A New Start: Lent, as defined by my terms.

Well, it has been a jello week; you know, the kind of week that barely seems to hold together long enough for you to reach the end? The kind of week that, if you're not careful, will jiggle out of your control and stain the white carpeted floor? You get the point. Over the past week, I have been told in just about every way that someone could be told - that doing some reflective reading, quiet contemplation and attending a worship service - is simply "not enough" to mark a fresh start and a long journey back to the path of the righteous.

In lay men's terms, the message is this: "Look, you screwed up. It's going to take a lot more than miniscule efforts to make things right."

Rrrrrrright. Well, at first my thought was that the Lenten season would be the ideal time to start the process, however... I clearly got the start date wrong. It's what track athletes call the "false start". To be honest, I'm not sure if I got the timing wrong or the lane wrong. I'm thinking it was the lane. What I mean to say, is that maybe it was wrong of me to think that I could just quietly attend weekly, evening worship and slowly start to build up the courage to talk to people. I thought that my ducks were lined up and that after hiding in a hole for a year and bit, things would have blown over. Or, at least enough so that I would have a chance to let the roots grow into the ground before the wind decided to blow.

Uhhh... nope!

So, in true YoungSeeker fashion, I have opted to rebel. Not that this concept is novel one - it's something that has been a theme my entire life. Anyway, here's how.

Rather than trying to fit my path into the church seasonal calendar, I am starting my own Lenten season. And, rather than confining it to 40 days, the only upper daily limit on the season will be 364 1/4 days x 40 years. And, rather than giving something up or adding in a prayer practice, I shall instead, daily reflect on the people I meet and how I wish to emmulate a piece of them in my life so that I will once again, in the eyes of others (and hopefully God) be "good" again.

Some might jump to conclusions and say that this is a poor practice because I was made to be an individual - unique, Godly, and self-sufficient... Or, alternatively, may point out that this is not an "approved" spiritual practice and may distance me even further from the church I long to call home... however, to these people, I would simply raise my hands in exhaustion and share with them the comments/happenings/challenges over the last week and illustrate that I truly, do not have a better idea.

And, so begins the journey of finding something to aspire to in at least one person I meet, witness, or exchange pleasantries with every day from now, until... well, I don't know when it will be until... let's just wait and see.

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.

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.