should I show you who I am, we may crumble

Darcie Dow, MSc

2006-09-30T07:26:00.000-07:00

There have been some big changes in my life recently. In the last month I have gotten married to Keith (August 19th, 2006) and defended my thesis (September 19th, 2006). I am now Darcie Dow, MSc. wow.

Being married is a lot of fun. It's like playing house all the time, except with real food and adult-sized furniture and no kids. We did have Keith's sister Meredith staying with us for about a week and a half. But she's certainly not a kid and helped out a lot. It acutally made meal cooking easier for me. It's hard to cook servings for two.

Our new apartment is still undergoing some renovations from the small flood that happened just before we moved in, but we almost have a dining room now :)

I'm going to post some wedding pictures for you all and hopefully when we figure out how to use utube we can post some links to videoclips of our lives. My parents bought us a videocamera for a wedding gift. Love you Mom and Dad :)

Because so much has happened recently this is more of an update than the type of post I was normally write. I would like to say that I know I am incredibly blessed. God has been so good to me - to us. I am amazed at what He does everyday.

small wonders

2006-07-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

It's astounding how you can view situations in light of life's trials or God's provision. For a few moments yesterday I could only see the trials. The double booked hall, the cancelled honeymoon flight, the occupied apartment, the uncertainty of work. All of these problems arose over the last two months and yet each of them has been miraculously remedied. The hall worked out alright, the flight was rebooked, the apartment opened up. And today, the contract extended. It really has been amazing to see how God has used this time of anticipation and planning and preparing as a way to challenge our trust in Him. Do we really trust Him to provide? Will we panic when the bottom seemingly falls out, or when we've come to the edge of what we know and aren't sure what's ahead? God is and has been so good to us, to me. I feel so ashamed when I think of how I doubt Him. I pray that these small challenges and huge blessings will help prepare Keith and I for a marriage that fully rests on and in Jesus. I hope that these things are just the beginning of what we will learn to trust Him with and that we will continue to marvel His provision and grace.

Rest

2006-05-26T20:11:00.000-07:00

my eyelids are heavy with the weight of the days tasks
my body longing for the respite of sleep
my mind stumbling under the burden of tomorrow

Night air steals through my window
quelling my fitful mind, bidding my soul to be still.

"Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest."

Backyard Wonders

2006-05-24T11:08:00.000-07:00

sunlight beams down bathing our faces in a radiant glow
we sit on a grassy floor and drink in the sweet smell of lilac
our skin grows warm in the brightness

squinted eyes shielded with pale hands
we kiss and let the warmth creep through our skin to warm our hearts
'you're beautiful' he whispers in my ear

interlaced fingers we offer silent thanks to the God of all good things.

Come hither...

2006-05-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

"Come hither to me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, I will give you rest."
Matthew 11:28

If thou thyself art conscious of being a sinner, He will not inquire of thee about it, the bruised reed He will not further break, but he will raise thee up if thou wilt attach thyself to Him. He will not single thee out by contrast, holding thee apart from Him, so that thy sin will seem still more dreadful; He will grant thee a hiding place within Him, and once hidden in Him he will hide thy sins. For He is the friend of sinners: When it is a question of a sinner He does not merely stand still, open His arms and say, "Come hither"; no, he stands there and waits, as the father of the lost son waited, rather He does not stand and wait, he goes forth to seek, as the shepherd sought the lost sheep, as the woman sought the lost coin. He goes - yet no, he has gone, but infinitely farther than any shepherd or any woman, He went, in sooth, the infinitely long way from being God to becoming man, and that way He went in search of sinners.

Soren Kierkegaard - Training in Christianity pg. 14-15.

I started this book a while ago and like the Freedom of Simplicity book I read earlier - this book has taken me a while to get back into since it is so full of wisdom. It's one of those books that is likely to change your life - or at least should change your life and so it is a bit intimidating to read. I am hoping that I will be more consistent now that I have waded through the first 15 pages.

I love how Kierkegaard describes Jesus to us. As a father waiting for his son, a woman searching for gold, a shepherd searching for his lost sheep. I feel cradled and cared for as he describes us sinners as bruised reeds - not to be broken but attached - secured to Himself. Even hidden in Himself - the Lord of Glory - the Spotless One. This man, Jesus, hiding me - a bruised reed, dirty, vile, helpless - in Himself that I might be one with Him. That I might be clean, welcome, warm.

"Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations. He will not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets. A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfullness he will bring forth justice; he will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth." Isaiah 42:10

What?

2006-04-14T11:30:00.000-07:00

Keith sent me this picture and said he was thinking about posting it along side his last entry. I thought I'd post it as well. I heartily encourage you all to read his last post on "My Jesus". It's excellent.

This morning I decided not to work on my thesis today. I had the time and work needed to be done on it. I had to wrestle with the arguments - am I just being lazy? But it's Good Friday! What will you spend your time on instead? Will you ignore Jesus as much by staying home as you will if you go into school? So I went for a walk. I needed to get some money out of the bank for our trip home and since I thought I might make cookies this afternoon, I needed some white chocolate chips. "It's a holiday", I thought. "Nothing will be open". And as I walked I wondered why we still recognize Good Friday and Easter Sunday as meriting a day off work. I thought about the US where almost 50% of the nation still attends church every Sunday. I don't think Canada could boast those numbers. Philip Yancy said that in Denmark - a nation in a "divorced state" with God, he could find out almost nothing about their famous Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. Sometimes I feel like Canada is moving in that direction. I passed a school yard of children lining up for the school bus yesterday on my way home. Some of them were wearing bunny ears they had made out of construction paper for art class. It took a second for me to remember why they would be wearing these funny headdresses. Oh yes, the Easter Bunny. The secular scape goat for the real reason for Easter. I recall asking people in my elementary school what religious event Easter marked. Most of my classmates didn't know.

There was an open convenience store. There was more than one, actually. I guess Easter is becoming a holiday with a chocolate-egg hiding Bunny. I probably shouldn't have bought the chocolate chips. I should have just gone home. But I wasn't thinking about what my own actions were communicating to the shopkeeper - to the world. "Just another day".

I would like to re-acquire the holiday of Easter for the Church. I would like to be a part of that. Philip Yancy thinks that God goes where He's wanted. That's why the churches in the Middle East are experiencing "explosive growth" despite the fact that Christians are dying in places like Indonesian and experiencing heavy restrictions on their activities other areas such as Malaysia. It is estimated that only 37% of Christians worldwide live in Western, developed countries. For many of us - this is our mission field. We must do something before we become divorced from Jesus entirely.

Holy Obedience

2006-01-26T17:16:00.000-08:00

" A fourth advice in holy obedience is to get up quickly and keep going if you stumble and fall. You will fall, you know. I shared one incident of victory, but I could also tell you of so many times when stubborn self-will would shake its defiant fist at the gentle Voice: times when I simply didn't want to listen so that I would not receive any disturbing instruction; neglect of whispered urgings to visit a neighbour or write a letter.
But when we do fail we do not need to give excessive time mourning the loss. We need to make confession, get up, and start again immediately. Nor should we linger long at the site of battles won. The issue in holy obedience is not whether we failed or succeeded yesterday or this morning, but whether we are obedient now. Does heaven's light blind us to all other affections now? Is our eye single, are we living in simplicity now?" (pg. 107,108)

"Joy, not grit, is the hallmark of holy obedience. We need to be lighthearted in what we do to avoid taking ourselves too seriously. It is a cheerful revolt against self and pride. Our work is jubilant, carefree, merry. Utter abandonment to God is done freely and with celebration. And so I urge you to enjoy this ministry of self-surrender. Don't push too hard. Hold this work lightly, joyfully." (pg. 102).

The Freedom of Simplicity
Richard Foster

My Favourite

2006-01-13T07:42:00.000-08:00

I would like to tell you all why Keith Dow is my favourite. Where to begin on this list? Perhaps with the most apparent to anyone who meets him? Well, in that case, he's fun. I don't know too many people that love to be silly with they're friends so much! Keith has this way of making people feel like it's the greatest thing in the world to just be themselves with no pretense whatsoever. In this way he's so refreshing. No one makes me laugh more, feel smile more, or feel comfortable in my own skin more.

The next thing I'd like to tell you is that he's passionate. He loves Jesus and he loves people. I may be biased, but I think him to be a gifted teacher and musician. Some one who is respected and loved by his friends. He's a great thinker. He spends his classes being taught by Catholic monks who don't have to write essays or do exams or deal with an emotional girlfriend, so he might disagree with me, but this is my blog so I get to write what I think :) I could write for a long time about things Keith is passionate about. But the thing that struck me first and hardest was The Church. He has a flame in his heart for the Church and if you talk with him for five minutes about God you'll probably get a glimpse of it. He wants to see Christians encouraged and bold and firmly proclaiming the Truth. He's lit a spark in my own heart and for that I am so thankful. Check out his blog keidow.blogspot.com sometime.

He also has this inexplicable ability to love. He's a good lover. And I don't mean that in the way the world means it. I just mean he's good at loving people. He's compassionate and humble and won't shrink back when you're hurting. He'll draw your mind to things to be thankful for and ways you've been blessed. He helps to show you how to get out of the pit. But he doesn't only love in this way. He shows me he loves me in countless ways. He took me to a ballet. He bought me flowers (usually potted.. and sometimes even those don't survive). He goes for walks, gives hugs and kisses , calms my fears, encourages my soul and most recently, tells me in words, with a diamond ring.

I couldn't possibly tell you how that felt, so I won't try. I'm a bit funny even when it comes to telling the story of how he proposed because I feel like unless the people know Keith really well, they might not understand how perfect it was for me from him. And the beautiful words he spoke to me before he asked me to marry him still cause a thrill to rise up in me, that I'd hate for them to become so frequent on my tongue that they lose their ability to do so.

So, this is a highly inadequate post to try to tell some of you who don't know Keith very well yet why he is My Favourite. I hope you all get to spend some time with him soon.

Blustery Days

2005-11-24T16:17:00.000-08:00

Today is the first blustery winter day in Ottawa. For those of you who like definitions of blustery I would say to you "we received 10 cm of fluffy snow and a lot more is still blowing around and heaping itself into drifts" I like blustery days, even though it can be uncomfortable when you have to screw your eyelids up against the wind and snow. I dropped off some drycleaning today, not a typical outing for me, but as I was on my way home I starting to think about snowy days in elementary school.

I loved elementary school. Thinking back I think we got a lot more snow then than we do now. I remember walking home and feeling like the snowbanks along the side of the road were mountains. I was also thinking of playing outside during recess. How we'd all have little snowballs stuck to our wool mittens and the inside of the tongue on our winter boots. How wet your socks would get trying to walk from the hall back into class after you took all of your winter things. How a large portion of our class would take off their wet socks and let them dry on the radiator during lessons. ha. I miss elementary school.

I remember one winter we had so much snow the City didn't have any place to put it. So they designated fields for dumping the snow from the downtown parking lots. We had one in part of the field where we walked our dogs everyday. The snow dumping wasn't so bad. The bulldozer thing they used to keep the banks pushed back was a little frightening as was the guy driving it. It wasn't until the snow started to melt that we realized what they had done. In this beautiful field they had left all of the garbage. Eleven shopping carts, pop cans, broken glass, fast food bags, everything. One of the worst parts were the trees. A whole cluster of birch trees were broken in the middle where the bulldozer had bent them until their brittle trunks cracked. The sad part was that they were still alive in the Spring, still attached by a few inches. It just seemed so undignified for such stately trees. And then there were the trenches. The dumptrucks had carved deep gouges out of our beautiful field. It was an eyesore. It was so hard to look at, let alone walk through. And we had no idea until all of the snow melted.

But later in the Spring something marvelous happened. All throughout the trenches and the field where the snow was and amongst the refuse left by the trucks, thousands of daisies grew up. I wish I could tell you what it felt like to walk into that field where it was once green and flourishing, and then naked and abused and then white, not with snow, but petals. My mom said it was nature covering its scars and I thought that was beautiful.

I thanked God then, for those daisies because somehow it redeemed the wrong that had been done. Thinking on it now it makes me think of us, us humans trying to make our way. How sin in the world and sin in us have scarred us so badly it seems like we will never be beautiful again. But somehow, Jesus finds a way to redeem us, to not only cover over our sin, but to remove us from our sin in such a way that when the snow melts or the flowers wilt, no shadow of it remains.

I like blustery days because they remind me of the newness of life Jesus ushered into this world. When the coldness bites at my fingers I am reminded that the Holy Spirit brings conviction as well as redemption and that if I can reconcile the chill and sting of Winter, I too , will be breathtakingly beautiful in His sight.

What's in a name?

2005-11-16T17:02:00.000-08:00

It has been long, dear friends, since I last posted. And the reason is a simple, one word, one six letter word. thesis. ah, there it is. My beautiful thesis. Today I wrote for six hours. In the past three weeks I've spent almost seventy hours writing. Maybe that's not much for a reporter, but that's a lot for me. So when it comes to my blog, I don't feel like there is much left in me to give.
But then I said to myself
"Hey, why not write about that. Write about how your thesis is taking over your life! Oh, yeah.. that's good. And how you are tapped of creativity and how the thesis haunts your dreams. yeah... and HOW ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS BEING REJECTED AT YOUR DEFENSE AND.. AND THEN HAVING YOUR EXAMINERS LAUGH AT YOUR SAD, PITIFUL ATTEMPT TO WRITE A MASTER'S THESIS!".

Then I decided maybe people didn't want to read about that so much.

Instead I decided that since I spend so much time with said thesis, since it has essentially taken on a life and identity of it's own, I should name it. I spend more time with it than I do with Keith and he gets a name and a very nice one at that. So, in honour of my thesis and its ability to wriggle and shove its way into nearly all aspects of my life, I will bestow a name upon it. But what name? What could I possibly name the thesis? Any suggestions?

Here are the dominant characteristics of my thesis. Let us see if with our collective knowledge we can pick a suitable name for him.

To begin, my thesis is definetely a boy. Anything this logical must be male. And he's boring. He's very fastidious and detail oriented. But for all his tediousness, he has a purpose and he knows what it is (most of the time). I think he recognizes that what he likes, most people don't so he tries to spice things up a bit every now and again. Today he threw me an "easy publication" on a meta-analysis ofa bit.. well.. influenza trials. It's an opportunity to get him in the spotlight for a moment or two. I'm sure it will make him a little easier to be around for a while.

If he sounds selfish, you've read him right. He takes a lot, but doesn't give very much in return. Apparently he feels the satisfaction of working with him to be enough for now. I guess he's like a toddler in that way. I guess I'm like his mom. He doesn't grow unless I do some work. He doesn't improve unless I do some work. He doesn't become a good little piece of relevent medical literature unless I do my job. I think kids are probably a bit more rewarding than a thesis. It probably helps a great deal that you love them. And you don't have to do all of the work yourself. And you get to share the rewards. That'd be nice. A team thesis.

But alas, no team theses here. Just him. A thesis I don't particularly love. But I don't hate him either. He just makes me tired sometimes. So what shall I name him?

warm milk and a big hug

2005-10-17T21:55:00.000-07:00

Certain things can instantly trigger childhood memories for me. Crisp autumn air and the smell of pine needles reminds me of running cross-country with my dad and sister. I always think of playing baseball in the field during grade seven each time Spring arrives. Seeing my roof covered in fluffy snow reminds me of magical Christmas mornings.
Yet, some things that bring back these memories aren't seasonal at all. Like the one I'm having right now. Whenever I was having trouble falling asleep when I was little, either because I was scared or anxious, my mom would pour me a cup of milk and heat it in the microwave. The familiar taste and warmth always made me comforted and sleepy. But it was the giant arms of my dad or mom and the feeling of safety when carried back to bed that always made me forget why I was afraid. I haven't been physically carried to bed in giant arms in a long long time. But I have felt the amazing safety of being carried in the Father's arms when I am afraid or anxious. It is wonderful to know that a beautiful childhood memory of my parents' love for me can now be extended to remind me of God's love for me too.

And so, eventhough my parents are far away and the protection they can offer so limited, I have a Heavenly Father whose arms are infinitely greater-reaching and offer a far more real protection than my own parents, or any parents, ever could. It is wonderful to know I don't need to travel 9 hours for the hug I need to make me forget about being afraid.

Hockey Night in the Black's Home

2005-10-06T17:06:00.000-07:00

It's 8pm. The crowd is restless. Rachel is already rocking her chair back and forth in anticipation. Ryan slowly reaches for the remote. Deftly, he pushes the buttons, a zero followed closely by a three and there on the screen appears a site many have only dreamed of for over a year; NHL Hockey. And not just any hockey game, it was the opening game of the season for the Ottawa Senators. And who better to meet toe to toe at centre ice than their arch nemesis, the Leafs. A rivalry dating back to the very dawn of NHL hockey.

Now, last night was epic for me and I'll tell you why. I have searched the deepest recesses of my mind and cannot remember ever watching an entire NHL hockey game. pathetic. And I dare to call myself a Canadian. Feeling the weight of my great remorse I made a concerted effort to watch said opening game with the Black family, which whom I share their home. There is not one particle of impartiality when it comes to hockey and this family. Ottawa fans through and through. Despite their fanaticism, they allowed ahem.. maple leaf fans to live under their roof for a cumulative five years. Did they dampen their adoration for the Sens? Of course not! This was their home, their city, their team. Let the Frews have their Leafs, but expect no sympathy when they are crushed underfoot.

You may think I am exaggerating about the degree to which these two factions war with one another (the Blacks and the Frews). Here is a brief description of what last night looked like.
6:45pm: phone rings, it's Dale. The car battery is dead. He has no television. He is going to try to find a way to come over to watch the game.
7:59pm: Rachel is rocking back and forth in the arm chair. Ryan is staring at the tv and salavating.
8:05pm: face-off. Rachel is shouting at the players.
8:07.05pm: McCabe scores for Toronto. Rachel can barely watch the tv screen. Ryan has stopped blinking.
8:15pm: Rachel can not longer bear the intensity so she describes to me each player on the Ottawa team, their likes and dislikes, who's cute, who everyone thinks is cute but really isn't, and who lives above her aunt's garage.

And then at some point, Matt Sundin takes a puck in the left eye. He's out of the game.
Second Period: Dave and Jill are home from their Bible Study, Dale Frew has arrived, Ryan Frew is on the way. The tension in the room is palpable.
Throughout the second period Rachel is squinting her eyes so that she is distracted from watching who has the puck because she is concentrating on discerning who the players are. the rocking increases. Ryan hasn't blinked in over an hour.
Third period: Ryan Frew arrives. Muffins are brought out. We all eat, trying to keep up the energy in the room. Toronto is still up 1 to nothing. What will Ottawa do?
It's nearing the end of the 3rd. And what's this? Ottawa scores? Ottawa Scores!!! 1-1 all hope is not lost. High Fives all around (except for the Frews. They are hanging their heads). Ah but our victory is so short lived.. only moments later, it seems.. Toronto has scored again. The Frews are rejoicing. They think the game is over. They think that they have one. Rachel is glassy-eyed, fearing the worst. Ryan is blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. Dave is silent. Jill is upstairs. But Wait!! Ah.. Alfie.. you always come through. Ottawa has tied it 2-2. End of the third period. New NHL rules.. shoot out.

Ottawa shoots first. Alfie makes his third. Now for Toronto. Hasek doesn't even flinch. He blocks it easily. Ottawa next.. ah.. too slow.. no good. Toronto.. another miss. Ottawa's third attempt.. and SECOND GOAL!!! And they did it. The Sens triumphed. Now it's Dale's turn to blink back tears. I think I heard Ryan sniffle once or twice. Ryan has broken his silence. Dave has also broken his. Rachel has ceased the rocking. Jill is smiling. I'm just glad there was no bloodshed in the living room.

It was quite an experience, this whole hockey game thing. I think I'm a Sens fan. I think you'd have to be a born and bred Maple Leafs fan to remain so living in this house. So, kudos to the Frew men for holding their own in the Black home. You're braver than I.

merely moving shadows

2005-09-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

I think September is a tough month on everyone. I think I've found it especially tough on my devotional life this year. I decided to take the job at the Institute of Population Health (a job which I find very interesting and a nice diversion from thesis work) but it means longer days, a bit more stress, and more demands on my time. The thing about dictating your own hours for your thesis is that you're the only one to blame if it doesn't get done on time so you work like a dog. You feel like you should work on it all day everyday and everytime you slack off a little, you could be missing submission deadlines down the road. It's a wonder more graduate students don't go nutters. Theses take on lives of their own. Mostly because you work and work and work and because the project is so big you really have no idea how close to completion you actually are. And so, in my effort to establish proper work habits, I have been leaving rather early each day to start thesising. Consequently, I have not meditated on any passages of Scripture, or been moved by a piece of music or marveled at God's creation in quite some time. This became even more apparent to me last night when I read Keith's latest post (Fields of Gold).

I have come to realize I have a certain propensity for becoming a task master when there are a lot of things to be done. I become oblivious to anything not directly related to school, work, laundry, food, or sleep. As you may have noticed, even my blogging has suffered lately. So, now that I'm trying to take a step back I'm reminded of a part in The Last Battle where C.S. Lewis describes the Eternal Narnia where the kings and queens and all the animals are reunited. They are in a paradise so rich and deep they can hardly bear it. And there amongst them is a circle of dwarves. These dwarves are prisoners of their own minds. They can't see Narnia at all and believe themselves to be in a smelly barn where even the delicacies Aslan lays before them taste like stale turnip and dirty water. I think I can be like one of those Dwarves sometimes. Just call me Dopey. Maybe Grumpy. At any rate, I become blind to the wonders and gifts all around me. Wonders like Nature, a manifestation of God's power and glory; Scripture, a testimony of His faithfulness and love; Prayer, the unfathomable opportunity to interact with the Sovereign God. And here I stand, during my brief, meager existence on earth and take Him forgranted. Ignoring Him, so that I can accomplish my list of things to do. One more thing to remind me of how amazing His grace really is.

I was reading through a book of letters the other day and some papers with verses written on them fell out onto my bed. This one especially struck me.

We are merely moving shadows, and all our busy rushing ends in nothing. We heap up wealth for someone else to spend. And so Lord, where do I put my hope? My hope is in You." Psalm 39:6-7 NLT.

I think I might spend some time reading Ecclesiastes, just to make sure I'm getting my own point.

performance enhancers for prayer life?

2005-09-12T16:36:00.000-07:00

I have a bit of a cold. And this cold is one with a runny nose. I hate runny noses so on Saturday night I took some cold medication to attenuate the post-nasal drippage in preparation for the hockey game. It did successfully restore my breathing faculties. The medication also made me feel like I was in atrial defibrillation. As my sinuses cleared my heartrate skyrocketed. I read the back of the package "12-hour relief, NON-DROWSY FORMULA". This may not strike you as problematic, but I had just realized that I took two capsules. whoops. My heart rate rose a little more.

Needless to say, I was VERY awake for the hockey game, awake and slightly woozie. When I crawled into bed around mid-night I wondered how my medicinal oversight was going to mess up my circadian rhythm. To my surprise, I fell asleep with no noticable difficulty. But then, my eyes flew open, the room was dark, I rummaged for my clock "What time was it?" I thought. 3am. Yes, 3am and I was wide awake. I could feel the ephedrine coursing through my veins. I conducted drug seminars for varsity athletes the last year of my undergrad at Laurentian. Ephedrine is considered a performance enhancing drug and is a banned substance by CCES regulations. I had consumed twice the recommended dose for a person almost twice my size.

So as I laid there in my bed, knowing full well I was not getting back to sleep for quite some time, I started thinking about my friends and family, what they were doing, how they were doing, how long it had been since I spoke with them. And then I started to pray for them. As I went through the list I realized how long it had been since I had earnestly prayed over their needs. I spent an hour or more doing this, talking to God about them, making requests on their behalf, thanking Him for the inumerable blessings in my own life. And then, as wide awake as I had felt a moment before, I felt as tired upon saying my 'Amen'. And I felt right back asleep again, only to wake up feeling rested. Refreshed might be pushing it, but rested nonetheless.

Now, I am certainly not going to encourage any of you to overdose on Tylenol Cold just to stay awake a bit longer. But I would like to encourage you to take time out of your day to talk to your Heavenly Father. It shouldn't have taken a dosage mistake and a sleepless night to get me to pray. But that's how busy life can get, if we let it. So carve a little time out of your schedule for Him and you can be sure the time will be redeemed.

surrounded by boxen

2005-08-25T16:58:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again. For a girl who used to cry with the mere mention of moving when she was little, I sure made a habit of it when I started university. I think I've moved four times each year for the last five years.

Yesterday, as I was carefully wrapping up my dishes and stowing them in boxes, I started to get that old familiar feeling. The feeling of being encumbered by the amount of possessions I have. Each time I move I throw out or give away as much as I think I can, but by the time I move again, I've simply replaced it in one way or another. It's a bit disheartening.

I remember when I saw the first Lord of the Rings movie for the very first time I felt this crazy longing to be as free as them. The travellers. To have no possessions save what I could carry and to have the time to walk for days and sleep outside and not think about money for one second. In reality, I don't much like sleeping outside or walking for days. I think it was just the freedom that I craved. I wondered if I could do it though, if I could leave it all behind.

It's not just possessions I feel weighted down by. There's also the feeling of being encumbered by obligations or even a genuine desire to do too much. I have been wrestling all week with the idea of taking on a part-time job while I work on my thesis this year. I'd also like to teach Sunday school and help out with Awana and continue to do Outreach with OIM. There are also about a million books I'd like to read. I've always been quite good at time management, but I haven't always been good at maintaining relationships when I am that busy. It is so hard to say no to good ministry opportunities though. To see a need and not fill try to fill it.

The Mark of the Lion is my favourite book series. In the stories there is a slave girl named Hadassah who is a Christian. One of the things about her that struck me the most about her was how simply she led her life. She was the personal servant of a young Roman girl. She never let anything get in the way of serving. Her whole life was ordered around someone else and she never expected or even wanted more. I've read the books three or four times and each time I crave that simplicity of will in my own life.

Like Hadassah with Julia, the disciples ordered their lives around Jesus who ordered his life around the Father. God demands this simplicity of will. Kierkegaard wrote a whole book on this subject entitled "Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing". It's beside a book called "The Freedom of Simplicity" on my shelf, unread (grr). Richard Foster contrasts the essence of Kierkegaard's book with famous saying of Descartes. While Descartes said "I think, therefore I am" Kierkegaard said in effect "I am, therefore I must decide." According to Foster, in this book Kierkegaard relentlessly forces us to come, naked and alone, before God, where we must decide how to live.

For the last few years I have been trying to read that book by Richard Foster. My bookmark is half-way through the book but I just opened it and leafed through the pages for the first time in I don't know how long. The first page I turned to quoted,

"Oh, blessed simplicity, that seizes swiftly what cleverness, tired out in the service of vanity, may grasp but slowly." Soren Kierkegaard

Keith put it this way for people like me who struggle with the language,

"cleverness gets tired out in the service of vanity and grasps only slowly what simplicity grasps right away."

He went on to say that "we are not to follow simply our natural instincts but rather our inward instincts. If we sit back and deliberate about something we have been inwardly called to then we'll cleverly deceive ourselves into not doing it. But if we are following instinctively our outward passions then we must take a moment and listen to the still, small, voice."

It's hard to hear that still small voice when we're in the world and the world is caught up in their vain pursuits. Each person seems to be out for #1, clawing and scratching for the most and the best of everything. Each of us, tired but relentless, hungry but gluttonous, thirsty but soaked in the excess and extravagance of our time. In my mind's eye I picture us like a mosh pit at a concert, except instead of excitement there is ambition and sometimes even cruelty. And there amongst the churning crowd there stands Jesus and the disciples, the pillars of simplicity, apparent to all the world, if we'd take a moment to look up.

all the new people

2005-08-12T11:14:00.000-07:00

Instead of giving all of you a play-by-play of the trip out West, I figured I'd try something a little different and tell you a bit about all the new people I met on the trip. To be honest, meeting all of these folks was the best part about our little vacation (and that's saying something).

We left Keith's home in Blyth with his sister Meredith and set off to meet Jodi. Jodi is the director of children and family ministries for a church near Chicago. She's one of Keith's best friends from Briercrest and probably the person I was most nervous about meeting. You see, the a best friend, as you all know, has the right and privilege to veto any girfriend (or boyfriend as the case may be) that is not up to scratch. But Jodi did not wield her power. She took us out for pizza and ice cream. Not just any ice cream. Cold Stone icecream. This stuff is unbelievable. They actually tell you to pick out the extras you want in your icecream flavour of choice; things like butterfinger or fudge or gummy bears, and then they smoosh it into the icecream with two metal spoon-things. And then after it's all worked in they put it in a bucket and let you take it home. It was cool. I would like an ice cream smoosher if any of you should ever come across one. I liked Jodi. Jodi was all fun.

After a rather sleepless night in the van at a truck stop in Minot, (pronounced My-not) North Dakota we headed onto Moose Jaw, Sask. There, we tracked down Keith's friend Justin who was working on a house. He helps build them. He and Keith have this "secret high-five handshake" that they do. I guess there's only three people in the world that do it so it's pretty secret. I like it when people have secret handshakes. We ate pizza with Justin too. Boston pizza. I didn't have pizza though. I had a chicken sandwich. But it was still very good. Justin and Keith could be brothers. They both have dark hair and blue eyes and beards. But I could always tell them apart because Justin is better than Keith at FoozeBall. Is that how you spell it?? Foose?? We stayed with Justin and his wife Bethany on our way back from Edmonton. They recently went for a month-long mission trip to Papua New Guinea. They had very cool pictures and a very nice dog. The dog liked to lick people. It tickled a lot.

After Moose Jaw we stopped in Caronport. Caronport, Saskatchewan now has not only a Subway but a Starbucks. And all of Keith's friends in Caronport work at Subway. I met a bunch of people in the bookstore at Briercrest (where I so cleverly purchased the audio series of the Chronicles of Narnia, which is marvelous) but I'm afraid I can only talk about the people I spent some measure of time with. Firstly, Nat. I'm not sure he's a Nathan or a Nathaniel or just Nat but he was cool no matter what his real name is. He was giving away all the stuff in his room. okay maybe not all the stuff.. but a lot of it. I bet Keith took home $400 worth of books and cds. I picked up a pretty fresh cd for Heidi. I can't tell you what it is because it might spoil the surprise. Nat made Meredith and I tea. He was nice. I also met Jordan. Jordan instigated a Barbarian day at Briercrest where all the guys made suits of armour and weapons out of cardboard and painted themselves blue or red according to their team and had two epic battles. He even showed us a video of it all. People were bleeding for real. Then they managed to convince all the girls to cook them a chicken dinner that they could eat medieval style, no utensils. Jordan also has a garden. He even knows the names of the flowers in his garden. He truly is a renaissance man. And I also met Josh. Josh doesn't live in the trailer with Nat and Jordan because he's married to a girl named Rebecca who works at the Briercrest bookstore. Josh works at Subway with Nat and Jordan. He was also a nice guy.

After we left Caronport (slightly later than anticipated) we drove to Three Hills to drop off Meredith. The exchange was not as smooth as planned, but she was left safely in a student lounge with a cell phone and all her luggage. Keith and I continued northward. We arrived at Trent and Emily's (Emily is Keith's older sister) at 4:30am. Trent and Emily were not expecting us until the following day. After we knocked on all of their windows we found their bedroom window and Keith rapped on it until the light went on. Trent opened the door wearing only his underwear. Shocked and slightly embarrassed at the sight of Trent in his underwear, I was introduced and invited inside. We stayed at the Wierenga house for six days. It was so fun. Trent, it turns out, is such an avid gamer that he gives Keith a run for his money. We played a lot of games. We played Domain, Ticket to Ride, Bang, I'm the Boss, Puerto Rico, Poker, Ping Pong, Foose Ball, Frisbee Golf, and the boys played this friendly little game called "Drowning Ball" where they essentially give lifeguards heart attacks. Emily is an editor for a Christian newspaper. She is an accomplished cook as well. Emily is not a huge fan of what Trent calls "upsidedown twirlies" but endures them as a good wife nonetheless. Emily paints gorgeous pictures and has the best decorated house I have ever been in. She definitely has a knack for things of that sort. Emily can play a board game with Trent and be picked on by him and not get angry. She is a model to us all.

While we were staying at Trent and Emily's, Keith's friend Greg came to visit for a couple of days. Greg liked to play games too so he got along great with everyone. And he liked to play playstation and he, Keith, and Trent had some pretty good fights playing Tekken or whatever that fighting game is called. Greg came with us to Fort Edmonton which was pretty much the coolest place ever. He even played the make-believe game where we each imagined one of the houses we saw was our own. I like people that will play make-believe games. And he didn't get embarrassed when Trent kept yelling "ALL ABOARD" when we were waiting for the train to take us to the Fort.

Josh Coutts was the last person I met before we headed back East (well.. except for Justin's wife Bethany but I already told you about her). We picked Josh up at the bus station because he had just finished tree planting. Josh played drowning ball with Keith and Trent. Keith said that Josh is the nicest person he knows and I saw nothing to the contrary. We took his stuff back to Blyth and then to Kitchener so that he didn't have to pay extra to take it on the plane when he flew home from Saskatchewan. Unfortunately, most of the time Josh was around I was either swimming lengths in the pool with Meredith or sleeping in the backseat of the van. It turns out I spent more time with Josh's luggage than I did with him which really was too bad. But Josh lives in Ontario which is sweet because maybe he can come visit and I'll be able to write something else cool about him.

We drove through the Sault on the way home so that I could visit my family and introduce Keith to my sister and to my aunt and uncle. It was a quick but quite pleasant visit. The next morning Keith and I headed to the Island after having a nice big Ernie's breakfast with my parents and my aunt and uncle and dropping my parents off at the cottage. On the island I met the Dow family's adopted grandparents Marg and Jim Snider. They took the Dow family under their wing when they first moved to the Island and watched the kids grow over the next ten years or so. These were two of the loveliest people I've met during my 24 years on earth. Uncle Jim had a bunch of wooden cars he had built and train whistles and other toys. They were amazing. And Marg gave Meredith a white bowl that she had bought to feed her out of when she was just a baby. I was so happy to have met them. It turns out that Auntie Marg used to teach at my old elementary school but about 15 years before I ever attended there. I think I'd like to visit them again the next time I'm home. They have a double bike.. like.. two bikes side-by-side. And they have a front-end loader for little people that I'd like to try.

On the way back to Blyth, Keith casually leaned over to me and asked if I was ready for the family reunion. "Sure" I said off-handedly. Of course, I was thinking he meant our arrival and his other sister's homecoming later that day. Nope. Full-on family reunion. Cousins from California kind of family reunion. It all took place Sunday after church. Keith's dad is a pastor and that Sunday we heard him preach at Point Farms Provincial Park. It just so happened that about 50 Christian Reform young adults were camping that weekend and so the church service was packed. Mr. Dow did a fabulous job, especially considering that he was speaking to a different crowd than he was used to. The reunion was really not too bad at all. Keith and Allison and I played frisbee with his cousins most of the time but it was a great way to get to know them all and it kept us from chatting in our own little groups. I must admit, Grandma Dow may very well be the cutest biddie I have ever seen. She's so tiny but I think she has a much bigger heart than her size lets on.

And so, Monday morning Keith and I set out for Ottawa after eating nice things Keith's mom had made and drinking very good coffee. Arfy was groaning under the weight of all the luggage (because we had Josh's too). Then Keith made me drive. I learned how to drive without using a rearview mirror and I learned how to go fast and not freak out. And I kinda learned how to go around corners without slowing down too much but they were a little jerky. I like backroad highways. Keith drove the big highways. We met up with Josh in Kitchener to give him back his stuff. Arfy was much happier then. And it was nice to be able to see out the back window on the 401.

This blog is far too long but I hope you enjoyed reading about all of Keith's friends and relations. I think that if you should ever meet any of them you'd feel very lucky indeed.

a bit of nothing

2005-08-11T08:02:00.000-07:00

Coming back to a place after you've been away for some time can feel very strange. Keith and I got home from Alberta on Monday night to an apartment full of Bible-studiers. When we were pulling into the parking lot he said it felt weird to be back in Ottawa. It felt weird when he left to go home that night and to not see him first thing in the morning. For two-weeks we spent very nearly every waking moment around each other (as well as other people, of course). I kind of got used to it. Whenever I've been away from somewhere I expect it to be different when I come back. I guess because I feel like I've changed a bit so everything else should change too. But my routine was right where I had left it.. frustrations and all. My thesis still needs to get done and rent needs to be paid and the drop-in still needs it's volunteers. It was neat to go back there yesterday, to the drop-in. Christ has some very faithful and diligent workers there.

I went into school this morning. I haven't been there since my presentation to the thesis committee in June. Going into that building when I haven't been there for some time is always a shock. It's a whole other world. It's a secular environment where everyone is measured and compared to one another, very unlike my everyday life. Of course, these are my own associations and not ones inherent to the school. Whenever I go in there I remember the world of health research; the systematic reviews, the surveys, the endless hours in front of a computer. Not all of that is as repulsive to me as it may be to you. It just hit me in a funny way this morning because I've been on holiday and haven't thought too much about my career lately. I've thought about what it would be like to have my own house and a garden. What it would be like to travel to different countries. And what it would be like to be done my thesis.

It can be a bit of a jolt to realize that eventually I will be done with school and will be looking for a good job. A bit scary at times. I won't mind the reviews and surveys and computer hours as long as I get liberal doses of social interaction as well. I think I've just thought more about what type of ministry I'd like to be a part of and where I'd like to live instead of where I'd like to work. That's what happens when I've been away from my schoolmates who all seem to have a clear direction. Maybe I've been thinking about more important things. Maybe I've been avoiding the matter. Maybe a bit of both.

I apologize for the rambling nature of this blog. I'll try to write something more interesting next time. I'm afraid I was organizing my thoughts more than anything else with this blog. back to work.

Dear Abby

2005-07-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

There is this part of me that wants to dispense advice with every possible invitation. I think it's good advice (obviously) but I am positive it isn't always welcome or even necessary. I have been trying to be a bit more sensitive to these types of situations as of late...but now I find myself in a particularly precarious one.

A friend of mine is about to make a very important decision that will change the rest of his life. And I have my concerns about his decision. But here's the thing. When do you support and when do you voice concern? Thinking back to when I've had to make big decisions, there were not very many people I could accept both from simultaneously. There just seemed to be a conflict of interest. I always felt that if someone said "well, you've heard my concerns about your decision, but I will support whatever you choose" it seemed conditional. The exceptions to this feeling being my parents and best friends. But as for everyone else, I felt like if I did not choose what they thought best then I would lose their support. This didn't exactly predispose me to talk to them about what I was struggling with.

So this is where I'm at with my friend. I am not his best friend. I am an old friend that hasn't spoken with him in quite some time. He is stubborn and has a tendency to dig his heels in and pull the other way when he feels pushed in a direction. So what do I do? I feel like he is about to make one mistake worse by trying to fix it with what may be another mistake. I feel like he's panicking and scratching out options before he's properly looked at them. I think he is feeling very judged right now. I think he fears my judgement. That is probably why I heard about his situation through someone else. But as an old friend, what does he need most from me right now?

The Whirlwind

2005-07-01T10:50:00.000-07:00

I am sorry for not posting sooner. It has been a record-setting week for the most company, time on the road and stressful situations. My dear friend Heidi came to stay with me last Wednesday. She just got back from Honduras where she taught phys-ed to grades 7-12. She is very brave. She's even going back for another year. We had a nice visit here, although she did get re-injured playing ultimate last Thursday. She just couldn't handle the athletic prowess of the Free Frisbee Coalition (really, not too many people can).

We (Heidi, Keith and I) were North Bay bound on Friday. Jenita was getting married. Neter. Neter was marrying Peter. cute. We stayed at our friends Becky and Len's place, sharing a room with their two-year-old daughter Abbey. Well, Keith slept on the couch. Heidi and I got the room. Abbey is probably the most adorable two-year-old I have ever met. Even at 6:30am when she's asking you "what you doin?" while climbing out of her crib. Because we were woken up so early, once Abbey was out of the room we fell back asleep. We woke up at 10am. The across-town wedding started at 11am. Heidi and I were supposed to be guestbook attendants. We got to the church as Jenita was getting out of the car in her big white dress. She looked gorgeous. She told us we were supposed to be at our table. whoops. I don't think she REALLY expected us to be on time. She lived with us for a year.. she knows how it goes. Sunday was a bit of a scary day. Sunday, Keith met my parents. Now ideally, meeting your girlfriend's parents should not take place during a four-hour car ride back to Ottawa. I guess technically he met them over lunch, but lunch was immediately followed by a four-hour car ride.

To be honest, I think my parents were more nervous about meeting him. Keith handled himself very well. My dad spilt a milkshake on him and my mom spilled his popcorn in the movie theatre. ha. I think they all got along just fine.

And of course, I was feeling the undercurrent of stress for a lot of this visit. My parents stayed until Wednesday morning. I had the scary meeting on Tuesday morning. And I am happy to report that my thesis proposal is approved after I take care of a few minor revisions. In fact, the committee decided that I had proposed too much work and lopped off 1/3 of what I had planned to do.

Thank you all so much for your prayers. They meant a great deal to me. It appears that I have made it though yet another whirlwind unscathed.

So despite the chaos, I have a bit of a lull now. And it's my first Canada Day in Ottawa. We're going to Hull to watch the fireworks tonight. I feel very patriotic in my red tank top.

Hovering Above the Chaos

2005-06-21T23:49:00.000-07:00

So, life has a way of teaching you to make the best of the time you have while you have it. Unfortunately most of the actual learning goes on in hindsight. And this is where Darcie finds herself now.

For the last two weeks I have been bored out of my tree. The thesis proposal was submitted, the apartment was clean, and I had nothing to do with my days. I felt idle and a bit restless but mostly just unproductive. In retrospect I should have tried to enjoy my time off a little more. Because now the penny has dropped.

The dental surgeon says I have to get all four wisdom teeth out and that it is going to cost $1300. Super. It cost me $50 just to have him take the three minutes to tell me about sticking an IV in my arm and taking out the teeth. It doesn't sound so fun. The perfect proposal was deemed not so perfect and must be revised and presented to the GSC in one week. Scary. I have some reading and other preparations to do for that meeting as well. The apartment looks like stormtroopers just swept through and my dear friend Heidi is coming to stay tomorrow. We have a wedding on the weekend in North Bay (yay Neter) and then my parents will be here. And of course, Keith and I still have the drop-in on Wednesdays and outreach Thursday nights. I'm not sure whether it's good that my parents will be here for the looming meeting or not. I guess it depends on how it goes.

There is just a lot on my plate right now. So much that the food is touching and I'm not a big fan of touching food. I like those plates with built in compartments to keep it all separate. Mine must look like goulash right now. But it'll calm down again. That's what I was talking to Jenn about tonight. That all I'm trying to do is hover. To stay above the storm. "There's calm water out there somewhere" she said to me tonight. And honestly, it's a lot easier to see it when you aren't being barreled over by the waves.

We talked about peace at Bible study last night. What it means to have it, where it comes from and why it is so important. I'm not sure I could say that I am at peace with everything that is going on. But I know it'll all work out for good. I know nothing happens to me that God doesn't allow. I know He's a lot bigger than my chaotic life. I love that He's bigger. The presentation might bomb but I'll still learn a lot from doing it. I'll still do a thesis and finish my Masters.. It just might not be done on my time line. meh. Now I'm thinking too far ahead. That usually indicates that it's time for bed.

In anticipation of a bus ride

2005-06-10T13:23:00.000-07:00

In less than 12 hours I will be boarding a sault ste. marie bound greyhound bus. I am a pretty good busser. I'm little. I fold. I can sleep like a trooper. Busses can be somewhat scary places at times though. I don't really like being a place with people I don't know that I can't get away from. Hiding in the bathroom (for anyone who has ever been in one of those) is not really an option. I have had some great experiences visiting with my neighbours. On a midnight trip to Toronto I had a three hour conversation about all of the cartoon villains; who had the best name, who was ACTUALLY scary and who was just trying too hard. Keith told me a while ago that the Smurfs were little blue communists. I had no idea. I get their song stuck in my head sometimes. I once sat beside a dude from Montreal. He and a few friends were on the bus travelling up to the Northwest Territories to guide for the summer. They offered me some cous cous when we stopped in Sudbury. How kind. Sometimes I don't talk to my seatmate. walkmans (for those of you who are old school), cd players and mp3 players have kind of made it possible to sit beside someone for 12 hours without speaking a word to them. I find it weird...to not talk to them at all. I feel like I've missed an opportunity to meet someone interesting. There are times I welcome the quiet.
Two Christmases ago I was coming home from Sudbury and I had a little girl sit with me. She was seven. We talked about toboganning. She told me about helping her mom with dishes and how her dad was in the army so they were going out West for Christmas. She told me that they got to take turns sleeping in Mom's bed when dad was away. She was adorable. She fell asleep on me and drooled all over herself like any seven-year-old would.. shameless. it was great.

I have had a few experience that were not so good. From Toronto to Peterborough I tried to provide a man with reasons why he shouldn't go home and kill himself. He had had a rough Christmas. He left his family in Sudbury without telling them he was going. He suffered from some heavily stigmatized disease that he didn't want to tell me about. He said he was suffering, that he had tried to be a pastor once, that he used to go to church but had too many unanswered questions and that he was angry with God. I tried to tell him that if he was that angry, he should demand answers from God. Find his will to live in seeking out and demanding the answers from God. I don't usually encourage people to be mad at God.. but if it keeps them from killing themselves I think He'd rather them be mad at Him too. I didn't know what else to say. I told him that Jesus loved him. I told him that I loved him. I told him I didn't want him to go home and commit suicide. I don't know whether or not he did. I never learned his name. Part of me wishes that he was just trying to make interesting conversation during a bus trip and that he just wanted to see what the little Christian girl was going to say to him when he tried to shock her; that he really had no intention of killing himself. The other part of me hopes that wasn't the case since that was the most agonizing two and a half hours of my life and I am still somewhat haunted by whether or not he's still alive. I felt at peace getting off the bus. I prayed and prayed about what to do when the bus stopped. Do I invite him out for coffee with my sister and I? What else can I do? I admit.. I wanted to get as far from that bus terminal as quick as possible...uncomfortable and unpleasant situations make us hedonists want to flee. But I felt as though I had done all I was supposed to do. So I said good-bye and left with my sister.

So, I'm wondering who I'll be sitting with on this long journey home. Pray it goes safely. That if I'm sitting with someone who needs Jesus that I'll tell them about Him. That I'll tell my family more about Him too. They're so close. Thanks.

Here's a few pointers from me to you..

2005-06-02T11:15:00.000-07:00

I recently met Keith's family for the first time; a very kind family. Here are a few tips I picked up for all you ladies or gents out there that are about to meet their significant other's parents and siblings.

Tip #1: Invite them into your home.

It seems, in my nervousness, I forgot to do this. We were chatting in the hallway for about five minutes before Keith finally asked them to come in and sit down. I forgot that adults and polite people wait to be asked in.

Tip #2: Talk about topics that interest them.

Keith's mom loves plants and flowers. So do I. She knows a great deal about plants and flowers. I do not. I was trying to perhaps downplay my ignorance of the horticultural world and was doing an alright job of it.. until. Until I showed his mom and sisters the daffodil blossoms I kept from the plant I was given. His mom said the plant would re-grow itself, I grew excited. 'Did you keep the bulbs?" she asked. "Daffodils have bulbs?" I inquired. Ah.

Tip #3: Know who you're talking to on the phone.

8:30am Monday, the phone rings. I didn't get to it in time to answer, but assumed it was Keith calling to tell me when he and his dad would be over for breakfast. I called him back.
"Hello?" came the voice on the other end of the phone.
"Hi" I said. "How are you this morning?"
"Is this Darcie?"
"Of course it's Darcie, what other girls do you have calling you?"
"Oh, this is Ernest"
"Oh, er.. a .. well then, you would certainly expect to have a different, um, girl calling you then, Sir, um."
"I actually called to speak to Yvonne but did you want to talk to Keith?"
"Umm, sure"

Tip #4: Think before you speak

Keith's parents generously paid for us to see the Renaissance expedition at the National Gallery. We got to see paintings and sketches by Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Degas, Monet and Renoir (in addition to a lot of others). I was feeling cultured. I was thinking that I was noticing details that no one else was seeing, I was feeling brilliant.

I was looking at some sketches and doodlings Da Vinci had done and saw that he kept drawing a wheel with cogs on it (like a gear) and other mechanical-type things. Mr. Dow was standing beside and slightly behind me. "Did Da Vinci invent the wheel?" Mr. Dow looked at me and gave a chuckle "no" he said. "just some different uses for it". Life would have been real hard if we didn't have a wheel until the 1500's. Not one of my most brilliant moments.

But, despite all this. I could laugh (then and now) about it, and they laughed with me. They were patient and gracious. They were great.

So, ladies and gents.. keep these tips in mind when you're entertaining your S.O's family and you'll do fine. Just know you're going to do something foolish at some point. I think it's inevitable. (at least I'd like to think so).

Here's a few more, just to keep in mind

don't talk to much (this happens when i'm nervous.. the natural pauses in conversation appear to be unbearably long. I recommend that you don't try to fill them in)
don't call the parents by their first names (I may have let it slip once, but I think I got away with it)
coffee in the morning is the best way to bond.

What are you worth??

2005-05-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

"Darcie, you can never change what you're worth" he said to me. "Sometimes I worry that you do things to prove your worth to yourself".

Every once in a while some foundational truth that I have known for years goes quietly unnoticed for a very long time. This occurred to me yesterday when I was thinking through a conversation I had had with Keith. It seems he's right. The more I thought about it, the more right he got. This can be frustrating sometimes. I realized that I measure my worth all the time, not by God, but by my own capabilities. Whether or not I can get an A in this class, whether or not I'm fast enough to catch that frisbee, whether or not I can bake good cookies or cook a nice meal. All of these things aren't wrong to strive to achieve...but it is wrong to attribute some deeper value to them. I cloak this part of me in "challenge" sometimes. That I like that challenge. I told Keith yesterday that God blessed me with this body and this mind and I love pushing them, challenging them and experiencing the fullness of His blessing. All true. But not generally what's going through my mind when I'm playing soccer or writing an exam. This October I began to see the tip of this newly uncovered iceburg. I realized that my sense of self-worth and my marks in school were far too connected. One Tuesday I got embarassed for asking a question in class and then pulled into the program director's office and told I did poorly on my first assignment. "How are you finding the course" he asked me. I cried when I got home. Julia told me 'Darc, I don't even know what your average was out of university. It doesn't matter. You are more than your marks". It seems so obvious, but at the time it wasn't.

I have known that my worth comes from God. That I can do nothing to change it. But it seems the implication of this has just barely trickled down into my actual everyday life. There have been times, like after a hard breakup or a bad mark. I didn't grow up hearing this truth. My parents love me dearly and I don't feel the pressure to "perform" to gain acceptance. But I guess our view outside of the family was that your worth to others is determined by what you are able to contribute.

I started thinking of the wider implications of this truth. How this warped sense of worth has shaped my ideas about me and God and the world. It explains part of why I feel this desire to contribute to something bigger than me - why I need to be needed. It explains why I have can be fiercely independent - I want to see if I can do it on my own. Sometimes feel like I need to do it on my own, especially if I am not feeling particularly good about myself. Doing things to prove your own worth to yourself doesn't leave a whole lot of room for God. If He's the source of my worth, it appears that I have been cutting Him off. Not good.

Change is a tricky thing though. The answer to this dilemma is not self-discipline. I was reading in Blue Like Jazz today that Miller tried this tatic once. He said it was like trying to walk up to a stranger and fall in love with them. Besides, even if I was able to train myself to obtain my sense of worth from God, I'd probably see that as a way of proving my worth to myself. ha. I think I have to trust Him to change my heart. To reveal little by little how much I am actually worth to Him. Intellectually, I know this - I know He loves me enough to die for me. But in my heart, I don't think I get it yet. I want to understand it, feel it, the grit and the blood and the sweat of how much He loves me. I want to feel it to my core. A sense of worth in Him that can't be shaken by anyone or anything. And at the same time, a sense of insignificance without Him.

Sermon Notes

2005-05-23T12:18:00.000-07:00

I used to take sermon notes. Really good ones, too. But sometime in university I stopped taking sermon notes. I think I stopped because I realized that I never re-read them. Yesterday in church I wish I had taken notes because I would definitely have re-read them this time.

The speaker at church went through six of the names of God that had the Hebrew word el in them. El means strength or power. I don't know how to spell some of the names He was called and I only remember five of the six and I forget what some of them mean. This is why I wish I had taken notes. There was Elohim, El-el-eyon, Elroi, El-o-something-or-other, El Shaddai, and Eloi. They all had to do with His might, His presence, His seeing us, His creativity, His glory, His awesomeness. I think I spend a great deal of time trying to fit God into a box. Not so much to minimize Him or control Him.. but to understand Him. I try to break Him down into parts and meditate on them individually. This is a pretty good exercise but it misses the big picture. Well, I guess it's designed to miss the big picture. The whole point of doing it is because I can't even begin to understand God all put back together. But then, is that an excuse to keep Him broken into little manageable pieces? No, obviously not.

I was talking to Keith about this yesterday, about how I used to go to a church where they left God really big all the time and didn't talk much about Jesus so I never really related to God well because I couldn't wrap my mind around Him. This church prayed prayers that you had to think really hard to pray them because you weren't always sure what all the words meant. There prayers sounded a little bit like this "Oh, Holy transcendent Heavenly Father, You who's Name is above all names. We enter into the presence of Your majesty..." And although what they said was true, I felt like they kept God at arms length be keeping Him so big, so incomprehensible. I like the way they prayed at my friend's church; simple. "Dear Jesus...". It seemed much more personal and relational.

Keith reminded me that we need both. We need the big God and the personal God. And that made me think about how I think about God. I think the best way I have found to understand a God that can be both is thinking about Aslan, the Great Lion in the Narnia books. Aslan is "not a tame Lion" He is to be feared, respected, revered. But He is good. He is loving, merciful, compassionate. C.S. Lewis gives us a good starting point for thinking about God with Aslan.

Praying to a Holy transcendent God without knowing that He is a personal God as well can hinder building a relationship with Him; it can prevent Him from influencing your heart and your thoughts, and your actions. It can keep Him too big to care about the details of your life. But keeping God in parts and not meditating on Him in all His fullness, His glory and majesty, His vastness can lead to a personal relationship with an impotent God; a manageable God. A God that is important, but not quite powerful enough to handle the crises in this world. A God that is limited.

Hebrews 12:28 and 29 says "Since we are receiving a Kingdom that cannot be destroyed, let us be thankful and please God by worshiping Him with holy fear and awe. For our God is a consuming fire".

This seems to be dialectical (but maybe it isn't and I just think it is). God is infinitely holy and knowing and present and powerful, He is a God to be feared and worshiped. At the same time He is a God who is intimate, compassionate, loving, sensitive to the needs of His children, relational, a God to be conversed with and rested in. Moreover, we, as His creation, are dust. We are insignificant, we are perverse, we are nothing compared to God. But at the same time He tells us we are His children, that we have been made holy, that we are righteous, that we are infinitely important. Somehow, we must reconcile these opposing ideas and worship this God knowing we are nothing, but that we mean everything.

I like that God is big and complex and intimate and relational at the same time. I like that He's a mystery that desires to be known more fully all the time. I like this invitation to figure Him out. And I'm growing to like that I'll never be able to wholly understand Him.

Long Overdue

2005-05-09T16:04:00.000-07:00

I have been negligent, dear readers. I have neglected you for almost an entire month. I even left you suspended on an issue. My sincerest apologies. To be honest, I haven't had much time to think over the abortion issue that arose last month in my international health class. But I do remember what I was thinking after I read Keith's reply. I remember thinking.. "Hmm.. it appears my entire class missed the forest for the trees". In short, we all had "falsely dichotomized" the issue of funding for agencies providing abortion referrals. My natural tendency is to lump, not to split. I like things simple. Black and white. This can lead to some serious over-simplifications. In my class, the general attitude was "why did Bush try fix what wasn't broken?" and I fell into the same mindset. We were all too busy focusing on how terrible circumstances were because of this gag order that we never stopped to think of moving past the issue and working with the programs and services and money that is currently available. It's hard to lay down an issue you feel strongly about and move forward onto what you can do with what you've got. It's true, there is a lot of money (especially in the States) to be spent on reproductive health. The fact remains that it may not be spent as effectively as it could have been through the more established organizations, but it can be spent and do some measure of good. Perhaps because of this gag order, the reproductive health programs will greatly step up their education and their disturbution of contraceptives. Hopefully the spike in MMR will only be temporary until attitudes and practices can be changed for the better. Ideally, the whole issue of unwanted pregnancies could be dealt with without abortion being an option. This funding cut could even be a push in the right direction as long as the money is well spent. I still think the idea of preaching abstinance to the people in developing countries is beyond foolish. The education is primarily given to the women, many of whom are married or monogomous with one man. Promiscuity is typically a problem among husbands who have to leave their families in order to find work in the urban areas. Therefore, abstinance is not an option for the women and the men should be receiving the same education as the women on reproductive health.

Well, hopefully now that returned from my blogging hiatus I will return to some semblance of my former posting consistency. Thanks for hanging in there.

How to love them best?

2005-04-16T20:27:00.000-07:00

In my international health class there was a presentation given on the impact of the Bush Gag Rule on the work being done in developing countries. Here is an excerpt from a website that explains what the rule is and how it is largely viewed by the world, especially here in Canada.

"In January 2001, the U.S. government imposed restrictions on non-governmental organizations (NGOs) overseas receiving international family planning assistance. The restrictions, officially called the Mexico City Policy, are also known as the Global Gag Rule by those who oppose it.

Under the policy, no U.S. family planning assistance can be provided to foreign NGOs that use funding from any other source to: perform abortions in cases other than a threat to the life of the woman, rape, or incest; provide counseling and referral for abortion; or lobby to make abortion legal or more available in their country. Non-compliance will result in loss of funding from the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID)." www.globalgagrule.com

USAID is the largest bilateral donor for population and reproductive services in the world giving US $951 million in 2001 alone. Since 2001, any organizations that provide counseling or advocate for abortions have had their funding cut. I'd like to meniton that these organizations are not performing the acutal abortions, but are providing information, education and referrals.

I'll state up front that I am not pro-choice. I do not believe in abortion as a viable alternative to an unwanted pregnancy. However, I do believe in the right to health for all, and I do believe that as a result of the gag order, millions of women have been left uninformed with no educated people to turn to. Because of the nature of this US order, funding was cut from family planning agencies (such as planned parenthood) that have worked extensively in these countries, some for well over 40 years. Organizations such as these had deep roots and credibility in rural communities where no other health professionals or community workers had access. Now there is no one to provide information on any aspect of reproductive health. This includes contraceptive use, women's health issues, breastfeeding, child care and hygiene, nutrition, the list goes on. The fact is, these organizations did much more than give referrals for abortions. They did post-abortion counselling. Counselling so that the women could learn how to avoid another abortion. On how to talk to their husbands. On how to best care for the children they already have. I think Bush took to hard a line on this issue. He pulled the rug out from under a population who didn't have a leg to stand on in the first place.

I know it's easy for us in Canada to cradle our convictions. To keep them so black and white that compassion never enters in. I know abortion violates the rights of an unborn baby. I know we have no right to decide whether or not that baby lives or dies. But think about this:

You live in rural Tanzania, Africa. Tanzania is one of the poorest countries in Africa and in the top 20 globally. There is no work in the community you live in so your husband has gone to the city to work and sends home some money, but never enough. You have AIDS; infected by your husband who sleeps with other women when away in the city. You take care of the seven children you have at home. You have already lost three. The baby died two months ago from AIDS. The other two were lost to malaria. You are slowly watching the others starve to death. You know you are dying yourself. You also know you are expecting another child. Who will take care of your children when you are gone? Can you bear to watch another slowly become listless and lethargic? Can you watch another of your babies waste away before your eyes and know you are powerless to stop it? Do you have an alternative? Can you see it as a mercy to this unborn baby to spare it the suffering of a life that is already doomed? Who do you turn to? The witchdoctor? An elder in the community? A midwife? Will they know what to do? What the options are? They don't know.

Illegal or unsafe abortion rates are skyrocketing in Africa. Complications from these abortions are responsible for about 35% of the maternal mortality rate. Maternal mortality rate is the number of mothers that die from abortion, pregnacy or delivery/# live births in one year. 50-60% of gynecological admissions in hospitals are due to unsafe abortions. (WHO, 2004). It is also known that for every mother that dies during an unsafe abortion, 20-30 are permanently disabled, leaving them unable to care for their family. Some of you may feel that these mothers are receiving the consequences of their actions. If so, I think you're missing the point.

The point is that by pulling funding, these women never hear these statistics. They never see a proper doctor. They never hear that there are ways for them to keep and care for this baby. They never hear the options. They never see past the problem. Can you blame them? Will you cast the first stone? They don't know Jesus. They don't know He loves them and their baby. That He will watch over them. But they know the people who used to teach them about health and equity have left their village. They might even know the US president is responsible. Or that He's a Christian. Is he loving them? Those mothers with their backs to the wall screaming for relief? I know he's advocating for the right to life of unborn babies. I commend that, I'd join him in that, but who is advocating for the right to life for the mothers? Are they any less important? Do they not deserve the right to know? The right to be educated? The right to not watch their children die in front of them? I'll get off my soap box. I hope you brought yours.I'd like to know your thoughts.

If you'd like a visual representation, check out www.globalgagrule.com and watch the video. It's about 8 minutes long.

Nuke the Whales

2005-04-12T22:28:00.000-07:00

at least that's what Derek's tee-shirt said today. When i asked him why, he replied "Well.. you gotta nuke something". So matter-of-fact-like. I just shouldn't have asked. In addition to sporting controversial cottenwear, Derek has helped usher in a new way of learning statistics. He was not alone in this endaevor. Oh no. I believe it was initiated by one of my stats professors, Tim. Tim looks like a statistician. He's tall. He has nicely combed hair. He wears glasses. He really likes data. He also really likes Ali G. I'm not sure if you are aware of this character, but he has a very unique language all his own. A language that has infiltrated my stats class. Here is an excerpt from a typical lecture:

"To determine which variables are the best to include in your logistic model, you should perform univariate analyses for each variable alone and then add the variables into your model based on whether or not they are individually significant"

This is what it's become:

"to figure out which variables is da wickedest to include in your logistic model, yous should perform univariate analyses fa each variable alone and thun add da variables into your model based on whetha or not dey is each important"

My prof went so far as to suggest I use the Ali G translator on a couple verses in Genesis. Now don't go telling me this is sacrilage, I know I know. But come on. Here's Genesis 3:6-7

whun Eve saw dat da fruit of da tree was wicked fa grub and pleasin to da eye, and also desirable fa gainin wisdom, she took some and ate it. she also gave some to a usband, who was wiv a, and he ate it. 7 thun da eyes of bof of them were opened, and dey realized dey were naked; so dey sewed fig leaves togetha and made coverings fa themselves.

So, if you're looking to do a little translating of your own, it's www.mackers.com/alig/

Well. it's time fa slumba. Check yous lata.

the cop out

2005-04-09T13:36:00.000-07:00

Last night at C&C we had an awesome time where different people in the group talked about who Jesus is to them and how He's been working in their lives in the last year. A lot of people spoke up, which was really encouraging. I thought to say something. A whole bunch of times. I'm not usually one who hesitates when it comes to speaking to a group, especially a group of people I am really growing to love. But last night as I sat listening, I realized that I just needed to listen. Too often, I feel like I have something to say that "so important" and until I say it, I pay very little attention to what others are contributing.

So, last night as I was listening. I found some common threads through the stories of my friends and saw how my own was being weaved in too. But one in particular caught my ear, probably because I have a great deal of respect for this person and am humbled by her each time we meet. The thing that struck me was how the background to our stories are quite similar. Like her, I am the only one in my immdiate family that is a Christian. However, unlike her, I never got heavily involved with a church. I am starting to believe that I have used the fact that I didn't grow up in church as an excuse for not being more involved in church activities, not knowing my Bible as well as I should, not doing memory work. It's like I thought I was okay to remain detached or uninterested in the programming or activities done by the church. I have a hard time buying into these things...programs in particular. I sometimes feel that churches can be too internally focussed and not do enough outreach. I, however, do little to nothing to remedy the problem. I need to learn. I need to stop hiding behind excuses. Thanks, Natalie. For helping me see this.

The other thing that really hit me last night was that I love my new friends very much. I have waited a long time to have community like this. It fills me up. My cup runneth over. Some of you I've gotten to know really well. Others I haven't made a strong enough effort yet and I'm sorry for that. I hope we can try again in the fall (or over the summer, if you're still here). I came on the scene a little late this year, and I have a hard time breaking into new groups. I never used to be good in groups. I tended to retreat to corners with books whenever I was at social gatherings (believe it or not). Thanks to all of your for drawing me out.

where the true need lies

2005-04-05T23:40:00.000-07:00

Last semester I took a class in social epidemiology. We talked a lot about how socioeconomic status, poverty, gender and all sorts of other social variables effected the health of the individual and the population at large. During one class, we had a big discussion on welfare and how it gets abused by a lot of people. One of my classmates stated that she felt like we needed to get back to the way things were when welfare or "social assistance" first began. She said people felt ashamed to be on it and that no one would dream of choosing to rely on it. She liked the idea of people taking pride in their work and identifying themselves with it. I myself have always taken pride in my work, especially my school work and therefore didn't necessarily disagree with her. But I do think there is great danger in reverting to the old way things were done. They were, by not means perfect. I said this to the class and illustrated it with a story from a Don Miller book called Blue Like Jazz (which I think everyone should read at least twice). He had been in a grocery store once and saw some brightly coloured papers in the lady's hand in front of him in line. food stamps. He had never seen them before, but noticed how she carefully pulled out the right number and handed them over. How she kept her head lowered the entire time. How the cashier swiftly completed the transaction and didn't look the woman in the eye. There was no smile or have a nice day. He said at first he wanted to pay for the woman's groceries...but then realized it wasn't her food he wanted to buy her, it was her dignity. I know I've written before about how we shouldn't make people feel ashamed because they are needy. I tried, last semester to communicate that to my class. I'm not so sure it got through to most of them. It did to Kate. That made me glad. I told Shad about what I had said in class and he said he agreed with me. And that the people that do abuse the system, the people who are fully capable of finding and doing good work but choose not to are probably the ones with the biggest problems and need the help the most.

Another point that came out in this class was about setting examples. The same classmate as before stated that she felt a single mom working hard at two part-time jobs to put food on the table would set a good example for her kids. I tried to make the point that it would probably be more expensive for the mom to work two jobs and have her children in day care all the time than it would to stay at home to raise them and rely on social assistance. I thought that would set a better example than never being home. I think we have strayed very far from some very simple truths. I think we'd be hard-pressed to critisize a mother for being on welfare so that she can take her children to the park and prepare good meals and tuck them in at night.

I thought about all of this again tonight because my friends and I were discussing the homeless situation on Ottawa and how it can be so encouraging to see people making the calls to find work. That not everyone is struggling with addictions or mental illness or some other condition that may prevent them from holding down a job. It made me sad to think that most people feel the ones making calls to find work are using the safety net of a shelter properly and that many are abusing the privelege. Sometimes our sense of Protestant work ethic comes shining through and overpowers any hint of mercy.

During our Bible study last week we were talking about how we show mercy to people. I think everytime we drop a coin in someone's paper cup we show them mercy. We tell them that they are not forsaken, despite what they may feel, despite what they may deserve. We tell them that we will love them. We don't do it enough.

I battle through these thunderclouds to find my way to fields of gold somehow...

2005-04-04T20:56:00.000-07:00

So here we are. April is underway. The month of perpetual brinks. I get pushed to the breaking point more in April than any other month, by far. Just when I think I cannot endure one more frigid day.. the winter concedes and spring marches in. Just when I can't spend one more gorgeous day in a classroom, they're finished. Just when I cannot possibly look at one more logistic regression, the assignments are all handed in. Just when I have to give my 30 days notice in my apartment, i find a new one to move into with a fabulous new roomate.

Sometimes bigger things in life are like that too. Sometimes it seems we struggle with something in the dark for so long that we forget why we're struggling in the first place, and just when we're most discouraged and closest to giving up...we find ourselves in fields of gold. Suddenly we're not so exhausted and ragged and worn. We're relieved and revived and at peace. I had a field of gold moment today. Just like I had one last Tuesday when Jenn and I found our new apartment. Things fall into place right in front of you sometimes. I love it when that happens.

Take courage now, dear Heart

2005-04-02T11:19:00.001-08:00

Take courage now, dear Heart
I hold you by your soul.
My will be done,
I have overcome
The world, give me control.

Do not resist, dear Heart
Surrender all you know.
Abandon all,
And heed the call
To live by faith, and grow.

Do not despair, dear Heart
For you, I'll not forsake.
Look to the East
To your High Priest
New joy in you shall wake.

Have patience now, dear Heart
I promise not to tarry.
But use this time
To be refined
Top prepare a sanctuary.

So trust in Me, dear Heart
For the answers that you seek.
I'll do My best
And each request
I'll answer faithfully.

The First Step

2005-03-30T00:05:00.000-08:00

How many thousands of miles
Away from me
Lives my childhood wife?
She is on the Pacific Ocean,
I am on the Atlantic Ocean.
We are a whole country apart,
But we will be together again,
Sometime,
In some year.
And even though we are
So very, very far apart,
We will stay married to each other.
I will be friends with other girls, and
She will be friends with other boys.
That is important for children.
But I just hope that she is not
Picking up a shoe with another boy.
Picking up a shoe
Is the very first step
In "tying the knot" you know.

Mattie J.T. Stepanek

For Males: About Mating

2005-03-29T23:52:00.000-08:00

When a boy penguin wants a femate,
He gives her a shiny and special pebble.
When a boy squirrel wants a femate,
He gives her a whole bunch of crunchy nuts.
When a boy bear wants a femate,
He gives her a huge pile of the juiciest berries.
But, when a boy human wants a femate,
He should give her the gifts of respect and love...
Or he shouldn't have a femate and marry at all.

Mattie J.T. Stepanek

Deeper Magic from Before the Dawn of Time

2005-03-27T04:45:00.000-08:00

"Now! Follow me all and we will set about what remains of this war! It will not take us long to crush the human vermin and the traitors now that the great Fool, the great Cat, lies dead."
With wild cries and noise of skirling pipes and shrill horns blowing, the whole of that vile rabble came sweeping off the hill-top and down the slope right past the girls' hiding-place. The felt the Spectres go by them like a cold wind and they felt the ground shake beneath them under the galloping feet of the Minotaurs; and overhead there went a flurry of foul wings and a blackness of vultures and giant bats. At any other time they would have trembled with fear; but now the sadness and shame and horror of Aslan's death so filled their minds that they hardly thought of it.

As soon as the wood was silent again Susan and Lucy crept out onto the open hill-top. The moon was getting low and thin clouds were passing across her, but still they could see the shape of the Lion lying dead in his bonds. And down they both knelt in the wet grass and kissed his cold face and stroked his beautiful fur - what was left of it - and cried till they could cry no more. And then they looked at each other and held each other's hands for mere loneliness and cried again; and then again were silent. At last Lucy said,
"I can't bear to look at that horrible muzzle. I wonder, could we take it off?"

So they tried. And after a lot of working at it (for their fingers were cold and it was now the darkest part of the night) they succeeded. And when they saw his face without it they burst out crying again and kissed it and fondled it and wiped away the blood and the foam as well as they could. And it was all more lonely and hopeless and horrid than I know how to describe.

I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been - if you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you- you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing is ever going to happen again. At any rate that was how it felt to these two.

"Ugh!" said Susan from the other side of the Table. "How beastly! There are horrid little mice crawling over him. Go away, you little beasts." And she raised her hand to frighten them away.
"Wait!" said Lucy, who had been looking at them more closely still. "Can you see what they're doing?"
Both girls bent down and stared.
"I do believe-" said Susan. "But how queer! They're nibbling away at the cords!"
"That's what I thought," said Lucy. "I think they're friendly mice. Poor little things - they don't realize he's dead. They think it'll do some good untying him."
It was quite definetely lighter now. They could see the mice nibbling away. And at last, one by one, the ropes were all gnawed through.

The girls cleared away the remains of the gnawed ropes. Aslan looked more like himself without them. Every moment his dead face looked nobler, as the light grew and they could see it better.
"I'm so cold," said Lucy.
"So am I," said Susan. "Let's walk about a bit."
They walked to the eastern edge of the hill and looked down. They walked to and fro more times than they could count between the dead Aslan and the eastern ridge, trying to keep warm; and oh, how tired their legs felt. Then at last, as they stood for a moment looking out towards the sea and Cair Paravel the red turned to gold along the line where the sea and the sky met and very slowly up came the edge of the sun. At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noice- a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant's plate.
"What's that?" said Lucy clutching Susan's arm.
"I - I feel afraid to turn round," said Susan; "something awful is happening."

"They're doing something worse to Him," said Lucy. "Come on!" And she turned, pulling Susan round with her.
The rising of the sun had made everything look so different - all colours and shadows were changed - that for a moment they didn't see the important thing. Then they did. The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan.

"Who's done it?" cried Susan. "What does it mean? Is it magic?"
"Yes!" said a great voice behind their backs. "It is more magic." They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

The morning after

2005-03-26T09:27:00.000-08:00

When I woke up this morning I felt refreshed and ready to tackle another day. Then the pressure of school work and finding a place to live, and practicing for church tonight (which i still haven't figured out how to fit in) descended onto my chest. As I made the coffee and read through a couple of chapters in Galatians I realized that my problems weren't all that huge.. and that it would all get done one way or another. But I started thinking about what a blessed escape sleep can be from all our troubles and concerns. That made me think of how the disciples would have felt on this morning 2000 years ago.

I think this morning would have been the saddest and most crushing for them. The crucifixion day would have been filled with more shock and horror than agony for them I think. The dawn of the day after would have come in silently enough and deceivingly like every other morning they had spent with Jesus over the past three years. They probably woke up and had a few beautiful moments of forgetfulness before the realization that this was not like any other morning and the memories of the previous day came flooding back. They must have felt so alone.

When I read Keith Green's biography, his wife described how she felt the day after the plane crash where he and two of their children had died. She said she felt like a huge part of her had been ripped out. That she wanted to talk to him about how empty she felt and wanted guidance on what to do now that he was gone. And how it was so sureal and strange that she couldn't just go and speak with him. That she would never be able to again. I think the disciples would have wanted Jesus to talk with too. And they probably felt very similar to how Melody Green was feeling the day after her husband died.

I wonder if they prayed on this day? I wonder what kind of upheaval their belief system underwent on this morning. I think this would have been the day that they despaired. The heart of darkness. The time when they were most vulnerable. I think we tend to skip over the Saturday on the Easter weekend because nothing really happened. But I think it's the "nothing" that makes it so important.

an excerpt

2005-03-26T00:03:00.000-08:00

I don't know if any of you have read The Little Prince in detail (or in English). But it's one of my favourite books. I know I don't often elaborate on the reasons why some of the stories or lyrics I write down are my favourites or what they make me think about, but I like to think they've made you think your own thoughts without my opinion included.

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarassed.
"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you - the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose."

And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose-" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox.
"But you must not forget it. You have become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

The Triumph of the Witch

2005-03-25T10:03:00.000-08:00

A great crowd of people were standing all around the Stone Table and though the moon was shining many of them carried torches which burned evil-looking red flames and black smoke.
A howl and a gibber of dismay went up from the creatures when they first say the great Lion pacing towards them, and for a moment even the Witch seemed to be struck with fear. Then she recovered herself and gave a wild fierce laugh.
"The fool!" she cried. "The fool has come. Bind him fast."
Lucy and Susan held their breaths waiting for Aslan's roar and his spring upon his enemies. But it never came.
"Bind him, I say!" repeated the White Witch. The Hags made a dart at him and shrieked with triumph when they found that he made no resistance at all. Then others - evil dwarfs and apes - rushed in to help them, and between them they rolled the huge Lion over on his back and tied all his four paws together, shouting and cheering as if they had done something brave, though, had the Lion chosen, one of those paws could have been the death of them all. But he made no noise, even when his enemies, straining and tugging, pulled the cords so tight that they cut into his flesh. Then they began to drag him towards the Stone Table.
"Stop!" said the Witch "Let him first be shaved."
Snip-snip-snip went the shears and masses of curling gold began to fall to the ground. Then the ogre stood back and the children, watching from their hiding-place, could see the face of Aslan looking all small and different without its mane. The enemies also saw the difference.
"Why, he's only a great cat after all!" cried one.
"Is that what we were afraid of?" said another.
And they surged round Aslan, jeering at him, saying things like, "Puss, Puss! Poor Pussy," and, "How many mice have you caught today, Cat?"and, "Would you like a saucer of milk, Pussums?"

"Oh, how can they?" said Lucy, tears streaming down her cheeks. "The brutes, the brutes!" For now that the first shock was over, the shorn face of Aslan looked to her braver, and more beautiful, and more patient than ever.

"Muzzle him!" said the Witch. And even now as they worked aout his face putting on the muzzle, one bite from his jaws would have cost two or three of them their hands. But he never moved. And this seemed to enrage all that rabble. Everyone was at him now. Those who had been afraid to come near him even after he was bound began to find their courage, and for a few minutes the girls could not even see him - so thickly was he surrounded by the whole crowd of creatures kicking him, hitting him, spitting on him, jeering at him.

At last the rabble had had enough of this. They began to drag the bound and muzzled Lion to the Stone Table, some pulling, some pushing. He was so huge that even when they got him there it took all their efforts to hoist him on to the surface. Then there was more tying and tightening of cords.
"The cowards! The cowards!" sobbed Susan. "Are they still afraid of him, even now?"

When once Aslan has been tied on the flat stone, a hush fell on the crowd. Four Hags, holding four torches, stood at the corners of the Table. The Witch bared her arms as she has bared them the previous night when it had been Edmund instead of Aslan. Then she began to whet her knife. It looked to the children, when the gleam of the torchlight fell on it, as if the knife were made of stone, not of steel, and it was of a strange and evil shape.

At last she drew near. She stood by Aslan's head. Her face was working and twitching with passion, but his looked up at the sky, still quiet, neither angry nor afraid, but a little sad. Then, just before she gave the blow, she stooped down and said in a quivering voice,
"And now, who has won? Fool, did you think that by all this you would save the human traitor? Now I will kill you instead of him as our pact was and so the Deep Magic will be appeased. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him as well? And who will take him out of my hand then? Understand that you have given me Narnia for ever, you have lost your own life and you have not saved his. In that knowledge, despair and die."

The children did not see the actual moment of the killing. They couldn't bear to look and had covered their eyes.

amidst the colours of youth

2005-03-21T12:50:00.000-08:00

It's a lot harder to write a post of my own thoughts than to write out someone elses that I've merely thought about. It's much more intimidating too. But it makes me think a lot more...and it makes me get really real with myself and those are both good things. I have been thinking a lot about how frustrating this world can be to live in with such inequity and corruption and backward priorities and people only looking out for number one. And how frustrating it is to know I'm in the thick of it sometimes...jockying for position, for support, for a voice. Usually the only voice I'm only concerned with hearing is my own. not so good. But other times I am on the outside of it, observing it..the dynamics, the ethics, the motives. Sometimes I can't find anyone with a grasp on the big picture. Sometimes it slips from my own grasp. Then God shows me something beautiful.

Last Friday I spent 4 hours listening to boring lectures on ethics for the grad students. I was on my second cup of coffee and listening to a brilliant women, but not so gifted speaker, outline the various arguments for gender equity on the national and international health scene. She was a feminist, but not a man-hater which was refreshing. I had heard many of these arguments before in class so I was kind of blurring her (as rude as that is, dan). And was thinking about where I was going to be after grad school, what I wanted to do, who I'd be with etc... I was a little disheartened because it's tough to know that you want to be in a needy country helping needy people but are scared to go alone. At some point during my musings I scanned the auditorium to observe the other glazed over eyes and spotted Don and Liz.

Don and Liz are a married couple well into their 80's. They are both doctors and have been married for a very very long time. Educated here in Canada, they were pioneers in delivering primary health care to villages in Uganda for over 40 years. Don came and spoke in one of my classes earlier this semester. I can't even imagine what they've seen together. I can't imagine what horrors and triumphs they've experienced together. I don't even really know them, only from afar, mostly. But that doesn't matter. They impacted with world, and they impacted it more as a couple than they could have on their own. That's what marriage is about...well.. a big part of it in my mind anyways. And they didn't have to go it alone. And in that moment, looking over and seeing their silver heads amidst the colours of youth I was reassured.

The call of a lover so less wild

2005-03-21T11:56:00.000-08:00

Don Miller: Polaroids

"What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.
I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I will walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of eachother? Is this God's way of meriting grace, of teaching us the labyrinth of His love for us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being so fractional so that we might conclude on great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.
Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake to find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be ashes before we are one? What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don't we go at eachother with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know eachother!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.
I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover and though you remain a mystery, save God's own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me. I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again. God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us"

With Water I Will Wash Her

2005-03-14T09:50:00.000-08:00

"I stand upon my desk to remind myself to contstantly look at things in a different way" John Keating, Dead Poet's Society.

I was away on a murder mystery retreat this weekend with some of my most favourite people this past weekend. It was excellent. All of it, that is, except the one thing I may have been looking forward to the most. Which is probably why I was disappointed. (This is the part I hesitate to write because I do not particularly enjoy controversy). I left the breaking of bread service feeling really sad and disheartened. I felt this way because I wanted it to be more open and intimate and real. I wanted it to be a time where we could talk about what Jesus was doing in our lives and how He was changing us. I wanted to let my heart lift Him up in song and rejoice that He still lives.

I realize how important it is to remember his death, the cross, the shame.. all of it. But we didn't really address the fact that He's not dead anymore. Without the resurrection, remembering His death is meaningless. Yesterday was like a funeral service. It made me sad. It made me sad because five minutes after it was over there was life and passion and laughter ringing throughout that house. Why did that get left at the door on the way in and picked up on the way out? Why do we have to be solomn and serious? Why can't we remember and be thankful and rejoice in our hearts because we know He lives?

Usually on Sunday mornings, it's the quiet of the service I really appreciate because it gives me a chance to really reflect and pray my own prayers and take stock of how I'm doing spiritually, and read. But I feel like we missed a great opportunity to share all of that with each other over the weekend. To go beyond the Bible verses and get into how they are working themselves out in our lives.

I talked to Julia about it last night. She encouraged me to try to look at the whole thing a little differently. She said in her own life, times like that make her own relationship with Jesus a little more precious and that she treasures it that much more. That it's all about Him anyways, so even if you are in a church that does things differently than you're used to, your relationship with Him is the same. That way, the way things are done is much less important.

Wedding Dress

2005-03-09T20:51:00.000-08:00

if you could love me as a wife
and for my wedding gift, your life
should that be all i'll ever need
or is there more i'm looking for

and should i read between the lines
and look for blessings in disguise
to make me handsome, rich, and wise
is that really what you want

(chorus)
i am a whore i do confess
but i put you on just like a wedding dress
and i run down the aisle
i'm a prodigal with no way home
but i put you on just like a ring of gold
and i run down the aisle to you

so could you love this bastard child
though i don't trust you to provide
with one hand in a pot of gold
and with the other in your side
i am so easily satisfied
by the call of lovers less wild
that i would take a little cash
over your very flesh and blood

(chorus)

because money cannot buy
a husband's jealous eye
when you have knowingly deceived his wife

words and music by Derek Webb

Hug Me

2005-03-07T15:47:00.000-08:00

Elliot Kravitz was not like other porcupines, who were quite content having quills and being left alone. Elliot was not content. He wanted a friend. A friend to talk to, a friend to play with and tell his best secrets to. But mostly, he wanted a friend to hug.

All the porcupines told him, "Hey, Elliot! It's really great having quills!! No one bothers us. We always get to be first in line. We never have to share our ice-cream cones. No one ever comes near a porcupine!" But Elliot liked being with others. He didn't mind sharing his ice-cream, even if it was a double-scoop, chocolate-chip come with sprinkles on top.

Elliot longed for a friend. You see, the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world was a big, tight... HUG. The other porcupines wouldn't hug him. It's too hard, they said, to hug someone with quills.

So Elliot spent most of his time hugging telephone poles...
parking meters...
and traffic lights.
After a while, Elliot got tired of hugging telephone poles, parking meters and traffic lights. They really didn't make him feel very good.

At night, in bed, Elliot would dream about having a real friend who would hug back. One morning, he got out of his bed and said, "Enough is enough. No more hugging parking meters, traffic lights and telephone poles. I want a friend to hug! A friend who will hug back!"

Elliot disguised himself as a birthday present. Everyone loves birthday presents. Maybe someone who loved birthday presents would want to be his friend. At Christmastime, Elliot put lights around each quill and rented himself out as the first walking Christmas tree. Everyone loved to look at him, but no one ever wanted to hug him.

Elliot limped home that night going over all the things he had tried. "Face it," he said to himself. "It's hopeless. There's nothing you can do."

The next morning he said, out loud for everyone to hear, "I GIVE UP! I don't need anybody. I'm going to the forest where I can be alone and no one will ever find me!"
In the forest, Elliot found himself a quiet, grassy spot under a tree. He sat hugging his knees.

"You give up what?" a little voice said. Elliot turned and saw another porcupine facing him.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Elliot Kravitz," said Elliot Kravitz.
"I'm Thelma Claypits," said Thelma Claypits.
"What are you doing here?" she said.
"I'm here because nobody wants to hug me," said Elliot.
"I'll hug you," she said.
"You will?" said Elliot.
"Sure," said Thelma.
"But I'm a porcupine," said Elliot.
"What do you think I am?" she said pointing to her quills. "Let's hug."

And so they tried slowly...
carefully...
very gently, they hugged.
Elliot smiled.
"This is nice," he thought to himself.

Patti Stren

I wish I could show you the pictures and thought bubbles that go along with this story. It makes it that much more beautiful. I think I read it, grade two style, showing the pictures on each page, to about 20 people in one day last year. It was a computer lab and lifeguard office favourite.

Me or Someone Like Me

2005-03-07T00:55:00.000-08:00

I came home tonight and felt like I acted like myself for the first time in a long while. It felt awful. I don't feel like I exemplified any of the attributes I strive to possess. I behaved like the person I am, not the person I want to become. I don't like it. I disappointed myself.
I know I can take myself too seriously sometimes. Beat myself up a little too much over trivial things. But sometimes I need to remind myself that I am to be different from the rest of the world. There are times the contrast between myself and my fellow Christians and the lives we live is so stark it's hard to take. It's hard to believe I can be pure and innocent of things that hurt God and my relationship with Him. Most of the time I feel caught somewhere in the middle between living a life in a way that pleases God and living a life that pleases everyone else but God and the people who want to see me follow Him. These two lives don't run parallel to one another. I can't stay in the middle.

Show Me Something Pretty

2005-03-05T12:33:00.000-08:00

I was going to put this anecdote in the last post because it has to do with last night's Bible study too, but it would have made it really long so I decided to split it up. Another part of the study that I found pretty poignant was about sacrifice. We were challenged by our fearless study-leader Dale to determine what we'd be willing to sacrifice for God if He asked for it. It made me think of a story I was emailed a few years back. Here's my attempt to reproduce it.

There was once a little girl, about 7 years old who lived with her mummy and daddy. She was a good and obedient little girl who loved her parents very much. One day, her and her daddy went shopping in a department store. When they were walking past the jewelery counter she spotted a pearl necklace that was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She knew it wasn't a real pearl necklace but the tiny white beads were so smooth and reflected hints of pink and blue like real pearls would. She decided that she would save her allowance and birthday money and buy it someday. When that day finally came she proudly walked up to the counter and purchased her beautiful pearls. She wore the necklace everyday and took it off everynight in case she broke it in her sleep. She carefully polished the tiny beads to keep them sparkling. On the first night she brought her treasure home from the store, her daddy came into her room to tuck her in and asked "Do you love me?" and she said "Of course I love you Daddy". And then he asked "Do you love me enough to give me your pearls?". She was hurt. Why would he ask for her necklace? He couldn't wear it. It was her's. She bought it with her own money. So she replied "You know I love you Daddy, but I can't give you my pearls." He nodded his head and kissed her cheek and closed the door behind him. He did this everynight for two months. He would ask if she loved him and when she said yes he would ask for her pearls. Finally, one night he came into her room to say good night and she was sitting on her bed crying. Before he could say anything she said "I don't know why you want them Daddy, they aren't even real. But I love you, so you can have my pearls." and she reached out and placed her most precious treasure in his hands. Wiping a tear from his own eye he reached in his pocket, pulled out a blue velvet box and handed it to her. Her eyes grew wide as she opened it and saw a necklace made of real pearls. Her fake pearls looked dingy and worn and like old white beads next to the radiance of the real pearls. "I love you too" her father said.

That's the way the Father is. He won't make us sacrifice something. But He'll ask over and over and patiently wait for us to lay down our treasures. And then He'll bless us in ways we never expected.

Knowledge Translation

2005-03-05T12:08:00.000-08:00

To know about someone is not the same as knowing them. Last night during the Bible study at C&C this little sentence really struck me. Mostly because the night before I was talking to a friend about my family and how they know all about Jesus but don't know Him. Just because I know all about someone, what all of their likes and dislikes are, their hair and eye colour, their birthday, does not mean I know them. I don't have a relationship with them. I only know some simple facts. This made a lot of sense to me, but at the same time made me really sad. Knowing about Jesus, being around Him does not mean you KNOW Him.

"The door to heaven is narrow. Work hard to get in, because many will try to enter, but when the head of the house has locked the door, it will be too late. Then you will stand outside knocking and pleading "Lord, open the door for us!" But He will reply "I do not know you." You will say, "But we ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets." And He will reply, "I tell you, I don't know you." Luke 13: 24-27

In order to have a relationship with someone, you have to engage them, interact with them. Watching from the sidelines won't help you. You interact with different people in different ways based on their personality and their needs. The neat thing about interacting with Jesus is that He never has to "get to know you". I know it may seem that I just contradicted myself. But if you think about it, He's saying "I never had a relationship with you". He was there when God made you, He knows all about you. But it's a tough thing to get to know Him. Not because He doesn't want us to, but because we can only know bits and pieces of Him because He was fully God and fully man. So, the verse about working hard to get in doesn't mean good deeds. It refers to working hard at your relationship with Him. God doesn't want us to get into heaven by "the skin of our teeth" only having Jesus as an acquaintance. Having known Him in the past but drifted apart. He wants a deep and growing friendship. It's the greatest desire of His heart.

It's easy for me, as a Christian, to forget this difference between knowing about Jesus, and knowing Him. Reading the Bible and going to church helps me learn more about Jesus. And they are very good and important things. But in all honesty, reading and church-going are second to prayer. Prayer is best way I know of for cultivating a relationship with Jesus.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

2005-03-03T19:13:00.000-08:00

I had some down time tonight so I picked up a book of poetry I got from my parents this Christmas. This was one of the poems I happened across while I was perusing. It's my favourite lullaby.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe, -
Sailed on a river of misty light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sung a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,
But never afeard are we!"
So cried the stars to the fisherman three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
and Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
For the fish in the twinkling foam,
Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 't was a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fisherman three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock on the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,-
Wynken,
Blynken,
and Nod.

Eugene Field (1850-1895)

I Promise I'll Find You

2005-02-28T22:42:00.000-08:00

If I had a little row boat, I'd row across the sea. I'd row, row, row. And I'd bring you back to me.
If I had a little airplane, I'd fly across the sky. I'd look and look and look for you, As every day went by.
If I had a little choo-choo train, I'd chug on down the track. I'd chug until I found you, And then I'd bring you back.
If I had a little horsie, I'd make the horsie run. He'd run and run and look for you, Until the day was done.
If I had a little racecar, I'd race the whole world twice. I'd find you and I'd keep you, Oh, that would be so nice.
If I had a little rocket ship, I'd shoot up to the moon. Oh, that would be the fastest way, I'd have you really soon.
If I had a little submarine, I'd go beneath the sea. I'd scout around to find you, and hold you next to me.
If I had a little green balloon, I'd fly all through the air. I'd pick you up and bring you home, and you would know I care.
If I had a little motorbike, I'd ride across the land. I'd find you and I'd reach for you, And you would take my hand.
And if I had no other way, I'd walk or crawl or run. I'd search to the very ends of the earth, For you my precious one.
So remember this my darling, For it is very true. If ever you're apart from me, I'll search till I find you.

Heather Patricia Ward

My mom said I would have loved this story when I was little. I found it two years ago in a bookstore in Wortley Village with my two most favourite people Jordan and Julia. I wasn't thinking of little kids when I read it. Jordan and I both bought the book.

The Enticing World of Wet

2005-02-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I, along with Jenn and Dan was splashed numerous times by Keith, who had made it his mission to jump in every puddle on the walk to the bus stop after church. I was the one that got it the worst though, partly because I am generally unaware of my surroundings and partly because at the time I was preoccupied with reading the bus schedule and checking my watch while he plotted his next attack. I suppose my puddle-jumping memories are both good and bad. One of the best ones is from my second day in Sudbury during Frosh Week when my roomate Marie and floormate Dave and I went around campus finding out where our classes and jumped in puddles along the way. But I think my most vivid memory is one that is funny to look back on now, but was quite traumatic at the time. It all happened in grade two. I was being grounded for the first time. Why, you ask? Because of puddle-jumping. Well, that wasn't the entire reason. Here's the story.

I was 8-years-old and was going to go to my friend Shannon's house up the street to play for a couple of hours. Afterward I was supposed to be going out for supper or something with my family so my mother specifically said to me "Do Not Get Wet". It was one of those days in early spring when there are still remnants of snowbanks along the side of the road but the sun is really hot and you get to play without a winter coat and wear splash pants. The other thing my mom mentioned as I hurried out the door was not to ride my bike on Fourth Line. Shannon lived on Fourth Line, and our house faces it, but we were going to play at her aunt's house which was on a side street nearby. I wasn't allowed to ride my bike on Fourth Line because it's a fairly busy street with no sidewalks and I still required adult supervision for BMX riding on busy streets.

Shannon and I left the house and walked our bikes up Fourth Line until we were out from under my mom's watchful eye. Or so we thought. Just then, Shannon turned and said "Hurry up and get on your bike, I want to watch Double Dare!!" (A must see in grade two). "But my mom said..." "She can't see you now anyways!!". "oh". I hopped on my yellow and red bullet and off we went. And what do you think we did after the show was over?? That's right. Jumped in puddles. For two hours. Big jumps, baby jumps, rode our bikes through them and watched the water wizz off the front wheel. Needless to say, when my mom came to pick me up I was sitting on the front step with Shannon, both of us wearing her older cousin's long underwear while our clothes were in the dryer. My mom had that "mom look" on her face. The one where she's smiling because she's in someone else's home and it's rude to be cross in front of other people, but you know you're gonna get it when you get home. And I did. Full-scale grounding from my bike and Shannon for one week. tough love. I couldn't get over the fact that she saw me ride away on my bike and didn't come after me, scold me, and take me home right away. It made it worse that I had directly defied them and yet they were more disappointed in my than angry. I prefer anger. Anger you can fix with a funny joke. Disappointment isn't so easy.

I was never grounded again after that. Well, I grounded myself once in grade ten or eleven for a night but that's another story. Let me just say that you should never think your mom will think to listen to the answering machine first when she finds your bed empty at 2 am. She will wake your father and phone the police.

The Nothingness of All That is Not God

2005-02-26T10:48:00.000-08:00

I awoke this morning to the smell of bacon wafting through the register vents from upstairs. Saturday morning breakfast for the ambitious. I also woke to find I had a runny nose. Yesterday I was hoping this runny nose was just a remnant from the previous evening's visit with Jenn's cat Winston. This morning I couldn't blame it on the kitty though. This morning I had the beginning of a cold. So, as I was tending to my nose, I remembered a book I read in elementary school by Gordan Korman. I think it was the Zucchini Warriors. Anyways, there was a kid in it who always had a runny nose or "post-nasal drip" as he liked to call it. This condition precluded him from doing any form of activity except writing in a yellow binder he carried around and never let anyone read. In fact, he was so protective of this binder that he took a football to the face rather than drop it and move. As it turns out, all he was writing in the binder day after day was "blah blah blah" over and over for pages and pages.

I feel like life can be like that sometimes. We all have our stupid things we cling to and think are so precious but in fact are worthless. Well, for this kid, his binder was a coping mechanism for his lack of social skills, but I mean...it was all pretense. I started reading a book by Thomas Merton today titled "Dialogues with Silence". I could have stopped reading at the front cover. It had a review of the book that said "These drawings and prayers reflect a devotional life stripped of pretense, open to God's surprises." Want to know the desire of my heart? A devotional life (and everyday life) stripped of pretense. I only read through the introduction and found more material to meditate on than I could possibly do in the next five years. I think the part the struck me the most was in a letter Merton wrote about his prayer life that ties in nicely with our drippy friend and his precious binder of the previous paragraph. He said

"There is in my heart this great thirst to recognize totally the nothingness of all that is not God. My prayer is then a kind of praise rising up out the the center of Nothing and Silence".

I have another book on my shelf by Richard Foster titled "A Life of Simplicity" that I have tried to read for several years (thanks for the extended loan Mrs. Clark). The reason I can't get through it is because the author so right, but what that requires me to do is so hard. I have had moments where I wanted to give everything away and feel completed unencumbered by my stuff. my nothings. my not-Gods that I have sought after as if they were God at times. But when you fail to act on conviction, when you ignore God's voice for long enough it gets easier not to hear it. Especially when you have all that stuff in the way and there's a sale on at the Gap.

So where does that leave me this morning? Convicted but hopeful; ready to try again.

capture my heart again

2005-02-22T18:45:00.000-08:00

The computer was off, there was no music, nothing left to do but wait fifteen minutes until my ride to school came. A perfect length of time to have a few minutes of quiet prayer before I started my day. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay focussed for more than one minute. My mind had already jumped to a thousand different things, none of which were particularly righteous or important. I hate that I can be distracted so easily. It seems I can focus on schoolwork, or a book, or tv with almost no effort but can't take ten minutes to talk to Jesus without having my attention diverted or falling asleep. Makes me wonder how important He really is to me. It's true that my friends and my homework get the best parts of me and He gets whatever I have left over. That isn't much. And it certainly isn't enough. 1 Corinthians 8:6 says "we exist for Him". That's a tough concept to put into practice, but those four words put my little universe into perspective this morning. I am a girl of divided interests. Sometimes I feel fragmented; little pieces of me strewn about. Sometimes more fall in the school area, sometimes friends, sometimes (particularly Sunday or when I have a morning off) Jesus gets a slightly larger portion than usual. But in all honesty, He's the only one that can pull the pieces together. And when He does, I function so much more effeciently. One of my favourite quotes is from the book Beloved by Toni Morrison. Sixo is telling his friends about why he loves the "thirty-mile woman". This is what he says:

"She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind".

That's what Jesus does. He gathers me. He puts all the pieces back into the right order. He's a friend of my mind. If I can just quiet myself, He can capture my heart again.

All models are wrong, some models are useful.

2005-02-21T10:36:00.000-08:00

The cardinal rule when conducting a regression analysis. In short, a model is a formula that corresponds or "fits" your data and it lets you make predictions from it. Unfortunately, no model will ever fit your data so perfectly that you will have flawless prediction. There is always some random component we can't explain. We call it error, but really it's not a mistake or deviation, we just don't know what it is yet. It has just as much right to be there as the rest of the model-conforming data.

Sometimes I feel like school is a model. No class or program is ever a perfect fit. Some are useful. Some are not. Some are a waste of time. But overall I think this program I'm in now is a fairly useful model. I think it will help me get to where I want to go. If only I could actually predict where that is. A nice point estimate of where I'll end up with a narrow confidence interval. That would be nice. But alas, life cannot be fit into a model...too many covariates.. to much noise in the data.

And then there's relationships. Don't even try to predict them. I imagine I could try to come up with a model that mapped the probability of person A marrying person B. Could be an interesting thesis...sounds more life a "Life's work" than a one-year project though. I always thought I wanted to know who the person I would marry was going to be. I didn't need to know him right then, or start anything.. but just have a picture of him in my head so that when I saw him I wouldn't have to worry about whether or not he was it. In retrospect, I'm glad I didn't know. I made a lot of foolish mistakes and got hurt and hurt other people, but I learned a lot about myself and about what not to do when I meet someone I think I could marry eventually. And honestly, the not-knowing part may be the most
exciting phase of any relationship. The beginning: nervous, stomach flipping over, internal negotiations, what do I do? What to say? Do I tell him? Do I wait? Do I want this? It's all very dramatic and beautiful.. and pure folly to anyone not involved. Unless they're a romantic.

To Begin...

2005-02-19T22:36:00.000-08:00

I am not a gifted writer. I have, nor probably ever will be a gifted
writer, but my friend Keith set up this blog for me so I thought it
might be a good opportunity to hone the few writing skills I possess.
I was never creative enough for creative writing although I loved it
in elementary school. I tried my hand at it last year (Sudbury will
make you do things like that). I had read Carol Shields book "Unless"
and thought "I can totally do that". So I attempted to make a story
out of my trip to the Dominican Republic the year before. I wanted to
tell people about the man-eating cockroach that shared the floor with
me where slept the first night I was there. I was convinced it was
going to burrow into my ear the way the one did to Kate Beckensale in
Broke Down Palace. Somehow words just couldn't capture that
experience. So I gave up half way through chapter one.

I have higher hopes for this online journal though. Perhaps all I
need is to start with a smaller project. Baby steps. Undertaking a
novel was probably not the best place to begin. I have given a lot of
thought as to how I wanted to "do" this whole blog thing. I thought
maybe I'd try to do it like Doogie Howser and just write a
ridiculously profound sentence and call it a day. Nothing came to
mind. I am not a ridiculously profound person. So I have decided to
keep it real and write whatever I need to. Cause really, that's a big
part of what this is all about. Me needing to have a way to let
people get to know me on their terms.

I never set one of these up before because I am a like a see-saw that
either tips to the "too much information" side or the "I don't want to
be social" side. This way if you get sick of me you have the luxury
of not reading any further and my feelings won't be hurt in the least
bit. With that in mind, I'm going to finish this first of hopefully
many entries. Thanks for reading.