wok 'n woll at Wheelies

The music was throbbing, pouring through the doors we opened.  As we stepped into the huge complex (seemed to us), we were directed to the cash register at the side.  We could barely hear the man's question, "How many skaters?"....well, there were seven of us, our family and two of the boys friends.  I was clutching a box of Flaked Yogurt Bars, for the kids as a little snack later.  The man pointed  to it and yelled gruffly, "Their will be no outside food or drinks!  Absolutely not!"  Steve looked a little chagrined and turned to take them back to the car.  No doubt at "twoony" night, they make their money on over-priced drinks and snacks....We made our way to the skate desk and the 13 -year old girl with tight jeans handed over a pair of mismatched brown limpy skates.  It has been at least 20 years since I rollar-skated last and looking at those skates, I wondered that they were probably older then I was, since rollar skating was invented far earlier then my tight-jeaned days!  Steve got the boys set up, then off we were hand in hand, our legs stiff and ankles wobbly...the perfect couple under the disco ball and lights.

I looked around and realized that we were skating on a basketball court, bamboo floor and nets up ahead.  The DJ for the night was a bearded tatooed gentleman, whose persona seemed to lend to the surroundings.  Everything seemed worn out, loud, dusty and "chick" oriented.  As I seemed to find my former rollar skating rhythm though, I was kind of enjoying it.  My boys were skating with varying degrees of wide legged, arms flying or steady persistence.  We'd link hands and laugh.  They would crash into the wall and laugh.  Their frightened friend actually got off the bench and made his tentitive way on the floor.  We watched the little girl (about 6) skate like a pro, and a dad at the side dance with his daughter, careful not to endanger both with an errant roll.   When the last song came, we couldn't believe that the time had ended and we all survived and even really, really liked it.  As we finally rolled into our driveway, I knew we had a family time we'd always remember.  Thanks Wheelies  for working your wok n' woll  wonders!

minus thirty

I couldn't believe the freezing temps outside as I stepped outside this morning.  I wore layers upon layers, plus made sure Cyclone was wrapped up in a scarf too.  She kept trying to shake it off, but I think it helped.  She is getting used to the cold, only occasionally holding up a paw and looking mournfully at me, walking on her other three paws.  "Oh, get used to it you wimp!"  I was thinking, in my layers, boots, long underwear and mitts.  Nate and I walked past Maryland, on the way to school and noticed the blocked off street there.  Seven patrol cars, an ambulance and yellow tape.  We heard earlier on the news that the police had surrounded an apartment block, a man inside who had a gun.  When I got home, the radio announced lock down "at two schools" in the area....no names used but I knew John M. King was one...its just across the back lane from the action. 

I was there at the school yesterday, helping with a robot project in my son's class.  I love the learning and spunk, creativity and personalities.  I looked on at one girls attempts to follow the instructions and told her that she must have a mathematical brain to get it so easily.  "Oh, but I have a grade 1 math level!"  She's in grade 5 or 6.  I told her that she wouldn't stay at that level with her kind of skills I was seeing.  She told me she has someone in the neighborhood helping her to get up to speed.  I pray she does!  Knowing a little about her background, she comes from a transient, single mom home.  She comes to our church sometimes, had even been recently dedicated there with 2 other siblings and her mom.  She smiled and went back to her project.  That little look of hope warmed me inside, a 10-yr old defying the odds.  Something us grown-ups need to try a bit more at.  Defying the odds.

First Contact Part 4

I was sitting there, waiting....the Tuesday we had arranged.  Waiting for 45 minutes and Rachel didn't show up.  I was thinking, "I don't have her number!  I should have gotten her number! Maybe they are all sick, have H1N1 in hospital and here I am sitting here, I can't help...."  I had made this glorious appointment with the neato African lady (Rachel, from Sudan) who had intrigued me all fall with her long stride and white on black smile when we shook hands.  "Well, I'm NOT going to blog this failure" I thought miserably.  So I didn't.  It's now been about 4 weeks or so when I saw her last.  She hasn't come down that sidewalk for that long!   Did she move?  Felt embarrased about not showing up and is staying away, avoiding me?

I gave up looking for her.  This morning I thought I'd drift by the preschool she drops her kids at.  "One less person for me to be responible for.  Why do I feel like that?  Does God just want me to just pray for her? " So many questions, but not as many as at first.  Even if I saw her, would she be too embarrased about the missed appointment and just nod a 'hi' and move on?  Oh man, there she was!  I'd know those legs on any African plain, or Manitoba sidewalk!!   As we came closer, I saw her smile of welcome and happiness.  It's ok!  "Can I come now?" was her greeting.   "Of course!"  was my reply.  She explained she is now taking the bus because of the cold.  After walking home together, we had tea, her English isn't the greatest but she isn't shy.  Her dad was killed by militia in Sudan, his two wives and 7 children fled to Uganda and then Kenya.  I learned more about her, she heard how we were in Burma for 6 years and the military government there.  As we were chatting, it just floored me to believe she was in my home, drinking my tea....after so many weeks of praying, wondering.  She asked if we could pray before she left.  My whitey hands, in her dark ones.   We are sisters, friends.  And guess what?  She invited me to her home.  Cool.  But I forgot to get her darn phone number again!!

X-Ray Eyes

There's a curious statement in the book of John.  I shared it with a group of people this week, I don't know if it made sense to them but it shocked me enough to feel real squemish...down to my Jesus-believing toenails.  It was after this Man, Jesus, had overturned the money changing tables, whip in hand and drove out the hundreds of animals, sellers and "loan sharks".  He cried out in a crazy voice, "Stop turning my Father's house into a shopping mall!!" (paraphrased of course!)  These entreprenuers had set up shop in the part of the temple that was supposed to be the place where the non-Jews got to pray, meditate and seek the One Living God.  Instead of a orderly,clean, quiet place, a Gentile coming into the square would step on cow poop, get jostled by money changers screaming in their ear and probably see a few dirty looks from the religious crowd.  If it were me, I'd turn right around and find the nearest gate out of there!  But what Christ yelled out wasn't the thing that gets me, it is the last lines of the story....it says that many entrusted their lives to him after that but he didn't trust them..."he knew them inside and out, knew how untrustworthy they were.  He didn't need any help in seeing right through them."   Remember when the disciples left him in a panic when  they arrested him in the garden?  They hid in shame, as he was nailed on the cross.  He knew them, does he know me?  Yep, sees right through me, sees the shopping mall I've made of His Temple...we're talking, get ready for the shake down.   Hey!  I think, I don't do drugs, I make my kids good meals, I pray for the poor,....I'm told I'm a trusted servant of Christ.  Trusted?  Ha!  Jesus wouldn't trust me, he doesn't!!  What this is saying is the only one he can trust is his Father and He tried to knock this into our heads that we need to do this too.

I am becoming increasing frustrated with a society, a Christianity that is totally me-centered and that creates a shopping mall out of every free space (internally and externally).  A new Tim Hortons there, a new restaurant here, a craving for chocolate, get another Bible...it's a "Chicken Soup for the Soul" Bible, I must have that!!  Over half the world is living in war, or poverty, or oppression, or sickness and we seriously think we can spend that extra dollar on a doughnut and it doesn't matter.  I continually forget that the Father made this world, there is enough for everyone but our greed, like those in the Temple that day, has made a shopping mall out of something that was supposed to point people to God.  Would you put your trust in such fickle, wayward humanity?  I wouldn't.  Neither does He, and paradoxically, that is our salvation.  Looking to , embracing, clinging to the One Who Doesn't Trust Us.

Rainbow Glasses

The girls ran up to me as I hustled my boys into our fellowship for Sunday School.  Long hair frizzed and curly, Eden pointed to her face.  She just stood there pointing and I marvelled.  She's 5, is beautiful and as open and transparent as a kid can be, and she had new glasses!  Her eyes looked 2 sizes too big as they gazed at me through the lenses.  But man, was she happy.  I oohhheed and aaahhhed in appropriate tones and then turned to Lily, her little sister, who also sported a pair.  These were "wainbow glasses", as Eden told me, pretend ones to be sure, but oh so grown-up.  Lily has always been the shyer of the two, but I found that these glasses must have had some kind of magic in them, to give her the confidence to give me a run down on her whole weekend and her memories of baby-hood.  "I used to pull my daddy's hair when I was a baby.  And I would make such a mess with my spoon when I was a baby.  My mommy said it was all over my face.  I didn't know how to use a spoon when I was a baby...."  On and on her memoires rambled till she decided that was it and went quiet.  She just gently blinked and looked at me through those fakey glasses, rainbow glasses.  She skipped away to join her friends.  I sauntered away to mine, musing how amazing it is that a special pair of glasses could help a little girl find the confidence to share her inner workings.  Maybe, I should ask her mom where she got them......

FKJ 152

It sounds like a rap song,  "I'm F-K-J, 1-5-2, talk'n at 'cha in the 'hood" .  It's a license plate, I tried to memorize it on my way home from my walk with Cyclone Friday.  Wondering if I should call Crime Stoppers, or some police info. line.  Walking past the back of our church, New Life Ministries, I saw a white Catillac parked that had some serious violence done to it.  Walking closer, I was amazed at the battering this car took.  Windows smashed, dents and scrapes, tires blown out...I picked up Cyclone to get a better look inside.  I hope there wasn't any blood, or bodies....ugh, the thought turned my stomach, but it was empty. Looked like a crow bar had done its dasterly deed, the person holding it a gang member getting someone back for whatever.

So this was in the back of our church, so I knocked on the door to see if our friend and staff lady was there.  She opened up and when I pointed over to the car, she instantly said "I'm sorry, I don't want to get involved...I'm a single lady working here most of the time.  If Harry was here, he'd find out right away, but don't expect me to do anything!"   'If Harry was here....", hmmmmm.  So I asked her if I should call the police, she said no.  "Well, I'm a normal concerned citizen walking by, don't you think I should call in anything concerning to me???"  She said, that if I felt that way, go ahead, but don't include her.  

I did call somebody after that (my hubby!) and it was taken care of.   The day before was a book launch for a book just published about Harry's life.  Instead of making me super sad, like I thought it would, it confirmed everything we are doing here and actually gives me the courage to "get involved" and not fear the ones who create the fear and posturing (and car-smashing).  Harry was different because he did not sweep these upsetting circumstances or images under the carpet hoping someone else would deal with it.  He dealt with it, his Christian community learned to deal with it and now it's us that have to deal with it.  Paul Boge, the author was asked that night, what was the secret to Harry's success?  The answer, 'never give up'.  I would also add, 'do not give in to fear', and 'call if there is a  gang induced smashed car behind your church'.  Living here in the West End that is a huge message, one that I hope I can live out radically more and more.

 

Flying Leg

I first saw him literally "flying" down the aisle at City Mart, the only "foriegn-like" grocery store chain in Yangon, Burma.  He had a hop to him, a swing of one leg, a determined look, looking straight ahead, aiming for that particular product he was focusing on.  "Wow!" I thought, "wonder which family he's from?"  If a person saw another whitey that looked like a new comer, they were targets...like a magnet they would draw us other whitey's to them, curious with why they are in Burma and for how long.  I looked down the aisle to where he had come from and there was a lady, with long blonde hair surrounded by four kids, African?  Man, my curiosity was now reaching its peak....did he belong to her?  Later, they were all checking out at the cashier, yes they were together and come to think of it, I think I had seen her before at the end of our lane where we lived.

Later that week, Steve, myself and my kids were introduced to the most wackiest, wonderful family we have ever, I mean ever come across.  Alex (aka "flying leg") was one of 12 in their family...10 kids and their parents, all adopted from different countries.  Their dad is a ex-Vietnam vet who had lost his legs in an explosion and was now in a wheel-chair.  Each child had a special need, physically or mentally, and it made for some wild adventures.  Alex has lost his lower leg, below his knee, so he has a metal leg and hard plastic foot that our guys found so much fun stomping on and laughing as he howled in false pain.  Josiah, the oldest has hands and feets that are like pincers but that has not stopped him from getting honors in highschool and a scholarship in a university in Texas.  Nicolai, Valentina, Faith, Edwin, Yannah, the twins and now 1 1/2 yr old Jedidiah (Thai baby...an adoption-in-progress)   from 20 years old down to 1 years, this family lives and breathes kids, homeschooling, orphanages all in Chaing Mai, Thailand.  They needed to leave Myanmar because of the tremendous expense for visas for all those passports but we'd keep visiting them in Thailand when we'd need to go get our own visas. 

I just talked to Alex on the phone last night.  Nicolai and him are going to start their jobs soon (in Virginia), living on their own and enjoying "State-side" time, after so many years in Africa and Asia.  He's still flying, excited about this next stage in life and having so many friends around the world.  I'm glad we are still part of their wild and wacky family, he said as he was about to hang up, "we love you'all so much, you are so much part of our family" (with his U.S. southern drawl).  We love you too, Flying Leg and embrace you'all as a huge wild and wacky family that likes to dream big while serving the least of these. 

Another Typical Walk

The other day, Cyclone and I "decided" to walk the opposite way of how we usually go.  This time towards Young Street.  We passed Langside (gang-side langside some people call it) and I thought about the friends we have living there.  One mom just told me her kids had trick or treated down their street and had a great time talking to neighbors and bringing some loot.  I inwardly cheered, not for the extra candy they got, but for a all-round good time they had on a street with a bad reputation.  As we turned onto Young Street we passed by a lady, obviously waiting for "tricks" (not treats).  As we had come up, she looked like a teen but closer, I saw the extra make-up that covered a thin, middle aged lady's face.  Worn and hard, such a contrast with the way she was literally skipping a few steps and doing little twirls to gain attention.  It was like those antelope in Africa that jump up high when lions are around to show off a little that they are strong and quick, and would be hard to take down.  One "lion", a guy in a back pack slowed down and asked when they could meet, she told them she would be waiting there till he got back.  All this as the 3-4 min it took to walk up and pass by!

So down we went on Young Street, passing by the house of a local Chin (Myanmar) pastor and on towards the house we had rented just 7 months ago.  The Bed Bug house.  Lots of memories there, both good and bad.  I wondered if there were people living there now, and if the bed bugs were gone.  Housing here is at a premium and I wouldn't be surprised if people just put up with the little beasts just to have a place to stay.  Anyways, I thank God for the safe and homey place we live now.   Our walk concluded with walking past the overflowing garbage bins in the back alley and back  home.  As I opened our wooden gate, I noticed the leaves need raking and the yard prepared for winter, letting Cyclone off her leash I sighed....just another day in the neighborhood.

First Contact Part 3

I'm not sure if alot of people realize that I am an extreme introvert.  Totally shy, like my dad, who nudges their spouse (metaphoically and literally) to get out of the car and ask for the hotel prices and availablity on a long trip, or for directions when we are lost.  Really!  My spouse treats social occasions like an endless supply of fuel at a gas pump.  For me, the fuel gets sucked out till I'm barely running on empty.  So when "first contact" happened, with the lady I called Gazelle last month, I was so curious and intrigued that I couldn't help but come out of myself to say hi.  After that day, I knew if I just kept saying hi, that would'nt cut it.  So once I asked her name (wow, really outgoing there!!) in First Contact Part 2.  Now what?  Amazingly, over the past few weeks, if I saw her coming I'd crazily think of ducking the other way, or chat with an imaginary friend, or look at the intriging side-walk crack....

I knew I needed to throw away my shy-ness for the next step.  Face my giants, (this time a tall, dark Dinka lady) my insecurities and the still small voice of "what the heck has come over you?".  I know she is worth knowing, I suspect she shares my faith, and just stopping to chat longer is not going to cost me a whole lot.  This morning was my chance.  I decided to walk right down the street she walks up on, after she drops her kids at the daycare.  It's a quiet street, and the air was sweet with fall smells and leaves.  Here she came, and we stopped to chat (God heard a quick string of "give me courage" lines before I faced her).  After our greetings, and some small talk, I told her I would love to hear her story.  Her eyes went wide and then she smiled, "sure!"  We sorted out a good time to meet, when she didn't have English classes.  I'll take her to the Ellice cafe for tea...or coffee.  And listen to her story, told in her voice.  This is one time I'm glad I pushed myself to step out on that Ledge, and it held.

A Grief Re-Visited

Yesterday, my niece and I sat at the Ellice Theatre having a delicious lunch and chatting about this and that.  Even though it was a common place thing to do, it felt special to me, just because I have never had a "me and my niece", just us, lunch before.  Very cool, I really like her...she's 13, full of spunk and very funny.  As we were sitting there, munching down, she said, "are those pictures the ones my mom put up?  They were on her computer at home."  I turned around to look at the other side of the cafe, and there, bigger then life was my former friend and pastor on 3 large framed pictures.    Two of them he had his arms wide open and a huge smile (in front of renovated houses and apartments) and the other he had a poster of a blown up newspaper, chatting to a driver of a car.  I assume it was when he was "advertising" which city councillor owned a massage parlor here in the West End.  He was like that, publically denouncing and uncovering double dealing and embarrasing connections with crime here, but also one who lived life quietly, personally, with great grace and wit.  Well, as I looked at these great pictures of him, I unexpectedly had a stab of grief.  Harry died about 2 years ago with a fast advancing cancer that took everyone by surprise.  These photos were up for a book launch of Harry's life that is to happen in two weeks.  We (our church and community and other interested persons) are invited to come re-live and celebrate a life well-lived in service to God and others.  I reflected later, do I really want to re-live his life, to end up at the sudden pain of loosing him?  After that thought, I really actually didn't feel like getting involved with this book or the launch.  The grinding hurt and loss, why would I want to remember that?  There will be alot of hoopla, laughs and hugs...but underneath, I know alot of close friends and New Lifers (his church members) would rather not be where the action is this time.

I had a dream about Harry a few weeks after he died (we were in Myanmar at the time).  There was a gathering in the upstairs of a large house being renovated.  People, friends were mingling and talking.  I went to the window that had a railing there, to look outside, kind of grief-stricken and sad that he wasn't around anymore.  Someone came up behind me, and I turned around and it was him...I knew it was a dream and he was dead but he looked great, healthy and smiling.  He encouraged me (I don't remember what he or I said) and I had some questions and we both stood there looking out the window, and then I woke up.  It felt like I had just talked to him.  Sure I was sad but something had changed.  I'd see him again.  Sometimes its harder for the ones left behind, to make sense, to make do, to sort out the message of a life, to reflect and decide to go on.  Still, there's the whisper of grief that takes one unexpectedly to that place and then one has to let go again.....

Jesus in the Leaves

It's been cold, a sudden winter storm and we are all trying to catch up to what that means. This morning, after discussing with Silas (who is on breakfast strike for the 7500th time) that he used to like Honey Nut cereal (and Corn Flakes, and Rice Krispies), I put on my toque, my mitts and my mutt and headed out to Toronto Street for our daily walk.  The day is cloudy, wet, and grey.  The trees in fall should be all shades of golden colours, gently falling from the sky....but with the sudden freeze its sudden death.  They are brown and green and fall in clumps, like a shaggy dogs hair falling out in handfulls.  The sidewalk is full of wet, flat, gross looking leaves.  As I was contemplating one such patch of leaves, I saw a small card.  Bending down, I discovered a picture of Jesus, the catholic version.  I really wanted to pick it up and add it to my "inner-city walk collection" but I stopped myself as i reached for it.  It was in the middle of these gross looking leaves, wet and who knows if a dog pooped on it?  So I got up and walked away, kind of wishing I had picked it up and wiped it off.  Maybe the Father put it in my path for a reason?  I mused at 'Jesus in the leaves'.....

Yesterday, I was fuming in the aisles of SuperStore.  Mad, sorry, frustrated....'marital bliss, eh?'  I thought to myself, watching other couples picking their lettuces, oranges, deciding on soup together.  Why do they get to shop together and we are on a rollar coaster of work, issues, kids, dog and dirty dishes (and super huge grocery stores and I have a cart with the front wheel always turning left????).   In the middle of my internal rampage the words rung out in my mind "You shall not have any gods before Me"....like what, King James version, for one.  And two, is that you God or my wierd thinkings popping up again??   The line flashed through my mind again, "You shall not have any gods before Me", like maybe I should think more on this....my mind is whirling with grievances, wishes dashed and bitterness...working up a sweat comparing your life to others in a grocery store of all places!!  The Father was using King James for an age old problem....focusing on ME and everyone who makes my life miserable, not HIM and what He does to sustain, nurture, restore and grow true Life.  Ok, instant humility...the sweat is still pouring (now I'm in the self-check out and realizing how dumb that was with a cart load and a parka on).  Father, you win, teach me to bow down to You not Self (which is as big a god as those 500 foot Buddhas in Thailand).  

So that's why there was a Jesus in the leaves, hmmm......

A Snowy Day and U2

Friday night it snowed and snowed and snowed.  Nate turned 9 early, we had his party that nite.  10 kids and a wild time.  After the official party came the unofficial snow party, our 3 boys digging through last years winter wear and boots.  Desperately flinging "too small" or "too big" coats and hats around, they finally settled into whatever fit ran outside for night-time frolic in the first snow of the season.  Steve and I just found the bed and crashed into the soft, warm quilts. 

This weekend, I learned again what love is.  A son's birthday, an aching heart, an argument in a thrift store, a burning for another, calm water, vunerablity with spiritual brothers and sisters, a patch of snow, a hand on a shoulder, prayer and pain, reconciliation, a breath of pine and moss, the wildness and the wilderness, shouldering anothers sorrow and letting go of one's own.  A  universe of  life-learning packed into our finite lives.  God never meant for love to be easy, the best lovers are born wearing a crown of thorns.


I was born/I was born to be with you
In this space and time/After that and ever after I haven't had a clue
Only to break rhyme/This foolishness can leave a heart black and blue
Only love, only love can leave such a mark
But only love, only love can heal such a scar

 I was born/I was born to sing for you
I didn't have a choice but to lift you up
And sing whatever song you wanted me to
I give you back my voice/From the womb my first cry,
It was a joyful noise...
Only love can leave such a mark
But only love, only love can heal such a scar
Justified till we die, you and I will magnify

The Magnificent

Kenny

This morning as I was making a late breakfast, I heard the local news story of a 34 year old man who had died from a stabbing a few days ago near our area.   I have often wondered what good it does to have a portion of a 3 minute news update dedicated to who was assaulted, knifed or discovered dead in the West End or North End.  Not only does it freak people out about coming to visit or live in this area, but it makes it sound like half the people who live/die here are in drug or gang wars.  I would say 95%  (that might be an inaccurate percentage!  but you know what  I mean) of us who live in these areas work, live, have children, are not perfect, and say hi to a neighbor....we do not go around stabbing people or walk the streets to protect our turf with a gun in our pants.  Anyways, when I heard that the 34-yr old, Kenny Catcheway, dead by stabbing was a B.U.I.L.D. worker going about his business, my heart lurched to my throat.  I don't know Kenny but for the past week and a bit, we've had "BUILD" workers renovating our basement.  The crew boss is William, a native guy who has been working for them for 18 months now, and seems to be happy to be able to make some good money and be able to afford an apartment soon.  The other crew members are aboriginal too, and have good attititudes and a great work ethic.  Kenny could've been  one of these guys....apparently he had just learned to drive the company truck and was turning his life around, to the joy of his family and friends.  The work crew didn't show up today, I think of Kenny and his co-workers and realize that the news doesnt' just report freaky stuff that complicates issues...it has reported today of a dear son and co-worker, dead at 34.

Get High

Tuesday, Jo, Silas and I took a walk to the river while Nate was at his piano lessons.  It was a beautiful fall day, the trees beautiful and the neighborhood quiet.  We discovered a small park with a bench and planted flowers right beside the river.  We noticed a plaque and read a dedication of the park to a local scientist who had given his life to save 7 collegues.  They were working on a radiation project when something went wrong and he dove on top of the thing, getting radiation himself but saving those with him.  He died 9 days later.  Wow!  I told the boys, that is like a Star Trek thing to do, like Spock did for the Captain and his crew in that one tear-jerker scene.  Pretty cool.  I imagined what this guy was like as we headed down to the river.  Muddy, stumps, rocks, garbage.  Cyclone nearly stepped on some fishing hooks and line (Jo was happy for that discovery and took it home) and I nearly stepped on some small green ziploc bags.  I picked them up and new what they were for....it had a bomb on it with the words "Get High" all over it.  Amazing that drug users get a cute little baggy for their goods, maybe even find them in bulk at the dollar store.  After a bit more exploring we hurried back to pick Nate up.  I tried to remember the scientists name who gave his life, but couldn't....the only souviener from our visit to the river was the fishing hooks and these two little bags. So many times that's how it goes in our days...the drugs are here to stay but the sacrificial people aren't or their forgotten.  I'm sorry about that.  The druggie bags will go in the garbage, but I'll be back at that park to remember this guy and his dedication to life. At the end of the day, that's what it is all about.

Servolution to Move-o-lution

Apparently this is a book that's out for Christians to learn how to improve their service to their communities, cities and the world.  I'm all for getting off our butts and doing what should be natural for servants of Christ to do but something bothers me about it.  Granted, I haven't read the book, but as it was explained to us from the front on Sunday morning my hear sank a little and my internal "radical meter" was not interested.  To the presenters, it was the spark that got them serving sandwiches and juice boxes to a homeless shelter crowd on Wednesdays.  I am holding my sarcastic side back a whole lot, so I won't get into it but as my hubby and I were walking home from church we talked about it.  I said, "we need Move-o-lution not more servolution in Christianity today!".  Steve asked what I meant, "isnt' it good people get out and do kind things?"  I thought of the French Revolution.  "What is a revolution anyway?  It's a bunch of totally sold out (heart and soul) ordinary people who grab weapons, ideas and resources that they have and overturn and shake things up!!  Imagine what it was like in France at that time of revolution...heads rolled, yelling, chanting, people moving the existing barriers, willing to die for their cause!  If Christians are not heart and soul plunged into the Cause, the Core, the Reason for being....if they are not willing to MOVE into the tough places in radical spiritual obedience, its a sad pretending."  Servolution should turn into Move-o-lution....how about not just jam sandwiches on Wednesdays.  How about serving up some hot roast beef, gravey slathered spiritual banquet for everyone....one with radical movement and radical relationship building, every moment of everyday.   That is what happened to Steve and I  14 yrs agao as we were challenged by a spit-spraying preacher called Tony Campolo and we physically moved to a recently attained apartment next to our inner-city church.  Since then, we have discovered time and again our physical movement in a radical uprooting has been the spiritual adventure of our lives.  Let's trade in the Jam Sandwich Christianity, to the Deeply Satisfying Hot Roast Beef Christianity.....that's something to sink your teeth into!

Mooshee

Sometimes I don't know what the heck I'm doing here. Yesterday there was a couple who came up to me while I was waiting on the school step for Nate to get off of patrol. I was watching them for about 10 min as they had piled up cardboard, toys and boxes that was stamped with "Vodka" on the sides into little pull carts, across the street from me. The man helped the lady put on a kids backpack (small size) with a picture of Diego (from the show) and as their caravan was moving off, she looked over at me and then Cyclone. I said hi, but her eyes were only for the dog. She was instantly fascinated with her, and came over and asked me what kind of dog she was. I did my usual shpiel. Terrier, Samoyd (spelling?), Asian street dog...trying to keep the WHOLE story down to a minimum. She said she swears it was a Russian dog, the type that are extinct....and her eyes went misty..."like my Mushee, isn't it C.J.(to her companion), like my Mooshee". And tears started spilling down her cheeks. I was wondering if I should feel sad too, or counsel her through her grief of a lost dog, or hope Nate would come around the corner and rescue me. "Who was Mooshee?" I asked, hopefully compassionately enough. She told me Mooshee was the last Russian dog in the world, they are now extinct and she had had it when she was a little girl (on the farm??). She also informed me they used to roam wild in packs (in Russia) and would surround their prey, like wolves, and work together to pull them down. Interesting.....could Cyclone have a Russian dog species in her blood?? A few weeks ago, another, very knowledgable lady had said that Cyclone was very likely a Bosjee (heaven help us with these names). "What is a Bosjee?" I asked, feeling stupid for my ignorance. "It's the only laughing dog in the world. You check it out you'll see" . She gave me a knowing nod and off she went. I actually looked it up on line, and Cyclone does resemble a Bosjee (again the terrible spelling, I don't know!). So back to this lady and Mooshee.....she does pencil drawings and wanted to do one of me and Cyclone, any size I wanted. She wanted a pencil drawing of only Cyclone too, to remember her beloved by. By this time, I was feeling the conversation was getting a little long, I was committing to giving her the first pup Cyclone was going to have, and Nate had come and was waiting. Extracting myself with a promise of seeing them hopefully Monday after school, same time, same place....Nate and I finally headed home. Cyclone is apparently a hit in the neighborhood, she really brings out deep emotions in people. I wonder sometimes if dogs do community better then I do, they don't ask for it, it just seems to happen and I deal with the fall out. (That's why I carry a dog poop bag). After a visit like that, and getting home to a more familiar set of expectations can be a balm for me. Out in the neighborhood anything can happen, any conversation can turn deep or crazy or just a normal weather talk. Maybe it would be better if I could be like a Bosjee and only laugh.....

Lock Down

Sitting here, mini-pizza in the oven waiting for Jo but apparently he can't leave the school. I guess its the first lock-down of the school year and I'm hoping he's ok and not too hungry. The news on the street (and CBC) says that this morning a man had gone out to shoo some gang boys away from his back alley..they doused him with fuel and put him to light. 1st and 2nd degree burns....One of his neighbors said just last week, he was telling some guys to leave the neighborhood and got an eight ball in the eye (in a sock) for the trouble. Will he get up and move out, fed up with a neighborhood gone to pot? I doubt it, from the sounds of it, that's why he's there...being a voice for reason and safety. In a supposedly quiet neighborhood a friend stabs another in the chest and he's charged for murder...these are 15-16 yr old guys. Steve talked to a staff member in a local community centre who himself is one who used to be in trouble but now is giving back some positive life. With eyes watering up (it probably wasn't the smell of the onions in his sandwich) he shared with Steve the frustration and helplessness he feels when he hears stories like the one this morning.

Why are we here? Why is this young community worker striving for peace and a positive presence where he works? Mad Cow (name of an African led gang here) disease is biting feriously this fall, the anxst of young lives lived in anger, power hungry, making a scene...might be heart-pumping excitment for them but you could easily predict thier future. Hospitals, addiction programs, jails are full of the shake down at the end of that road. The big WHY looms, its not only in the West End...world wide there is alot of fear of terrorism and big crisis that affects us all. So do we move off the planet for a better neighborhood? There is no where else to go....and guess what, even astronauts probably personal junk they need to deal with too. We take it with us!

God forbid we loose hope, that h-word is the most underated one we have. "from a hopeless dope addict to a dopeless hope addict" one Teen Challenge ad has it. Hope still happens, its here, we are living it right now....that's why we live here (amoung other reasons, we happen to like lots of action). Hope in an ultimate frisbee game in the park next door with 10-15 kids coming out of the wood work, or a girl saying..."Can you hold my barbies while I swing?" and she doesn't know me worth beans, an encouraging chat with a friend trying to figure out her computer glitches, another friend has intentionally bought a house next to his that needs major repair and a couple is ready to move in out of a bed bug infested apartment....this is all in the West End, we grab and embrace hope here all the time. Meanwhile, Jo's school is still in lock down and I'm sure he's gonna be hungry when he gets home. I know he probably hoping for a good snack.....

First Contact Part 2

Wasn't sure what to write today. The coot cook-off we had on Sunday or my walk this morning. Ok, if you're curious....Steve and the boys nabbed 5 coot off the lake Saturday morning (well, he shot them, the boys hiding under a green "camoflauge" banket in the bottom the canoe, at 6:30 am!). We didn't know what they were at first (was it legal???) and then the bigger question, how to cook them! Recipes ranged from boiling it in an old boot and eating it together (helps the taste) or cooking it with onions and when its done, throw away the coot and eat the onions! Didn't look good, especially when we had asked some friends to come help us eat them before we knew what we could do with them....

We didn't have to worry, our friends were graciously and helpfully exuberant about its taste (after it was marinated to death with teriakyi sauce) and we had a great visit. Needless to say we had some fish and hot dogs available just in case!!

As for my walk, in half a daze (maybe it was that coot yesterday...)I got the kids to school. The wind is cold today, geese overhead honking and Nate pointed to the sky "Look mom, that one is taking over the lead!" Even from these city blocks, if we listen, we can hear them going by. While I said good bye to the boys, I glanced down the sidewalk to see if "Gazelle" was happening by. Like clockwork, she was there, this time wearing a backpack instead of a purse. Was this my chance? Looking toward her as she came up, she smiled...I realized she was missing a tooth in the front. I knew I looked like I just got up from a crazy dream but I went for it... "Hi, how are you?" She actually didn't look that tall from this close up, I thought. We briefly chatted, she takes her 2 kids to preschool and goes on to her school, English learning. She's from Sudan (she smiled as she said this) BINGO! I was right! She found it difficult to speak too much in English, so we switched to Dinka and had a great visit (just kidding!!!!). Gazelle has turned to Rachael. I expect we will meet daily, briefly. I hope she learns enough english to tell me her whole story, I thought as I followed Cyclone to her next sniffy spot. Sudan, Myanmar, Vietnam, Rwanda...the world of stories on our sidewalks. I can't imagine the pain, loneliness, courage of those we often pass by. I'm glad I know her name now, and that she knows mine.

First Contact

This is the 6th or 7th time I've seen this lady. When I first noticed her (who wouldn't?) she was wearing a bright colored dress, with a purse over her shoulder. She is tall, I'm talking 6 feet at least and her skin a beautiful deep black. Going to school this week, with the dog and kids, she's passed me by and I try to catch her eye to say hi... but she looks straight ahead. The thing that catches my breath the most is the way she walks. or should I say her relaxed stride. I saw her down the sidewalk coming towards us (half a block away), trees, concrete, school fence, children running to school around her but all I saw was an African savanna, dry umbrella trees and a slim, tall, brightly dressed Dinka women (staff in hand for the goats?) walking with a gait that eats up miles with no effort at all. That vision faded as she was passing by and I finally caught her eye, she mine and I said "Hi there!". She smiled, interest and happy surprise covering her face, and returned the greeting. On I went, on she went....first contact filling my heart with the wonder of mystery. Who is she? Where is she from? What does she think of this crazy Canadian scene? I have so many questions, so curious.

some weeks ago, I read about a Lost Boy from the Dinka tribe (from Sudan) that made it to U.S. as a refugee. Government supported tribal raiders came in one nite to their village and changed their lives forever with terror and death. He was one of thousands forming miles long lines of young boys, hounded by starvation and raids, trying to reach the border refugee camps. My heart goes out to this lady (I'll name her Gazelle), to the Lost Children....maybe she is one of them. I hope I get to find out, it might change my life....

Sunny Day

T0day Jo didn't wake up grumpy...there was homework issues last nite, so I expected an early morning cold shoulder. After dropping the kids off at school, Cyclone and I walked down Toronto street and actually experienced a moment of complete silence and calm. It was cool, the flora was flowering in so many yards and as we walked I sensed a sudden peace and rightness. We approached Ellice and the sounds, smells and broken concrete broke the silence and we seemed to back into the reality of the West End again. The local mosque advertised Ramadan, pawn shops and hair salons with their hand made posters in the windows...Cyclone straining after a chicken bone on the sidewalk...the stuff of reality!

The sun was in my eyes on the way home, its going to be a warm day. Steve and I are awaiting the Fathers familiar and wild Spirit to energize us today. We pray in our humanness and anticipate in the Divine. It is incredible that one day we can fly and other days sink deep.

"Take these shoes
Click clacking down some dead end street
Take these shoes
And make them fit
Take this shirt
Polyester white trash made in nowhere
Take this shirt
And make it clean, clean
Take this soul
Stranded in some skin and bones
Take this soul
And make it sing

Yahweh, Yahweh
Always pain before a child is born
Yahweh, Yahweh
Still I'm waiting for the dawn"

from:
U2 YAHWEH

another day...make it Yours.

First write

This is my first text into my new blog site. Welcome to one and all to the wild wanderings of my days, weeks and years. I hope to have some pictures of family and friends...of my walks with Cyclone (our mixed breed mutt), and commentary of life in the 21st century of a world at war within and without. Maybe its just my 2 cents worth (or 2 loonies in current currency) but it fulfills the "sweet Spirit blast" within me to speak out (plus I take advantage of the free Blog making site)! I am NOT internet savvy, save for my email account and news items, Bruce Cockburn tour dates, U2 concert update, news on Myanmar, and finding out what pets are free on Kijiji Winnipeg....ok, so I'm a little savvy.

Be on the look out for a new book I'm writing called "Why?" (no due date yet). It will attempt to explain why Steve (my loving hubby of 15 years) and I do what we do here in Winnnipeg's inner-city and overseas in our favorite Asian military dictatorship ruled country. We have been in Canada (on a more permanent basis) for one year now and many have questioned the reason of our spews, views and actions concerning the places we have chosen to live, work and raise 3 kids. I think its quite simple, many do not understand...thus a book to explain it all!

I will hopefully keep this updated 3-4 times a week. Comments are appreciated but not sought after. Let's see how this thing works!

Posted for Posterity