I'm not much of a facebook fanatic, but I've checked out my feed in the last week. And I'm sorry that I did. Because here is a summary of the messages that came through loud and clear to me: God wasn't there. Why bother praying? More guns, please, in the hands of common folk. God needs to get back in the schools. We are sin (yes, the noun!). Why doesn't God protect? Why is there suffering?
Some age-old questions that can make us wonder what, or if, we believe. Here's what I believe. There is evil in the world, even in my own mind. I am a child of God, created in God's good image. God has, and does, appear to us in surprising ways. Like as a baby born in a cave, visited by the lowest of the low, and by mighty kings. Last December, the children at our church were detectives of divinity - looking for glimpses of God's presence in the world. I need to be reminded of those glimpses again. God is with us. Immanuel.
One of my favourite Christmas carols is "I heard the bells on Christmas day." The track has been looping through my mind over the past few days, especially the 3rd and 4th verses. They speak powerfully to me every year. Henry Radsworth Longfellow wrote the lyrics on Christmas day in 1863, in response to the horrors of the American Civil War. His wife had died tragically a few years before, and his son had been severely wounded in the war.
Here are the lyrics:
I heard the bells on Christmas day
their old familiar carols play
and wild and sweet, the words repeat of
"peace on earth, goodwill to all."
I thought how, as the day had come
the belfries of all Christendom
had rolled along the unbroken song of
peace on earth, goodwill to all.
And in despair I bowed my head,
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
of peace on earth, goodwill to all."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, and right prevail,
with peace on earth, goodwill to all."
Til ringing, singing, on its way,
the world revolved from night to day,
a voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
of peace on earth, goodwill to all.
So, on this longest night of the year, I will remember this: through the darkness, there is light. God is not dead.
December 21st: What will you remember on this darkest night?
The version below, sung by my friends "saffie":
Friday, 21 December 2012
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
a voice in Ramah, Connecticut, and Kabul
I haven't been able to shake the news from this past Friday's shooting in a school in Connecticut. Perhaps it's because my youngest child is 6. Maybe it's because it's supposed to be "the most wonderful time of the year." Perhaps it's because I'm human, and I know that in the deepest part of me that this is not the kind of world that God wishes for us.
There is a section of text from Matthew 2:16-18 that is not usually included in our Advent sermons or Christmas pageants. This was the first verse that came to me on Friday when I heard this news. Many years ago, when friends lost a baby, Derek preached an Advent sermon about this text. Some of what's below are ideas stolen from this sermon (thanks, Derek!). Here is the text:
"When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:
'A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.'"
Derek and I saw a play in Boston many years ago based on medieval Mystery Plays. These were plays that were performed in the town squares in Europe during the middle ages to teach Bible stories. The version that we saw included several scenes of numbing violence and raw emotion. One particularly disturbing scene - I can still picture it today after seeing it 14 years ago - was a section of the Christmas story. After Joseph, Mary and Jesus exited the stage (on their way to Egypt in the story), several women entered the stage area, carrying and singing to little bundles in their arms. All of a sudden, soldiers rushed in, tearing the bundles from the mothers' arms and thrusting them with their spears, turning them inside out to reveal crimson red ribbons. The soldiers threw the bundles into heaps on the floor and walked away to leave the mothers, sobbing over the bloody mounds.
We were both in shock after the play. It was definitely NOT the "happily ever after" Christmas story that we're used to - with cute, fluffy lambs, shepherds who trip over their bath robes, and wise men wearing too-big crowns. We had many questions. Could deep agony and despair be part of the Christmas story? Could the birth of this "God-with-us" baby actually cause the suffering of other innocent children? How does God break into situations of pain?
When I talk to Shegofa about her experiences growing up under Taliban rule in Afghanistan, I am blown away. "How did you not cry every day?" I asked her. Their daily dose of violence and destruction numbed her to feeling sad, and she said that she just concentrated on her own family - hoping for safety, but sometimes fearing the worst when a bomb went off close to home. I'm sure that many voices can still be heard in Kabul and around Afghanistan, weeping for children who are no more.
Back to Jeremiah. After the section that's quoted in Matthew, Jeremiah turns hopeful in 31:13,
"Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for all your work shall be rewarded...
There is hope for your future."
So while many facebook posts that I've read lately question whether to pray, or why to pray, at times like these, or where God is, or whether God is, I choose to pray. Even if that means crying out in anger. I choose to believe that there is hope for our future.
December 19th: Not a question today, just a word: believe.
There is a section of text from Matthew 2:16-18 that is not usually included in our Advent sermons or Christmas pageants. This was the first verse that came to me on Friday when I heard this news. Many years ago, when friends lost a baby, Derek preached an Advent sermon about this text. Some of what's below are ideas stolen from this sermon (thanks, Derek!). Here is the text:
"When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:
'A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.'"
Derek and I saw a play in Boston many years ago based on medieval Mystery Plays. These were plays that were performed in the town squares in Europe during the middle ages to teach Bible stories. The version that we saw included several scenes of numbing violence and raw emotion. One particularly disturbing scene - I can still picture it today after seeing it 14 years ago - was a section of the Christmas story. After Joseph, Mary and Jesus exited the stage (on their way to Egypt in the story), several women entered the stage area, carrying and singing to little bundles in their arms. All of a sudden, soldiers rushed in, tearing the bundles from the mothers' arms and thrusting them with their spears, turning them inside out to reveal crimson red ribbons. The soldiers threw the bundles into heaps on the floor and walked away to leave the mothers, sobbing over the bloody mounds.
We were both in shock after the play. It was definitely NOT the "happily ever after" Christmas story that we're used to - with cute, fluffy lambs, shepherds who trip over their bath robes, and wise men wearing too-big crowns. We had many questions. Could deep agony and despair be part of the Christmas story? Could the birth of this "God-with-us" baby actually cause the suffering of other innocent children? How does God break into situations of pain?
When I talk to Shegofa about her experiences growing up under Taliban rule in Afghanistan, I am blown away. "How did you not cry every day?" I asked her. Their daily dose of violence and destruction numbed her to feeling sad, and she said that she just concentrated on her own family - hoping for safety, but sometimes fearing the worst when a bomb went off close to home. I'm sure that many voices can still be heard in Kabul and around Afghanistan, weeping for children who are no more.
Back to Jeremiah. After the section that's quoted in Matthew, Jeremiah turns hopeful in 31:13,
"Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for all your work shall be rewarded...
There is hope for your future."
So while many facebook posts that I've read lately question whether to pray, or why to pray, at times like these, or where God is, or whether God is, I choose to pray. Even if that means crying out in anger. I choose to believe that there is hope for our future.
December 19th: Not a question today, just a word: believe.
Monday, 17 December 2012
Pollyanna Peacenik
Advent week 3: peace.
Yesterday, we had a lessons and carols service at our church. I sat in the pew with boys ages 6-9. They drew quietly during the service, waiting for their time to get up and sing. Their images were striking: Star Wars spaceships, stick figures holding guns with dotted lines leading to another stick figure, other stick figures laying on the ground with the word "dead" written below, and speech bubbles between figures, threatening to kill. All of these boys come from stable, safe, secure, peace-loving and promoting homes. So why this fascination with violence?
There are times when I feel like Pollyanna Peacenik. Like in May, when a friend and I presented at a conference in DC. Our topic was "Teaching Peace to Children." It was a fine presentation, but the next night there was a panel on violence, and one of the panelists, Melvin Bray, spoke about growing up in a violent area of DC, and always carrying a knife to defend himself. His story moved me, especially as I preached about peace.
Who was I to say anything about peace? I had lived a very safe, happy childhood, growing up with 3 siblings on a farm - loved, encouraged, secure. I'm sure there was a bit of violence at times... I remember one particularly angered departure from our school bus, my brother chasing me the whole way in the lane, ready to pummel me. But those moments of violence were few and far between, at least in my memory. I have never carried a knife; I have never needed to defend myself. I've led a Pollyanna kind of life, with peace as a theoretical construct.
I approached Melvin the next morning, unsure of what I was going to say. I just knew I had to say something. I said, "I was really moved by your story last night. And I thought: who am I to be telling stories of peace when I don't really understand violence? I've never experienced it, so I must sound really stupid to you. Maybe only people who have experienced violence can truly teach about peace." And I broke down, tears streaming down my cheeks. I told him that this is part of who I thought I was - someone who sought out and told and retold stories of peace. But maybe I had been mistaken. Maybe others need to tell these stories - not me. He listened intently, his hand gripping mine and said, "Don't stop telling your stories. I need to hear stories that help me to imagine a way of peace, just like you need to hear my story and stories of others who have had experiences of violence."
So through that experience, I've thought about how my "pollyanna peacenik-ness" needs to be nuanced by an understanding that is more realistic - that takes into account the child soldiers, the abused sons, the bullied daughters, and the grade one children shot dead in Connecticut.
There is so much need for peace in our world.
December 17th: Where are you being led to pray for peace in our world? Where are you being led to act for peace?
Yesterday, we had a lessons and carols service at our church. I sat in the pew with boys ages 6-9. They drew quietly during the service, waiting for their time to get up and sing. Their images were striking: Star Wars spaceships, stick figures holding guns with dotted lines leading to another stick figure, other stick figures laying on the ground with the word "dead" written below, and speech bubbles between figures, threatening to kill. All of these boys come from stable, safe, secure, peace-loving and promoting homes. So why this fascination with violence?
There are times when I feel like Pollyanna Peacenik. Like in May, when a friend and I presented at a conference in DC. Our topic was "Teaching Peace to Children." It was a fine presentation, but the next night there was a panel on violence, and one of the panelists, Melvin Bray, spoke about growing up in a violent area of DC, and always carrying a knife to defend himself. His story moved me, especially as I preached about peace.
Who was I to say anything about peace? I had lived a very safe, happy childhood, growing up with 3 siblings on a farm - loved, encouraged, secure. I'm sure there was a bit of violence at times... I remember one particularly angered departure from our school bus, my brother chasing me the whole way in the lane, ready to pummel me. But those moments of violence were few and far between, at least in my memory. I have never carried a knife; I have never needed to defend myself. I've led a Pollyanna kind of life, with peace as a theoretical construct.
I approached Melvin the next morning, unsure of what I was going to say. I just knew I had to say something. I said, "I was really moved by your story last night. And I thought: who am I to be telling stories of peace when I don't really understand violence? I've never experienced it, so I must sound really stupid to you. Maybe only people who have experienced violence can truly teach about peace." And I broke down, tears streaming down my cheeks. I told him that this is part of who I thought I was - someone who sought out and told and retold stories of peace. But maybe I had been mistaken. Maybe others need to tell these stories - not me. He listened intently, his hand gripping mine and said, "Don't stop telling your stories. I need to hear stories that help me to imagine a way of peace, just like you need to hear my story and stories of others who have had experiences of violence."
So through that experience, I've thought about how my "pollyanna peacenik-ness" needs to be nuanced by an understanding that is more realistic - that takes into account the child soldiers, the abused sons, the bullied daughters, and the grade one children shot dead in Connecticut.
There is so much need for peace in our world.
December 17th: Where are you being led to pray for peace in our world? Where are you being led to act for peace?
Thursday, 13 December 2012
my scrooge-like heart
December 13th: Take a moment to think about giving. To whom do you show generosity? How do you feel about gifting/giving? How do you receive gifts? Do you give without strings attached?
I've been thinking about this lately, and examining my Scrooge-like heart. There are definitely times that I give in order to have some kick-back. A good feeling, a spoken thank you, a note of thanks - some kind of recognition. I want my money or my time or my thoughtfulness to be appreciated, and for that person to show me that they appreciate it. Otherwise, I don't feel like being as generous to that person.
Sometimes there are people in my life who take more energy than what they give back to me. I have to prepare myself to be with them, and I feel a bit drained after being with them. (and don't worry - it's none of you who read this blog!)
So I am challenged to give. To give without expectations, but out of a full heart. To bless others because I've been blessed. And to stop there. Not hope for some kind of validation or appreciation. Because sometimes it's just not going to come. And sometimes I know I don't express appreciation when I should. So I want to make more of a point of sending thank you cards when it occurs to me - not just think "oh, I should send that person a thank you card" and then promptly forget about that idea.
It's made me think of The Christmas Carol. This story seems to speak to the problem of poverty in our world: that it's not a lack of resources, but a lack of generosity. I'm looking to expand my heart - to not keep score, to say thank you more often, and to cut those strings that are sometimes attached in my mind.
But also protect my heart. Sometimes it can be tempting to give until I'm depleted. Then I don't have that full heart anymore. I can only give out of my fullness.
In this season of giving, I want to keep this in the forefront of my mind: I have been blessed, so I will be a blessing. In the words of Tiny Tim:
"But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a giid time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, 'God bless it!'"
I've been thinking about this lately, and examining my Scrooge-like heart. There are definitely times that I give in order to have some kick-back. A good feeling, a spoken thank you, a note of thanks - some kind of recognition. I want my money or my time or my thoughtfulness to be appreciated, and for that person to show me that they appreciate it. Otherwise, I don't feel like being as generous to that person.
Sometimes there are people in my life who take more energy than what they give back to me. I have to prepare myself to be with them, and I feel a bit drained after being with them. (and don't worry - it's none of you who read this blog!)
So I am challenged to give. To give without expectations, but out of a full heart. To bless others because I've been blessed. And to stop there. Not hope for some kind of validation or appreciation. Because sometimes it's just not going to come. And sometimes I know I don't express appreciation when I should. So I want to make more of a point of sending thank you cards when it occurs to me - not just think "oh, I should send that person a thank you card" and then promptly forget about that idea.
It's made me think of The Christmas Carol. This story seems to speak to the problem of poverty in our world: that it's not a lack of resources, but a lack of generosity. I'm looking to expand my heart - to not keep score, to say thank you more often, and to cut those strings that are sometimes attached in my mind.
But also protect my heart. Sometimes it can be tempting to give until I'm depleted. Then I don't have that full heart anymore. I can only give out of my fullness.
In this season of giving, I want to keep this in the forefront of my mind: I have been blessed, so I will be a blessing. In the words of Tiny Tim:
"But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a giid time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, 'God bless it!'"
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe
...help to make the season bright.
December 12th: What brightens this season for you? Do you have favourite decorations that bring back memories? What ornament would symbolize this year?
I thought about these questions after reading Shauna's comment in yesterday's post. She talked about how her tree decorations have meaning. And that she keeps a special book where she writes down the special ornament that is given or received each year. She also talked about how her mother gives an ornament to her grandchildren, along with some memories that she has of that child over the past year. She wrote, "Our tree is full of memories and stories."
I love this. I started thinking about what ornament I would give to my kids this year to symbolize this year. I decided on a little house to symbolize moving to a new home. That was a big event in our year.
I enjoy seeing other people's Christmas trees - because there are not two alike. Each one symbolizes that family in some way. I was at a friend's house on the weekend, and she told me the origins of some of her ornaments - some were from students of hers, and there was a beautiful nest with 2 birds that was a gift from her husband when they were dating. I thought this was so sweet - to remember this each year as she decorates and gazes at her tree.
Here are some ornaments over the years that bring back memories:
December 12th: What brightens this season for you? Do you have favourite decorations that bring back memories? What ornament would symbolize this year?
I thought about these questions after reading Shauna's comment in yesterday's post. She talked about how her tree decorations have meaning. And that she keeps a special book where she writes down the special ornament that is given or received each year. She also talked about how her mother gives an ornament to her grandchildren, along with some memories that she has of that child over the past year. She wrote, "Our tree is full of memories and stories."
I love this. I started thinking about what ornament I would give to my kids this year to symbolize this year. I decided on a little house to symbolize moving to a new home. That was a big event in our year.
I enjoy seeing other people's Christmas trees - because there are not two alike. Each one symbolizes that family in some way. I was at a friend's house on the weekend, and she told me the origins of some of her ornaments - some were from students of hers, and there was a beautiful nest with 2 birds that was a gift from her husband when they were dating. I thought this was so sweet - to remember this each year as she decorates and gazes at her tree.
Here are some ornaments over the years that bring back memories:
 |
| a wreath, made by my grandma (I love the shiny fabrics the most) |
 |
| tin moon ornament Derek and I bought on a trip to Guatemala |
 |
| mouse is a childhood ornament (loved those mice!), and Pinocchio is from our family's time in Europe 2 years ago |
 |
| from a visit to the Six Nations reserve |
 |
| the Laotian nativity my husband and I bought 8 years ago, wondering if our children would be messed up talking about the elephant in the manger and the baby in the hanging basket |
 |
| a wallhanging my mom made - the candle is made from fabric from a wedding dress of mine (the after-wedding party dress, not the white one) |
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
The Christmas Orange
December 11th: An easy one. What is your favourite holiday story or or TV special or movie?
Movie: Sound of Music (not Christmas-y but shown on TV on Christmas day)
TV special: 1/2 hour How the Grinch Stole Christmas (I love the Whos and their optimism in hard times)
Story: The Christmas Orange by Don Gillmor
One of my favourite Christmas stories is the children's picture book The Christmas Orange by Canadian author Don Gillmor. Anton's birthday is on December 25th, and he has a mile-long list of things for Santa to bring him, and ends up just receiving one thing: an orange. I love this story because that's what my grandpa Horst used to get as a kid for Christmas - a big Christmas orange and a plateful of nuts and candies. Each of his 9 siblings got the same thing - set out on individual dinner plates for them on Christmas morning.
Anyway, this story reminds me of the simplicity of Christmases in days gone by, and also tells Anton the message that perhaps you don't always get what you WANT for Christmas, but what you NEED. Anton didn't need any more toys; he needed on perfect, round orange to remind him about what really matters. We've used this book in our family to talk about wants vs. needs and to dream about simple gifts that usually aren't on our lists, like a perfect Christmas orange.
Another Christmas orange story (author unknown):
Once there was a little girl who came to live in an orphanage in Denmark. As Christmas time grew near, all of the other children began telling the little girl about the beautiful Christmas tree that would appear in the huge downstairs hall on Christmas morning. After their usual, very plain breakfast, each child would be given their one and only Christmas gift; small, single orange.
Now the headmaster of the orphanage was very stern and he thought Christmas to be a bother. So on Christmas Eve, when he caught the little girl creeping down the stairs to catch a peek at the much-heard-of Christmas tree, he sharply declared that the little girl would not receive her Christmas orange because she had been so curious as to disobey the rules. The little girl ran back to her room, broken-hearted and crying at her terrible fate.
The next morning as the other children were going down to breakfast, the little girl stayed in her bed. She couldn't stand the thought of seeing the others receive their gift when there would be none for her.
Later, as the children came back upstairs, the little girl was surprised to be handed a napkin. As she carefully opened it, there to her disbelief was an orange all peeled and sectioned.
"How could this be?" she asked.
She discovered that each child had taken one section from their orange and given it to her so that she, too, would have a Christmas orange.
Movie: Sound of Music (not Christmas-y but shown on TV on Christmas day)
TV special: 1/2 hour How the Grinch Stole Christmas (I love the Whos and their optimism in hard times)
Story: The Christmas Orange by Don Gillmor
One of my favourite Christmas stories is the children's picture book The Christmas Orange by Canadian author Don Gillmor. Anton's birthday is on December 25th, and he has a mile-long list of things for Santa to bring him, and ends up just receiving one thing: an orange. I love this story because that's what my grandpa Horst used to get as a kid for Christmas - a big Christmas orange and a plateful of nuts and candies. Each of his 9 siblings got the same thing - set out on individual dinner plates for them on Christmas morning.
Anyway, this story reminds me of the simplicity of Christmases in days gone by, and also tells Anton the message that perhaps you don't always get what you WANT for Christmas, but what you NEED. Anton didn't need any more toys; he needed on perfect, round orange to remind him about what really matters. We've used this book in our family to talk about wants vs. needs and to dream about simple gifts that usually aren't on our lists, like a perfect Christmas orange.
Another Christmas orange story (author unknown):
Once there was a little girl who came to live in an orphanage in Denmark. As Christmas time grew near, all of the other children began telling the little girl about the beautiful Christmas tree that would appear in the huge downstairs hall on Christmas morning. After their usual, very plain breakfast, each child would be given their one and only Christmas gift; small, single orange.
Now the headmaster of the orphanage was very stern and he thought Christmas to be a bother. So on Christmas Eve, when he caught the little girl creeping down the stairs to catch a peek at the much-heard-of Christmas tree, he sharply declared that the little girl would not receive her Christmas orange because she had been so curious as to disobey the rules. The little girl ran back to her room, broken-hearted and crying at her terrible fate.
The next morning as the other children were going down to breakfast, the little girl stayed in her bed. She couldn't stand the thought of seeing the others receive their gift when there would be none for her.
Later, as the children came back upstairs, the little girl was surprised to be handed a napkin. As she carefully opened it, there to her disbelief was an orange all peeled and sectioned.
"How could this be?" she asked.
She discovered that each child had taken one section from their orange and given it to her so that she, too, would have a Christmas orange.
 |
| a Christmas wish come true - an orange that she could drink! |
Monday, 10 December 2012
tidings of comfort and joy
Time to catch up after the weekend... questions for reflection for the last couple of days:
December 8: What brought you pain in the last year?
December 9: Where did you find comfort during these painful times? If you could make a comfort bag for yourself, what would be in it?
In my comfort bag:
December 10: Advent week 2 is about joy. What brings you joy? How can you continue these joyful experiences in the new year? How can you use your list to bring joy to others?
JOY: Bollywood dancing, live theatre, making crafts with my daughters, thoughtful friends, a surprise note or gift, when people share their time with me and don't make me feel like they have something better to do or that they have to rush on to something else, finding a bargain at the thrift store, collaborating, an hour to read fiction on the weekend, visiting my parent's farm where I grew up, when people cook for me (I love any meal I don't have to make myself...maybe except some hot pot meats I ate while in China like sheep brains and cow's throat)
December 8: What brought you pain in the last year?
December 9: Where did you find comfort during these painful times? If you could make a comfort bag for yourself, what would be in it?
In my comfort bag:
- rice bag that gets heated in the microwave and says "cherish" on it. I put it around my shoulders and feel very comforted.
- dark chocolate with sea salt
- photos of loved ones
- a letter from my grandma
- a scrapbook of encouraging cards/notes I've received over the years
- chai latte or other teas
- a journal
In Derek's comfort bag:
- a big screen TV where he could watch professional sports
- chips and popcorn
- something written by Umberto Eco
- a Bible
- Madden football for xbox or Play Station
- coffee or ginger ale or ale of some sort
- Settlers or some other 3-hour long board game
- baked brie with crackers
[Derek's comfort bag would need to be much larger than mine.]
I'm remembering last year, when I gave my parents and siblings gifts of comfort and joy. Here are the contents if you need a last minute idea. They were a lot of fun to make and put together. Here's what they looked like:
December 10: Advent week 2 is about joy. What brings you joy? How can you continue these joyful experiences in the new year? How can you use your list to bring joy to others?
JOY: Bollywood dancing, live theatre, making crafts with my daughters, thoughtful friends, a surprise note or gift, when people share their time with me and don't make me feel like they have something better to do or that they have to rush on to something else, finding a bargain at the thrift store, collaborating, an hour to read fiction on the weekend, visiting my parent's farm where I grew up, when people cook for me (I love any meal I don't have to make myself...maybe except some hot pot meats I ate while in China like sheep brains and cow's throat)
Friday, 7 December 2012
what I know about me
December 7th: What do you know about yourself? Pick a number - could be your age, could be a random number bigger than 20 but smaller than 120. Could be 100! Then start writing things you know about yourself. There are many lists of "100 things about me" online. I decided to start with my age, but then I kept going because I was having so much fun.
- When I was young, I thought that the perfect honeymoon destination would be Disney World in Florida.
- I like to get cards where someone has taken the time to write something personal. Sometimes that's what I ask my husband to give me for my birthday.
- I had a boyfriend from grade 4-6. This meant that we picked each other on teams at recess and he gave me a small stuffed bunny for Valentine's day one year. We didn't ever break up, but things fizzled out when we entered the larger pool of potential mates in grade 7.
- I had a mullet in grade 6.
- My grade 6 French teacher called me rambunctious.
- I was sent to the principal's office in grade 11 for talking back to my French teacher.
- I wanted to be fluent in French before I got married. I wasn't. Still not.
- I was blessed by Mother Teresa in Calcutta.
- I was blessed by an elephant in the south of India.
- I was sick for a week in a hospital in Jakarta, Indonesia. I wondered if I'd ever walk again.
- I love sushi.
- On the Myers-Briggs test, I score smack-dab in the middle between introvert and extravert. It severely annoys me when people lump others into introvert/extravert categories. I resist these generalizations as much as possible.
- I have a soft spot for garage sales and thrift stores.
- I had a poster of Bono Vox in my locker in high school.
- I missed U2's Joshua Tree concert to go to a cross-country running meet in Rochester, NY instead. Stupid decision that I'll always regret.
- While others were renting limos to go to the formal in grade 12, my friends and I decorated a van, complete with signs that said "party van" and tissue flowers. Instead of an expensive dinner at an expensive restaurant, we had a progressive dinner at our various houses.
- I have a very sweet tooth.
- I often wonder what I really and truly believe.
- Sometimes I feel I have more in common with a Buddhist than another Christian.
- I don't like malls.
- The idea of a house church really intrigues me.
- I don't feel like I'm a good cook. This stops me from hosting more. So does a messy house, but this has been improving lately.
- I speed often, even though I attended a "speed kills" workshop after getting so many points on my record that they threatened to take away my license.
- I'm chronically late, which causes me to speed. I learned this in the workshop.
- It really bothers me when airlines don't offer a free snack.
- I love thunderstorms, especially at night.
- I love The Sound of Music, especially the thunderstorm part.
- I have little sense of orientation. North, West, South, East mean very little to me.
- I would not make a good hockey mom. I used to get very upset at the players and refs when I'd go to my younger brother's games. I just can't shut my mouth when someone's being pushed around.
- The toilet seat should be down. I learned this from feng shui, and it just makes sense.
- I don't like it when people over-use the period. just. like. this.
- My cousin and I used to spend hours making tape cassettes with Hardy Boy adventures on them. We had amazing, realistic sound effects. When we needed a water splash, one of us jumped into the pool. She was Frank, I was Joe.
- I have a learned helplessness with things like operating the TV and DVD player and making popcorn.
- I can't nap or I feel just awful.
- I love to travel. Favourite place: India. Second favourite: Guatemala.
- If I could pick someone to narrate my life, it would be Morgan Freeman.
- I really enjoyed my brother's skateboard phase in high school, and I memorized several raps from his RUN DMC tape. I still know them.
- In high school, my friend and I used to make up raps as birthday presents for friends. I'm pretty sure they appreciated them.
- I would love to live on a farm except without all the chores.
- I would love to live near water some day, even just for a month. Ocean is preferable.
- I would like to learn to ride a motorcycle some day. My time on dirt bikes and four-wheelers in the gravel pit in high school was awesome.
- I think I'll be fine if I never get a tattoo.
- I still don't really get the point of cell phones.
- I didn't have Barbie dolls when I was young. I had the Sunshine family (complete with mom, dad, baby, grandma, grandpa) and Cindy (less voluptuous). But I had an awesome laundry machine for Cindy that was battery operated and you could put real water in.
- I regret cutting bangs on my Mandie doll.
- I love Cheerios any time of the day.
- I love Bollywood music. I know it's mostly about love and relationships, but this is what I hear when I listen to it: "life is great, don't you think! Have fun, you're awesome, you've got one life to live so live it well."
- I love salsa and merengue music. I know it's mostly about love and relationships, and the message I hear when I listen to it is the same as what's above.
- I had a pet raccoon for one summer when I was young. I wrote a speech about him.
- I had umpteen books about Princess Diana (still have several favourites, including Pop-Up Royal Wedding and Charles and Diana paper dolls). I wrote a speech about her.
- I love to travel and meet new people, try new foods, experience new things.
- I was in a gifted math program in grade 10 and I have no idea why. I suck at numbers.
- It annoys me when people say that they're spiritual and not religious. Yes - you and everyone else I know.
- I can't play long and involved board games. Bored games. My husband sure can.
- I love the smell of coffee, but not the taste. Ever since I went to India in 1995, I have loved chai tea.
- I am not a gadget freak. I'm the opposite.
- Some of my childhood heroes were Pippi Longstocking, Anne of Green Gables, Ramona, and Laura from Little House on the Prairie.
- Some of my adulthood heroes are Deborah Ellis (love her books for kids) and Anne Lamott (love her irreverent writing).
- Last week I bought a sign at the thrift store that says "Dull women have immaculate houses" and put it in a prominent place.
- It makes me very happy to bring beauty to a room.
- I skied in the French Jura mountains.
- I went scuba diving off the coast of northern Honduran islands. It scared the heck out of me until I saw the fish, then I forgot all about the many possible ways I could die while hooked up to a tank underwater. It was an absolutely beautiful world. A whole new world, as Ariel would say.
- I camped at the top of a huge waterfall in Morocco where we saw monkeys every morning and went to sleep to the sound of the falls. It's one of the most beautiful places I've seen.
- I played some sort of gourd in a salsa band in Cuba.
- I'm not a big fan of routine.
- Although I don't love routine, I love tradition - creating and maintaining meaningful rituals and celebrations.
- Seeing children and youth perform anything can bring me to tears.
- Listening to Christmas music can bring me to tears.
- I've never been a girly-girl but I actually like having my nails french-manicured for a treat.
- I like to talk to the people I sit beside on an airplane. I love hearing people's stories and finding our points of connection.
- I was nervous as heck to make this blog public in March of 2011.
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| skiing in the Jura mountains |
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| salsa band in Cuba |
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