Thank You!

I know that you already know who you are, and I also know that the chances of you reading this are slim to none... but I also know that quite frequently, you pop into my head. Yup, it's true. I have yet to figure out how you do it and whether it is something that you do intentionally or whether you are brought into my head by someone or something else, but I'm learning to like it.

I know that you didn't read the last blog in which I shared how your words brought about a new set of reactional emotions within me, so I'm left wondering how you knew that an apology and explanation would somehow, oddly enough, make everything okay again.

But, you did.

And for that, on this deepfreeze type morning in which the alarm went off too early and the bus was too full to sit, I find myself giving thanks.

Oh, and for the record, anonymous singing sensation... even though you often leave me puzzled, you remain welcome in my head - any time, any day, with any reason.

...But please don't mind the mess. I need to clean, but until I find the proper tools to do so, I hope you will find yourself at home, and refrain from stepping on cute and cuddly Charlie!

The Fallen Angel

I am trying to think... (a dangerous thing, for sure!) I might be wrong, but I thought there was a children's book about an angel who fell from heaven and spent time wondering the earth in search of meaning, hope, and direction.  Along her way, this little angel meets a variety of interesting characters who, through their interactions, teach her that God is with her wherever she roams - whether the heavens or the earth below.  If not, someone really ought to write one!!

Saturday night, I wandered aimlessly into the parish in which I was raised, worked in, and left rather abruptly two years ago.  While it really didn't have that warm, "welcoming home" feel to it, I occasionally moved my lips to the words of hymns, pretended to pay attention to the readings, and was half-heartedly following along through the Eucharist.  I now understand what it must feel like for all those lapsed Catholics who stumble into churches twice a year to "do their duty".  

This polish priest, the same priest who was there when I left and who walked up and down past the church graveyard talking to me about feeling called to follow Christ for hours, made an interesting point in reference to Epiphany and following the Star.  He pointed out that the star is actually present each night in the sky, but we are all too often caught up in the vast darkness that surrounds it.  Regardless of where we are heading in life, or what kind of vocational journey we are on, each one of us is guaranteed to feel overwhelmed by the darkness and lose sight of the guiding star.  However, he seemed to think that all it would take is asking for a journey companion, who can still see the star, to encourage, to cheer, to chat with... He seemed to think that we will all make it to the creche, like the wise men, to give a piece of ourselves to the infant.  

It's a lot to chew on, and I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it... but to say that it's comforting to know that even angels fall.  

Being the voice of the voiceless

Okay, so I will be the first to admit that I have broken a few rules in my short time; this confession is shortly followed by also saying that this is a huge understatement.  However, even through all these wrongs, when I see an injustice... I rarely keep my mouth shut and turn a blind eye.  

The other night I had to make a quick run to Wal Mart to pick up the economy sized laundry detergent and fabric softener so that when I head back to school on Monday morning, I won't go smelling foul and wearing "unsoftened clothing".  I kid you not, the temperature was registering  -36 C when I left the house, but the car was soon warm and I was on my way into town.  Because of recent developments in the area, about seven years ago, a lovely corner farmhouse and yard was sold, demolished, and replaced by the evil (affordable) Wal Mart.  In the last few years, this location has taken over even more precious farmland to become a "Wal Mart Supercenter" (as if that's the answer our community problems!)

However, all those feelings set aside, I have decided to boycott Wal Mart.  

Cars, trucks, SUV's, and minivans FILLED the ENTIRE Emergency Access Route that runs in front of the stores doors.  Both doors - and in between, vehicles sat idling while their owners or wives ran into the store for a "quick pick up".  Now I realize that I am a youngin' in my 20's, but I am too judgmental to think that if I can walk less than a city block from my parked car to the store entrance, that THESE PEOPLE COULD TO?  Not one of them had a handicap sticker in their window - I made a point of checking.  

Am I wrong to think that the No Parking and Emergency Access Route, No Stopping signs should obviously have drawings that these idiots would understand? Perhaps drawings of stick people burning, or being carried to a stick ambulance??  The frustrating thing is that these people simply don't care.  If they only took a moment to think...

... what if it were their loved one who suddenly had a heart attack while shopping, or asthma attack, or some other medical complication?  What if the ambulance and paramedics were delayed in getting the life saving equipment to their mom, dad, brother, sister, wife, husband or child??  Would the 45 second walk from the proper parking lot to the door then be such a huge issue for them to undertake?  

... what if it were them, inside of the store, when a gunman opened fire?  Would they think differently about all those jerks who parked in the path of the RCMP officer that showed up to save their life?  

... what if they were inside the store or had family inside of the store when there was a bomb threat and time is of the essence in locating and safely removing the bomb - would they still be so keen to park in the way of the people who would show up to help?

Having worked in a hospital setting, why is it that no one is stupid enough to park their car in the clearly marked ambulance bay, knowing that it's there to help prolong the life of the critical ill or in danger - and yet... they are willing to do so at the local shops?  And having worked in the service/tertiary industry, as clerks we regularly practiced the drills for a lost child, a bomb threat, a fire, a medical emergency, and a dangerous customer... I refuse to believe that we spent all that time for nothing.  We cared enough about our customers to be prepared, am I supposed to believe that customers don't care enough about each other to give a hoot about saving a life?  

The local blood clinic advertises that if you donate your blood, you are saving up to four lives.  Perhaps the signs in front of Wal Mart ought to read, "Park where you are supposed to, you could save hundreds of lives; Park Properly Today"

I refuse to believe that this is acceptable; I also refuse to believe that our society is incapable of stranger love and respect of human life, always placing ourselves above and beyond anyone else.  Finally, I refuse to believe that this a problem that is unsolvable.  

Please speak up.  That woman who needs an ambulance and only has moments to continue breathing with oxygen and medical attention is someone's grandmother, someone's sister, someone's best friend, someone's soulmate, someone's wife, someone's mom... and a beloved child of our God.  

Lyrics

I don't know what else to do; I spent the majority of my evening talking on the phone and chatting with my sister. You know that person who fills the void in your life? Yeah, I was talking to her. It's truly beyond any stretch of imagination to think that our relationship is as tight as it is... but it makes sense to us. I have more siblings than I can count, but this is a different sister all together. I will write more about the incredible weekend we got to spend together, but that is not what this post is about.

I have nothing intelligent to say. I don't know why she did it, but she thought it was important to read some of my words that I'd written back to me. I think it might have been to try and show me that (contrary to my own belief), my words carry meaning to a select few when written from the heart and inspired from above.

I can't help but feel like I'm between a rock and a double edged sword; the words that I wrote to her six months ago do not even remotely sound like words I would be capable of saying today. I've been stretched since I wrote those words, and while they seem to continually inspire her to light the world with this incredible glow and 'pay it forward' attitude, looking at where I am now, it's shocking to think that I could have written what I did. So, from where I sit, I can either accept the fact that at one point along my journey, I could have composed a letter - dripping with meaning and conviction... and that today, life is different. That is to say, "there's a possibility I once believed all that, but that the tables have turned, circumstances changed and if I wrote to you today, wouldn't say what I did there." Alternatively, I feel like a fraud. That, for some reason, I was overcome with a glimpse of inspiration, but that these moments are few and far between.

Inspired by what she read and how it was so relevant to her journey at the time, she shared with me this evening that she, in turn, shared my words with others.

And... off go the alarms, sirens, and fog horns.

I have so carefully laid the stones strategically - placed them one on top the other in an order and shape that would provide the greatest protection. Between each carefully selected stone, is the strongest glue/mortar/sticky tack you could ever imagine using... I'm sure it's what Noah used to keep the ark together when he ran out of nails! Water resistant, and impenetrable.
But since the weekend, I feel... almost without a security barrier. Part of this is because I met someone who clearly has a gift of calling you out when needed, sometimes without warning, time or extended discussion. The person who knows full well that there is something impeding God's full possession of heart and soul.

The other part of this comes from the knowledge that "deep and heart-felt" words were associated to me. Although I wrote them, they are uncensored, come from inside the stones, and give people the right to expectations... the dreadful "e" word.

The challenge is that whether it was what I wrote, or a combination of a lot of things (I'm voting for the later!), this young woman has grown in the most incredible and indescribable ways. She has truly taken her faith as her own, grabs life by the discerning, scriptural horns, and demands that change and justice are brought to where it's needed the most. She has gone through more than I could ever imagine... and done so with grace, humility, maturity of faith, and a radiant light. A true, Sr. Mary Patrick, from the Sister Act movies.

Our conversation tonight ended horribly abrupt. I got all freaked out by the fact that she has kept all my letters... that my letters bear such weight... that my words would inspire... that she was so thrilled and challenged by these words, she felt called to share them with others... and that, my worst fears are true: the recent events of my life have truly (and negatively!) impacted my faith, my relationships, and my discipleship... and that I don't know how to get back on track, spiritually.

I keep telling myself that I'm over reacting; I'm tired, emotionally drained, and dreading the upcoming month as I head back home.

If only... if only I could pray for the understanding and comprehension... if only I knew why an answer to a prayer from a while ago appears to be here now... if only I could figure out whether she is here, with great care and gentleness, to facilitate what is ahead... if only.

Between you and I, I think I know the answer; she seems to be the contractor and has already introduced me to one of the crew. But I'm scared. I don't want to be, but I am, and that leaves me hiding under the back corner of the bed... laying really, really, really still. So, instead of a conversation, I leave her lyrics... I trust she knows where they come from - hoping that she understands that I am running because of me, not because of her.

Left wrestling one question:

Why?

Makes you wonder...

I have just returned, through white-out conditions (15cm tonight and more expected tomorrow!!) from a service.  Held in a most glorious church in what appears to be an Italian populated neighbourhood, I prepared myself before going in - but apparently not enough.  

The service was held in a tradition and "box" of Christianity in which I was born and raised.  However, in pursuing where I felt called to journey, after a series of discussions and moments of unpleasantness, I am no longer in good standing with the church.  It wasn't that I broke any of the rules, per say, but was told in a rather direct fashion that if I ever wished to receive Eucharist again within the bounds of The Church, it would require a serious confession and subsequent penance. 

And, it's also not true that I am "returning home" to The Church (though it would cause my family to throw a party), I needed to retreat.  Jesus set a wonderful example all through his ministry in which "big" moments were preceded by the removal of oneself from the "frontline", most often retreating to a mountainside, desert, or garden to just "be" in the presence of the Alpha and the Omega, the Almighty.  

This parish had the afternoon set aside, as they do every Tuesday, for Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.  (In non-church speak, read: this big, brick building with pretty pictures and large decorations had reserved a time for meager street folk to sit in lots of mysterious smoke (helps remain anonymous) with your very best friend).  Who wouldn't want to spend just a little bit in that?  

Anyway, the time of adoration was followed by a "meal", supposedly shared among all the friends of your very best friend.  The opening hymn to gather all together was "Praise to the Lord the Almighty".  I was shocked to sing the second verse: "Praise to the Lord, let us offer our gifts at the altar.  Let not our sins and offenses cause us to falter.  Christ the High Priest, bids us all join in his feast..."

Isn't that bizarre?  This small representative sample of disciples can sing loud and clear, "Christ the High Priest, bids us all join in his feast" and yet - when push comes to shove, these same disciples are standing guard around the altar and pointing at who is not included (by Christ's command) at this feast.  Can they do that?  Obviously they can.  For if you don't belong, haven't been baptized in This Church, you are one among the unwelcome.  

Makes me say, Thanks be the God! that I'm Anglican and damn blessed to be so; an expression of discipleship in which all baptized Christians are welcome at this table.  

A Blessing Prayer for Healing

I wish I could tell you which collection this poem/prayer comes from, but it was passed onto me recently at an Anglican Fellowship of Prayer event.  In light of yesterday's readings, I found this blessing prayer quite suiting.  

May you desire to be healed.

May what is wounded in your life be restored to good health.

May you be receptive to the ways in which healing needs to happen.

May you take good care of yourself.

May you extend compassion to all that hurts within your body, mind, and spirit.

May you be patient with the time it takes to heal.

May you be aware of the wonders of your body, mind, and spirit and their amazing capacity to heal. 

May the skills of all those caring for you be used to the best of their ability in returning you to good health.

May you be open to receive from those who extend kindness, care, and compassion to you.

May you rest peacefully under the sheltering wings of divine love, trusting in this gracious presence.

May you find the little moments of beauty and joy to sustain you.

May you keep hope in your heart.

Joyce Rupp

For only then, can you love God as God loves you, love yourself as God loves you and your neighbour as you love yourself.  

There was once a wise dean who, in a fairly serious and difficult conversation with one of his students, stood up from behind his desk and reached to an upper shelf.  "I have something for you" was all the dean said.  Taking down a copy of Gilead and writing a word of thanks inside the cover, the dean passed it across to the young student.  "You may carry it around with you for years before you read it, but this book will have the answers."

If only it were as easy as reading a short fiction novel.  It's apparently a National Bestseller and the winner of the Pulitzer Prize.  

While I have nothing horrendously intelligent to say or write, I would like to post a prayer.  It was passed onto me a few years back at a Vocations Conference by a rather fearless leader I respected quite highly.  I believe it was originally prayed by Thomas Merton for some reason, but my memory could be wrong.  It is a prayer that carried me through the last year of "intentional discernment" and now brings a whole new level of comfort in times and feelings of unknowing, uncertainty, and unworthiness. 

My Lord God,

I have no idea where I am going,

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I can not know for certain where it will end, 

Nor, do I really know myself and the fact that I think I am following your will,

does not meant that I am actually doing so.  

But I believe the desire to please you, 

does in fact please you,

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire

And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust in you always.

Though I may seem lost

and in the shadow of death,

I will not fear for you are ever with me,

And you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Amen.

Okay, truth be told, only the first part of that prayer is providing comfort.  Hopefully my Lord God is willing to forgive and still journey.  

Fist a' cuffs ain't leading home...

I am not going to say a lot, because there isn't a lot to say other than to ask for your prayers.

On Oct. 6, I withdrew from the M.Div program at desired University; the subsequent days have been tear filled and lonely.  Please pray that the coming days be filled with courage, honesty, and a spirit of reconciliation, grace, and redemption - and the coming recognition that these spirits are both possible and present.  

Off for a few days retreat!

Just a quick note to say that I was hoping to get the second installment up this afternoon, but time has once again run out on me and I will shortly be heading out the door for said theology school's "Fall Retreat" for all MDiv. students and faculty.  I hear that the topic of presentation this year by new Dean is D. Bonhoeffer!!  And to say that church this morning was lovely.  Sat with retired bishop of said area and his lovely wife, not knowing who they were until the coffee hour when he shared stories of his first trip to Canada from Ireland and how he came with every intention to return home, but never did.  

I assured him that I will be heading back out west when I finish - otherwise God and I might be in fist a' cuffs... more later.

Face up, O Daughter of Jerusalem

I have been in this college town for a week, officially this morning and have a bit of time to reflect on the past week of flurry - in getting here, settling in, and "facing up".  Through the moments of "I don't want to be here", there were incredible moments of God's presence, comfort, and companionship.  Though, it may come in two installments.  

Already missing my mom, who had left for NZ two days before I was heading out on the road, the plan was to pick up Ms. NZ (my car mate who was completing her final semester of law across the road at the main campus from where I would be studying and leaving from the same prairie town) and be on the highway early enough to get us two provinces east by nightfall.  With the rest of the family standing on the porch waving, I set out.  Ms. NZ and I were on the road by 8:30 and because of a lack of student priced hotels, were forced to drive to the outer limits of the provincial "big city" and only got settled in a room beyond midnight.  Note to self: for personal mood considerations, stop sooner next time!

Day 2 gets us to Thunder Bay.  Up at a decent hour the next morning, I insist that we make a stop off at the Terry Fox Memorial.  Never having seen it, I had a friend recommend that it would be lovely.  So, packing up the car and getting directions from the lady at the gas station, we drive 10 minutes out of the city to the memorial.  As a means of journalling our road trip, I was capturing pictures at various border markings of my teddy bear traveling across the country.  So, it was in grabbing Booker that I realized I had misplaced my camera.  I literally tore every bag out of the car and started going through them right then and there.  Flustered, Ms. NZ offers to take pictures at the memorial for us.  Very sweet of her, for sure, but that doesn't solve the fact that I've LOST MY CAMERA!!  Her solution seemed slightly immediate rather than long term.  Not good enough.  

Throwing (not nicely) everything back into the car, we head back to the cheap motel.  As we pull up, the cleaning lady is working on our room.  Great!  The room is unlocked and she'll know where it is!!   "Have you seen a camera?"  A bunch of words are spoken in a language I don't understand.  Sigh.  Making the hand gestures of taking a picture, the lady suddenly gets all excited and nods.  This only makes her even more excited and the speed of her sentences is faster and definitely still in another language.  Ushering me outside, she starts looking for something.  No, I don't see my camera lying in the parking lot - but nice try!  Picking up a rock, she bends down and simply writes "430" and begins pointing... around the corner?  Discovering quickly that they don't have a room as high as 430, we start driving down the road thinking that it's been taking to a house with the number 430.  Stopping off at the next motel we find along the road, I go in to ask the woman if she understands this any better than I do.  However, English was not her first language either.  Eventually we discern that the next motel down the road is also owned by the same people and its number is 430.  

Getting there, it only took us to pull into the parking lot for the owner to come out and ask if I was back for a camera.  Thanks be to God!  She, slightly more English speaking, says that she'll meet us back at the first motel because that's where it was.  

Camera in hand, we head back out to the memorial.  Busy taking pictures with Booker overlooking the memorial and the water, it was a few moments before I got to read the write up they had.  Now as an elementary student I have to be honest: I kind of secretly hated Terry Fox.  I had never met him, obviously, but he was the reason that our first unit in gym class EVERY year from the time I was 8 until 18 was "The Terry Fox Run".  We would all have to gather in the gymnasium one fall day, watch the outdated movie that was made of his run, and then head outside to do the cross country run.  Everyone from grade 2 - 12 only got the option to sit out if they were personally deathly ill or had a note from their parents.  Sadly, I never got a note and was never deathly ill (not for a lack of trying!).  

However, as I stood there, still flustered from the morning activities... my life felt incredibly grounded quite quickly.  Terry Fox was diagnosed with cancer right around the same age that I was first diagnosed and his age when he lost his leg to cancer was right around how old I was when I relapsed.  And yet, the write up seemed to imply that he decided to run across Canada as a sign of hope, inspiration, and a sign of miracle - lighting the way for those who come after him.  I could have read it wrong, but it seemed to say that he set out on this mission while still battling cancer.  This would mean that he never had a chance to properly train, but knew that if he set out on this incredible mission, he wouldn't be alone and that when he was out of shape and couldn't run any further, God himself would bear him up and carry him.  And yet, almost down to the month, at the age that he lost his battle, I was standing in the same spot physically.  The difference was that, as our paths crossed, I was a two time survivor heading off to fulfill the plans that God had for my life in studying theology.  

I can't explain the transformation that took place inside me at that moment of realization.  My first inclination was to want to finish his run across Canada; that perhaps I was the person who always meant to fly out to Thunder Bay and finish running to the BC coast.  Perhaps it was the realization that life in itself is incredible; a gift, a privilege, a precious piece of God himself entrusted to us to live in love, according to his will responsibly and fully.  Or, perhaps it was the way that Terry seemed to understand the concept of "bigger than life" and that there was truly someone that would carry him through the darkest nights who was bigger than life; bigger than any pain, incline on the road, or weather condition.  Or, maybe it the notion that he understood that his job was to point the way to the cross with his head held high - to emulate a presence of peace, hope, love and a looking forward.  

Whatever it was, it was the inner overwhelming sense of peace that in reference to my journey, it would be ok.  I would survive, and very much, already have.  That if I truly believe, like those around me, that God is calling me to a specific journey in faith, there is much larger reason than I can see right now.  That years from now, the family who think I'm doing it "all wrong" and all the small obstacles that seem impassable, won't be what matters.  All that will matter is whether I've said yes and followed.  God will make the rest possible - he always has, and always will.