wish I had a river

home.
you know I'd like to go there,
but I don't think it's a place I belong.
home, I'd love to wake up there,
but how can I plan on waking up feeling rested?

home could have less to do with arrival.
i could leave all my love on the climbing way,
with painful steps and slow.
"and love is not the easy thing, the only baggage you can bring",
I'll leave all my fears behind.

home.
if you've never had one, what is it like?
is there really anything to "go back to"?
maybe everything is waiting in some open arms.
but I might find meaning, either way.
home. you know I'd love to wake up there.

~

...the journey continues, or maybe it needs to end.
maybe its time I stopped running away.
Its another chapter and I still don't have it all together.

missing

I've never been one to miss people much.
I'll think of them fondly and wish to see them--I'm naturally quite transient and prone to visits...it's never goodbye, just see-you-soon.
Never that miss that climbs up your throat like hot arms straining their way out of your heart into the tangible realm, bent on reaching through distances between.

But sometimes someone goes away. Too far away. For too long.
Over Christmas I was in the company of home, and that was nice after a month away.
But there's been someone I've been missing. I'd never tell you I loved him. I'd tell you "I'm bored" or "I just miss the times we spent together." I spent some time missing him, spent some thoughts wondering what things might have been if I hadn't run away from him, wondering who we were meant to be to each other.

I wonder this same thing about God all the time--who we're meant to be to each other.
I like to explore a new aspect of that relationship each year or two. I've been through the token Jesus-is-my-bff phase that comes along with being in a youth group. I've walked the path with a curious Teacher who calls me to follow him. I've stood at the back of the proverbial temple, guilty and afraid and wary of approaching a holy God. I've laid physically broken on the altar and in the arms of the Healer and Sustainer of life. The more I think about it, the more I realize this past while has been spent being the whore. Running from the one who wants to love me. I'll trick you all by being friends with everyone...because really all I do is flee from love.

I received Word about a month ago that the time was approaching for a new aspect to be explored. The worst one of all: the bride of Christ.

I imagine this perspective differs between guys and girls (I'd love to hear how you guys perceive that aspect of the divine relationship in your own lives). And I know the bride refers to the church--but I feel there is a certain individual element of it that begs to be acknowledged and experienced as well.

It was a slow start because I've always been so independent and proud and unavailable and never anywhere near being married...how do you explore that aspect of your relationship with the Lord when you've not even explored or genuinely considered the human version? I'm the kind of person who'd be fine with either life--as a single person doing God's work, or as a married person doing his work, however it best suited his Will. So now here I am, in these strange and uncertain new circumstances, trying to trust a Provider to keep me safe and warm and fed and clothed rather than working myself to death to DIY...trying to accept grace and gifts and love and attention rather than deflecting or fleeing from them...trying to come home and tell him I love him rather than sneaking in after he's asleep...trying to be a mother to his children rather than someone fleeting and familiar...


One night as I missed my faroff friend, I wondered if I would miss him worse if we never saw each other again or if we came back together only to be separated by tragedy...what if I let myself love him and he left this realm? Died after only a few years, or months, or days? And it was there in the nighttime of that thought that I realized the deep love and tragic "miss" I have -- had hidden away all this time? -- for my Lover. How we really were meant for each other and how the distance of dimensions has come between us... How somewhere very deep and sacred, there lies embers of a blaze snuffed out too soon--before I had a chance to know... How I walk the streets alone with his Ghost... How I long for his Presence and feel like everything is all wrong without him there... How I am a stranger in an unfamiliar place, waiting and straining for the day we are restored.

And the heat, it rises in my throat, reaching and aching and calling out the speechless things that only Love can communicate...waiting, for Home.

dreamers, part three.

another killin' on the dance floor!

download here

tracks.
bloc party - i still remember (sebastiAn remix)
digitalism - magnets
daft punk - rollin and scratchin
lcd soundsystem - all my friends
kavinsky - testarossa (sebastiAn remix)
the field - a paw in the face
phoenix - long distance call (25 hours a day remix)
justice - b.e.a.t. (extended)
dragonette - i get around (midnight juggernauts remix)
justice - phantom pt. ii (boys noize remix)
mstrkrft - street justice (2007 remix)
chromeo - fancy footwork

get down!

019//longing.

art is cheap, photography is cheaper

Nils Vik and I met after an Andy and Dallas show (remember them?). His band, Wide Awake City, had headlined the show, and I had struck up a conversation with them, about Winnipeg, or Belle and Sebastian, or something. Through the wonders of the internet, Nils and I leave each other facebook comments every once and a while, and I ended up remixing a WAC song.

Nils is a brilliant photographer, in my opinion, and his photography exibit "Art Is Cheap, Photography Is Cheaper" is full of relevant, important pictures. Pictures that manage to be beautiful and prophetic, the combination being an art form in itself.

It makes me wonder about the merit of art in the church (this wouldn't be a good kingdom post if it didn't feature a raving rant on the state of the modern church, right?). Where are our prophets? I'm convinced that my church, an average Fraser Valley MB church, does not consider art in the church relevant, or important at all.

What's upsetting about this is the connection between stories, art, and the way that we present the love of Christ. Preachers have got a serious thing for this format: funny story, connect it to the Gospel, repeat. But it seems like the times when the word of God really gets across is through an actual story. So think of the stories that are told through pieces of art, like Nils' pictures. I think we need to give people like Nils more of an oppurtunity to speak truth, and give less oppurtunities to useless words from preachers.

25 minutes and a punch in the chest

i've got 25 minutes remaining on my battery, about that much consciousness left in my day, and i'm taking you up on your assignment, adam.

the thing i've chosen to share...
isn't a cute christmas anecdote about my funny family or my dad's partially severed finger or telling my friend adam "the christmas man" i'd decorate his house like christmas every day if he paid me.

it's kind of about a movie.
which i realize i probably refer to often.
probably because my best friend is a film fiend. and also because movie theatres are the sanctuaries and studies of our culture--filmmakers and screenwriters are the modern day theologians, regardless of whether they (or we) know it.

it's kind of about me.
which i realize i also refer to often.
probably because it's my primary perspective?

i went to see P.S. I Love You yesterday.
my best friend cried through the whole thing.
it was kind of like that. it was really great. and really awful.
the movie opened with this argument and the guy said something to the girl to the effect of "stop waiting for life to start..we're already living" ... and i'm pretty sure someone else brought it up later in the movie, about how she was in this crippling suspended state of preparation ... in any case, it was like someone behind the lights and sounds and characters who weren't exactly talking to me punched me right in the chest.

it's my biggest secret.
it's probably ruining me.
i'm putting life off.

some regret, some sad

So, after a long day of too much thinking and not enough conversation I want to think about something other than "home", for a little while.

Here is an assignment. Write something that you experienced this season, and post it here. Joyful, challenging or otherwise. A story. After that we should sit around with hot cocoa, and laugh at the weirdness of our families.

Most of my season was this- Spending too much time alone which, to be more hard on myself than I need to, felt very self-imposed. Instead of calling friends, making plans, anything I just watched movies and wrote bad poems all day.

It felt like it was just one lazy day, which turned into 5. I think the reason this happened is that a person needs something to start the day, some purpose to wake up for. If you waste a morning the entire day is wasted. For me at least.

So, I will have more cheery posts in awhile. Some joy is still meant to be found. I'm in that pre-traveling feeling- that sense of regret and wonder. mostly, regret.

I miss all of you, to the extent that it feels embarassing to say it. I'll make us all some nice organic-fair-trade hot chocolate when this is all over.

later.

i do wanna love you, i do wanna try

that's right, kids. hedley lyrics.

it's been a quiet while.
i'm trying to mean things.
i've been venturing into strange places (eg: a hedley song--usually the sight of them prompts drown-out hollaring until i can find a remote. see also: the historic romance story i accidentally read, and learning to play yahtzee.)

i don't like people much.
i do, but sometimes i think it's maybe more in an i-love-you-'cause-you're-in-my-family kind of way.
that's the thing i'm trying to figure out--what i mean, and what i just have done so long i think i mean it.
that's why i refrain from singing a lot of things sung in church. jamison mentioned stuff of this in his post below. i implemented a discipline in relation to this in my own life a year or two ago. i dunno, i don't like verbal obesity. i don't like saying words that aren't mine. i don't like lying. i suppose i'm much graver than i let on.



i probably said 11 sentences that whole time i visited those wester cities, maybe 1.5 of them that mattered.
not for any reason. just didn't have much to say that i'd have meant.

"how do you mean?"
that's one of my old people phrases i often use to clarify what folks are telling me.
i wonder a lot, when things are said and done, just how they were meant.



so the thing i've been thinking about on and off for several months is this.

sadistic voyeurism.

(that's what i call it anyways.)


i don't imagine anyone would readily stake a participatory claim in it.

i suppose the popular culture cycles by it every so often.
so now instead of the colosseum or the gallows we gather at the colossus or the galaxy.

i wonder what went through the minds of the spectators at the ancient events, what their motivation was for participating in this kind of consumption: a hunger for justice to be served? a thirst for social involvement? a satanic lust for the agony and destruction of humanity?

sounds like crazy church talk, but it's true isn't it?
he wants us to suffer and die. he likes it best when we do it to ourselves, to each other.
i've never seen satan cut a man to pieces. have you?

i have seen this, though:

alright.
i just went to youtube to find the trailer and link it, but i can't even handle it, it's disgusting..it wasn't the trailer i found first, but whatever it was gave me a feeling i do not want to have ever again. i won't even mention what it's called, but if you see the trailer like i did at a movie the other night or come across it somewhere, you'll know it.

basically, the premise is something like a bunch of tapes are discovered that document someone's killing spree, as shot by the killer himself.

when i saw it, it was the proverbial "cherry on top" of the previously-pondered-in-this-category Hostel/Saw/etc.

i began a bit of an essay on the same topic one day at work a while back...here's an exerpt:

So my brother and I liked this movie, House on Haunted Hill, when we were teenagers.
He called on Saturday and mentioned the sequel that was just released this year (coincidentally I had noticed it listed as rentable on the dish earlier that day). So today I decided to check out the trailer.

As it turns out, if you watch this particular film on HD DVD or Blue Ray, you have the option of essentially directing the progression of the story:

"With 96 frightening possibilities, their fate is in your hands...You decide who lives, or how they die."

It blows my mind that our culture considers this "enhanced entertainment."


last night i just saw a preview for this one, which i thought was interesting and may pose a relevant challenge to the cinema-going, internet-gorged culture (if they bother to think about it?):

http://youtube.com/watch?v=OLYo5tMylQM

reminded me of that video a few years back of the hostage decapitation. i didn't see it. i know people who did. what urges a person to "tune in" to these things? a hunger for justice? thirst for social involvement? or the other thing...

018//christmas, christmas, christmas, christmas.

Anyone been to a mall these days? It's hard to have faith in mankind around this time of year. But I've decided to not let it get me down. I'm normally not a fan of malls to begin with; I've gone on many rants about the level of caring that occurs at malls. One morning I was walking for some bubble tea with Alison and Erin, and I went into one of these rants. I guess it struck a chord with them, because the next thing I knew they were telling me about how they had an interesting experience at the mall. I guess they sat in the food court and just talked with people. Consider how detached we're all becoming, it's cool to hear of people actually reaching out to people, hearing stories, telling stories, living live in community.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm just as bad as the rest of us trendy post-modernists. As I write, I'm in a coffee shop, with my headphones on, trying my hardest not to interact with anyone. In my defense, it is early in the morning, and I've only ingested a small amount of egg nog, and a large amount of coffee, so my breath is probably not at it's best scent. Regardless, what is stopping me from going to someone's table, sitting down, introducing myself, and meeting someone new? Is it pride? Embarrassment? I don't consider myself to be an incredibly prideful person, and I can't say I get embarrassed very easily. Maybe I care too much about what people think of me. I wish I had the assertiveness of those girls, but I guess it's something that I can work on.

Now, another thought has come into my mind these days, which has to do with the conundrum of a distant love. This way of thinking really struck me last year, during a worship service at school. I was sitting closer to the front, which is a pretty rare occurrence to begin with, but I found it really amazing to hear everyone singing from behind me. So I have this epic choir singing behind me, and when we got to this one line, I was really struck by this thought of distant love. "Jesus, I am so in love with you." As we sang it, I was stopped dead in my tracks. All these people singing their hearts out, but how many of us really mean that line when we sing it. I was overcome with guilt, and I had this thought staring me right in the face: I am not "so in love" with Jesus. I mean, it's something that I think we're all working on, but having 150, or so, people singing that from behind me really made me wonder whether all those people had it figured out. How can we love someone, or something, when we can't experience them, or it, with our senses. Too many of us have experienced a long distance relationship, which is one of the most trying relationships that we can experience. How much different from a long distance relationship is our relationship with Christ? Something to think about I suppose.

This whole distant love idea was inspired by some words that came out of me a few weeks ago.

The tip of my tongue is tapping the keys in four four time, clicking away filler words that fill up this blank white box. My mind's rambles rumble behind my eyes, trembling at the thought of the next few weeks.

Brown boxes are being packed up, the smell of old cardboard fills up the air; the aroma of leaving. I lost track of you last night, and I've forgotten whether it's today or tomorrow when you'll be gone, but I guess it doesn't make a difference. On a Friday, you'll be gone, far from my outstretched arms. A province away; a life away.

The ground is still wet from last night's pitiful attempt at snow. Cold enough for a scarf, but so warm that it's basically falling slush. We waited outside the theatre, for nothing, catching these temporary snowflakes in our temporary mouths. Trying to fill a void with some sort of thin air. Maybe there will be more snow for Christmas, maybe you'll dream of my hands on a cold winter's night. It's just like that song I sang you once. I thought those might have been tears in your eyes, but it was too dark, and I had already drank too much wine.

And where are we now? Separated by mounds of earth, rock and water, connected only by these weak signals. A friend once told me that no matter what sort of distance exists, if love is true, it can transcend anything. I'd say I agree with that, but agreeing doesn't necessarily make things easier. This common trend is frustrating, but maybe that's what love really is: being able to love in spite of whatever distance exists, whether it's a physical distance, an emotional distance, or a spiritual distance.

Have a good Christmas, try not to get too bogged down in the bad aspects of it.

Jamison.

spare time.

this is what i do:



dreamers, part two. a mix by le tremudance.

download here

tracks.
css - knife
the knife - girls' night out
shout out louds - normandie
mixtapes and cellmates - the better half of cynical boys
the field - silent
holy fuck - lovely allen
digitalism - pogo
the tremulance - we'll settle this on the dance floor.

get down kids!

thought that I saw you in the oncoming cars

Home.

I'm wondering, how are you all feeling about "returning home"?

I know this can be a hard time of year, being that we are becoming adults, some of us redefining home, finding a place to call home that is not the place we grew up.

Thats how I feel, at least. Being back in Nanaimo really scares me, and fills me with great cynicism. I'm scared because I don't think my character can continue to develop here. I need to be in a place that is safe, where I know I can find care.

So, I know I think too much. I should really be enjoying these days in Nanaimo, of seeing masses of green again. But I am starting to get homesick.

My head is not really together. I was hoping this would turn into a profound statement about community, rather than a few dry statements. I just get a sense that its harder to feel alive during this season, unless your surrounded by a warm glow of a fire and candles, or at home with friends... or something. It gets hard to feel safe this time of year.

I'll be home soon.

PS - on my other journal I said "I can't wait to get back on the road again". Now, I just want to get back home.

PPS - I have been wondering what christmas is like in England for awhile (ever since watching the Muppets Christmas Carol again).

all the more beautiful

I'm working on a poem right now, which I want to finish my indie poem book with. I'm probably going to make 30 or so rough copies to give away, whilst i continue putting time into it and writing.

so if you want a copy just let me know. here is what i have so far-

cups of coffee and college music on our backdeck,
I recorded this song beside a fire,
and old piece of wood from a broken fence,
a crackling loud background of orange flames.
I should have been more careful.

and a cold night, maybe tonight i'll walk you home.
awkward smiles and goodbyes. and
i want to stay up until unreasonable hours,
sharing some guitar and conversation,
some old tea i never got around too,
cold coffee on a quiet thursday night.

we make up our own weekends, out of fridays and occasional jazz music shows,
of nelson boschmans and lance odegaards.
of artsy movies and afterthoughts, the occasional awkward look,
i notice your looking in my eyes, wondering what i'm feeling.

and its a beautiful thing.
its a good life, this small space we share,
moments and mornings waking up feeling bad.
shows and friends on friday nights,
and road trips to vancouver. the simple life.
its the simple things in life that mean the most.

its the things you do when you think no one is watching
walking in crossed lines, singing in fields or by yourself at home.
lines with eyes that took pain, and broken nights to make.
those are what make life all the more beautiful.

Speaking of hanging out with college students / young adults, I'm stuck on this random band I stumbled across, that I am intrigued by for some unknown reason.

Edison Glass. There is this unspoken maturity about how this band does music, challenging the typical, dry and uninspiring pop-punk out there. i would call them unconventional. give these guys a listen.

lets get together this Christmas. and we can talk more about music. later.

a funny place

i started this one a little while ago, in the thick of papers. it's still relevant...

i'm in a funny place. it's a place where the inspirations are so built up i'm afraid they may fade. do you ever get there? it feels like this...
i want to write a song...but i really need to do my paper
i've just watched a warm and wonderful movie...but i don't know what to do with it but sit here and smile for a bit
i want to take on the world, see it one awe-inspiring bit at a time...but i have class on monday
i want to sleep out in the park under the stars or go walk around the city all night...but it's cold, and i have work to do tomorrow and really, it's probably best to just go home
how do you find that space between responsibility and spontaneity?
between what "makes sense" and what makes experiences?

reconciling

I realize the last couple of pieces i've been writing have been embarrassingly bad, almost insensitive... and it seems like a lot of my conversations in the past week have been the same.

thus is paper season.

So I'll try and make up for it. lately i have been feeling cynical about my hours spent on facebook. and my resulting bomb of a personal life as a result.

I think that everyone has two personalities; The paper self, which is a description of yourself as a person, or maybe the person you would like to be, that you sit down and type. with socializing online you type up this description and say "this is me".

Then there is the real self. the person that you do not see in yourself. the real self is what your friends see in those few moments where you let down your guard, and stop trying to impress everyone.

if you live online, or try dating someone online, you miss the big picture. everyone has those weird quirks about them, these strange and insignificant habits that make you unique. say you make a weird sound when you eat, or you walk a certain way, or you have lines in your eyes that you get from feeling sad.

i dunno. its the small things that your friends notice... that is what is most beautiful about a person. its the stuff that doesn't fit into small description boxes.

but i could be wrong. on a minor note, i am having trouble with relationships. lets talk about it this week.

on an even more minor note, i had to re-format my computer and I almost lost everything... ten page papers, poetry, and music. someone up there likes me.

later.

today i left jesus standing in the street.

quality time

it's almost that time.

that christmas time.

now...i'm not one of those ladies who goes to town decorating every inch of their house and is on a mission to get all the perfect gifts (handy hint: buy all next year's gifts on boxing day! your friends will hate you 'cause they can't ask for stuff next november, but you can rest assured they'll be pleased with the thoughtfully selected and prepared trinkets in the end and you get to spend weeks stress-free, walking in soft snow rather than through store stampedes.)

but i do like certain traditions. i'm repulsively nostalgic, which you probably already knew.

lefse.

if you don't know what that is, your life is meaningless.
(same goes for if you're only familiar with the icky kind and not the cream kind.)
but maybe i can make you some.
(i'm coming to visit most of you next week, so maybe it could be one of our fun activities?)

my grandma and i make lefse together at christmas. those are some of my very favorite memories. i have a lot of good memories of my grandma. she stays up late and is crafty and clever and bakes a lot, so we were always two peas in a pod. we never really set out to discuss any given thing when we make it, and a lot of the time is just spent in silence, the sounds of the rolling pin and brushing hot flour off the griddle...but usually towards the end when we're finishing and folding it, sitting around the table making a great sugary mess and nibbling on the scraps, we've fallen into a delightful conversation about the way things are or could be or might be. mostly though, we just enjoy each other's company. me, smiling as she measures the salt in the palm of her hand, and her, stopping to gaze at me and say "your hair--you look like mother when she was young."


mmm...i also really love listening to "i celebrate the day" in the dim christmas glow when everyone else is sleeping, and looking out the windows at the snow coming secretly down at 1am, and going for walks in knee-high boots through alleys full of fresh powder at 3am...i guess the majority of my best christmas activities take place in the wee hours. it's nice to have time alone with God like that, when you feel like he came tossing pebbles at your window or like you conspired to stay up late together and sneak out...

so. i guess i found out at michelle's a while back that my love language (receiving-wise) is time...so i can't really say that it's the same kind of commodity for everyone...but i think it's safe to say it's a wonderful gift. i hope you know that your presence is valued, dear reader.

spend some time this week.
and save a pocketful for me. ;)

The zoo that is Vancouver

There has been something growing in me ever since i moved to Langley over 2 months ago. Something restless... something that, if given the right opportunity, will burst forth and consume me in a glorious act of savagery and basic instinct.

Now this may sound rather absurd, but let me tell you as story that sort of expands on the idea.

Last week a few of us (fellow school people) decided to take the skytrain into downtown Vancouver. It was interesting to hear the different comments from my friends as we moved along the track closer and closer to the enormous buildings and large crowds of people. We would pass through a more industrial area of the city and the comments of how ugly the city was would be announced. But then we would cross over a river and a completely different mindset would overcome them and they couldn't help but voice how beautiful it was. This was further shown as we mingled with the joggers, dog-walkers and couples that were strolling down the walkway at the edge of the harbor.

Hundreds of people trying to get out of the city... and yet only making it a block or two from home.

Look around you. People everywhere are simulating nature through the use of potted plants, photos of peaceful meadows or interior decoration made up of soft browns, greens, florals or even wood paneling that is the barest hint of what everyone is trying to imitate.

We continued down the walkway and came upon the most blatant example while walking beside the metal giants that make up the high rise apartments of the Vancouver elite. On the very top of one such giant was place an unusually large tree. Now I've heard of bushes or hedges adorning penthouses... but this was a full grown tree.

This phenomenon is everywhere. Watch TV for an hour and count the number of commercials where companies are trying to sell their product through the use of nature as a stimulant. The vehicle that can climb mountains, the woman swimming with the alligator that is trying to sell lotions or the soft drink that helps people surf or outrace some dangerous animal.

I continually see people searching for something that they don't have. Sure you can quench that thirst with a potted plant or a picture of a setting sun... but you know it's not enough. Even if they get the umph to get out of the city and try to indulge themselves with a little camping... they bring their home with them in the form of campers, EZ-bake food, renting a cottage or even bringing a TV along with them.

Everyone has this animal inside them. It may be hidden to some, but it's still there... stuffed under the hurry of society, the need for things and the comfort of comfort.

It's most likely the prairie in me and the fact that i lived the majority of my life with the outdoors right outside my door, but i honestly don't see how anyone can live in a city for any long period of time. It just doesn't feel right not being able to let loose every once in a while.

We originated in the garden... it's only natural to want to return to it.

017//peace and quiet.

Here are two separate stories, but try to find the subtle connection between them.



Most nights after a long day of classes, my roommate Rob and I like to head home, maybe cook up some rice, and sit on our mac's for a couple of hours, before the homework starts. On the occasional, hungry, day, Rob and I like to stop at one of two places. If it's a warm day: Dairy Queen (we're suckers for blizzards); if it's a cold day: Jumbo 2 for 1 Pizza (we're also suckers for amazing cheap pizza). This week was a rainy week, and Jumbo Pizza sounded so right. So we made our way across the city, to the loveliest hole-in-the-wall you've ever seen. When we pulled into the parking lot, we noticed that two girls were sitting at one of the tables inside the incredibly cramped eating area. We went inside, asked if there was any pepperoni and bacon up, to which we were asked to wait a few minutes. So we sat down at the window bar, and started reading the Vancouver Province that was sitting there. Within about ten seconds of sitting down, one of the girls behind us immediately struck up a conversation. It was pretty strange, most people are not outgoing to strangers, and truth be told, Rob and I didn't feel much like making new friends that day. "How are you guys!?" the one girl asked. We kind of looked over our shoulders, and unenthusiastically gave a sort of "fine" remark. I immediately noticed that there were some World Vision pamphlets on their table, and they were both wearing name tags. At first I was excited to have a conversation with these seemingly nice, potential World Vision employees. Unfortunately, things turned pretty ugly, pretty fast. Almost as soon as the girl asked us how we were, she spewed out, "We work for World Vision, want to sponsor a kid!?" At first I thought she was joking, because I mean who is that ruthless that they try to get people to sponsor kids while they're trying to eat dinner. Rob and I politely said that we were students, and that the truth was we couldn't afford to donate a monthly amount, seeing as we both don't have steady incomes. Rob also noted that his parents were currently sponsoring a child, which incited the girl to question how old we were. We paused and said "21", to which the girls responded by saying something along the lines of, "Well, you're old enough to sponsor your own kid." The honest truth is that I thought they were joking us. We kept declining, but they kept persisting. About two minutes into this "conversation", the girl decided to throw some low blows. "Well, you realize you could afford to sponsor a kid if you stopped drinking beer for a month, right?" Rob and I looked at each other, and responded, "You know, we don't drink all that much." (Rob doesn't at all!) The girls laughed, and said, "Well what if you stopped smoking pot!?" I started to become a little frustrated at this point. "We don't smoke", we said. The girls laughed and said, "Oh, we thought that's why you were here. Eating pizza, got the munchies!" Stupidity and arrogance are not an attractive combination. The girls then continued to tell us how they sponsored kids while they went to school, and how if we were low on cash, we should try to get a job at World Vision. "The high-rollers make at least $15 an hour!" After fifteen minutes of flat out rejection, the girls finally got the point that we were not going to buy one of their children. After we left the restaurant, we tried to figure out what had just happened. Is doing something good, through a dishonorable means, still a good thing? What does it mean to give with a clean heart?

---------------------------------------------

As we were about to leave the parking lot, we noticed that this guys' car had stalled, and that he was pushing it by himself. It was already pretty dark out, and people were speeding by him pretty fast. Instinctively, Rob and I knew we could give him a hand, so we parked the car, and made our way across the street. By the time we had got to him, he had managed to get the car into a parking lot across from the pizza place. We introduced ourselves, and the guy (Willy) asked if we had some jumper cables. Rob ran to his car to look, and I ran inside of the coffee shop we were by. Rob didn't have any, and neither did the coffee shop. I made my way into a grocery store beside the coffee place, and started politely asking people in lines. It's surprising how many people don't have jumper cables, or perhaps, how many people don't feel like lending out their jumper cables to skinny boys in purples zip-ups. Rob had made his way back to the pizza place, where there was now a large group of World Vision employees (they had all been going door-to-door in the area) inside of Jumbo Pizza. According to Rob, when he asked if they had any cables, they suddenly began to act as if the tables had turned. We didn't sponsor kids from them, but now we need them to do a favor for us? They told him they didn't have cable, without a second thought. All tangents aside, I found someone who had some, and we made our way to the car. It turns out that Willy had some in his car, and we didn't need the kind man's who had offered. Rob moved his car over beside Willy's and they were charging up the battery. With enough juice to get him home, we shook hands, and he told us something that I will never forget.

"You guys really saved me tonight."

trying to figure this out

Karl, buddy. good to see you writing again. much dialogue, and heated argument, is needed between our two schools. or maybe just friendly conversations over hot chocolate.

The thing I like about this community i live beside is the emphasis on being human. Too often i feel like "christian communities" put too much emphasis on "movings of the spirit" and less on my friend who feels lonely because his dad left at age 13.

I think that community should be more about who we are. A person can say to me "God's doing all this in my life, i used to be addicted to this and into that", which is fine... but I'd rather hear about how their day was, how they're feeling today.

When I look at a person I don't look at the years of pain, all the crap they got through. I see the finished product- who they are because of all that.

Finally, I think being human is less about trying to not make mistakes, and more about just messing up, feeling like crap some days... you know. being real.

I'm sorry about these random-o thoughts. I'm trying to pound this out before chapel. feel free to disregard, if not challenge me extensively, on anything i just said.

later.

I'm an Island

Independence is an interesting trait.

It is one characteristic that I doubt I could live without.

I find the "Lone Ranger" self-sufficiency very appealing.

Perhaps it is the Saskatchewan in me, or perhaps the farmer-ness, but having the ability to make my own way has an extremely strong hold on me.

Unfortunately, almost everything that I've been learning at school these last few months have been centered around community and the whole "No man is an island" jazz.

Things are clashing.

I don't like it.

I think thats good.

quickly.

i have a cool story to post with more time, but for now here are some links for your pleasure.

moments
watch the creation of a 100 moments, captured in polaroid pictures.

the new balearic
probably the best podcast on the internet right now.

freerice.com
like vocabulary games? like helping the hunger problem in the world? me too.

the take away shows
still the coolest concept i've come across as of late.

the sound of silence

as i sit in this coffee shop, on the eve of Remembrance Day, coincindentally trying to piece together thoughts about conflict resolution, nonviolence, and the global community, there is a hockey game on the television. they just had a moment for the fallen (the last call is such a moving trumpet piece). however, when usually there is a moment of silence, there was an audiovisual presentation.
without really being able to hear the context, it concerns me. have we become so short-attentioned/afraid of silence that we can no longer have it even as a part of Remembrance Day?
"the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made..."

traveling mercies

I'm about three pages into my eight- ten pager, which i'm hoping to have done tommorow, and I have no idea what I'm talking about.

And I think that kind of sucks. I'm really lacking the emotional energy to put any personal thought or conviction into this thing.

Other than that, i think I'm doing fine. I spent a good solid 5 walking in a city instead of doing homework, and now it feels like i have less to do. Cities are good that way.

There is this ideal way of life i envision for myself- slowing working through assignments, slowly moving towards character developing, carefully feeling conviction for stupid things i do, and tactfully walking through the "feeling broken" aspects of being human...

enough to finish a paper and not feel like shit. live and learn/

Mostly, I'm just try to stay a bit balanced, so that I don't get overwhelmed by the details and tiny buggersome aspects of life. I think Anne Lamott sums it up perfectly- "Some people say that God is in the details, but I have come to believe that God is in the bathroom".

I would love to finish this thought, but I'm late for a meeting. Damnit.

to be continued.