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.