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When people ask me where I'm from, I get a confused look on my face. I don't know. I've moved well over 40 times, and I've lived in Canada, the USA and Mexico. "I'm Canadian" I usually say; and though I wouldn't call myself patriotic, I know that I derive a small amount of identity from what my passport says on the front.
What amazes me most about Americans is their incredible misconceptions about Canada. Anyone who hasn't been here, doesn't know much about how we live. I heard it from an American comedian put this way (hugely paraphrased): "It's not like we don't like Canada. Canada is like the huge attic in this great house we live in. One day you wander up there and it's like, 'WOW! There's a lot of great crap up here!"
What amazes me most about Canadians that haven't lived in America is the ridiculous ideas we have about them. We think that everyone in America is just like a stockbroker from New York, and they think we're all fishermen from Newfoundland.
What bugs me about both places is that everyone thinks everything is the same across the border. "It's not that different, no big deal." They'd be wrong. Living in the US didn't afford me a lot of culture shock, but let me tell you: It's tiring trying to figure out all the time how fast 30 miles an hour is, or how warm 80 degrees Fahrenheit is. It's frustrating to use the currency and to constantly try to figure out how much things cost. Usually I just gave up. I never understood why people walked around with shoes on in my house. Peter deals with this all the time now, just like I did in the States.
Here's what I hate the most though: Today in my own country, I was not at all proud to be a Canadian, or a member of the Commonwealth for that matter. I was ashamed, and I had to apologize to my "arrogant American" husband today for the words of one Canadian, and one British gentleman. They thought it may be okay -in full earshot of him- to badmouth America. A lot. Not everything they said was even true, but that's not the point. If America was a hellhole that should be bombed and all it's inhabitants made to be just like "good smart Canadians (or Brits)" it wouldn't make a difference. They became exactly what they accused "all Americans" of being. Ignorant and prideful. I don't think they did it on purpose, and I don't care if they think it, but they said it, and they offended him. And infuriated me. I know how hard he works to fit in here, not only with a new family that he doesn't know very well, but in a country where he doesn't exactly fit.
When I was in an American church, a well meaning pastor started "poking fun" at Canada for our leniency on gay rights. I was furious, I nearly walked out of church. What if all Canadians don't believe in gay marriage, what if one of them is within earshot, away from her family and many things familiar, trying to fit in and put aside what she understands? Then don't you look like an ass...
I love America. I love Canada. There are things that both countries need to learn from each other. There are things that both countries need to abandon. Unfortunately, both countries are made up of people, and people are, flawed. So next time you're about to bash George Bush or our "downstairs neighbors" in a public place, maybe have a second thought. America is made up of a lot of nice people, and a few ignorant ones that ruin the name for all. So is Canada. They're the leading world power and so they face a lot more scrutiny than we do. That'd be hard. I like knowing I can travel to Europe without having to slap another countries' flag on my backpack. Peter nearly stormed in and asked the British gentleman today why, if Americans are so ignorant and self absorbed, did they save Britian's ass in WWII? Good question. Why, if Canada is so freaking great do we as Canadians allow some of the policies passed to become the country that our children will live in? Another good question.
I don't care which country is better, if George Bush is the anti-christ, or if Canadian are all uneducated lumberjacks. I care about how we treat people.
I'll admit to you, I'm angry. It's happened to me, it's happened to Peter, and it'll happen again. I'm sad that we can't practice tolerance half the time because we're too hung up on what our opinions are. I know I do this all the time, and it's something I truly loathe about myself. Something I'll work a million years on so that maybe one day I can go a year without sticking my foot in my mouth and offending someone.
This post is absolutely NOT for posting your political ideas. Call me a jerk but I'll delete your comments. If you're a fisherman from Newfoundland, I think you're awesome, I couldn't enjoy seafood without you. If you're a stockbroker from New York, I hope you do really well. If you hate George, love him, are British, gay, straight, Christian, atheist, Buddhist, or just someone who thinks it's totally normal to walk into a house without removing your shoes, I hope that I work hard to make you feel like a person, a human being, even if you do things differently, see things differently. Even if I think you're wrong. You are a person created by God, so am I. We inhabit the same planet, and that's good enough for me.
So Vancouver Island is participating in Dining Out For Life, and AIDS/HIV and Hepatitis C fundraiser. If you go out to dinner on March 29 at a participating restaurant, 25% of your bill is donated to AIDS research, treatment and prevention. I checked out the company getting the money, and they sound pretty cool. Plus the Blue Ginger restaurant in Nanaimo is one of the accepted restaurants, and they serve...SUSHI!
I love when communities do stuff like this. There's also a woman giving a dollar for every person who participates, or every restaurant, or something... So if you're looking for a good excuse to eat out, and feel good about it, there you have it. I checked for Saskatchewan, and they're not participating so you'll all have to come out to dinner here with us. What a shame.
Also, the Wesley Street Cafe in Nanaimo is participating and it's fancy and delicious, we went once for a celebration dinner. Check out the site and look at the restaurants, and links to the restaurants sites.
I like the idea of Christians supporting their communities and not just giving money to the church. I know the church is supporting the community, but this gives a bigger sense of ownership. I like finding creative ways to tithe (and creative reasons to eat sushi) so this works for me.
As for the long rant, I'm still too mad. People are selfish, people in general, not aimed specifically at one of you, hoping you pick up the hint, I hate that. Maybe I'll try to write about it later, but the more I think, the madder I get, and that means that post will be very very long. I'll try and condense my anger and get back to ya.
It's been a little while since I've posted, and not a lot is happening. I'm trying not to screw up too much at my new job...a few days ago the machine in the back said I took $91,000, so that wasn't a lot of fun. It took three days to fix and I had to convince my new boss I didn't shove the cash down my shirt. I really am enjoying the job, and am hoping for lots of hours. Our friends from WY are coming up in a couple of months, and I'm very excited about that. Other than that, it's just been life. Wake up, go to work, come home, eat, do laundry, watch the latest addicting tv show, go to bed. So here's a little look into my neurosis lately as I have nothing more interesting to write about...
I'm a big believer in trying nearly anything. And I am an emotional person who becomes very easily attached to the idea of something. Everyone is a little like this, I think. For example: nobody likes their first sip of coffee. (Except Robyn who downed cups of it ice cold with the cream making those little oily swirls on top at the ripe age of three.) Everyone is surprised at how bitter it is and usually doctors it up, or starts drinking Starbucks Frappaccino's first. They slowly ease their way into it. I find it difficult to believe that a 14 year old guy likes his first sip of beer. But we like the idea of coffee in the morning, and a beer on a hot day with the boys, while you're hammering up drywall or something equally masculine...so we figure out a way to like it. I'm big on this. Most people would say there's something a little fake about this. Not me. If at first you don't succeed, squelch the gag reflex until you love it, or at the very least, are good and addicted. There's plenty of things that I didn't like at first that I can't imagine living without now.
For example:
I love sushi. I don't like plain white rice, I really dislike seaweed, and I don't like fish, and certainly not raw. I don't like much of what they put in there, avacado and other such nonsense. But I ADORED the idea of sushi. It looks so fresh and healthy and it looks so pretty on a plate. You get to eat it with chopsticks, which is a pretty big bonus to me regardless. I once ate wedding cake in Japan with chopsticks, no kidding. I really think it tasted better. Since my first trip to Japan, over six years ago, I've been trying sushi. The first time I nearly threw up. I spat it out and tried to think of anything than the crunch of raw eel between my teeth. A year or so later I tried again. No luck. I've been doing this again and again, for the longest time, and over the past two years have upped it to trying every three months at least. I really wanted to like sushi. About four or five months ago, we went to this sushi place and I ordered noodles (mediocre) and tried a piece of Peter's sushi. It was fantastic. I loved it. All of a sudden, just like that. I swear to you, the other day I ordered sushi with raw tuna and avacado. It was delicious.
Who wouldn't want to drink that? It's beautiful. Because I watched everyone I know drink coffee, I never thought I would be one of those people who honestly wouldn't like it. I of course didn't the first time, but I kept trying and now I'll get a headache if I don't have one. Brilliant. There's an emotional tie to my morning coffee, to coffee related things in the house, mugs and coffee colors that I'm just not willing to part with. The first gift Peter ever got me was a pretty coffee mug. My friend Loren honestly doesn't like coffee. He's a tea man. I think that's silly and he should just try it until he loves it and can't live without it. But he also drinks carrot smoothies.
I used to say, "if it swam, I don't like it" but that was when I was stupid. Peter took me to Bubba Gump's in Kona for my birthday a few years ago, and we ordered this. I actually peeled the legs off those little suckers and ate them. LEGS! They were fantastic and I was shocked. Robyn was once paid sixty bucks to eat a shrimp, which she gagged down and she now loves. Good for her, I say.
Ahh, and my greatest achievement. The first time I drank red wine I was told to describe it (wine tasting training for Olive Garden). I said that it tasted like the remnants of my McDonald's breakfast and nail polish remover and had a lovely dirt finish. I choked a little. Then the guy gave us this vegetable soup and told us to take a bite. It tasted like ground beef and tomatoes, even though there was lots of other stuff in it. He took a shot of wine, dumped it in the soup and told us to try again. The first thing I could taste was veggies. Carrots and celery and onion. I was amazed. Food really does taste better with wine. I didn't care it if tasted like paint thinner. I wanted to love it. So I started with Boone's and then Wild Vines Raspberry Merlot, then blush, white, and then red.
I wonder if I'm really crazy. I actually wonder this a lot. The wine and coffee thing I think a lot of people do, but maybe I'm over the top with seafood, sushi, pumpkin pie (had my first real piece without gagging this thanksgiving, yippee!) avacado, rice, etc... Ahh well. I figure my life must be that much richer (or poorer, wine is pricey) because of my relentless pursuit of things I want to like but don't. I figure there's got to be a good life analogy in here somewhere but I couldn't be bothered right now.
Sometimes life is just funny. Things have been an uphill battle lately, especially since we moved back to BC, and though there have been some really great things going on, a lot of it has been really hard. I'm tentative in saying we're nearing the end, though that's how it's been feeling lately.
Things seem to slowly be falling into place, and though these last months have been pretty hard on us, I'm glad to begin seeing the end of the tunnel, and still be walking through it leaning on God and each other more than ever. It's felt to me like something epic is going on in the midst of the mundane disappointment that we've been dealing with lately. I don't know why, but over breakfast with Peter one day I told him that something in how we deal with this time in our lives feels integral to me. Urgent. This isn't just a hard time, it's a turning point, and I've been feeling the gravity of our every response to it. To badly quote John Eldredge, "There's more to this...something bigger is going on here and I'm a part of it even though I don't understand." I actually wrote a journal entry months back where I said that I felt like God was telling us that things were about to get pretty rough, that we'd get to the very edge of what we thought we could take, He'd take it a little further, and then relief. We've been praying for that dependency in our life together, and I'm startled that our asking for it didn't make it easier to take when it came. I know it's not all going to be okay from here on out. I know that my parameters of "okay" are being stretched, and still I feel this weight. This sobering heaviness in knowing that this is so important. That we have to do this right, learn it right. I'm reminded of something Peter and I just read to each other from The Silver Chair. Jill and Eustace have just landed in Narnia, and Eustace has fallen off the cliff and Jill is left alone and meets the Lion for the first time while searching for something to drink:
"Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion.
"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.
"Then drink," said the Lion.
"May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.
"I make no promise," said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
"Do you eat girls?" she said.
"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.
It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion - no one who had seen his stern face could do that - and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once. Before she tasted it she had been intending to make a dash away from the Lion the moment she had finished. Now, she realized that this would be on the whole the most dangerous thing of all...
I wish I saw myself in Lewis' Lucy, but if I were honest, I don't really. I see myself in Jill most of all. She's exactly like me, and she messes things up so badly and so often that you almost want to scream. The only saving grace to Jill is that she takes correction pretty well. Aslan reminds her of what's important, and she pulls through alright, though at the conclusion of the story, feeling sad, relieved, and sheepish at victory instead of triumphant, knowing herself how close she had come to doing it all wrong, and holding very little stock in herself and much in the Lion. My favorite characters in these stories are the ones that are so terribly flawed. It gives me hope for myself.
"I wish I was at home," said Jill.
Eustace nodded, saying nothing, and bit his lip.
"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrelings. And she wanted to say "I'm sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them toward him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:
"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."
"Please Aslan," said Jill, "may we go home now?"
For the first time in my life, I have a grown-up job. I have just been hired at the bank, and I start on Monday. I'm so happy I could cry...okay, so I cried a little, can we keep that between us please? I got to call Home Outfitters and decline their generous offer (part time, minimum wage). I would have liked the work, I'm sure, and would have had the added stress of not using my employee discount and spending my entire cheque. Now I don't have to worry about it. I may even have enough from this job that I can go shopping once in a while!!
I don't even know for sure what they're paying me, but I know it's more than minimum wage, and I know that I have a hundred ways to advance within the company and possibly make more money that way. They are not open an hour that I'm not available to work, so I'll never have to worry about having an availability fight with my boss. I can't count the number of times I've fought for Sundays off, or for a couple of hours with Peter a week. I was starting to worry that I'd end up waitressing again (which as a job I like) and never see Peter (which simply isn't an option). You just can't work daytime hours at a restaurant.
I can't believe how much I want to hug that human resources lady at the bank. What a lovely, sweet woman. I hope something great happens to her today. I guess unless you knew the scope of what Peter and I were dealing with financially, you wouldn't grasp how great this news is for us. I feel like God just threw us a lifeline, and that everything is going to be okay.
Wow, thanks God, for taking such good care of us, and forgive me for ever doubting that you'd do anything less than that. I know how blessed I am, whether I have money in the bank or not, but thanks for knowing how to take care of our financial needs as well. Yippee!!
So things have been a little crazy lately. I tried to find a funny picture that describes how I'm feeling lately, and this was it. Poor little guy. He looks so confused.
Yesterday I had my 5th job interview. This time it was for the Coastal Community Credit Union. It was a nice jump from the last one, a dishwasher at a local bakery (yep, that's what that guy reccommended me for - thanks pal). I went downtown, walked into this spiffy office, met their human resources lady (lovely woman) and had an hour and a half interview. Yipes. I'd start as a teller (ahem, Member Service Representative) and could move up from there. The pay is great and you get full and extended benefits after only 90 days. This would be brilliant, and I'm supposed to hear back from them today or tomorrow.
However, the twist is that I've just been offered a job at Home Outfitters. I'd like the work itself, and the people there were fantastic, but the pay is minimum wage, and the hours are not exactly what I'd love. I'd do it, and be happy with it, if it was necessary, but I'd way rather have the bank job. I guess we'll see. The lovely woman from yesterday told me that I had a pretty good shot if my references checked out. They will. I'll keep you posted on how this all goes. Thanks to everyone who's been praying, I really appreciate it. The best news of today is that I have a job. Maybe not the one I'd love, but I have the security of knowing that Peter and I will be able to pay rent next month. Awesome.
I've only known Willie Barr for a short, short two years. I can count the number of times I've really gotten to talk to her, hear her stories and learn about the incredible life that she lived. But yesterday, when I learned she had gone to meet her Savior, I felt a strange sense of loss over someone who I had essentially, not known very well.
I remember some of the last words she spoke to me about her husband: "It's been 20 years, and I still miss him so much. I never thought I would be here this long, that I'd live to see 20 years without him. It must mean that the Lord still has something for me to do, and I know my Bill is up there cheering me on...I've always felt like I could do more than I believed I could because I knew he was up there watching me, and believing in me." I told her then how terrified I was of losing Peter, and living how she had these last two decades. That I didn't understand how she could be so brave. I said the only thing I really wanted from this life was to honor God and to grow very old with Peter. She sat quietly for a moment, thinking, and then said to me "I think you will. I bet that you will grow old together." And then she smiled at me with a knowing little look in her pretty eyes.
Yesterday there was a reunion in Heaven that she waited 20 long years for. I wish I could have seen it. When we learned in the morning that she was gone, that was the first thing I thought, "they're together again" and the joy I felt for her outweighed my sadness for me and the rest of her family. I know that she was more excited about seeing her Savior, than she was even about seeing her husband. Now she has both and I couldn't be happier for her, or more sad for us.
I know so little of her. In September when we were all in Minnesota, moving her out to Wyoming, we found an old photo album of her. Pictures of her as a little girl, a teen, a young woman. She came from a pretty wealthy family, I'm told, and her family was shocked when she decided to run away to India with a poor missionary boy. Then she further surprised everyone by having five children (I'm not sure if all were born in India or not, but Peter's mom was). She would be in the Punjab with five kids, while Bill would go on trips to the tribes that lived up away in the mountains. This woman was brave. She's seen Europe and Asia, pretty extensively and told me a funny story about getting lost in Italy, with no money when Bill was in the hospital there. She didn't even have enough to pay the doctors and get him out of the hospital so they could leave...and she laughed as she told me. It was an adventure, and they made it okay. After Bill died, she used to go visit her children in Indonesia, and make the trip all by herself, and stay for weeks at a time. She went to YWAM at about the age of 70, and learned to scuba dive. We teased her these last few months, because when we found her photo album, I learned something that shocked me about her. She was hot. Smoking hot. You couldn't even call her pretty, it would have been a sad understatement. She was stunning, beautiful, sexy even. She was a beautiful older woman, but as a girl in her 20's, she could have won contests, money, and no doubt, the heart of any man she'd have wanted. She laughed when I showed her the pictures and told her that I wish I could look like her, or at the very least have those gorgeous legs. I wonder what she looks like today, in Heaven. I wish I could see her up there.
I want to be like Grandma. Even though I've known her such a short time, I'm so sad that she's gone. I wanted my kids to meet her, to know her. To hear the way she told stories and laughed. We have a small book of her adventures in India with her family, and I'll treasure it always, and read it to my kids one day. Most of all though, I want to die the way she did. In a way that nobody who really knew her could mourn for her. We mourn for us. For the hole she'll leave in the lives of everyone who knew her. But every person I've spoken to, has said one thing in common about her. "Oh, how she lived." I hope I grow to be half the woman, the warrior, the light that she was to the world around her. I should be so lucky.
As we all know, some things in life just make me happy. A clean house, fresh sheets, an evening with Peter in front of the fireplace with some good coffee in pretty mugs...
So here's the thing. I adore food (as evidenced by these darned 20lbs I'm trying to lose). It's not even just the eating aspect of it. I love it all. I love dishes, I love kitchen gadgets, I love appliances. I love to cook. I love trying something new, just to see if I can make it, and how good it tastes. I'm a pretty good cook, I rarely burn things, and most of my recipes come out pretty well, if I do say so myself. I love good wine and pairing it with good food. I love eating out. I love having others cook for me, just to see how they make things. I love cooking shows on TV and watch the Food Network all the time.
This, for example, is Mario Batali's new cookware line, which I love. It's all porcelain plated cast iron, and I'm dying to try it out. It's rather pricey, however, so I'm not sure when that chance will ever arise...Just to be silly, I went to this site, and re-did my kitchen. Dishes, cookware, all the things I love to look at and would love to try or have one day. In about a half hour, I spent a total of $17,350.28 pretend dollars. Don't gasp in shock, you go try it. My wine glasses alone set me back a total of about $4,000...I didn't even know you could spend that on wine glasses, maybe they come with wine?
Anyway, as most of you know, I've been handing out resumes like crazy, trying desperately to get a decent job. Yesterday I had two interviews...the first went badly simply because it apparently takes them three weeks to decide if this overqualified applicant (aka: me) should start working at their grocery store, and they made me get up insanely early to tell me that at my first interview...morons...
The second interview of the day went really well. It's at a -get this- specialty cooking store. It's so pretty, in Qualicum Beach, and I could just browse in there for hours... It would just be the two people that run it, and me if I get hired, and they're pretty much wanting someone to give them some time off. It's only about 20hrs a week to start, but they expect to give me more if I'd like it (umm, yes please!) and they are just such nice people. He instantly reminded me of Mario Batali himself, and I tried not to call him Iron Chef in the interview...
They asked if I'd be fine working alone, doing some light cleaning (do these people know me?) and if I was creative enough to use their products in making table displays and things like that...The hours are great...I want this so badly. The interview went well, they said how impressed they were with my resume and cover letter (apparently nobody does those anymore), and that they were doing five interviews. I was number two. They're supposed to call anytime now and I'm nervous. So I sat here to try and distract myself, and I did this, which has got me thinking about it more and more, and drank a huge cup of coffee, which means I'm nervous and caffeinated.
These are the glasses, by the way. They don't look like $4,000 to me, though they are really pretty...and would match that black and white dish set really well. I may start pretend shopping at a lot of places, it's like window shopping, only in your housecoat. If I get the job, I'll put it in the comments section of this post. If I don't say anything, it's because I'm too depressed that they gave it to someone else...Even the thought of it makes me want to cry a little. If you read this within the hour after I post it, please pray...
We haven't had a good long post this year yet, so voila:
I love housework. Love it. I like doing it alone, I'm not really a big fan of having help around the house, probably because I don't have kids. Peter cleans the bathroom occasionally, and very often cleans up dinner if I cook, but as far as a good day of cleaning up, I like it on my own. I'm too bossy, I'm constantly showing Peter how to fold a sheet or telling him that the cheese grater goes in the corner cupboard, not the drawer. Or I tell him to just watch TV, which I'd rather him do, and then he feels guilty for not helping. Much of this is made up to me in nice long backrubs, which I'd rather have any day.
Today though, I especially love housework. This week (to make a long, complicated story short) I found out that a job I had been thinking I would be able to do for the last two months, is pretty much out of the question. I will soon be going to hand out my resume and hoping for a secretarial position somewhere, or maybe a bank teller job. Either way, due to this recent development, Peter and I were figuring we'd have to move from our beautiful little suite. We're driving to Parksville all the time, and our expenses are pretty high right now. We even found a little basement suite in Qualicum Beach that wasn't too bad, and would save us about $200-$300 per month. By "not too bad" I should clarify: everything but the bathroom and the kitchen were not too bad. Those made me want to cry. Especially the bathroom. Anyway, we pretty much told the lady we'd take it, pending a talk with our landlords.
I can't really describe the disappointment here. We love the people upstairs not to mention where we're living now. We got a Christmas gift from them, they give us stuff all the time (like beautiful lawn furniture), take our garbage out if we forget, and are simply wonderful people. Peter and I went upstairs to help her out with her computer, and with great sadness eventually told her the situation. "We simply can't afford to stay here." We'd have barely been making it, and it just didn't seem like we could do that just because we loved the place. She asked us what we'd be saving by moving to Parksville, we told her and that was pretty much it. She promised to talk to her husband and get back to us.
Five minutes later she was downstairs and offered us rent for $200 cheaper a month, for a three month period. We'll talk to her in April again about whether or not we can afford to go back to the regular rent. They really like us and don't want the trouble of possibly getting terrible tenants in here. She left and two seconds later I was just in tears. As far as I know, these are non-Christian people, with no reason whatsoever to do this for us. We're not the only quiet couple in Nanaimo looking for a place to live, they'd have found someone, I'm sure. This is money straight out of their own pockets. They've essentially just given us $600 and the time to get on our feet again.
The thing was, we weren't being ripped off before. We have a brand new suite, full cable (especially upgraded for us for no cost), we have high-speed Internet and bc hydro (power and water). We have a natural gas hook up so that in the summer, we can barbecue without using propane. We have a beautiful view, and we are literally a 15 minute walk from the mall, the grocery store, Tim Hortons, and a bunch of other great places. It was a great deal to begin with. We're now paying less than the rent would have been at the "Place With the Depressing Bathroom" which would have also had more bills to pay. I loved cleaning my bathroom today. I love my washer and dryer more than ever. I love my pretty floors and cupboards, and cleaning out my fridge.
A little while back, a couple of months ago, I talked to someone about something that was really important to me. (Stop fussing, it's none of you). I was pretty vulnerable, and really needed some reassurance and a little encouragement. Just someone to listen. I got the opposite and I was really surprised and more than a little hurt. This was someone who I thought would absolutely come through for me. It would have cost them nothing at all to do so and they didn't. They were a bit too wrapped up in their own lives and their own issues to worry about mine. I was rather blown away. I've been feeling like that a lot lately, and occasionally feeling it about God. "Help us out here, we only want a little more money to get Peter a visa, pay off some debt, and go into ministry! Where are you? Don't you care?" I know it's wrong but things have been difficult lately, and up and down, and scary for me. And then this happens. Sacrificial kindness from virtual strangers. You know God is up there shaking his head a little at me...
I think this is one of the most beautiful parts about being alive, maybe second only to falling in love. Having someone come through for you in a way that you wouldn't have even thought to expect. In a way that costs them and helps you, and in a way that you know you don't deserve. We could have lived in the Ugly Bathroom House, lots of people live in much, much worse. But we're here. I get to clean my pretty little suite, and know that I'm being taken care of by a God that really doesn't care what means he needs to use to show me his love for me. Lucky, lucky me. I'm an idiot if I ever think otherwise. Gotta run, my laundry just beeped.
Hey everyone. I know it's lame that I haven't blogged in so long. Becky is putting me to shame. I was waiting for some pictures, but now that I think of it, Peter and I didn't take any at our Christmas - only really at the family Christmas, and most of those are of Luke.
Our Christmas in a nutshell (or maybe just because I love using point form, it looks so organized).
~Christmas Eve - Peter and Melanie go to the grocery store and pick up some yummy goodies and make a nice dinner of little snacks. They open their Christmas Eve gift to each other (p.j's) and get into them and sit on the couch and watch "It's a Wonderful Life". Melanie has never before seen this, and she cries her eyes out, through most of it.
~Christmas Day - Peter and Melanie sleep in and have to rush a little in opening their gifts to each other, in order to be at the family Christmas on time. Peter gets a snowboard from his amazing wife. He's as happy with it as she thought he would be. Melanie gets some pretty earrings, a dress she'd been wanting, a spa gift certificate (her mom got one too so they can go together), a bunch of bath stuff from Lush and some games for her Nintendo DS that her mom and dad got her. They also bought her some tall black boots, hooker boots, if you will. She doesn't care what they're called, they're pretty. They spend the day at her parents place, playing Settlers of Catan and eating.
~New Years Eve - Peter and Melanie go to the ferry to pick up Melanie's old friend Raeleen and her husband Mark. They spend the evening at Melanie and Peter's house eating snacks and watching a movie and playing games. They have a wonderful time together and the boys get along great while the girls catch up on the last five years. (Yes, it had really been that long)
~New Years Day - All go to Moxie's for lunch. There is much talk of slaughtering buffalo, and a heated debate on whether women should deliver babies naturally, or go for the drugs straight away. (Seriously?!) Melanie and Peter drop their friends off at the ferry with promises to visit a lot more soon.
So folks, that's about it. There was a very funny date night between Christmas and New Years that Peter and I had, which I will post more about later. Hope you're all having a wonderful new year.
Here you have it folks: What you've been waiting for all year long:
A perfectly good chance to giggle your little butts off at me.
And a chance to subject your own loved ones to the same ridicule.
Have at 'er.
Click this link
Hope you all have a wonderful holiday.
And now, I must go inhale my left over cabbage rolls.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.
I likely won't have another moment to blog before Christmas, and will upload some pictures after that. Becky's post really got me thinking today. Peter's grandmother is very sick. She's in the ICU in Wyoming, and will be there through Christmas, which is difficult on their family. If you've met her, even for a few minutes (she was at our wedding) you'll know what an incredible woman she is. In a nutshell, she was a sweet little rich girl, that much to the chagrin of her father, ran away with a missionary boy, and raised five children in India. This woman defines brave to me, and will tell you stories about their life there that would make you sit dumbfounded, in shock that this tiny little woman has seen and been through so much. Please, if you think of it, pray for her, and Peter's family. We need Grandma around a little longer. We were planning to get her in front of a video camera with some tea, sometime very soon, and ask her to just talk. Tell us about India, about Grandpa (who has been gone for 20 years now). Tell us about falling in love, about having a baby in a strange country. Tell us about Grandpa killing the man eating tiger and saving your village and your family (this did actually happen - told you she was special). I need to hear her stories, I need to have my children hear them one day.
I saw some dumb movie once, a long time ago, and though I don't remember the plot at all, I remember one scene, with such clarity:
A family has just lost their entire livelihood. The family business has burned to the ground in a freak fire. They were struggling before, now they're pretty much destitute. As they sit among the rubble together, the single mom puts her arms around her kids and smiles a real smile of true relief and joy, and says, "It's okay. As long as we're all still here and together, it's just been a bad day."
Sometimes I forget that. It's just been a few bad days, and when you look at some times over this last year, not even that. I don't have to deal with a loved one dying days before Christmas. My husband is healthy and happy and we have an incredible relationship that amazes me sometimes. There's a silly song that I love that says, "I'm short on money, but I'm long on time / Slowly strolling in the sweet sunshine." That's where we're at. We're okay, we've got a little money, and more debt, but we're young, and we all have each other. My baby sister is a single mom, and has been through a lot of rough times, but all I have to do is look at that baby boy, and the way she is with him, to know that she's going to be okay. You should see little Luke light up when he sees his mom, and the way she does too. It's beautiful and very often makes me tear up with the sheer delight of watching them together. I have good friends, and may get to see an old friend for New Years, that I haven't seen in five years. Life is good. It's really, really good.
So that's it. I hope that all you in Saskatchewan have a wonderful time this Christmas. Eat too much, laugh too much. Play a good game of Balderdash, and please someone keep and blog the best answers (I'm thinking Becky would maybe be sentimental enough to do this?) Help do the dishes afterward, a lot of great conversation happens in the kitchen after a big meal. Enjoy each other and don't think about money, or obligations or being a grown up. Let your kids eat too many sweets, and eat some yourself. For the love of all that is good, please don't diet, wait til January. For all of you who I'm not going to see, and haven't seen in so long, I miss you. Someone remember to give Grandma and Grandpa a big hug from me. Take a lot of pictures, as will I, and we'll see you after the holidays!
Love you all - melanie.
I thought perhaps, since Robyn is no longer blogging, that some of you may like to see some pictures of Lucas, or "baby lu" as we all call him. Sometimes, I can't believe how much I love this little boy. He's happy all the time, even though he's teething. He laughs and lights up when he sees you. It's so neat that he's getting old enough to recognize people he knows. When I walked up to them in the mall he was looking around at everything, but when he saw me, he knew who I was and his face broke out into his little squinty-eyed grin and he reached for me. What a little angel, and what a little goofball. Sorry that some of these are blurry, we had to use Peter's phone for them as our real camera was too far away and we didn't want to miss it.
All I want for Christmas is Luke...
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Baby Lu and me in front of our Christmas tree last night.
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My personal favorite. He sat with that cookie in his mouth like that for a long time, grinning around it.
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Man I love this kid.
Merry Christmas from Baby Lu and his proud Auntie Mellie
Today Peter was sent home early due to the rapidly deteriorating weather. My mom picked me up at the house today at about 11:45 and we went to WalMart, got a couple of things, and then went to the food court and had a quick lunch. When we walked into WalMart, it was raining with a little hail thrown in for good measure. When we finished lunch, about 45 minutes later, the entire parking lot was covered in snow. The streets were already filled with slush. It happened so quickly it was almost eerie. So my mom threw in the towel on shopping, opting instead for getting home while the roads are still safe, and I called Peter and told him that I'd rather he get here sooner than later. He was home by 2:00 and work tomorrow is looking pretty iffy from where we are.
Now, I know all you Saskatchewan toughies will call us wimps, but there is a very strange difference in the weather here. First, the snow is just different. In Alberta, you're taught that if you're spinning out, to lead your tires to snow, snow they can grip, ice they cannot. Not so here. This snow is so dense and wet from the humidity it's just no use. Also, -10 here feels different than -10 in Alberta. This is a wet cold that seeps straight into your bones and makes it always feel 5-10 degrees colder than it is. So I know it's not as bad, but it sure isn't nice either. Plus, Vancouver Island is simply not prepared for weather like this. We have nearly no snowplows, which is why school closes when it snows 3 inches. Busses refuse to drive in it and the amount of snowplows (snowploughs?) make it so that the back roads simply never get done. There aren't any people to salt the roads. On our last big dump of snow, we actually saw that the city of Victoria had hired constuction companies or anyone with a dump truck to work salting roads. They loaded up with salt and then drove 10 feet along the road, stopped, got out and into the bucket of the truck, grabbed a spade and threw salt on the road, climbed back into the truck, drove another 10 feet...Why a spade, you ask? Because the regular shovels that Canadian Tire keeps in stock sell out about three minutes after the snow starts falling. All five of them, gone in a flash. Window scrapers are the same, you just can't buy one anywhere.
Worst of all, and the main reason why, when I see five snowflakes, I want all my family off the roads, in their houses and safe: drivers. Nobody in BC has the slightest clue what to do with snow. They drive like total idiots. They don't think, when trying to pull into traffic, "hey, because it's snowing, I need a bigger space between cars than I used to, since nobody can slam on their brakes when I cut them off". It doesn't occur to these people. Of course, most of them are over 85 and shouldn't be driving in good weather, let alone this...
However, today, I'm glad for the snow. I'm loving it. We've been hit with storm after storm here, and trees are trashing power lines all over. Poor Reagan and Carlie have been out of power for three days, and will not see it on again before the weekend, I'm sure. They're sleeping at my mom and dad's.
But in my little house, we have power, we have a very steep hill that is impossible to climb in a Civic when the weather gets like this. I went grocery shopping yesterday, my Christmas shopping is done. I have no reason to go anywhere. My family is safe, though crowded, in their house. Robyn and Baby Lu are safe, though bored, in their apartment up the street. My husband is home safe, our car is parked. We're officially snowed in together. I have dinner marinating in the fridge, and I'm going to light some candles. I'm going to keep my fireplace on and wrap up in a blanket with my gorgeous husband and just call it a day. No where to go, and the perfect excuse to do nothing at all. Stay up all night, sleep in all morning, and wait for Christmas.
II also have a new blog. I know, I know, I don't need another one, and it's really annoying that you have to sign up for Vox to comment, but you can post music and videos here much more easily than on Blogger. PLUS it's all Christmas-y. I may switch over completely. I love it. Here's the link.
I'm never going to make it. Really, I'm not...This year, is my most organized to date. I was finished my shopping on December 2nd, and had my tree up and decorated that night. I have made Christmas cookies three times so far, and only burned one batch, though surprisingly, the Pillsbury ones (Peter inhaled them anyway). But now I've been ready for Christmas for ten days already. I really just want to give Peter his gift, and see his face. And to lay in bed on Christmas night with him, playing my new DS (I'm so romantic). Today I'm hiding out in my mom's office, under the guise of listening for Luke, who is sleeping across the hall. Poor Ethan and Connor are homeless today, since the power is out at their house and has been for two days. So their mom and dad are moving them to their new apartment, and my mom and I are watching them and baby Lu. It's not too bad, but it is a handful, since two of the boys are little and need to be held, changed, fed, put down for naps, picked up from naps, and the other little boy is suffering a little from cabin fever. Can't say I blame him. I'm beginning to think that Carolyn and every other stay at home mom should get super hero suits and have parades thrown for them every Tuesday. In completely unrelated news, I have put a hole in our new Civic. Crap-O. I had a small accident in the McDonalds parking lot with the town prostitute (true story). She was on the wrong side of the "road" and I was coming up an exit and I hit her tire. I've never been screamed at like that in my life, we put on quite a show for the seniors. Had I not been so upset, I would have realized right away that she was on something (either crack or meth, I wish it had just been pot...I'd have bought her a burger and we'd have had a good giggle). I put a hole the size of a serving plate in our bumper. Peter says you can "barely notice it" which makes us all laugh. Luckily, there's no structural damage, it's only the bumper and it can be replaced. We have been doing a little research, and because Civic's are one of the most popular cars to turn into street racing cars, we can actually get body kit for it for cheaper than the original bumper at a dealership, so we may do that whenever we can afford it. Peter may actually thank me for this eventually. The next day I was nearly killed by an idiot who ran a red light, and I've never been so terrified on the road before then. Somehow we managed not to hit each other, and he sped off before I could get a plate number. I just pulled over and tried to get my heart to keep beating at a somewhat normal pace. I'm now sure that Grandma drives with more abandon than I do. I make Peter drive most places and am so edgy in the car that he can barely stand it. When I drive, it's in the slow lane, 10 kms under speed limit unless I force myself not to, and if you cut in front of me or do anything I deem mildly unsafe, I honk like there's no tomorrow. Honestly, I need to relax, but the moment I think I'm going to be fine, something happens. Two nights ago, another idiot ran a red light in front of Peter and had he not seen it, that stupid woman on her cell phone would have come into my door at about 50 kms an hour. It's almost eerie lately, maybe God is trying to show me how hard he works to keep me safe all the time, but though I'm becoming deeply thankful every time we arrive home safely, I'm also becoming insanely paranoid. There's a straight-jacket and some Prozac wrapped in pretty paper under the tree for me, I'm sure.I'll try and get some pictures of my house all Christmas-y up very soon. It has just become very quiet in the house, and I should go see what's wrong and give my poor mom a hand. And maybe spike her coffee with some Bailey's.I'm also going to call town hall and see about getting those Tuesday parades started.
As promised, here's what I'm asking for this year: A Nintendo DS Lite. Call me a four year old, but I went into Future Shop with Peter the other day looking for gift ideas for him, and started playing this baby, and I'm hooked. I need it. I love it. I played the New Super Mario Bros. which I thought was so cool and just like the very first one, none of this 3D crap. I'm a Nintendo lover from the start, and got an N64 last year, which I still play all the time.
Also, I found a dress whilst Christmas shopping today which I love, and hope to get. I want a cable knit sweater. I know I'm getting some type of pyjamas for Christmas Eve (our new tradition) so that'll be great. Books and bath stuff are usually a Christmas staple for me, especially for those people who don't know me as well, they're always a great go-to. Peter, lucky for me, has wonderful taste, and I've never had to be one of those women who end up saying, "Oh, honey...you shouldn't have. Really." I knew a woman who got hiking boots for her first anniversary. For me, good idea. Unfortunately, she was an indoors, "my idea of a vacation involves a five star hotel" kinda gal. So yeah, not too worried about my gifts, and honestly, though it's hokey, I really like giving them better than getting them.
For example, nothing on my Christmas list excites me half as much as what I'm getting for Peter this year. I'm nearly busting at the seams. I may borrow a video camera to tape him while he gets it. I can't say what it is, in case he sees it or someone lets it slip, but I promise to post some good Christmas pictures later.
Also, tomorrow morning I'm heading to my mom's house to bake Christmas cookies with her and Robyn all day, before the boys get back and we all decorate the tree. This paints a much more traditional picture than what will actually transpire. I will inevitably screw up whatever batch of cookies my mom leaves in my care, no matter how easy the recipe, or how closely I follow along. I will end up feeling like less of a proper wife and woman because of this, however will be greatly cheered by Robyn being silly all day and much laughing that always goes on whenever Robyn, Mom and I get together. We'll decorate their tree and eat a few of the good cookies (mine will be thrown out or hidden in the back of the freezer) and I'll get to play with Baby Lu. Should be a good day. Saturday, Peter and I are ambitiously hoping to finish our Christmas shopping, and set up our own tree that night.
I love, I love, I love Christmas.
I'm such a heathen. Really I am: they may not let me into Heaven. I am ashamed to admit publicly here, that few things get me into the Christmas spirit like an eggnog chai latte from Starbucks, in the pretty Christmas paper cups. I don't even get the sleeves for the cup, even though the coffee then burns my hands, because I don't want to cover up the cup and ruin the experience, though the sleeves are really pretty this year (they gave me one without asking - stupid baristas with their customer service crap).
It may be an addiction. Last year, Peter's sister and I, -in a solitary Christmas shopping day- bought three. One when we left town for the trip, one for the walk around the mall, one after dinner for dessert. Peter and I are a little financially tight right now, as it's the end of the month, and I've bought at least three already. And one more because the drive-thru lady was slow in making one (again with the service at that place) so I got a coupon for a free one the other day. I've only known the Christmas drinks were out for a week. I have asked about their Christmas decorations in the store, because I want them. Especially the paper tree with the village cutout. Okay, I've likely lost you now. Laughing at me yet? Just wait, it's worse.
Peter and I were thinking of going to see a movie tonight. Instead, we went and looked around Future Shop for Christmas gift ideas, which of course required the aforementioned latte, and while in the Starbucks I again inquired about how I can get my little heathen paws on their decorations without actually committing some kind of crime, and then... I sacrificed our movie, to buy two of these. (Peter and I have a deal that I have to give something like that up if I want something completely frivolous - we borrowed a dvd from Robyn instead of going to the theatre)
It's an illness, I'm telling you. But I'm so excited. Now I can get up and have my morning coffee in one of the pretty cups. I can even look at my paper cup, figure out the cool barista code for the side of the cup, and write it on my new mug with a Sharpie. I can't tell you how this appeals to me. I don't care that in two months, they'll be packed away in a box to wait till next year. The idea of sitting in front of the Christmas tree, with a fire in my fireplace, with my new mug in my hands actually makes my heart flutter a little bit.
So there you have it. My colossal sin. I'm a Christmas consumer. I love the malls, the crowds, the presents (will blog about the wish list later), Santa, his reindeer, the trees, the lights, the music. I don't care if you say happy holidays, merry Christmas, or happy Hanukkah, I will smile at you and feel warm inside while scalding my hands on my expensive latte.
Note To All Good Christians: O Holy Night makes me cry, every single year. I love candlelit Christmas Eve services at church, and I really do think "Jesus is the reason for the season". I love Nativity scenes, and like every good Christian, I will go see the new Nativity Story this year. Promise. I made three shoe boxes for Operation Christmas Child, and wish I could have made thirty. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, but indulge me: Go to the nearest Starbucks right away. Ask for a grande chai eggnog latte. Get whipped cream and nutmeg on top. Walk out into the cold, looking at your pretty red paper cup and take a sip. I swear to you, it's like Christmas in a cup. If you can't afford it, let me know, and I'll mail you four bucks. After all, it's Christmas.
Due to a crazy storm here, the ferries stopped sailing. We couldn't get to Vancouver, thus, couldn't go to the concert. We got our tickets refunded, our hotel room refunded, and are currently sitting at home. I'm so mad, I just don't even want to talk about it. I want much less, someone to ask me tomorrow, "so, how was the concert?" We didn't go. Blast and Wretch.
If you've never heard of the band "Over The Rhine", before now, welcome. I love this band. I love her voice, I love how haunting and beautiful their music is and the way their lyrics reach out and grab you. The first time I ever listened to them was on an 18 hour train ride in India. It was hot, I felt ill, and so so tired. Peter gave me his discman and told me "hey, listen to this, I think you'd really like it". I was transported.
They're a husband and wife team, they're Christians, but they aren't exactly a Christian band, they're a little more outside the lines than that. They play clubs and churches, and write music that anyone can relate to regardless of what they believe. I don't think I'd call them happy music, not something to listen to when you're driving in the sunshine with the windows open. More of a driving through the rain in the dark after a hard day and needing something to validate what you feel as opposed to trying to cheer you up. It's romantic, it's quiet, it's more instrumental than a lot of stuff.
Anyway, at church on Sunday, we saw in the BC Christian Times laying next to the programs, that they were in Vancouver. On Wednesday. I called my mom and dad and told them that going to this concert would be better than anything they could get us for Christmas, we'd die to be able to go. They're playing in a little college chapel for a crowd of 250 if the tickets sell out we called this morning and they'd only sold 180. My wonderful parents, though firmly believing that a Christmas gift in November is a total crap idea, gave this to us as our early Christmas gift. We catch the ferry to Vancouver tomorrow and are going to spend the night, and come back on Thursday.
I'll post pictures when I get back. Until then, check out the link, listen to some music on the little player there. You can skip around if the current song doesn't catch your ear. My favorite may be "Jesus in New Orleans" and it's a good reflection of what they do. They're mildly controversial, but only to the church, though they're both firm believers. There's a few drinking references in their music, and once a cuss word in one song that I was surprised to hear, which is likely why it was there. I don't think this makes them "not a Christian band", since in the course of the day I've had a drink and likely said something I shouldn't. Their music is honest and heartfelt, and I love that about it. And tomorrow night I get to see them live. Thanks mom and dad. Merry Christmas to you, you're the best.
...so while I'm proof-reading this post, the player on the Over The Rhine site played the song "Latter Days" and it may be my new favorite. Nice stuff. Have a listen.
I feel terrible admitting this, but some days, I just want everyone to see things my way. And not on issues of right and wrong, or any moral dillema, or any life question, but in things like, "tonight let's watch Iron Chef and not football highlights, not a one, not even while Iron Chef is on commercials." There is no excuse for this. I feel selfish lately. I am officially the biggest jerk alive. I am this obnoxious girl with her face in the camera (but isn't she cute?!)
Sidenote: my husband occasionally has to put up with a lot. He deals with this very very well, and did watch Iron Chef, a rerun no less, last night, and did the dishes during commercial breaks. I am lucky. Sometimes, I put up with a lot, but you just aren't going to read about that here. He's amazing, and as stated numerous times before, I am LUCKY. Maybe the luckiest girl alive.
Anyway, I work with all men. I live with only a man. Unless my mom comes into town to take me shopping, or Robyn pops over with Luke (as she is about to do momentarily) I sit alone in my house, hoping for an e mail message from work that gives me a task, which doesn't usually arrive due to a complication that I don't fully understand, but is completely normal, don't worry, check back tomorrow.
So lately, I've been feeling very selfish. You'd think, with all this time to myself, I'd have time to sit with my bible and read and become a better person, but I don't seem to. I just seem to be a bit edgy lately, and little things make me tense. I'm not angry, but I'm, well, crap, I'm a girl.
Anyway, I've decided to try and do some selfless things to balance myself out. Last night, I took my well deserving husband, made him a nice dinner, and after watching Lost (don't EVEN get me started) and then alas, Iron Chef, I told him he was going to have a nice relaxing bath. I made it smell all manly. I gave him a facial treatment and a glass of wine. And funnily enough, I felt better afterward. Getting my way doesn't always make me feel as good as I think it will in the moment. As cliche as it is, doing something nice for someone else, always makes me feel good. Every time.
Peter understands this. Last night I wanted to be taken out on the town, though financially right now, that's a dumb decision for us. Peter offered to make sandwiches for us instead. I got over myself and I made us a good dinner, and he cleaned up, and we had a great evening. Thank goodness I married someone who knows when to give me my way, get out of my way, or get in my way and tell me how silly I'm being.
Christianity right now is big on the word "relevance". What does it mean to be relevant? What does it look like practically, and most important, how is that done without compromise? Now, I believe the Bible to be true, that you can't whitewash it so that it makes people more comfortable. Jesus is not my homeboy, he is still Lord. However, as we learned from Becky's blog we do all approach God in different ways. Just because someone isn't a Christian doesn't mean that a desire for a relationship with Christ isn't built into them, the same way it is in me. The difference is, that I can identify that longing, they cannot.
Now, I've been on a few missions trips in my life. I do not know a missions organization that does not believe in something called an "Open Air". If you know that term, or worse, have participated in this, you are cringing already. If you do not, allow me to enlighten you: An Open Air is an evangelical event staged by young people in the most public place they can find. Usually in front of a subway station in Japan, or a mall in the Philippines. It consists of a "relevant" (there's that word again) dance or drama done to the latest Christian hit song, and is meant to get people staring at you in the hopes that when the jazzy little number is finished, people will stick around, read a tract, and get saved. It has worked in the past. The 70's did really well with them. Now, if someone does hang around and is faced with the Truth for the first time in their life, they have the patented response "Well, that's awesome. Good for you, but that's not truth for me." What is a good little dancing Christian to do? Argue apologetics? Who cares anymore? A few people, but not "all the world". Not our world, the western culture we now live in.
I have been amazed though, to see a few things that did work. People who sat down and really thought and prayed about how to reach the world they lived in. Ideas that translated to all the world.
A locally owned business in Kona, Hawaii, made the best shaved ice (never had one? you're seriously missing a joyous moment in life). As seen by the review here, they are always packed, always have a line out the door and into the street. In the corner of this little establishment, was a box with some papers next to it, and a pen. All the box said was simply "Prayer Requests". The business asked for some kids from the YWAM base nearby to come once a week, empty the box, and pray for the requests inside. I got to be on that team. It was incredible. You wouldn't belive the things people asked for prayer for. "My daughter ran away, I miss her, I can't find her, I know she's doing drugs" or " I just found out I have cancer, I don't know how to tell my family". Some had contact info. We called, and chatted, told them we were praying. What does this say to the world? "You don't believe in God? It's okay for now, I do, and I'll ask my Dad this one for you. Why? Because I care about you. Not just about your eternal salvation, but about your life. The crap you're living through." God bless Scandanavian Shaved Ice.
At UC Berkeley, an annual festival is held. I will get numerous facts wrong here, but the main thing is that Berkeley is a proudly Liberal school. The festival every year hosted little student made booths for fortune tellers, tarot card readers, things of a sexually explicit nature, etc etc. The place turns into something like Sodom and Gamorrah for a few days every year. So the few Christians on campus decided to sit down and see if they could make a booth that would appeal to people, and still spread the gospel in some way that would be relevant to these students. They decided on a confessional booth. They dressed like nuns and monks and went all out. It seemed appropriate for the setting, but there was a twist. They festival arrived, and sure enough, the students see the booth, start laughing, and think it's all a big joke. They go in and start confessing to all these terrible things they've been up to during the festival. The monk, or nun, stops them, and says "no, this booth doesn't work like that. I'm confessing to you." The students are stunned. "Confessing what?" they ask curiously, and likely a little drunk. "Well," they say, "what is it about the church that really, really bugs you?" And out come the stories. Molested by a pastor. Written off as a whore because the skirt she wore to church the only time she dared to go, was much too short. One guy had a really hard time with the Crusades. "What was that all about anyway?" And these young Christians confessed and asked forgiveness for it, on behalf of the church. Regardless of the denomination, or how many years had passed since our transgression, they apologized. They asked them to forgive them on behalf of the church, and they told them why it was wrong. How God really must have felt when that pastor used that girl. Did those kids do the crimes? Nope, not a one. They didn't take part in the Crusades, but they apologized for it. And why not? What did it cost them? Better yet, what did it say? "On behalf of a God you mistrust based on a bad experience, or a misunderstanding, I'm sorry you're hurting. I care about the way the church is seen in the world, and I'll do my part to make it up to you, on behalf of a God that I know loves you very much." The students reported amazing things from that confessional. People were healed of old wounds and hurts, they came to Christ, they repented back for doing things to hurt Christianity in general and specifically, they asked questions, they wept, they met God. God bless UC Berkeley.
And today, I found this on Claudia's blog. Some guy is going around giving out free hugs. He just wanted to brighten people's day. No questions asked. So I looked around YouTube, found his story. What a guy. People are literally taking this into all the world. They're giving out free hugs all over the place. Strangers standing around with a sign. And if you watch the clip, people aren't just giving awkward hugs. They're embracing. They're holding each other. They're loving each other as best they know how, in a hard world, where sometimes we all just need a shoulder, a moment when someone embraces us and makes us feel, for just a second, like it's all going to be okay. We're not alone. The clip that really got to me, is that someone took it to Israel. They're giving out hugs in the most war torn spot on the planet, a place that has been in turmoil from within, and assaulted from without more times than any other place in history, throughout all of history. Good for them. I want a hug. God bless Juan Mann.
Some girls I went to YWAM with, instead of doing the normal (if you can call it that) Open Air decided to try something new. They baked cookies all day one day, and then hit the streets of Suva, Fiji the next. They made a sign, "Free Cookies and Prayer". You could walk up, have a cookie and leave. Or, if you needed someone to believe when you couldn't or didn't, you could have someone else approach the God of all creation, and ask for you. No worries. God bless April and Kelsey.
Thanks to Claudia, who made me remember this today with her blog. You really can go into all the world and spread the gospel. You can use words, or you can give someone a hug. You can show them that though the nature and character of God doesn't change, we can emphasize the parts of it that are relevant to the audience we're speaking to. God is the most humble being in the universe, he loves repentance and reconcilliation, he asks us to stand in the gap for others, and believe for them, he asks us to bless others and not expect anything back.
Someone I knew once had spent all this time building a friendship with an unsaved person overseas, in the hopes that his friendship would "open a door". Good call. But the friend asked him one day "If you knew that I would never get saved, would you still be my friend? Would you still care about me?" I hope I would. Because getting them saved isn't my job. God does not command us to lead people to Christ. He commands us to love them.
When people ask me where I'm from, I get a confused look on my face. I don't know. I've moved well over 40 times, and I've lived in Canada, the USA and Mexico. "I'm Canadian" I usually say; and though I wouldn't call myself patriotic, I know that I derive a small amount of identity from what my passport says on the front.
