thankful

Saturday morning, I heard the sad news that my friend Christina had passed away.  I spent the day rather dishevelled and in a fog.  

Can I tell you a little about Christina?  I know she'd love that her picture is on a blog, and her stories are being told.  She loved being remembered, noticed, appreciated.  

She loved being loved!

I met her in 2009, shortly after our family moved to Flatlanders Inn. She came for our Wednesday potluck. After we'd eaten she asked when the women's prayer group was meeting.  Turns out she thought it was Friday and was looking for another event in the church, she hadn't even meant to come to Flats.... but then she kept coming, every Wednesday night for the next two years.  She'd bring food to share, sometimes chicken nuggets or instant potatoes, but she always wanted to contribute!

Both Christina and I had mothers who had struggled with mental illness and who had passed away many years ago. We discovered this story-in-common early in our friendship.  We hardly ever discussed it, but every so often if the topic of care or childhood would come up, she'd say something about the kind of mutual understanding we shared. Trust grew between us, in the way that it does, winding and testing.  Getting stronger with shared experience, shared laughter, shared hearts, shared hurts. 

 Christina was an artist, and she had this deep longing to communicate brokenness AND hope in every piece she created.
When our artspace opened up, she was became a regular attender at the art drop in. She loved Jesus.  When she was feeling strong, she wanted to pray for you, looking for ways to encourage and bless everyone she met.  When she was feeling low, she asked people to pray for her often.

Christina loved Christian trinkets. She couldn't resist buying a t-shirt or hat that had words or images about love or peace. Her jewellery collection was extensive and included lots of crosses.  If you got curious about the stuff she loved, you'd learn that she just wanted to communicate the love and hope of God to everyone.  She had a mixed up relationship with 'stuff', and it consumed a lot of her energy. ... and often the energy of her friends!   Flatlanders experimented with storing some of her treasures - but in the end, we sent them back to her place because of the tension it brought into our relationship.  

Some of my favourite Christina memories; 

...having coffee in portage place
...sorting through her stuff and hanging clothes on very specific hangers, in very specific order, in a very specific way :)
...rummaging through her purse for some lost item
...the time she made a huge pot of soup for flatlanders and everyone loved it

...being shown a new photo or artistic piece and hearing the story of how it came to be

... the way she would choose an outfit and accessories, usually including a hat!

...seeing the abandon she danced with every sunday in church, even when her arm was injured

I'm pretty sure our last phone conversation was a prayer.  I have guilt over the phone calls I didn't answer and the messages I didn't return, but I know that our friendship was real and mutual - we were honest with each other.  'Be strong' was a phrase said between us often.

Christina gave me a celtic cross from her jewellery collection.  When she was alive, I wore it because I was grateful that she was in my life.  Now that she's gone, I'll wear it in her memory and in thankfulness for all that I learned from her. 

Christina taught me about beauty, about suffering, about joy, about intimacy, about vulnerability, about prayer, about Jesus.

She taught me about Jesus because I saw him in her all the time.

Be at peace, dear Christina, you will be missed by so many.
We love you.

                    ...until we meet again...

HAAALLLOOOOOO

We have an empty building in our parking lot.  We once thought it'd be renovated it like  the one we live in has been renovated.  I called it a 'container for dreams' - an empty, unused, huge building has so much potential!  But a few months ago, it was decided that the building needed to come down.  It's been slated for demolition any time before winter for the last few months.

Beside the building - the yellow warehouse its called - was well used shortcut to Main Street.  Not only was it a short cut, it was a bit of a hang out space. (or a sleeping place if you're homeless)  Activities back there could be a little sketchy.  Sometimes, it was an innocent drinking party or some guys cutting the insulation off their copper wire before bringing it in to the scrap metal dealer. Other times, there'd be someone relieving themselves or couples having a good time - with hardly an clothes on.   I only had to 'walk in' on a couple of very bizarre sights back there before I developed the habit of saying 'HAALLOOOO' nice and loud when I entered from either direction.  Better if people know you're nearby, I decided.  What I wasn't prepared to do was stop using the short cut.  I wasn't crazy about my kids using it, though.

Local newscasts in our city have all been reporting the suspicious death - now called a homicide - of a 24 year old woman named April Hornbrook.   Her body was found in the area that houses our short cut to Main St. - beside the yellow warehouse, basically in our back yard. Any local news carrier has articles about the death, and CTV has Andy's TV interview in our memorial garden posted right now.

At our house meeting today, we opened up the discussion to see how our community is dealing with this happening right under our noses.   We wanted to create a space for processing and responding to this tragedy together.  It was a bit of a crazy weekend, investigators asking all of us what we'd seen, police tape all over the place, tv cameras poking into people's faces after church on Sunday - not a run of the mill weekend, even for us.  First on our minds are thoughts and prayers for April's family.  Twice today, we've gathered in small groups just to sit and remember this girl, to pray for her family, and to ask that God would help her family find a measure of peace and closure.  We've prayed for our neighborhood more than usual, because this crime was so very 'near'.  We've prayed for justice, mercy, healing, and grace.   Processing together is helpful, especially toward our desire to avoid becoming desensitized when there is a lot of crime in our area.

Mostly though, we have no idea how to collectively or individually respond well. What are you supposed to do when a murder victim is found in your backyard?  What is the best way we could be of help those who are grieving?  Is there a way we can care for our community in this time of sadness?  We'd love it if you'd join us in praying for April's family, for safety and healing in our neighborhood, and for us as we seek to respond well.

shame

ever feel ashamed of yourself?  I'm not talking about guilt here, not some fleeting ooops-I-wish-I-hadn't-done/said-that feeling.  I'm talking about shame - the deeper feeling that peeks out every so often and says accusing things like: 'you're not valid. you're a pretender. maybe you shouldn't have been confident.... where do you get the idea that you have a right to contribute? I'm not going to let you forget where you've come from, or that you're a poor excuse for a _______  .'

photography found at: http://www.orkut.com.br/Mai

A couple of weeks ago, I had an experience that was causing me to want to curl up and not be seen.  I was wishing I could hide inside my own skin.  The memory of it would come into my mind and I'd have to suppress the desire to run away, to go find some covers to hide under.  As if by running, I could hide from my own thoughts.


When I get into this space, I inevitably feel like the people around me don't have any idea what I'm experiencing.  And that they can see right into me. They've got their acts together, they wouldn't have anything to do with what I'm wincing at the mere thought of.


So, before our family holiday, I called up a friend (at 10pm!) and asked if she had any wine and a few minutes for me. She graciously said yes (to both requests!), and even thanked me for coming over! Then I  told one of my sisters my secret.  (I could only tell one of them,  it was all I could manage.)  My husband also knew.  And I gave myself space to cry - several times, because I've learned that in some mysterious and beautiful way,  crying untangles the knot that lives in my stomach in times of grief.  Both my friend and my sister told me that they understood it was a huge deal for me, this thing I wanted to hide from.  They both shared similar experiences. And they both loved me anyway. They both found ways to say that their perception of me was not altered, and they both found gentle ways to encourage me to let it go.


It wasn't long before the memory didn't have the same power over me.  I can think about it now and not want to hide or even wince.  Someone told me once (a therapist someone) that I showed signs of having been shamed - often - in my life.  She was right.  But, you know, those shaming patterns don't have to live forever.  Over the years, I've learned how to practice vulnerability in some pretty freeing ways.  And, I've been acting - with a great many stumbles - on some decisions about what and who will have power over me.  


The stuff thats happened over the course of my life - for a long time I wanted to bury it.  And finally, I just accepted that it was what it was.  And that I was going to keep having to cope with it; in new ways as I changed and as the years progressed. It wasn't healthy to believe that there would come a day when it would be behind me forever. I had to let go of the 'I've dealt with it' mentality and replace it with a 'I'm dealing with it' perspective. 


I like the way Petersen talks about living creatively together in Galatians 6; 'Live creatively, friends. If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day's out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ's law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived.'


This post was inspired by a site I found by reading the very worst missionary's post about Second Chances.  Check out this site - dedicated to gracious living and being people of many chances.
thanks for reading! don't be shy to leave comments.

loss - 5 minute fridays

  

how can i write only 5 minutes about loss  when its been such a major theme of my life in the last few years?!  i could write pages and pages on it - actually, i probably have; its probably the most consistent theme in my journal.

at the same time, how can i pass up a chance to share the richness that has entered my life because of the gaping hole opened up by grief?

 the losses i've experienced have had a direct connection with some pretty significant changes in life direction. 

the best way i found to condense loss (less than four minutes to go!) was on a canvas where i painted layers after learning the concept of 'stackable losses'.  i imagined a series of losses piled up on top of each other.   The space left over at the top - the space available to cope with life -  was almost nonexistent.  seeing that picture in my mind's eye was a moment of healing for me, because i knew it was the perfect depiction of what had actually happened in my own life.  i instantly recognized that i'd been in a place of significantly reduced ability to deal with many aspects of life because of a series of major losses. 

in the painting, i named them...

dignity was the first and most significant.  losing your dignity means you can't look people in the eye, and you feel like any confidence you ever possessed must have been a joke - actually it feels like YOU are a joke.  thats extreme loss. 

safety was the next.  imagine thinking that you're going to fall into a safe, warm, welcoming embrace ... and then meeting a brick wall ... thinking that there is a safety net beneath you, only to realize that someone came along and cut all the strings... there was a season of my life that felt just like that. it was extreme loss. 

stability, security, and support followed.... in many ways because of the impact of losing safety and dignity.

hold up, though.woe ISN'T me! 

working through those losses wasn't and still isn't a pity party. 

rare is the day when the things i learned through those losses isn't accessed.  those losses have become valuable resources.  and the more i think about it, the losses i've suffered all throughout my life have shaped who i am ...  they've shaped me more than anything i intentionally sought out to shape me ever did.  

 i am rich because of losses.  what an upside down truth! 

think about it - which important theme of human existence isn't infused with loss? 

redemption.  incarnation.  family.   marriage.  love.  resurrection.  forgiveness.

there are more.

but my five minutes were up a few minutes ago....

the gypsy mama offers an invitation to blog for five minutes every friday on a given prompt.  

no editing, thinking, fixing... just GO, for five minutes, on the topic given.

todays was LOSS.

join in next week...

crazymaking

even before becoming a counsellor, I had come up with the term 'crazymaking' as a way of describing what its like to be in an relationship where emotional abuse is present.   It's like walking on a tightrope while balancing a stack of plates on your head and wearing high heels - as a lifestyle. And doing it with a smile on your face, because you're pretty sure that the deep ache you feel isn't valid, so pretending and covering up your emotions is almost always necessary.

I've had this post brewing for quite a while. It comes from some of my in class learning, some  experiences with people in my life, some of my own experiences, and a little bit from things I've heard from clients.  (care has been taken to ensure there is nothing identifying written here.)

I feel compelled to talk about emotional abuse.  It deserves attention because it's often overlooked, and people generally think it's not valid in the same way as physical violence or sexual violence is.  Does emotional violence really compare?  I might have said no in the past.... but I've come to see things differently.  Even though other kinds of abuse leaves scars and bruises, the remnants of emotional abuse are no less permanent.  I've heard folks who have been emotionally abused say that they WISH they had bruises, some tangible evidence that might validate the pain.  

Emotionally abused women often don't recognize the abuse as abuse for a long time.  Partly because its their 'normal'.  And partly because they're too busy trying to make things right, constantly trying to flex and adapt to a changing reality.  The ways that they are wrong, bad, and 'the problem' seem never ending, and they're often trying some new strategy to keep the chaos at bay.  They often see themselves as the problem in every situation, because thats what they're told.  Over, and over, and over.   Friends and family, in a sincere effort to be supportive,  often reinforce the message that the victim needs to change/is the problem.

I could say more, but a friend told me I could share some of her thoughts as long as I keep her identity secret.

"That’s the thing about being in a relationship with an abuser – you don’t matter.  Its best to just face that fact and accept it.  You don’t matter.  Your partner finds every possible way to tell you that, to get you to embrace this truth. It's the secret to getting along, he says.  Sometimes with gentleness, sometimes with humor, sometimes with venom that reverberates in your brain for years.   Problem is:  ITS NOT TRUE!!  It's only the truth of the relationship you’re in.  Somewhere, you know that, you just lose touch with it in the midst of turmoil and ongoing stress. And sometimes, he is so very good to you, that you wonder if you made the abuse up.  How could these two faces belong to the same person, you ask yourself.  But you know. the difference between the two faces is obvious, to you most of all.  you know the subtle change.  The cheek twitch.  The clenched hands.  The tone of voice.  You know both of them -  intimately."

"Every time I experience a verbal attack,  I walk around as if in a fog or daze for days.  I forget the difference between up and down.  I become even more forgetful than I naturally am.. or maybe the absentmindedness is a response to a lifetime of abuse?  I don’t know.  I feel so little, so worthless, so confused. I can hardly string sentences together.  I try to look for the consistencies and the pattern, something to work on, a starting place.  But inconsistency is the only consistency.  How do you do any repairs on a moving target?  You just keep doing the dance.  until one day, you can't dance anymore."

 I'm learning about emotional abuse.  I'm learning that it's real and deserves attention. I'm also learning that there's hope.  IF both victim and abuser are willing to take honest inventory of things.  To take responsibility and do the hard work of emotional change, rerouting learned responses.  Boundaries need to be established and supports set up.  Both parties need to talk about violence and power -  what's happened between them and what they want to replace it with.  I'm not writing a textbook or authoring a study here, but what I've learned so far tells me that the key ingredients to healing are genuine repentance, a strong commitment to changing the patterns that have maybe existed for a lifetime, outside supports/help, and most of all - love.

Love that looks like this: Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance ... Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear.

mothering

so many times, I have pressed my lips into my kids hair... i've done it since they were small, small.  This is the way we stay connected, I say.  This is the way strength passes between us.  this is how our forever bond keeps going.

so many memories, the small ones that happen in families.  memories over dishes and favorite shows.  memories of favorite meals and favorite books.  memories of teaching and watching, learning and playing.

so many nights,  laying awake and praying, praying for their futures, for who they are becoming, prayingfor their path.

so many ways to say and show 'i love you'.  a look, a smile, a greeting, a touch, a favor, a backrub.

so many ways it aches to be a mom.  Who hurts this child of mine?  Why do they hurt each other, hurt me?  why are the choices so hard, why is the media so loud?

so many roads to feelings of inadequacy.  so many 'supposed tos', so many expectations of mothering.   so many comparisons.

so many tears.  so much joy. so much depth, richness.

dying of hopelessness

  I took this picture at Gem Lake last fall, a beautiful girl with her very cute nephew.  She was a lovely, lovely girl.  I first met her when she was about 9, I think.  When we met, I was working at an inner city agency that had a drop in and a club program for young people.  She'd have been in one of my 'girls clubs' each year for a few years.  I was more connected to her siblings than I was to her over the years - I have very many vivid memories of camping and road trips with her crazy and fun brothers!  Still, I do remember her coming over to my place a couple of times.  One memory has to do with playing with dolls and stuffed animals, she loved it when we would play together!  I remember giving her one once and her eyes lighting up! Her sweet way of accepting a gift was a gift to me ... I still remember it years later.  After she grew up a bit, I'd see her around the neighborhood every once in a while, hear about her through other friends or through her siblings.... I'm so glad I got a chance to go camping with her last year - it was so good to catch up.  I caught a small glimpse of her sense of humor, which was not as edgy as others in her family, but was a big part of her personality for sure!   I got to see her interact with her nephews and nieces, with family and friends.  Her smile was so sweet, it was the unassuming kind that catches you off guard, making you want to keep talking to see that smile more and more!

 This beautiful girl took her life recently.  Her family is beautifully, inspiringly strong and I am proud to know them.  The circumstances are so difficult - yet even in their grief, they have shown grace and kindness to the mourners, while openly sharing their own sadness and tears. 

 Because of my own experiences with suicide in my family, I've come to think of it as dying of hopelessness.  Its so hard on those of us left behind when someone we love dies of hopelessness, because we're not only grieving the loss of our loved one,  but we have to negotiate the reality of the hopelessness that engulfed them and threatens to engulf us, too.  

The reality is that dying of hopelessness happens more frequently among our First Nations community than elsewhere.  There is a legacy of hurt that is generations old.  Each new generation carries parts of the those that came before them.  It's my belief that things are changing - that the tide is turning for Aboriginal Canadians - this is both a symptom of hope and a sign for increased hope. 

These are words from a 2009 UN document about the status of children in Canada .. 

We are truly on the cusp of a social renaissance in [Canada] as Aboriginal

peoples gather renewed strength. The legacy of residential school policy, which severed the last few generations of families from their children and sowed the seeds of our current malaise, is starting to lift.....

In the two years since I moved back to the North End, I've had been feeling like I have seen the truth of this statement firsthand.  Being away for two years does lend itself to renewed perspective, but its more than that....  Things are different, there are noticeable changes in attitudes and families.  I am so happy to be living at Flats, and now working in an agency where I get be such a close up observer! 

This girl's story is a personal one for sure.  But it is also connected to the legacy of the past in her family and in her community.  There is a history of hurts and wrongs in Canada that has had tremendous impact in the First Nations community.  At the same time as her story is a representation of the past, it also points to the future.  Her family - the ways they are demonstrating strength, grace, and commitment - they are a visible, tangible snapshot of a hope filled, strong future.  Did I mention that I'm proud to know them?  

a corner turned

I turned to my friend the other night as we were chatting and confessed that I'd lost my groove, that something had fallen off the rails somehow and I needed to get back on track.  It wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized both that I had lost my groove AND that I was beginning to find it again.  In the mucky midst of it, I wasn't really aware of how lost and off track I was.  I've read confessional posts around the interweb about sadness, about mourning, about loss, even about depression.  And I always identify somewhat, but with some distance.  Very important and necessary distance.
See, if you have a parent that struggled with depression and then ended their life, it's pretty hard to ever imagine yourself as struggling with sadness or grief.  If you're me, you just keep spinning positive and smiling and hanging in, finding the good and the lesson in everything. It's an essential to survival, this spinning positive.  Plus,  we're supposed to do that as good Christian folk anyway.  It's in the manual.
Some of my fellow students were talking about a counselling class I missed, where they learned about 'stackable losses'.  As they described this idea that was completely new to me, I identified a lot with the concept.  Basically, when we have multiple consecutive or concurrent losses, we are unable to respond to additional losses.  Our coping ability diminishes as losses increase.  I heard my friends talking, but I immediately saw in my mind a picture of our little garden at Flats.  
A few of us were going to work on the garden together, but the plan didn't come together as hoped.  I did my best on my own with it until we were away in July.  When we got back from San Francisco, the garden was pretty overgrown.  I weeded and watered, but it didn't seem to be enough.  Then we had 3 days of blistering heat.  I went out on the first two days and watered my little garden, but by the third day the wilting and sad plants actually brought tears to my eyes.  I turned around, locked the gate and didn't venture back into the garden again.  Even though the greenspace materialized over the next few weeks and became a beautiful place that I'd been dreaming of and waiting for, I stayed away.
Stackable losses - pile them up on top of each other and you end up with very little room at the top to deal with dying plants that friends forgot to water.  
So, how do you make more room, or get back to who or where you were before the losses started to pile up?  I dunno, my classmates left out that part!  
But just realizing that I'd had losses, and that they had stacked up very high has helped me find my lost groove and turn a corner. 
 I managed to form the question 'could I be depressed?' at a recent visit to the doctor. She looked at me in her kind and knowledgeable way (only a woman who has witnessed and helped me to give birth could have such a compassionate look!) and said "I don't think so.  You're life is full of things most of us insulate ourselves from.  You've taken on a lot and its not cheap.  I know you have good strategies.  Some times will be harder than others, and it looks to me like you're gonna be just fine."
Like a good doctor, she said we'll keep our eye on it and monitor frequently.  And because she is so aware of my family history, she has never missed a chance to say 'How are you REALLY doing?'  
Since learning about stackable losses, I've named some huge losses in my life over the last few years.  I've even painted them on a canvas!  I'm disciplining myself NOT to think about the lessons and gains just yet, to actually allow myself to count losses for what they are.  

  Tune me in to foot-tapping songs, 

      set these once-broken bones to dancing. 

   Don't look too close for blemishes, 

      give me a clean bill of health. 

   God, make a fresh start in me, 

      shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life. 

   Don't throw me out with the trash, 

      or fail to breathe holiness in me. 

   Bring me back from gray exile, 

      put a fresh wind in my sails! 

   Give me a job teaching rebels your ways 

      so the lost can find their way home. 

   Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God, 

      and I'll sing anthems to your life-giving ways. 

   Unbutton my lips, dear God; 

      I'll let loose with your praise. 

  Going through the motions doesn't please you, 

      a flawless performance is nothing to you. 

   I learned God-worship 

      when my pride was shattered. 

   Heart-shattered lives ready for love 

      don't for a moment escape God's notice. 

from psalm 51 - the message

the sacred fire still burns

I've known for a couple of days that my next post would be about spending a couple of days at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's first event last week.  But I haven't known exactly how to put words to what I was feeling, or what I learned.  (warning - long post ahead!  I hope you'll do more than skim ...)

I had some really neat experiences, because I attended both days with different Residential School survivors.  Some walked down to the Statement Gathering location and made statements.  I was blown away by the sensitivity and priority that was shown to the survivors throughout the whole event. As the emotional support staff were leading one of my friends to the room with the audio recording equipment, he pointed to me and said 'Her - she can come.  She knows me better.'  What an honor!  Over the course of time, my friend and I have had many conversations about his experiences in residential school, and then experiences at all the other institutions that followed....  A certain residential school story about two siblings (a boy and a girl) who came to his school is so revealing.  The pair knew that they were not allowed to speak or interact, but they were seen whispering on the play ground.  They were strapped and then not seen for days.  After a while, they were found in the woods, dead from wounds received at the hands of overzealous disciplinarians.Stories like this are horrible enough when they are removed and impersonal - somehow its different when your friend is telling you about his experience of it.   Yes, this all really happened in Canada. This particular story was right in Manitoba.  And it happened sometime in the early 1970's.  For real.

I was shocked to learn during the event that the mortality rate at residential schools was 24% overall.  One BC school I read about had a 50% mortality rate.  Half the kids who attended that school died.  Brings new meaning to the term 'survivor', doesn't it?  We are accustomed to those kind of third world stats, but these things happened right in our homeland .. you know, the True North - Strong and Free.

I have always been angry about the apathy and complacency of many in the Canadian church about our history.  Now, I feel ready to be more ACTIVE.  Of course, I want to remember that most of all, I am a worshipper and follower of Jesus - not an activist.  Somewhere,  I saw these piercing words - 'there is no one so blind as the one who REFUSES to see.'  Sounds like something Jesus would say - it was certainly revealed through stories about his life.

During the TRC event, I was part of another event with some leaders from a Vineyard church in South Africa .. in Soweto, to be exact.    The Truth and Reconciliation Commission originated in South Africa - Canada is following in their footsteps in this pursuit of genuine restoration.  It was interesting to hear our South African guests talk about the unbelieving and indignant responses of Canadian visitors when confronted with past and present Apartheid realities, while not paying any attention to the First Nations situation 'back home'.  They revealed that they had no qualms about pointing out the inconsistency, fairly begging Canadians to open their eyes.

We went to a rainy early morning ceremony one day.  I was moved by the drummers from the four corners of the earth standing together - Red, Yellow, Black, and White - playing first in turn and then in unison. 

 I see the legacy of Canada's Residential School policy outside my door each and every day.  Today,  I walked down Main St. and saw one of our friends standing in the middle of the busy street, with traffic passing by and honking on each side of him.  Drivers were yelling, swearing.  He just refused to move.  He just stubbornly stood there, solvent rag in hand. In light of my reflections on the TRC, I read his posture and expression to be saying.. 'Notice me.  See me.  STOP.  THINK.  Pay attention, I'm angry, hurting, and not going away.'  I wished I wasn't the only person on the curb shouting above the traffic for him to get off the road and care about himself.  Later that day, he stopped by and gave me a funny little gift.  I hung it on my wall to help me remember to pray for him.

Last night, our doorbell rang.  A young street worker was there, I hadn't met her before.  She had heard that we have beds here, and wondered if she could stay the night.  When we asked how long she wanted to stay, she drunkenly said .. 'forever'.  Instead, we took her down to a shelter, but invited her to get to know us and come by for visits and coffee.  I got to hear some of her story - starting to use crack at age 11, being in care all her life, not knowing how to stop using and start facing....  two days, two tragic stories.  There are resilience stories too - I pray for more and more of those.

Genuine reconciliation requires that we face our denial, and that we do away with the blame game.  It requires participation from those who have been offended and those who have offended. It requires eyes that see. 

That fire pictured at the top of this post burned day and night throughout the entire Winnipeg TRC event.  My prayer is that a sacred flame will stay lit as Canadians and Jesus followers recognize their role in genuine reconciliation.  My prayer is that it will burn strong and bright as we all realize its not too late.  May we realize that Aboriginal leaders are our nations most important 'natural resource'.

* my lovely friend Jess, whose sensitivity I have experienced first-hand, reflects with great insight here

* I introduced myself to Dora Dueck at the event.  She did quite a lot of reflecting on her experience there, too.  Read one of her posts here.

Forgive

From the forgiveness summit website... 


In agreement with the apology presented by the Prime Minister of Canada on June 11, 2008, we, as Canadians, recognize that the treatment of children in Indian Residential Schools is a sad chapter in our history. Today, we recognize that this policy of assimilation was wrong, has caused great harm, and has no place in our country. We sincerely apologize and ask the forgiveness of the Aboriginal peoples of this country for failing them so profoundly. In addition to the apology of our government, we as members of the Church of Canada, through whose hands these policies and all their abuses were carried out, repent. We and our forefathers have sinned, we did not live what we preached. For this we also humbly ask the forgiveness of the First Peoples of this land.

You can add your name to this apology. You SHOULD add your name to this apology.

http://i4give-services.com/index.php

First Nations response..
We have heard your apologies for the terrible treatment of our people and families caused by the Indian Residential School policies. We believe your apologies are sincere. We also know that true forgiveness can help us all to heal from the painful past and move into a future of hope and relationships characterized by mutual respect and new honour. We know that our decision to forgive you can pave the way for freedom from the negative past not only for our people, but for many other peoples and nations.

We forgive you.
 
You can also sign this page if it applies to you. http://i4give-services.com/index.php?t=f

let forgiveness be my sword...

I went to a forgiveness ceremony at Thunderbird House today.  It's part of a journey towards a National Summit being held in Ottawa in June.  It was so inspiring and good.  As soon as I sat down, I felt like I was in a sacred moment, the sense of privilege was overwhelming.

About a year ago, Prime Minister Harper issued an public and sweeping apology to the First Nations Community for historic wrongs, most especially the Residential Schools and Assimilation policies that have done such extensive harm.  He also asked for forgiveness.

The June Summit being held in Ottawa, and the ceremony I attended today, are part of a response to that request for forgiveness.  A movement is afoot to encourage Aboriginal Canadians to let go of anger and to forgive.  To actively participate in reconciliation...

There were moving songs about redemption and unity, about the Creator who is honored when we forgive and hurt when we don't.  The oral tradition was alive and well, and we heard about forgiveness as an ancient teaching and a modern teacher, as a gift and a sword.  The people gathered were asked to release their right to judge and be angry.

We were reminded, in the place of Louis Riel's story, that the Metis People are a unique expression of reconciliation and 'New Canada'; that Metis leaders have unique and influential voices for our time.

The drum was played several times, and I learned from some of the ladies sitting by me that women were the keepers of the songs in days gone by.  Men went to hunt and might be gone for long periods, the women were needed to preserve and care for the tradition.

More info here.

Also, there is a service and potluck meal at St. Lukes on Nassau Street on Saturday (24th) night, 5pm.

Have you checked out the Truth and Reconciliation Commission?  There is a Winnipeg event being planned at the Forks in June.  Other events will happen across Canada in the year ahead.  This is something that would be important to attend for all Canadians.

The pamphlet I picked up today says these good words;



                         Releasing Forgiveness

Healing A Nation

Embracing Freedom

AMEN.

the struggle is holy

Often when people hear that I'm a student, they ask how I can fit it all in.. how can graduate studies be integrated into family life? It's an interesting question, and its even more interesting that it is THE question or assumption often raised.

The truth though, is that fitting things together isn't nearly as hard as other elements of studying... right now, it's the content and nature of the studies that is the most challenging. The further I go, the more I read, the more inadequate I feel for this program and this work. Sorting THAT out is way more taxing than making sure I find time to write papers as well as spend time with my family and community!

A recent video on Alberta Prime Time, a news show, discussed the Canadian regulation of the field I'm studying - Marriage and Family Therapy. A psychologist was on the show as a guest, suggesting that MFTs don't require unique regulation because they are simply a different approach to providing therapy, one that can be encompassed within existing regulations. The Canadian president of the MFT ass'n (she is from Manitoba!) disagreed, emphasizing the unique specialized training we receive about relationships and relational patterns.

Watching that video was like having a brick dropped on my head in terms of awareness about just what I'm pursuing... MFTs are uniquely trained to be ... relationship experts. YIKES!!

this realization comes at about the same time I am looking around at my closest relationships (in my own family and marriage) and seeing the flaws as if through a microscope. It's not that I ever thought we were perfect, its more that I am becoming equipped to see just how deep the imperfection runs. And quite frankly, all this realizing and examining makes me want to throw in the towel. Looking within makes me cringe and I doubt how much help I could ever offer now that I'm so keenly aware of how much help I need.

I'm reminded of my word of the year - TENSION. As always, my confusion and questions find some resolution in my faith. (resolution is different than SOLUTIONS!)

When thinking about this imperfection through the lens of faith, and considering the Kingdom of God that is already here and yet isn't here yet, I find comfort. When looking around at the brokenness and beauty that co-exist so profoundly around me, I find comfort. When realizing that all of life's depth is a breathtaking mix of good and bad, pain and healing, ashes and restoration, praise and mourning ... that TENSION between poles really characterizes the things that make our existence and relationships so meaningful.

i've been thinking about how important it is that we grasp both our 'image of god-ness' AND our 'wretched-ness'.

Here's a quote from a Canadian author and MD;

"So far as marriages go, ours has been firmly at what may be called the 'conflictual' end of the spectrum. We have worked things out, but it took decades and a lot of energy. In retrospect, we shudder at how hurtful and dark it felt at times, and particularly how our struggles burdened our children's lives. ... Our marriage is now something we celebrate. Our ships, having been tossed and thrown about on heavy seas, have finally arrived safely in the same harbor. But the storms took thier toll on our children. At the end of his delightfully candid 1972 essay, 'My Own Marriage', the great American pshychotherapist and teacher Carl Rogers wrote of the difficulties his adult children were having in their relationships.'So, our growth together into a satisfying relationship for ourselves has constituted no guarantee for our children.'" - Gabor Mate, MD

In one of my class discussion groups, we shared from our personal lives as we interacted with the content. One of us just looked up at the group after a deep and heavy pause in the conversation and said ... 'the struggle is holy.' .... it sure is.....

family, community, home

Some flatlanders have been reading this book together called "Schools for Conversion: Marks of the New Monasticism." Its been delightful to read and share together. Last week, we read the chapter on Hospitality to the Stranger and found many parallels to transitional members we have in our community.
The chapter opens with a heartwarming story of a couple who struggle through a friendship with a mentally ill friend named John, who they finally end up inviting into their home, into their family. The journey begins when a stormy night finds them unable to abide his homelessness, his lack of safety and support.

"We were tormented. Surely we couldn't take him into our home, could we?

He smells bad.. but a shower would fix that. He's paranoid.. but who isn't sometimes?

He hoards things.. well, we have closet space to share. .. finally we realized the truth -

that John had become our friend, and that it would devastate us if anything

happened to him." (page 40)

The end of the story is so hope filled and inspiring... the three become a beautiful family, eventually sharing victories and life changes TOGETHER. Eventually, John's habits change, and his once destructive patterns diminish as a result of supportive, loving community. The circle is completed as John offers hospitality to others from a place of love and acceptance.

A couple of posts earlier this week highlighted the tension that is so apparent. What about the stories that are not quite so hope filled? What about when the 'family' is ready, willing, able .. and the 'John' wants desperately to embrace their offer yet ... can't? What about when the family is unraveling at expense of the offering, yet still knows that they would be devastated if anything happened to their loved one - so they keep offering and offering while 'John' runs away? What if they've sought him out, time and again, wanting to be like the shepherd who goes after the 'one lamb', but now the seeking has become all consuming?

What does it mean to truly offer dignity? How do we truly offer love and respect to all, even to the point of respecting the most destructive and unnecessary of choices? Another passage from a different chapter of this book comes to mind, where Shane Claiborne discussed Jesus' response to the Rich Man;

"I think it broke Jesus' heart to let the man walk away. The text says that

Jesus looked at the man and loved him as he walked away.

Jesus doesn't run after him and say, 'hey.. its a journey..

just give half.' He doesn't say, 'just start with 10%' ..

he simply lets the man choose ..." (page 33)

Granted this passage and claiborne's reference to it are not about offering radical hospitality, but still... what does it look like to respect the choices of those we love? And keep loving them? What if I was writing all this about my own child? would my internal process be different than it is because I'm writing about people who are not 'mine'? Should this be so?

I don't have answers to these questions.. only tension.

However, I do have this verse I've been meditating on and praying all week:

"... no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love Him. - these things are revealed to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God." (1 Corinthians)

i like the light better.

I posted an entry the other day. After I posted it, a friend encouraged me to remove it, saying one of the illustrations I used might be misunderstood. I believed him, so I removed it. I’m thankful for that honest confrontation. You know someone is a real friend when they talk to you instead of about you.

I've examined my motives in writing that post. I knew that I was in a sad, preoccupied, and even self-absorbed place when I wrote the post. I thought that might have impaired my judgment, but I also thought about how the illustration wasn’t the point; the point was the point- and it is aimed at me along with anyone else it might challenge.

The post was about community, about how we treat each other, courage, and the misuse of power. The point was to encourage thinking about how we use power… and the consequences of misusing it. Call it bulldozing people, crushing people, or oppression. Or you could call it robbing people of dignity. This is likely a good topic for North Americans to reflect on. We have more power than the rest of the world. Add being wealthy and white and you have even more power.

If we are going to take seriously the idea of offering dignity to all (as Jesus did), then we have to think about lots of everyday choices. I’m not saying this from a perspective of judgment, either…. I have a long way to go and lots of changes I’d like to make. We have to think of where we purchase goods, coffee, clothing, brands, parent companies, travel destinations.. the list goes on and on.

And we have to consider how we treat each other. If we’re willing to make up our own rules in relationships in order to avoid taking responsibility, if we’re willing to rob people of dignity and say it’s the only way, if we can’t prioritize walking toward each other – then what hope is there for us? For community? What hope is there that we’ll use all that influence we wield for GOOD?

The post referenced the story of David and Bathsheba, and talked about how Nathan had courageously confronted David about his actions and misuse of power. I wrote about how we could sure use more Nathans among us. (My friend was Nathan-esque!) I also said that David, who recognized his offense and took responsibility, was courageous. We could use more Davids among us too.

These topics have had me thinking a lot. I know that I have a bit of a rebellious spirit that likes to challenge and be challenged. There is a place for railing against injustice and not being complacent. Even ‘small’ injustices should be challenged if we’re ever going to address the major abuse of power that characterizes our world. If we’re going to be committed to dignity, it has to be more than just words – it takes courageous actions.

But there is also a time and place for ‘letting go and letting God’. I have to think more about how and when you know what time it is. I’m thankful for the circumstances that have caused me to be thinking about injustice and oppression – they have been preparing me for the year ahead. I have so much to learn and I’m so excited about the opportunity before us. The last year of my life has changed me forever. I think the next one will too. I hope the changes cause me to resemble Jesus more.

I've spent my adult life (it seems) thinking on lots of ways we could improve things - in our home, our society, our world. I've tried to engage in real practices that make a difference, however meagre. Sometimes this inner voice has made me second guess, because I can do so little that there might not be a point. But I can't seem to just look after me and mine. I always seem to end up thinking about the greater consequences of our actions. And while I know I can't save the world, I have this unshakeable desire to do all I can to be in league with the One who does.

its a mad, mad world

Sheryl has moved to Winnipeg, and Owen and I had the privilege of driving much of her furniture and belongings from Saskatoon to Winnipeg. We left Thursday morning and were back in our own comfy beds in Hepburn on Saturday night.. so it was a quite a fast trip!! It was fun - thanks Sheryl, for the opportunity.

On Saturday morning, I had a great date with Nancy and Trena; old friends from high school. (Jr High?!) During our reminiscing, laughter, and great conversation, it felt like time stood still for a few moments as they caught me up on an old friend who is dying of cancer. He had been embarking on a new career, enjoying a great family life, when all of a sudden he was given a diagnosis of several months to live. I reflected on how this particular person changed my life - I know his presence, encouragement, and friendship after my mom died was crucial, and a piece of him will always be with me. Wow. Then reality really struck me as I thought about his children losing their awesome dad, his wife losing her best friend, and so many others losing the friendship of one of those salt of the earth people who is just 'a really great guy'. I heard great stories about people rallying around, an amazing circle of support - inspiring stories that need circumstances like this to be told. But still, WHY?? HOW??? and mostly, just heaviness and grief, sadness for his family. A feeling of this being too unreal.

I've been thinking about valleys and canyons lately. Valleys are a

bit more commonplace - perhaps they're your garden variety challenges and difficulties. But canyons - where the despair is the thickest, the desire to keep going is little more than a glimmer somewhere in the distance - canyons are not your garden variety troubles. Getting out of a canyon is akin to going to hell and returning to tell about it. And the redemption stories that are the most poignant, that stay with us the longest and touch our hearts in the deepest place... they involve canyons, not mere valleys. Join me in praying for this family, as they go through a canyon experience. Pray for peace, for comfort, for the beginnings of understanding to grow. And while you're at it, pray for a medical miracle. They still happen, you know.

I also had conversations about other mutual friends who are in the midst of terrible marriage break-ups. Vindictive and nasty behavior towards someone they had once pledged lifelong commitment and love. What a paradox.

It really is a crazy world.

There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:

A right time for birth and another for death,

A right time to plant and another to reap,

A right time to kill and another to heal,

A right time to destroy and another to construct,

A right time to cry and another to laugh,

A right time to lament and another to cheer,

A right time to make love and another to abstain,

A right time to embrace and another to part,

A right time to search and another to count your losses,

A right time to hold on and another to let go,

A right time to rip out and another to mend,

A right time to shut up and another to speak up,

A right time to love and another to hate,

A right time to wage war and another to make peace.

Eccl. 3 - the message