far from blah

the sun is actually shining today!  my walk today was not a chore, with birdsong guiding my way down McGee St and then down Furby this morning.  saying good bye to my youngest at school, i settled into the nice feeling of a walk before me...musing over the past couple of days and weeks. i see Rachel walking towards me, haven't seen her for a couple of weeks.  we say hi, but she seems a little distant...that's ok, perhaps when the weather changes we can make plans to meet again. meanwhile, i mull over the fact that i've had this headcold for over a week now and have tried to 'lay low' in my stuffed up suffering.  with three boys, and a hyper pooch its hard to 'lay low' for any length of time.  dental visits, groceries, music lessons, seem to fill up the schedule as it usually does.  i crossed Sargent and thought about the movie my hubby and i watched last nite about Amelia Earhart's story, the first women  pilot to fly across the Atlantic.  the ending brought me up short, attempting a last leg of her round the world stint, she ran out of fuel over the Pacific and was lost to history without a trace.  funny how that affected me...by now I'm at a cross walk and an Asian lady stops about 7 feet from me and looks terrified at Cyclone looking at her.  "is he friendly dog? I scared".  she keeps her distance even though I say she's  ok, but Cylone denies her comfort by sensing her fear and barking a couple of times at her...'better to keep going' I think.  i get onto Furby and enjoy the sun, the birds and the thoughts...she should've waited for a clear day (who? Amelia...oh yah), a day like today, she'd see the island she needed to refuel at and she would've been back in her husbands arms the next day and a hero along with it.  All the world was watching her with bated breath, would she, could she do it?  So much struggle, love, so much risk involved to even get her and her silver plane up and into the clouds.  why do i relate to that?  i meet up with a elderly lady who walks her elderly dog on our street regularly.  i ask her how she is, she asks me, then she says "you know, last week the police were at that house," she pointed to one 3 doors down, "there were drugs and guns there, alot of them.  You know, this is good neighborhood but," she shrugs, "what can you do? drugs, guns..." she shakes her head and then smiles, "Bye-bye now, have a good day!"  i answer, "ok, you too!".  i had seen the 6 police cars and two investigative vans outside last week.  i thought perhaps a stabbing or something, but I guess it was a cache of guns and drugs the police had found.  the other nite i had reflected to some friends that lately i've been too blah to write in this blog.  nothing going on, sick, normal Winnipeg winter.  my walk today has taught me otherwise, life here is far from blah.

Heart Cry

I was scurrying home.  I had bowed out of a meeting to be able to get home and help get the boys to bed.  My mind was a little agitated too.  This was a new board put together to help bring charity status to a minstry arm of 3 house churches here in the neighborhood.  It was the third time we met, and already they had to re-think and re-word their application to the current policies that the government has laid out.  Hoops to jump through, snagging on a dearly held philosophy this group has on freedom to pool their money and to give to whom they want, no strings attached.  I had given a two minute passionate diatribe on what true "ministry" was...not having all kinds of free time to pastor and counsel people, but the daily struggle of life, lived with and for an inner-city community.  It's chatting with a neighbor on the way to your McDonald's job, its sharing a joke with a neighborhood kid next door as you shoulder your shovel to make a few bucks for the milk that day.  They watch, they learn, they listen....it's Jesus in ripped jeans, a big heart, a steady hand.

I was trying to walk fast, my kids were waiting I knew.  Passing by the dark houses, I heard a wail.  A cat?  or dog howling?  As I came closer to the sound, I realized it was a voice.  It was mumbling loudly something over and over and then sobbing in between.  I stopped and tried to figure out which of the two houses it was coming from.  One was looking pretty "together", shovelled yard, neat and tidy...the other had a boarded up front window and gnerally looked unkept and creepy.  The voice wailed again, this time clearly calling in a child's tone, "I wish Samantha was hewh.  I wish Samantha was hewh." and then a heart breaking sob and crying.  Over and over the cry came and I was transfixed.  What to do?  It's 9 pm on Langside, this kid sounds completely abandoned.  I looked around for help, there was one girl "working" the corner near-by...was that "Samantha"?  A guy came out of the clean house next door with a bag of garbage and looked at me strange and walked away...the wails went on "I wish Samantha was hewh"...didn't he hear it?  Has he locked her up somewhere in that house?  Crazy ideas filled my head.  I decided I'd run home and get Steve to come investigate with me.  I flew in the door and shared the story, they were in the middle of their Ramoli game and didn't want to go investigate anything.  So I took the car, drove back and ran to the same spot I had been standing before, the words and cry like a revolving tape player, "I wish Samatha was hewh, I wish Samantha was hewh, I wish Samantha was hewh......"  It was silent, I looked around, there was light from the creepy house kitchen windown but no indication of anyone there.  Shoulders slumped and head bowed, I prayed for that little girl.  My heart cried for hers, her loneliness, her fear, her neglect.  And I felt helpless.  Why had God allowed me to hear the cry right then?  Should I knock on the door, even if I was alone? like her?  or was she alone?  Questions still trample like elephants in a field.  What to do with the heart cry on Langside.

That Little Bird

As I crunched along in my walk this morning, I suddenly realized I could hear birds.  Two kinds in fact, one chirping a normal bird chirp and another with an actual birdish melody!  My mind had been in a revolving door of thoughts, inner debates and other mindfilled clutter.  I am reading through "The Urban Saint" right now, a novel about Harry Lehotsky and his life and work here in the West End.  I almost trashed it the other day, because it really dragged up some memories of his unflagging charisma and lack of that kind of enthusiastic leadership today.  I unexpectedly had tears in my eyes, as I walked down Ellice to pick up my youngest from school (this was Friday).  "Why did you have to go now?  This street feels empty without his presence.  And we are left to carry on.".  Saturday afternoon was the wedding of his oldest son,  we New Lifers laughed and cried together, especially seeing the slide show, where Harry was there every little step of the way of his sons lives.  So then I went home and read a couple more chapters...picketing pawn shops, confronted by the mess of a West End moment, his little church with their big hearts.....Crunch, crunch, crunch, Cyclone sniffs, the frost hangs on the trees and I remember as that little bird sings.

Softly Falling

Cyclone and I can finally get back on schedule.  It's not the prune juice schedule, or the other "thing" that hits the females in a house at the same time (we are the only females in our house remember besides the gerbils and hamster that remain anonymously gendered for the moment).  It's our daily walk, to the school, through 4-5 blocks of neighborhood and home.  The snow was falling in clumps this morning, gently swaying bunches.  It muffles sound when it comes down that way, so things looked and sounded quieter and more gentle.  Even the traffic (not the car that almost ran us down at the lights on a yellow, but anyway).  Christmas holidays are thankfully over, I mulled the days in my mind as I walked.  There was the Wheelies visit, singing carols with my husbands family after a ridiculous present game that had everyone chorkling long after it was over, Christmas Day (that morning didn't come off so well... 3 boys and so many expectations!!  I'll save that for another time!) and wrestling with my niece outside.  Now that was quite the scene!  Myself, aka "Zelda the Destroyer" (42, a little out of shape) pitched against "Sky-Scraper" (my niece, the 14 yr old, very tall, very confident that she would pulverize me). Little did she know, I am a mother of boys, that I had a very difficult morning with one of them, and all my frustration may show up in a power struggle of dynamic proportions!!  For half an hour we strained and struggled, grabbed and slammed, snow was flying, our legs and arms were flying, Zelda was bent on squishing Sky-Scraper, ditto for SS but neither would back down.
Finally the time had come when Zelda had used all her reserves and more.  Sky-Scraper knew it was over as Zelda mumbled through tembling lips, "I'm finished!  You win!"  Now, that was a Christmas Day to remember! 

The rest of the time seemed easy after facing the Christmas Day challenge in all its griefs and joys.   Perhaps that is why I relate more with Easter...I expect stark grief and loss (remembering the One who faced it and overcome) and the joy of Easter morning.  Christmas has become Christmas carols played in malls (buy more stuff!), money (debt), personal enjoyment  (or hard emotional stuff) and expectations that come crashing because its built on man-made happiness.  Easter seems more realistic to me (let's downplay the chocolate bunnies, PLEASE!), to me all we can expect is the emptiness of death on a cross and the surprise of joy by the empty tomb.  "I was born for that purpose.  And I came to bring truth to the world"...the Jesus celebrated just a week ago, we cry that you'd bring the Truth back again and shake us out of our frenzy of self, till we listen. 

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!!