposed to be. It was as though I, personally, was being asked the rhetorical question of, "how long will you grieve over not being in the ordination stream?"... or "how long will you grieve over the relationships that are seemingly lost?"... or "how long will you grieve?" In it's own way, it was a wake up call for me. I have literally spent YEARS (I think I'm coming up on four years?) mourning what could have been and would have been if I had not completely screwed it up. Spent years in hiding, hoping that my relationship with God and the other individuals would completely dissolve as an expression of the punishment I deserved for screwing up in the first place... and now, was being asked just how long I was intending on wasting time on this spiritual journey living in this state of self-inflicted grief.

From there, I forget what the second reading was, but the Gospel was about the Blind Man who was gifted back his sight by the Lord. I cannot pretend that all the mud was completely wiped clean from my eyes and my heart in one service, but there was a tiny crack in the dried mud that let just enough light through for me to realize... I was not alone. My eyes... and my heart... were opened, even if just a little.

But following the Gospel, there was something I had never witnessed before in a service... there was not a sermon. Instead there was a "personal witness"; the parishes lay reader stood up in the middle of the church with his booming voice, and told the congregation of his great life trial and now God remained there. Even in the darkest of hours, God remained faithfully there. And then, one of the associate priests stood up and shared her story about how she found healing in forgiving others. But not just forgiving people, but forgiving people who had committed suicide and would never know they were forgiven. The journey of forgiving people who meant a lot to her, including herself.

And then, as if my head wasn't exploding enough at that point, the old friend who was presiding - stood up and transitioned the congregation into a healing service. All three clergy stood at the altar rail, anointing members of the congregation that approached them... for healing! My butt stayed firmly glued to my seat and I merely listened to the music that was being played/sung and just took it all in; while I am not quite ready to march up there and ask for prayers of healing and anointing, there was an insane and bizarre feeling of healing in just being present. Being among others who were hurting and in need of healing for whatever reason. I don't think I can even put the feeling into words... but the majority of the congregation was going up to the front at their turn and similarly to the blind man in the Gospel, I was starting to realize what it meant to see the healing of God incarnate.

They were opened enough to see that I am not alone in experiencing some type of spiritual distress and darkness... there were others (and lots of them!) who were facing periods of wilderness and darkness. My eyes and heart opened enouigh to see that it is completely acceptable to carry oneself as far as the foot of the cross before kneeling in humble need to ask God and the church, to carry them in the time of trial. It was absolutely phenomenal! I think part of me was previously living in doubt and thought that only one or maybe two people would ever open themselves in such a humbling manner to God's healing love and grace. Soooo incredible and soooo, beyond words.

And, just to keep in the mind-blowing aspect of things, the closing hymn was "We Cannot Measure How You Heal". The second and third verse of the hymn were:

"The pain that will not go away

the guilt that clings from things long past,

the fear of what the future holds,

are present as if meant to last.

But present too, is love which tends the hurt we never hoped to find,

the private agonies inside,

the memories that haunt the mind.

So some have come who need your help

and some have come to make ammends,

as hands which shaped and saved the world

are present in the touch of friends.

Lord, let your Spirit meet us here

to mend the body, mind and soul,

to disentangle peace from pain

and make your broken people whole"

I sat there and had to re-read the lyrics over and over and over again because I could not believe that someone I had never met could write a song that not only spoke my story, but read the unspoken of my heart. The only part that I wasn't sold on was how one who was soooo very far from home could feel God's love in the touch of friends. I have spent the last two years ENSURING that I was encircled by secular people as I worked on my nursing degree... and when I felt that I could finally walk on my wobbly legs, I went to leave the church.

Wanting to avoid the shaking of hands with the clergy, I went over to the far door to leave. However, apparently someone much bigger and wiser than I had different plans. For by the time I could get to the entryway, the lay reader was waiting for me with an outstretched hand, waiting. And before I could get outside the church, the priestly friend had a huge hug waiting.

I guess some might call it a coincidence that my schedule was open on this particular Sunday at 1030... that after all this time away from my home, I felt this urge to go to church... that the service just happened to be a healing service... that two people shared stories that would resonate in ways that they will probably never realize... that God ensured I was tangibly shown His touch before running out.. and that the readings and music could have just as easily had my birthdate and name in them as identifiers... but those are a LOT of weirdly connected coincidences.

Yes, most definitely, the Lord begins the hard work of healing our broken and shattered hearts, in thee most mysterious and holy of ways.

Hope... better deemed... Expectation.

It would seem that Advent would be an odd time for a lost and wandering sheep to offer thoughts on this Advent journey through the desert, but whatevs... I'm all about oddness.

Can you believe that for 20-odd years, I lived my life not realizing there were "themes" to each one of the Advent weeks? It's sad, yet entirely true. I clearly was not paying enough attention during Sunday morning homilies to recognize and distinguish one week from the next. However, I must admit, I am a convert. I kind of like having a bit of direction... a bit of a theme to live that week within.

Hope.

A few years ago, our Diocese was fortunate enough to have a Brother from the Taize community in France come and lead a youth retreat. His theme for the weekend was none other than "hope" and for some reason, I got volunteered to give a testament of how I personally experienced and lived out "hope" in a tangible way. I'm pretty sure I blabbed on about something completely removed from what I should/could have said because in all honesty, I was not really the right person for the job and frankly, had nothing positive to contribute to the concept.

However, years later, I had a child teach me what it meant to hope in something... to place expectations in something and that is the story I feel compelled to share.

It was a cold and snowy December night in the final days before Christmas; the roads were icy, the temperature in the low 30's (C), and anyone in their sane mind would have been spending the Friday evening at home with the fireplace going and Christmas music playing. It was the night that the local "inner city parish" was hosting a musical/narrated production of "Touched by a Child" as a fundraiser for a local charity that works to find affordable housing for low income families. The show was sold out, the choir had met every Sunday afternoon for months to practice their four part harmonies, and people with "stories" to share had practiced their dramatic reading numerous times with the local clergy person who wrote the whole production.

The concept was that we, as a music/narrator team, were to tell the story of the Christ child from various perspectives. There was a story from the Inn Keeper, from the Dove, from one shepherd who saw a star in the night sky and followed it to the manger. A total of 5 "stories" were intertwined with music and congregation-inclusive Christmas carols.

Originally, I was to be part of the choir. My untrained alto voice, with enough rehearsals, had almost become acceptable to listen to. However, days before the 'big night', the writer approached me and asked if I might consider reading/sharing the story of the Shepherd because she felt that I could fit the part. It also meant that because I wasn't feeling very well, I could sit with the readers in the congregation rather than being up in the choir roster staring out at the crowd.

I spent that Friday running around to various appointments and late in the afternoon, laid down for a nap. Unfortunately, the nap went longer than expected and I found myself rushing to get out the door in time to battle the road conditions and frigid temperatures. Doing my hair took seconds, I threw on a decent looking outfit, and bolted. I probably sped the whole way, but I literally had to be there. I couldn't bring myself to call the clergy person and say, "sorry, I'm exhausted and it's a no-go".

Arriving at the neatly decorated church, I ran in, dropped my coat, stood in line with the other readers when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

There was one of the choir members I had grown to know over the practices and her 4-5 yr old grandson I had met once (because he was required to sit through a rehearsal). From behind his back, he pulled out a stuffed bear. His words were minimal, but the impact, lasting.

"This will make you better"... and off he ran. His grandmother, my fellow choir member, began to try and explain why I had received the bear. Apparently the funds from the bear were designated to the local children's hospital and when Connor saw the bear and knew that I wasn't feeling well, he insisted that they buy me a bear because his teddy bear always made him feel better.

The tears rolled my cheeks, because it all finally made sense. Conner had placed all of his hopes and expectations in that little stuffed bear... his hopes that it would make me feel better, the expectation that I would be better. He had no understanding of what was going on in my life, but he didn't need to. Because for him, none of the details mattered. All I would need... was in that little bear.

And, just as Conner had placed all of his hope for me in that little stuffed animal, I knew that I in turn, had to place all of my hopes and expectations in the Christ Child that would laying in that manger Christmas Eve... and that if I did that, I would allow myself to be Touched by a Child... Touched by a King.

It seems so stupid that I would need a tangible example of hope before I could physically and spiritually live in it and through it. But truth be told, there is not a Christmas that goes by where I don't pick up that little stuffed bear, give it a hug, and give thanks for a little guy named Connor... who taught what it means to hope and just how I can place all that hope in the birth of that Child, that Saviour, that King.

May we all, this hope-filled Advent week, find that tangible source of hope we seek.

The Little Anglican Piggy

No, I did not over eat the Eucharist tonight and I certainly did not eat too many egg-less pancakes last night, but rather, I feel like the little Anglican piggy who cried all the way home. You know that childhood poem where your Grandma grabs each one of your toes in turn and says, "this little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home; this little piggy ate roast beef while this little piggy had none... and this little piggy, cried all the way home"? While I am not sure who the other four Anglican piggies are in this life-sized scenario, I am certain that I am that last little piggy.

I intentionally waited out in the car until 3 minutes before the service; figured that this would save me from talking to anyone, or worse, seeing someone I knew and bolting. It's not that I want to play hide and go seek with the familiar faces, but after having gone through everything that I have, I don't want my journey to be a public thing. Not yet, anyway. So, having chosen a church in which there is a "university students worship" and a rector that came to the Diocese after I left, I thought I was ready to embark upon a deliberate journey back into good standing with the church - whatever that looks like. No one would be watching me with thoughts of, "wasn't she in seminary" or "she worked at the Synod Office" or anything else... it would be a journey that at first, could be just about God and I.

While I will refrain from commenting on the one or two familiar faces that were present, let me simply say this: the Holy Spirit was wholly, incredibly, and most definitely present.

Although there were tears shed here and there prior to her sermon, they were negligible compared to those that were on the way. The metaphor that University-Chaplain used was that of a palm cross that hung in her front entryway of her house. She spoke of how that little palm cross witnessed her coming in from the world, carrying anger, hurt, resentment, ..... and that same palm cross had seen her enter the world each day with pride, jealousy, ..... and now, tonight, that palm cross was burnt. The last year of wrong doings was forgotten and forgiven, by a Father who wished to create a clean heart in each one of us there. She referenced the movie, "The Bucket List" (which I have yet to see) and how Jack Nickelson realized before it was too late that he had relationships to mend and forgiveness to seek.

And, silently, inside my head (and my heart), I began to shout, "please stop U-C, please stop U-C, please stop U-C" (although I did not say University Chaplain, but rather her name). It was a sermon that my intellect most certainly needed to hear, but my heart felt as though it was slowly being ripped into tiny. little. pieces. It's not necessarily a bad thing - just an incredibly challenging thing.

The sermon was followed by the commonly sung hymn, "Take my Life" - one that holds a lot of personal meaning and has an incredible story and place thus far in my journey - tonight, being no exception.

I think I anticipated going to this service as a mere "next step" - thinking that it would be as easy and jovial as the movie night a week ago. I seemed to have forgotten what this day and this night are really all about. I thought that attending this service would be like playing music at the church on the hill in which I could sit there, completely disengaged from what was being said, and being done.

I think I forgot how much my heart truly felt at home in that Eucharist, that place of worship, that place of holiness, in which the presence of God and the words of the Holy Spirit and the elements of the Son come together in the most perfect song of harmony that could ever fill one's soul.

And so, all throughout the Eucharist, and allllll the way home (about a 45 minute drive), I cried.

I cried a tear for the time I've stayed away because of anger, hurt, and guilt

I cried a tear for the people I have hurt and the way in which I have hurt them

I cried a tear for the life that I left more than a year ago

I cried a tear for the people who believed just as strongly as I did, that I had a call to serve the church

I cried a tear for the desert in which I stand, not sure where to go or how to get there

I cried a tear for the relationships I have broken, the trust I have stolen, and the pain I have

caused

I cried a tear for the one who saw my burdens the moment she met me, but was denied access to my truckwagon because I did not want it unloaded by a stranger

I cried a tear for the way in which I have closed my life off to those who want to see my light shine

I cried a tear for the many experiences that will be no more

I cried a tear in fear of those that still lay ahead

I cried a tear for the pain that was caused by another's words, and the impact it has on my life

I cried a tear in disbelief at the words of the sermon that my heart simply cannot believe in

I cried a tear at how much my palm cross has seen

I cried a tear in stillness and surrender - in awe of how very articulate the experience of returning home can be and how incredibly powerful it is when the spoken word resonates with the sung word to give the reassurance that this lost sheep *will* be found.

The Tides are Changing

This time yesterday morning (almost exactly to the minute), I was standing on a Bahama beach in sandals, a pair of long shorts, and a very light jacket. We had just finished eating our last meal on the island as a family and when the rest of the six went upstairs to pack, I snagged my youngest sister and made her come down to the water to take pictures with me. I had missed a friend's birthday back home and just to prove that I was thinking about her while away, I wanted to get a lovely picture of "Happy Birthday (Friend)" written in the sand with the ocean in the background for a half decent birthday card.

And what seemed like a 30 second task to find the "perfect spot", write the message in the grains, and snap the picture... turned out to be incredibly and deceivingly challenging. The tide was not quite out all the way and it took a number (higher than 10) of attempts to time the writing in between the big waves and get the picture taken. So much so, that I nearly lost a sandal to the undertow and managed to provide quite the comedy to the security guard further up.

And now, 24 hours later, exhausted and wide awake, I find myself chuckling at how beautiful of an image yesterday's adventures were in illustrating life itself.

In about an hours time, I will drag my jet-lagged, sleep-lagged body out of bed, shower, and drive to the local university where I will embark upon a two year, professional degree of studies to hopefully graduate as a Registered Nurse - fully certified, trained, and health conscious. The logical part of my brain keeps telling me that these are just courses... they are no different than the six years of undergrad courses I just finished taking. But that middle section of my body that houses the digestive system seems to be saying something else. My stomach is churning, I feel like I'm going to either pass out or puke, and although nerves are not a horrible thing - I cannot remember feeling like this when I attempted to start theological studies a little over a year ago.

I am pondering the whole concept of the tides changing and what that means for me: a single soul standing on the edge of something so deep and profound as the ocean having the waves wipe out the message I try to write each time.

Maybe pondering the journey as a whole is too overwhelming and impossible to do, but I cannot help but ask the question of whether this journey is going to the "thing" that leaves my mark in the sand or whether this is something I am embarking upon as an attempt to run away from facing God's call once again. On the flip side, perhaps the tides have indeed changed as has God's call on my life, morphing the expression of discipleship that I am called to live and breathe and emulate.

Makes me wish that I could have a brief cup of tea with one of three wise spiritual mentors. One, because she would ask the hard questions in a way that would make sense and then share her intuitive opinion on what she believed the answers to be. Two, because although I only recently met him, he is a truly incredible young man who frankly - hates change and transition as much as I do and although he couldn't offer tips on how to cope, just sitting in his presence and sharing the hate of transition moments would be enough. And three, because although I detest green tea, she steeps a wonderful cup and whether via custard and bananas or curry or simply a peaceful accent... the world always seems alright from her viewpoint; she always has a plan B, even when having done something completely backwards or downright wrong - scolding and shaping is done in and through love - always, and frankly/finally - I miss her.

But, as these three individuals either live on the other side of the world, are in school themselves, or unreachable - I guess I am left to ponder these waves as any brave soul has done in years gone by: experimentally. Here is to hoping that I do not get sucked under by the pull of the ocean, wiped out by a massive tidal wave, or get lost wandering aimlessly along the beach front of life.

Cheers!

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.

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!

Speechless

Well, all in all... it was a pretty good night.  At the last possible moment before leaving for ball tonight, I got an email from my supervisor saying that the schizophrenic role that I portrayed on Tuesday with my mom, "Maria" was so stellar, the medical faculty wishes to arrange a taping of the two of us to send out to other cities in the program.  Which, after I finished I laughing, was a huge sigh of relief and affirmation.  We'll see if that actually transpires or if they were just kidding...

Then, headed over to the ball diamonds, where we trounced the other team a whopping 13-4.  And, better yet, I contributed to the run total!  

I then had a 20 minute drive to reach destination "x" in order to drop off the S.L.S. Survival Kit. At which point, surprisingly, panic set in.  I had honestly only known "Maria" for a total of maybe 3 months - and even then, only saw and talked to her a small handful of times (less than 10!).  What if.... what if she was the not the heart I was to touch, the outlook I was to affect, or the life I was to give just enough to?  The shocking part in all this is that I did something that I haven't done in almost a year... I asked a friend to pray for Maria's heart to be open and willing to receive what was on it's way to her.  I kid not, I was literally shaking as I pulled up to the address which I had written on my arm; I nearly tripped on the flat sidewalk, over my own two feet.  I knocked on the outside door, fought the temptation to run, and after standing there and working to build up my confidence - pulled the outside door open just enough to reach the doorbell.  

Sweet!  No answer - I can put the bag between the two doors and she will find it eventually.  However, heading back to my car, the door opened and I hear, "hey!".  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit... I'm busted.  Do I get the car and speed off?  Run as fast as I can on foot and pretend that's not my car?  Ohhhhh crap!!  Nope.  Didn't do any of those things unfortunately.  I turned around.  Oooops.  Maria wanted to know what this package was and so I started explaining it, but told her it would all make sense when she opened it later.  And so... we talked.  

She opened my eyes to the reality that people on commercials don't usually use the product themselves.  Like hemorrhoid cream supporters on T.V... prolly don't even have hemorrhoids; Ellen most likely doesn't use Covergirl, defying aging cream and actors on coffee commercials probably don't even drink coffee.  I decided... I'm going to write to Ellen.  

Watching a sports car go by, Maria made a comment that hers was better - and I thought it was a joke.  She normally bikes everywhere!  At which point, she opened the garage and... there it was... (drooling!).  She asked if I had time to go for a ride - and when I made a kind of squealing noise, I think she took that as a yes.  Off we went... AAAA mazing!  She is racing it on Sunday and invited me for a ride-along.  I wish I could put into words how excited I am. 

Whether it was conversation, riding along on the open road with the windows and top down, or the gift that just kept on giving... she was laughing and crying and laughing.  And, I received the greatest compliment of all time... "you should go into business doing this sort of thing.  Really, I mean it!  I LOOOOOVE this!"  She kept all the little notes that went with each gift, setting them carefully on the coffee table to show her other half when he gets home.  

Life is way too short to spend everyday of our busy lives always looking in or down.  And I got the impression that although she may never actually use any of those ridiculous gifts, a pretty rough week may have been turned around... if only for a moment.  Well, this ordinary person is off to bed.  Life needs a' ponderin', sleep needs a gettin', and maybe (just maybe), someone needs a thankin'.  

God chooses the ordinary

I cannot sleep.  Not that this is surprising or anything as my mind is trying to understand a number of things annnnnnd, I had a Diet Coke.  I should know by now that DC is a bad thing to drink within hours of wanting to be asleep... hmm... chalk it up to... negligence?  

The Bible is always being "pop-psyched" up and beautiful passages are being summed up in short phrases of 21st Century English.  However, sometimes the pop-psych phrase seems to "fit".  The quote, "God chooses ordinary people for extraordinary service" derives from this passage from 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 (I believe...) and it is this very passage that is haunting the hallows of my mushy brain tonight.  

This week can be summed up as follows:

Monday: I finished putting together a DVD to mail to the East Coast for the Relay for Life. Never done a Relay, don't know 99.8% of the people in the pictures that I've included in the short movie, and have no idea if I've done what I was supposed to or will have my offer accepted again.  But when I asked my youngest sibling (16 yrs old) to watch it with me and offer feedback... the tough lil' basketball star dried her eyes and said, "wow".  I can't help but wonder in amazement - how this is even possible.  I will put it in the mail shortly and find out whether I was on track or off by a screeching mile; something tells me it's more on than I could have asked for.  I also spent two hours walking a classmate through course material for the midterm the next day.  Didn't bother me in the slightest - I had nothing better to do and yet, she wouldn't stop saying thank you.  Really... no big deal.  I was studying anyways.  

Tuesday: I cleaned out my spare change and bought a bus ticket that was valid for two hours.  Took the train downtown and made a few important stops.  I stopped at my favourite flower shop and ordered a lovely arrangement of flowers (and dropped off a hand made card) for a fellow employee celebrating a big day and asked that the flowers be delivered "from a secret sender".  The owner of the shop, whom I've come to know quite well, was asking about my studies and what my life plans were.  Chatting briefly, she took my number and wrote it below "Positive, Bubbly Personality" and vowed to call me when she filed her application to the University.  She always wanted to study further, but was sitting on the fence.  Apparently 5 minutes of my time and my story was enough to give her the confidence to file an application and see what happens.  I still await her call, but have no doubt in my mind that it will come.  

The next stop was to a party store where I picked up plastic champagne glasses, paper plates, funny shaped balloons, a Happy Anniversary banner, sparklers, a #1 shaped candle, and party hats.  I also managed to find a "question mark" shaped sparkler.  Before heading back to the University, I made a quick stop for plastic cutlery, a cheesecake topped with fresh fruit, and "sparkling apple juice" - the kind that comes in a real champagne bottle but is not at all alcoholic - "kids wine".  Trudging all this stuff to the office in which I work part time as a contracted employee, I managed to enliven the afternoon of 4 wonderful people for a bit.  My supervisor was celebrating her 1 year anniversary with the program (hence the banner, candle, cake, etc) while her boss (the main director of the program) celebrated her "?" birthday on Saturday.  Decorating the boardroom with much laughter and "I CANNOT believe you did this!! I will never forget this day!  and I don't know whether to cry or laugh" comments from the anniversary-celebrant... we partied for a total of 15 minutes, then packed up and all went back to work.  

Wednesday: While playing a ball game (and not at ALL) on duty, had one of my players hit the ball (a nice double!), and then fall to the ground.  As my team knows that I have a 'bit' of training in the medical realm, I got to tend to this young man until the paramedics showed up.  We iced it and gave him water to drink and distractions to think of while he lay in the shale.  It appears that he tore the majority of ligaments in his knee and dislocated the knee cap itself.  I also got a call from a high school classmate who is going through more life conversions than anyone should have to, who just wanted to chat.  I'm not sure that I said anything of great value, but was willing to share what little experience I had with transitions and got to listen to them share their story.  At the end of the conversation, a very hushed, "thank you, can we talk tomorrow?" came over the phone.  And, to top it off, had someone email me a sermon for Sunday and ask my humble opinion.  (I tried to explain that I'm not really in that frame of mind, but they insisted that I read it through... have yet to do so, but it's on the list!)

I also took a phone call from 1-yr anniversary supervisor who was "just calling to let (you) know how touched (I) was yesterday".  

I don't know what to say.  I think it's that lightbulb realization that this type of week... is my life.  I honestly believe that if someone were celebrating an important anniversary of something, I would commend them and celebrate with them if they let me.  (There are some who never respond to anniversary wishes, but that's their choice, I guess)  If someone was in need of comforting or someone to take authority and say, "don't move him, get ice, call 911" - I would do that in a heartbeat.  I will never turn down someone's request for coffee or a chat because if they trust me enough to want to talk, I'll be there.  I know of a chaplain who refers to this notion as the economy of grace - that when you invest and share grace with others, you invest in them: their futures, their aspirations, their life.  

It's the powerhouse realization that, I dare say, in order for me to invest this grace in others - someone first has invested in me.  They did so on the basis that I would pay it forward... tHEy did so with the understanding that, although just an ordinary person - in the eyes of others, it may be extraordinary.  I just hope that HIS holy investment doesn't come with too many expectations.  And, for the record, I think that although this individual is 45 hours away, I may have been "Cliff-ed" today.  DOH!

It's all about "payin it forward!"

I couldn't stop smiling... this morning, while on a short break from classes, I took the underground train to a busy street in the city and then caught a bus to take me down the street to where I needed to go.  It is my all time favourite flower shop, and they always do an exquisite job on putting together beautiful arrangements.  The young man behind the counter recognized me immediately, commenting on how my hair had grown since I was last there, and commented on my wonderful taste in flowers.  (Personally, I figure he was just trying to butter me up for the money I was about to spend with them, but I wouldn't have gone anywhere else)

The bouquet was then ordered "anonymously" for the receptionist who, while having to work Saturday, Sunday (until 10pm) and then yesterday - still managed to show up with a bright smile on Tuesday morning.  And these... are the pictures from the card.  The image that is cut out of the last picture, is Winnie the Pooh playing the flute.  After saying, "You are... exceptional, one of the best kept secrets of the program, wonderful, family, fantastic, #1, smart, unbeatable, voted (insert city name here) best, amazing, unbelievable, magic in action, fantastic, a star, remarkable, on fire, the greatest, super, happening, unique, the ultimate, a keystone"... the handwriting (disguised) reads: Anna, the program could not be what it is without your "unsung" musical contributions (!!) and harmony line.  Thank you so much for all you do!!

The bouquet was supposed to be delivered for 3:00pm this afternoon so that it would be there long before I showed up for training, yet cleverly delivered on the day that I would be in the office anyway (hopefully eliminating my name from the possible suspects, as I would have just brought the bouquet in if coming in anyway).  However, it showed up while I was there.  A bit off-putting, as I tried to stay out of the way, yet dodge questions when I was asked who might possibly do such a thing... but, all in all - it was great!

Her words were, "I just.... wow... how could... huh..." Hopefully she will go home, bathing in the fact that her endless hard work does not ALWAYS go unnoticed, and trust that she is loved, appreciated, and "belongs"

I think that's all we really need, isn't it?  To know that, on some level, we belong.  Whether it is to our work community, within a circle of friends, a church or worshipping community of some kind or a family... at the end of the day, we just need to know that... while often unspoken... we belong.  

A lesson that I wish more people would advocate, teach, and pray for.  But hey... I'm just one seekin' youngin... all I can do, is my personal best, each and every day.  And today... I did just that!  I would be interested in hearing what you have done or have had done to you that got the point across.  

God's Success Story: A Basket of Colourful Eggs

There are so many, very different blog topics floating around this school-logged brain of mine, but in tribute to a younger cousin who was old enough to learn about the magic of colouring Easter eggs this year for the first time... I figured a post or two on the egg was appropriate.  

While I cannot touch or eat the inside of an egg, that has never stopped me from staring in awe at them.  They make excellent youth group illustrations on a variety of topics.  I'm sure you've done the experiment in junior high where you take two plastic lids from a 2L pop bottle, a raw (uncooked) egg, and a stack of heavy books.  Asking the youth before hand, how many books they think the egg will hold after shaking the egg and proving it has a runny yoke, the answers range from 0-1... maybe. However, standing the egg upright on it's end in one of the lids, and placing the other lid (like a hat) on top allows you to stack an incredible number of heavy books upon the egg.  I've used this illustration to introduce topics of choosing the proper foundation in life, community and the importance of surrounding yourself with people you trust (lids), and even topics like, "Stand up!  Take Faith!"... for if you do, your inner strength and courage to withstand outside forces will be much stronger than you originally think.  

However, more than a perfect scientific/Christian illustration, eggs to me - are a perfect example of God's success story when it comes to the notion of divine timing.  Having grown up on the farm, and with a mom who would gather the eggs every two days, wash them and sell them... do you know how many conditions need to be absolutely perfect for a chick to exit an egg rather than a runny yoke?  The temperature in which they are kept must be within a range of a few degrees, or the baby chick will not survive and will default to being the runny egg.  The incubation time must be kept within a range of a few days or the chick won't develop either.  You cannot prematurely break the egg open, you'll kill the little, adorable, fuzzy thing.  

But, when the time is right and the chick is good and ready, prepared, healthy, and developed... it will start to slowly hammer on the shell... and piece by piece, a chick will emerge.  IT is not a hasty process - you definitely have enough time to call young ones to gather round when the chick starts tapping so they can witness this excitement, but at the same time - it is not a process that lasts days on end and elicits boredom either.  

The timing is just right.  

Yup, chicken/egg debate (that plagues five year olds to no end) aside, I would have to say that eggs are most definitely God's success story!

Stay tuned... next blog?  About the beauty and reminders of grace found in decorating these lil' marvels of creation! :)

Oh the Lord works in Mysterious Ways

I was actually going to blog about something all together different this afternoon. Revgals posted the Friday Five about reflecting on our Lenten journeys thus far; since this Lenten season has been quite different from all the rest, I was feeling inspired to write something deep and profound about the windy road through the desert. I was feeling the urge to write something incredibly inspiring to those whose hearts are heavy and troubled this Friday afternoon, but...

instead, I leave you with this.

Sunday evenings in our house were spent as a family, gathered in the livingroom (in the winter, we got a fire in the REAL fireplace, with REAL logs) around our little television. At 7:00pm, dinner would already be settling in our tummy's and we'd come together to finish off our day of rest by watching Touched by an Angel. After the show was no longer airing new episodes, we still gathered faithfully to watch rerun after rerun.

I remember one episode in particular entitled, "The Lord Works in Mysterious Ways" and it was the story of a small town and how the Lord showed up and spread His love, mercy and grace without being obvious to the townfolk. I think I remember it so well because Della Reese, the infamous "Tess" sang this gorgeous gospel song about how the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Today, that is simply what my heart (not even my lips... they are still in shock) is left uttering.

I received a facebook message from the longtime girlfriend of a semi-brother with a link and the note... "You NEEEEEEEEED TO SEE THIS!" Skeptical that the link was going to take me somewhere wonderful, I ignored it until this afternoon when she sent another message saying, "SOOOO... did you watch it?"

Here is the link - it's actually quite incredible. I'm sure if you are regular Oprah watcher, you've probably already seen this - but who cares?! It's something that everyone should probably watch more than once.

It look less than three minutes of my afternoon... but it has given me a lot to chew on, sit with, and possibly (JUUUUUST possibly) pray about. I don't know if I should take this as a sign, or simply chalk it up to random chance... but either way, if you listen really carefully tonight, you'll hear the whispers of heart in the wind singing with gusto, "The Lord sure does work in mysterious ways..."

May this Friday bring you a sense of peace as we, together, wait for the most glorious mystery of all time.

Honourable Mention!

I had a good laugh this morning when I opened my email to find an email from my prof asking if he could use my paper as an example for the class on Monday in his "how to write an effective paper" workshop.  Securing an 85% (A), he felt that the improvements/alterations to make for the paper have to do with formatting and the technical aspects, but that the paper itself was extremely well written. 

This, without a doubt, made me laugh.  

I do not doubt my paper writing abilities for a second, however, it was an extremely difficult paper to write, given the topic and life circumstances.  I have pasted the first (introduction) page here as well as a snippet of the conclusion.  If you're interested in the sources, just let me know.  

                The term “adolescent” is one that can cause even the strongest of men, to cringe; an age bracketed between 12 and 18 years old, where a youth has the drive and tools required to truly transform into an adult.  A time period in which trial and error seems to be applied in reckless abandon, causing bruises and sometimes more lasting injuries to the seeking adolescent as well as those around them.  Typically, infants and seniors are the people we label as “vulnerable” because they are too fragile to care for themselves.  However, in our current society, where gangs, violence, and peer pressure seem to dominate the scene, it might be more accurate to identify these seeking adolescents as vulnerable.  These youth are at the age where society expects them to really develop a sense of self knowledge based on a set of ideals, morals and worth, seemingly without a lot of support and direction.  As these youth seek a role and a sense of authenticity in a fast paced and consumer driven world, it remains a wonder that our society seems maintains a level of self aware, authentic, and loving individuals.  We have all too often turned on the television or radio just in time to hear about a group of miscreant teenagers, who have vandalized the church parking lot, hurt or violated a senior citizen, or broken into the gas station on the corner and stole chocolate bars and cash from the register; for a lack of knowing how else we can respond to these “seeking” youth, we turn and shake our heads, phone the local police department, or simply just walk away. 

What if the guiding support for these adolescents was less costly (financially, psychologically, and emotionally) and proved to be more effective than legal enforcements or walking away?  Having worked with this age group in a school setting that was consistent and religious in nature, an entire community witnessed just how self aware and genuine an influential group of adolescents can be, if only given the opportunity and space.  The task assigned to the group of 53 youth, ranging between the ages of 12 and 14 years old, was to come up with a project that would make a lasting difference to their community.  These youth attended a religious school, but had very little ongoing religious education about the faith; however, being raised in a religious school setting provided them an ongoing sense of overarching morality and sense of belonging they could have as a safety net and comfort zone as a base for the outreach they were about to dream up.  These youth truly exceeded any expectations.  Two young boys spend their lunch hour to play music on the sidewalk, raising over $1,100 in a two week time period to give to a local charity while other students went on a clothing drive for the homeless.   Another pair developed an after school program for younger children to learn how to cook healthy snacks at a nearby school, others established an after school soccer program for the neighbourhood children on Saturday mornings.  Not only did these remarkable students dream up these projects, but they carried them through beyond the end of the school year and into the summer months.  As they worked through the details of their projects, it was clear that each one of these young individuals was finding and developing an authentic sense of self in the wider society.  They did not require the use of illegal drugs or trouble making gangs to find themselves.  Instead, they seem to have only needed a small encouragement to venture out of a morally stable base and the reminder that they could come back at any time for a “refuelling”. 

The question that must be asked is, what role does religion play in the identity formation of adolescent youth, and the choices that need to be made in order to find an authentic and stable sense of self?

The conclusion that I came to, after 4 short pages of citing sources and pulling apart research was this:

The conclusions that can be drawn from reviewing these articles in an attempt to answer the question about the role that religion could play in the seeking adolescents are that clearly, because of the change of mentality in our society, the adolescent is in a vulnerable state.  Left without a strong, society base of norms and morality, a lack of direction and guidance, and problems with self-deception and “hiding” the self, as pointed out by Baumeister, the adolescent seems to be left out in the dark during a very critical stage in self identity formation.  Disagreeing with Baumeister that our society has created the illusion of a hopeless promise of tomorrow, there do remain avenues in which one may turn to in times of seeking, where a lasting, and truthful experience may shape the rest of not only their life, but the life of our society.  As witnessed and spoken to by James, this experience creating community, is likely to be religious in nature, where the unifying mentality of the medieval society is still prominent and encouraging one another to reach their potential is as natural as walking and the valuable characteristic of a transition marker ritual celebrates and commends those who choose to make that decision at that time.  There remains a few considerations to still be looked at, such as a home rearing environment and the effect that this might have on the self-seeking adolescent, but it remains clear that a religious community as first illustrated, provides the support, structure, and “self” finding encouragements that have called young people forward in a spirit of truthful service, where making a difference in their life is only the first step. 

Just imagine what would happen if all these youth, troubled and burdened, could find that community in which they felt comfortable and safe enough to allow themselves to experience the truth: their potential in this society is incredible and is simply waiting for them to embark upon that journey, self aware and identified as one among many, called to bring those around them to a level of self knowledge and a deeper truth. 

The question that is now starting to rumble in a deep - meaningful fashion, is in regards to whether "religion" and "faith" become something like a security blanket and are only called upon when (youth(?) are) scared of dark.  I had another professor mention this phenomenon once where youth attendance in church was minimal because once the youth found a comfortable place of "self" in their society, they no longer needed a structure like religion. Perhaps that shall be the next paper...