A Few of my Favourite Things

Last night as I lay in my bed and watched the lightening flash repeatedly, I was reminded of The Sound of Music, one of my favourite musicals. That song in the thunderstorm scene is just so catchy! And, as part of my elementary school choir repertoire, it is firmly implanted in my long term memory, every single cuddly schnitzley word. We must have had a Julie Andrews thing going at my school since I also know every word to "Let's go Fly a Kite." But I digress. 

In honour of this most auspicious piece of music I thought I would make a list of a few of my favourite things. Which, oddly enough, has very little overlap with the beloved mentionings of the von Trapp children and their delightful nanny. I have no love of whiskers on kittens, and I distinctly dislike woolen mittens, which when damp smell disgusting. So here is my list of things that bring me joy "when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad..."

Disclaimer: this list does not include people. This is not to say that there aren't persons who would be favourites when I'm feeling sad, but this is a list of favourite "things". And people aren't things. 

1. Canadian spelling of words like favourite! This is really not the most important thing to list here, but I'm feeling somewhat irritated that every time I type favourite it is underlined with that silly red wiggle that indicates that this site has no idea of the proper way to spell such words. Clearly. :) 

2. Jello jigglers. By Jello, I don't mean the actual name brand of sugary colour (another wiggly underlined word) laden gelatin that you buy in the grocery store. But it sounds weird to call them squares of fruit juice fortified by loads of gelatin powder. So Jello jigglers it is. I love to take 100% fruit juice and make my own jello that wiggles and jiggles and glows in the light with natural jewel tones of red and purple. I love the look, I love the texture, they just make me feel happy. 

3. My blanket. As long as I can remember I have adored my blanket on my bed. It's not always the same one, obviously. But the one thing that they all have in common is that they are made of 100% cotton and are both warm, and cool at the same time. As a young child I used to dream about what it would be like if I could have a room in which my cotton comforter covered the floor, the ceiling and all the walls! Weird perhaps, but there you have it. 

4. Cool breezes that drift in through my window. This should not be confused with a love of cool breezes outdoors. I'm not so much an outdoors person and anyone who knows me will immediately recognize that as an understatement! But I do love the cool breezes that come in through my window while I am lying in my bed with my aforementioned blanket.

5. Thunderstorms. One individual in my life, who has had his house hit by lightening, has suggested that I might not have a proper respect for lightening and that had my house been hit by lightening I wouldn't love storms quite so much. This is likely true. But since I haven't had that experience, I continue to adore the loud crashes and the bright flashes of a good Manitoba thunderstorm, even better when accompanied by some much needed rain. 

6. Melted cheese that has been broiled to a lovely crust. Need I say more?

7. Stories aka fiction. Since I have already written extensively about this, I won't do so again. 

8. Colour. I have a thing for bright colours. I went through a brief phase of wearing dark or respectable looking clothes sometime in the late 90's and early 2000's, and then I came to my senses. I love deep jewel tones and bright colours that remind me of flowers or tropical waters. I know that at times it embarrasses others when I walk about in bright pink crocs, or teal crocs, or purple crocs. But...that's just too bad. The world has a enough darkness in it without my adding to it.

9. Snow. I love snow, and winter, and cold. I always have. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I get heat stroke and sunburn, or maybe I just love to have my nose hairs freeze together, or maybe it's both. I don't know. But nothing is quite as glorious as standing out in the middle of a flat prairie field covered in pure white snow, looking up into bright blue sky and having the breath just catch in your throat. 

10. Hugs. Good hugs. Not awkward side hugs, or limp-insincere-it's so nice to see you hugs, or awww poor baby hugs. I like good strong, darn it I'm glad you were born kind of hugs where your stuffing threatens to come out and your ribs feel a bit bruised.

11.Simplicity. By this I mean a complete lack of clutter. A good wooden shelf should not be hidden by all manner of kitschy dust catchers that detract from the glorious sheen of the wood (not the sheen of veneer or melamine or whatever).

12. Wood. I have always loved wood. It depresses me to see all of the cheap compressed garbage that today passes as furniture and tomorrow floods our landfills. I am endlessly proud of the beautiful end table (my favourite piece of furniture in my parent's house), the kitchen cabinets, the desks and the doll cribs that were carefully and labouriously crafted by my dad and which will probably last for a century if cared for. Living in Indiana and being able to occasionally walk through Amish furniture stores was probably not a good thing for me in terms of not coveting things. 

13. Chopping vegetables. I often get a warm fuzzy feeling when I put on my hideously filthy apron (which is washed regularly but no longer comes clean) and chop vegetables. Especially if I'm making soup. I love to make soup. Big huge pots of soup. 

14. Kneading dough. Almost nothing in the world makes me feel more...shalom-like than baking bread. I love the smell of yeast, the springy stretch of the dough, the woosh of air when you punch it down after it rises, and the neat little buns on their pans covered by clean dish towels. Yes I know I can't actually eat bread. But that doesn't stop me from making it and giving it away. And while many people these days are enamoured with baking all manner of flaxy grainy hearty loaves (which I am certainly in favour of), I just want to bake sinful white buns, golden brown on top with tiny white freckles. The freckles were my grandma's sign that the buns were perfect. No freckles, and out the buns went (often to our house!).

15. Stuffed animals. As long as I can remember I have loved stuffed animals. I collect them. Right now I'm working on a zoo. I have an elephant, crocodile, monkeys, camels, sheep, tiger, giraffe, walrus, beluga whale, shark, dolphin, turtle...I remember one particular night when I was quite young that I lined up all my animals around the perimeter of my bed and around three sides of my pillow. Then I carefully climbed into my bed and slept surround by them all night. I love animals (mostly mammals), but I'm allergic to a lot of them, and scared of the rest, so stuffed ones just seemed like the best bet. They don't make me sneeze. 

16. Reruns of M*A*S*H and Wayne and Schuster. Such fond memories. 

17. My blanket...oh I already said that one. Oops.

18. Trivia games. I love trivia, and word games. My dad and a few other people are willing to play word games with me. But nobody ever wants to play trivia games. It makes me sad. My favourite games as a child were IQ 2000 and Teacher's Quiz. So while these things bring me joy, they don't get to do so very often. So thanks to all those people who play Words with Friends with me!

19. Mystery. This probably sounds a bit vague. But I chose this word because it covers a lot of territory. I love mysteries, as in crime novels and whodunit kinds of things. But I also love things that look mysterious. Cloth, furniture, or objects that look like they come from distant lands or ancient times. Music that reminds me that there is a world beyond the one that I inhabit. Fables and tales that introduce me to the previously unknown. That's part of what I love about the biblical story, it takes me to other places. 

20. Underwater tropical pictures with fish and coral and stuff. I love the bright colours, and again a sense of mystery and the unknown. I have no desire whatsoever to actually go snorkeling or anything, I never have. But my sister always wanted to and she loved to swim underwater. Whenever I see a picture like that I imagine her swimming among the fish with her hair streaming out behind her, blue eyes flashing with excitement and joy. 

21. Verenke. For those of you non Russian-Mennonites, these are boiled pocket of dough filled with cottage cheese and salt and pepper and covered in cream gravy. They are even better fried in butter and smothered in cream gravy and strawberry sauce. This is the ONLY food that I have never developed a food aversion to even after throwing them up when I had the flu. Though I think my sister might have since she watched me throw them up on a huge fuzzy red pillow in our basement. 

22. Crepes with brown sugar. As a child my mom used to make us crepes for breakfast and we would just put brown sugar in them and roll them up by sticking a fork in the right hand side of the top of the crepe and spinning it across the plate. Makes sense if you see it. Even though these made me ill every time, I still loved them. And now I know how to make them without wheat or dairy! So I can keep loving them. 

23. Things in neat rows and clean lines. I don't have OCD. Not quite anyway. If I wasn't so bad at math I probably would have been an accountant. My favourite part of accounting class in high school was the grid-lined paper!

24. Having the ability to make things. I love to make things. Just simple things. I don't like to challenge my brain with new crochet patterns, or sewing clothing. But just single crochets, and sewing straight lines. The fun is in choosing the yarn or the fabric. I let someone else do the hard work. Then I just have the joy of sewing straight lines, or gentle curves (not circles, if I can help it!), or making scarf after scarf. You should see how many scarves Alicia has! 

25. The smell of fresh mown grass as I watch someone else mow it! I can't stand mowing, but the smell is intoxicating!

26. Blue skies and fluffy white clouds. I missed those so much when I lived in Elkhart. Manitoba has great sky. 

27. Chocolate! 

It's amazing how many favourite things I have once I start listing them!

Paws in Motion

This month it will be 6 years since my sister passed away. Some days it feels like only months, and at other times if feels like much longer. Often during my days there are little things that trigger memories for me of my sister. Things like turtles, bobble heads, red roses, interesting candles, and especially anything that has to do with cats. 

Cathleen, who was often called Cat by her friends was passionate about cats. She loved unique cat-themed art and had some interesting pics hanging on her walls, and she adored her own cats like they were her children or dearest friends. And I have to say, I have never seen animals act as much like people as her cats did with her, litter box not withstanding.  

When Cathleen died she had one blue tipped and one orange tipped Himalayan fur ball, Meika and Brazen respectively. Meika is pictured above. Most often she had their fur trimmed so they looked like lions with balls of fluff on the end of their tails, smooth bodies and large manes of fur. Each time the cats went to get a haircut they would come home completely humiliated and would refuse to go anywhere near a window for days afterward for fear of seeing their reflection! But the haircuts were simply another way that my sister showed her love for her cats since a long haired Himalayan is particularly prone to nasty hairballs. 

Some time before Cathleen died she had a different older cat, I can't remember its name anymore, who was ancient and missing most of its teeth. She babied it and talked to it like it was a human companion. And the cat responded in kind. When the day finally came for the cat to be put down (it was simply too sick and was suffering), Cathleen held it on her lap as my mom drove her to the vet's and talked to it about what it was seeing out the window. And the cat looked at everything that Cathleen pointed out as if it was taking in the scenery on the drive to Winkler (if I remember this story correctly).  There is really no way to express in words the amazing relationship that Cathleen had with her cats. 


Perhaps the most interesting story comes from after Cathleen died. Knowing the love that Cathleen had for Meika and Brazen, my parents could not just sell or give away the cats, so they took them into their home, despite having vowed never to have indoor pets. Knowing that the cats would feel very lonely and disoriented, I think they imagined that they could ease the cats' sense of loss by giving them a loving place to live surrounded by their familiar toys and scratching posts. However, in this new space I think the love my sister showed her cats started to spill over as Meika and Brazen began to comfort my parents. Whenever they saw my parents crying, or sensed that they were sad or upset, they would crawl up onto their laps, place their paws on their shoulders and gently stroke them with a paw until they seemed to feel better. 

At my sister's funeral those in attendance were invited to make donations to the Winnipeg Humane Society in honour of Cathleen. My niece Aimee decorated an amazing cat-themed picture frame which featured the picture from the beginning of this post for the donation table as a reminder for all of us of who Cathleen was and the love that she showed to her "babies." 

This year, in memory of my sister and her love of animals, my roommate Alicia and I (and possibly other family members) will be participating in the Winnipeg Humane Society's Paws in Motion Walk on June 24th. It seems like a wonderful way to remember Cathleen, and to pass on the love she had for animals to others, especially since I can't embrace animals in a tangible way due to allergies. :)


Please consider sponsoring either Alicia or myself as we walk in memory of Cathleen. Simply click here to visit our team page, Cat's Fam, and then click on our names on the right-hand side of the screen to donate. Thank you for helping us to remember Cathleen in this way!

Fiction!

Fiction, I have always loved fiction. For as long as I can remember I have adored poring over book after book of adventures and mysteries from other times, other lands. Some of my most vivid childhood and adult memories are of the books I have read. Richard Scarry books filled with pictures of a strange little worm in a strange little hat, and an even stranger ape wearing dozens of watches. I read My Big Book of Fairy Tales, and My Giant Book of Fairy Tales and better yet, the more exotic book of Fairy Tales that my Aunt sent me for Christmas one year that had fairy tales from China and other countries more interesting than my own. I read The Monster at the End of this Book, or I had it read to me so many times I think my parents thought they might loose their minds. I remember at my birthday party in grade 3 I was given the book Farmer Boy and realized for the first time that people actually wrote books long enough that I couldn't read them all in one sitting and even better, they wrote several books that formed a series. Often when I had reached the end of a book I felt somewhat devastated that the story was over, so for me the discovery of the sequel, the trilogy and the series was akin to heaven.

As a kid from the country trips to the library usually had to be tacked on to trips to run errands in town. I would get as many books as I was allowed and had started them by the time we were in the car and if we stopped at the Greenhouse, I could sometimes even finish one! Who could stand to wash dishes, sweep floors, clean bedrooms, weed gardens, when there were stories to be read, places to explore,strange people and creatures to meet. My mom found the perfect chore for me one year. Our newly planted row of evergreen trees needed to be watered and the garden hose moved every 20 minutes or so to the next tree. So there I spent my summer, seated in a lawn chair, book in hand, watch in the other, occasionally forgetting the watch until the puddle around the tree surrounded my feet. 

Once I had devoured everything I deemed worthy in the church library and the public library, finishing all the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, everything by L.M. Montgomery, and every book in the Mandi series (which I now can't believe I actually read), I began to purchase books with my allowance. Book after book. I look back with a degree of embarrassment at the quality of books that I purchased. I just didn't know better, or maybe people just weren't writing great books for kids then or perhaps they just weren't available in my small town bookstore. I have quite the collection of Babysitter's Club books amassed in the shelves at my parent's house (shudder).

I used to, and still, get asked why I bother buying books that will only be read once. Few people who really know me ask ever ask that question. I own almost no books that have been read only one time and some have been read upwards of 20 times! Yes, even the mysteries. Each time I delve into the world of the author and the characters the story comes to life in a new way. How could I read a good book only once!

In high school I discovered an Agatha Christie book on my dad's bookshelf, By the Pricking of my Thumbs. Old and somewhat dusty, I was desperate one evening for something to read and within a few pages I was hooked. Thank goodness Agatha Christie was a prolific author!  I spent the next four years digging up every one of her books that I could find.

I think it was probably in high school too when I began to realize that if a book was really not grabbing my attention, or if it was poorly written, then I didn't actually need to finish the book. What a completely bizarre thought. I remember holding a book in my hands and thinking about all the millions of books in the world and realizing that if I just slogged through the bad ones for no good reason, I would never get to all the good ones!

In junior high and high school I was also introduced to the world of Canadian, and even more specifically Prairie literature. If anything was going to turn me off of reading, I swear it could have been those years of English Literature classes. I just could not, and still cannot quite get my head around why I would want to read books about what was happening right outside my door. I know what harvest is, I was all too familiar with tumbleweed, drought, tractors, and eating sandwiches on the back of a pickup truck! And even now, while I value those things, and love life on the prairies (though I don't like dirt), I still don't want to read about it. Looking back I was probably the only kid in my Jr. high class that honestly preferred reading Word To Caesar over Who has Seen the Wind.

High school also led to the discovery of books about war and world issues and for a few years nothing held my attention like WWII. Growing up on a small farm in Southern Manitoba, and attending a Mennonite church made war a very foreign concept for me and for a time I just needed to dive into the world of war and pain and suffering. This is an experience that I have actually heard voiced by many others when they look back over their adolescence. Perhaps it is simply a time of trying to figure out what it means to suffer, or why people hurt each other the way we do. Who knows.

While I adore books of prose, I do not adore books of poetry.  The only poetry that I really find I value is liturgy and the Psalms. I can worship through poetry, but it does not satisfy my need for story. I feel remorse for every poor teacher who struggled to help me to understand that poetry is beautiful, that it tells a story in the fewest words possible, while I looked at them with utter disdain and a complete lack of comprehension. Why would anyone want to write a story in as few words as possible. I could not imagine. I even found, and honestly still find, short stories to be annoying. There is simply not enough there! Yes I know it's a craft blah blah blah...

Almost every day, evening, or night of my entire life has included reading fiction (or listening to it). Without it I am a mess it seems. Fiction grounds me like nothing else in the world. When I move to a new home, find myself in a new bed in a different city, I am comforted and grounded as I hold in my hands a favourite book that is a dear old friend. 

In the last number of years I have found myself especially drawn to youth literature. After years of mysteries and crime novels that had begun to numb my sense of what is good and whole, I needed a break. I needed books that have all of the suspense, the adventure, the drama, and none of the crass language, senseless violence, and random meaningless sex that much of mainstream fiction for adults has to offer. I needed stories and I found them. First I found Harry Potter, then Percy Jackson et al. (not as well written, but not much is), Artemis Fowl, Eragon, Among the Hidden, The Hunger Games and the list goes on.

People used to tell me that once I grew up there wouldn't be time to read so much, then they said when I was working there wouldn't be time, then they said when I was in university there wouldn't be time, then they said when I was pastoring there wouldn't be time, then in seminary there wouldn't be time...but there always is. I find it. I have to. Stories are like water, food, sleep. 

I used to think the reason that I loved fiction so much was because I have an active imagination, but now I know that it is reading fiction that has created or developed my imagination (and my at times odd vocabulary). I know that when I look at a problem and see only one solution that I have not read enough fiction lately. I know when the world seems grayer and things seem impossible that I have spent too much time looking at the news or textbooks and not enough time fighting dragons or wandering through Diagon Alley.  

So, as a reader who is constantly searching for new books to read, I ask you (whoever you are), what books are your dearest old friends?

A dream

I have a dream, not a dream that happens at night in the deepest recesses of my subconscious, but a waking dream that is recurring. It's a dream that I hold tentatively, because I know that, as usual, life is always more complicated than our dreams. 

I have a dream that someday young girls, adolescent girls, young women, middle-aged women, and older women will stand together and just say NO. A deep, firm, loud NO. They will surround advertising agencies and TV stations and protest loudly, they will make YouTube videos that go viral in seconds, they will march down our streets and through our shopping malls and say NO. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to try to convince us that all females should be blonde or that if we are naturally blonde we are stupid. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to take every line and wrinkle off of every model in every magazine, and cover up every spot on every actress so that we think that that is normal. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to make it appear that body hair is an abomination so that we grow frantic in attempts to get rid of all traces of hair save that on our head. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to encourage me for years to be a princess, but when I act like one, all it gets me is trouble. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to send me to school, to teach me that I can be anything, to expose me to the wonders of learning, and then through every means possible tell me that my worth is determined by what I look like and what I own, not who I am and the choices I make. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to taunt me with decadent pictures and cooking shows filled with cupcakes and rich food and encourage me that I should indulge myself because I'm worth it. And in the next breath remind me that it's time to cut out the sweets and get back on that treadmill. 

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to convince me that my skin is too light, too dark, too olive, too yellow, too pink, too...

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to tell me and show me that if I am short I need to be taller, if I am tall I need to be shorter, if I am pale I must be darker, if I am dark I must be lighter, if I have brown eyes they should be blue, if I have blue eyes they should be brown, if I have small breasts they should be larger, if I have large breasts they should be smaller...

They will say NO - it is not okay for you to manipulate me from almost the moment of birth with your messages that say "YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH!"

Because I AM ENOUGH! WE ARE ALL ENOUGH! All of us. Every single one of us is enough. 

And then they will say, we are no longer listening to your messages. 

They will say - I choose to look into the mirror and smile. 

They will say - I choose to look at the girls and women around me and bring out the best in them. 

They will say - I choose to do what is good and healthy for my body and my spirit and encourage others to do the same. 

They will say - I will choose to be thankful for what I have and to give to those who have less. 

They will say - I will choose to look into the green, brown, blue, violet, hazel, black eyes of the other and see the tender hand of God. 

They will say - I will choose to explore the world and all the things that I can see and do in the world to make it a better place for all of us. 

They will say - I will choose to love myself as a whole being. 

They will say - I will choose to find the beauty in everyone that I see, even if it will be hard at first.

And the crowds would cheer. And tears would flow. And women would embrace. And, in my dream, men would stand in awe of the beauty they see before them and remember that they are also enough.

We are all enough. Women and men. We are not more loveable or more human if we own an ipod. It is not true that our lives will be more fulfilled with a tablet or a better iphone. Our families will not develop better relationships if we buy a new car. We will not be more complete human beings if we have a softer/harder mattress, or if we have thicker eyelashes, or if our foundation has better coverage, or if we have the newest princess movie, or if our wrinkles go away. Our lives will not be fulfilled if we find just the right man, or if we lose just another 5 lbs, or if we get just the right highlights, or if our nails are just the right shade, or if we visit a tanning bed.

These are lies. 

The truth is that we are enough. We are, each one of us, valuable human beings, no matter what we look like, no matter what our ethnicity, no matter how much we make, or what we own. 

That's what I believe is true. And so I hang onto my dream. 

But the problem with my dream is, that there is no real objectifiable "you" in this equation. It would be so much easier, I think, if there was. We could just blame "them", those people out there who are hurting "us". It is so much easier to blame the advertisers, or the TV stations, or the models, or the actresses, or "secular society" or "consumer society" or whatever label we want to give the "you". Then we could just be victims of the evil "you." But the the problem is that "you" is really all of us. We are all part of the system. Some of us create the ads, some of us model in them, some of us sell the product, some of us buy it, or some of us encourage others to do so. Each one of us that buys into the myth and supports it through our words, actions, dollars, and cents is the "you."  And it's hard to protest against ourselves. That would mean admitting that we've made a mistake. That we've made bad choices. That we've bought into the lies, we've spread the lies, we've perpetuated the lies, we've lived the lies. 

But doesn't that also mean we have control? That we can actually stop lying? Doesn't it mean that we actually have the power to choose not to lie? Doesn't it mean that we don't have to take on the entire amorphous world of advertising, but instead simply look at our own choices? Doesn't that mean that each one of us actually has the power to look into the mirror in the morning and tell the truth? To look into the eyes of the other and tell the truth? To walk out into the world living the amazing truth that we are, each one of us valuable human beings, that we are enough?

I think it does.

So instead of simply hanging onto my dream of banishing the lies in some monumental protest movement, which some of you might have found corny, I think I'll simply try, each day, to live the truth. It likely won't be easy, but at least it's a start.

Rest

Today the world stopped. At least my corner of the world stopped. At 11:45am the power went out and and for 1.5 hours the world stopped spinning, at least that's how it seemed to me.

And it felt like heaven. 

For the first 1/2 hour I went through the usual routine of trying to discover why the power was out. Was it a breaker, was it just our house? I talked to a neighbor, using our landlord's phone since ours is cordless. She hadn't noticed, but when I told her she realized she had no power either. I called the hydro company and got the recorded message that unleashed my hour of bliss. "There is a broad scope power outage for the South western portion of Winnipeg. Crews have been dispatched and we have no estimated time for the completion of repairs", they said.  Or something like that, anyway.

Hmmm...

What to do? During that first 1/2 hour I had realized that I could not use the internet, I could not use my phone, I could not use my microwave, I could not work on the broth that I was cooking or the chili I had just started, I could not mark papers (had to access the internet for that), and I could not even drive my car since the garage door requires electricity. And I had no idea when I would be able to do any of those things again. I was completely alone and I had nothing to do. 

So I curled up in my bed and picked up a book and I read. And I read. And I read. That's it. 

For one hour I thought of absolutely nothing but the story. I heard no noise beyond the settling of the house. I felt no pull beyond the scope of the narrative in my hands, which was fascinating, by the way.

For one hour I was a child again. Even better, since there was no possibility of anyone calling me to come for lunch or clean out the dishwasher, or do my homework. I was free. 

Absolutely free.

And it felt great. 

But I didn't realize what had really happened until the power came back on. For the first while it was okay. I allowed myself the space to finish reading my book, but after that I set it down and returned to the tasks I had been doing prior to the 11:45 power down. 

And it was awful. It still feels awful.  

I didn't realize that for an hour I actually slipped into the precious space called "rest". Not the kind of rest where I flop in front of the tv too exhausted to actually do all the things on the to-do list. Not the kind of rest where I engage in another activity, placing other commitments on the back-burner. Not even the kind of rest that comes from a Sabbath-keeping commitment. It was the kind of rest where one slips into holy space. It was the kind of rest that the core of my being longs for, that is part of my very DNA and that I have not experienced in a very long time. So long, I can't even remember.

And I didn't realize how sacred it was until it was gone. Until the phone started to ring with 1-800 numbers. Till the broth was boiling while the meat was browning, and the marking of papers loomed, and deadlines again sprung into my consciousness. 

I didn't realize how long it had been since I experienced total silence inside and out. How long it had been since my brain focused entirely on one thing; laying aside the clamoring voices of this noisy demanding world and all its tasks. 

And honestly, all I feel now is disoriented. 

What does it mean when something as central to life as rest puts me into a complete tailspin? What does it mean when silence, and focus, and attentiveness is actually disorienting, rather than re-orienting? 

My body knows which state of being it prefers. It knows instinctively where it wants to reside. I do not feel at home in meaningless chaos. I do not feel at home in the world of multi-tasking and frantic unconscious movement from one task to another. My body has spoken to me loudly and clearly today.

I know that it isn't possible to live one's entire life in the state of rest that I experienced for one precious hour. But I wonder what it means to carry that rest with me into my everyday life. I wonder what it might look like to live in a space where full and complete rest is familiar and rejuvenating, rather than foreign and disorienting. 

Sometimes I'm frustrated by my current state of unemployment. There are days it feels like a curse. Alicia and I have talked about our first 6 months in Winnipeg being a self-supported sabbatical. A time to re-orient ourselves to our new surroundings. A time to settle. A time to pay attention. Perhaps it is also a time to discover what it really means to rest. 

Theology Matters!

Here I am, ranting again. And this is a rant that's been festering for a REALLY long time. Although for people who know me well they would say that this is a rant that they've heard for years. But it's a new rant for my blog and I'm feeling ticked, so here I go (again). 

Theology matters! It really does. And when I say this a lot of people would say, yeah, of course theology matters. It matters what we believe, how we interpret scripture, how we preach, how we explain our beliefs to other people, how we worship, how we live. These things matter. I don't know a lot of regular church-going people who would disagree with this statement. Theology matters, but does it matter all the time? Do we seriously pay attention to our words and practice consistently? By consistently I mean does our theology matter in various places, times, and with various groups of people? Well of course it does, right? Of course theology matters all the time. We can't just turn it on and off whenever we feel like it. Or can we?

I work a lot with children. I've read a lot of curriculum. I've heard a lot of children's times. I've led a lot of children's times. And one of the things I have noticed repeatedly is that theology doesn't matter for kids. Or at least adults seem to think it doesn't. Kids just need to be entertained. They don't really understand anyway. This stuff is really above their heads. We need to be age-appropriate. And even though a lot of people I meet wouldn't actually say these things, I've heard the stories, I've listened to the children's times, I've read the curriculum, and I've read between the lines and what I hear is that theology does not matter for kids.

Here I need to note that what I've noticed is not true across all times and places. I have read GREAT curriculum where the authors and editors have paid an incredible amount of attention to their theology (hear Gather 'Round here). I have read great children's Bibles such as those by Ralph Milton and Eugene Peterson and Desmond Tutu. And I have listened to fabulous children's times (I won't name all the people here because I'd forget someone). But generally I find that theology just doesn't matter when adults present things for children. 

I know, this sounds harsh. But when I hear a children's time that presents exactly the opposite theology as the sermon (in the same service) I just shake my head. When I read a children's Bible that moves straight from Jesus' ascension to Revelation I just shake my head (what happened to the rest of the NT?). When I listen to adults talk about how they have wrestled throughout their lives to reconcile some piece of their faith because of what they were taught when they were 5, I just shake my head. When I hear a theology of atonement taught to little ones that their parents would absolutely reject if it was preached from the pulpit, I just shake my head. And when churches require a master's degree for their lead pastor, and at the very least an undergrad degree for their associate or youth pastor, but have just anybody doing the work of leading the ministry to their children, including researching curriculum, I just shake my head. 

And I'm not saying that every single church needs to hire a person with a master's degree to work with Sunday school, but we do need to pay attention. The theology taught in our Sunday schools is the theology that our churches will follow in 20 years, I can almost guarantee it. A church that embraces a peace position but uses a generic "non-denomination" curriculum mass-produced in the U.S. will eventually have no peace position. What we teach our children, how we nurture our children's faith matter. A LOT! Our images of God and our understanding of our relationship to God is formed really really early on. This was only too evident in the atonement class I took in seminary where students struggled to hear various atonement theories, not able to release or augment whatever they had learned as young children, even if intellectually they knew that understanding to be deficient or in some cases simply wrong.

Theology matters for everyone. With every ounce of my energy with every cell in my body I know this. My heart aches when I hear children taught carelessly because I know that down the road those children will struggle and in some cases suffer greatly because of the lack of thought that went into their nurture. I will never forget the video we saw in our Human Sexuality and Christian Ethics class where a woman shared about her experience of being sexually abused; an experience exacerbated by the ill chosen words and detrimental theology presented to her in her Sunday school classes. My heart ached as I heard her story knowing that, while her church likely could not have prevented the abuse she experienced, they could have provided her with an understanding of God, of love, and of community that would have greatly impacted her healing. And though I can't remember exactly what her Sunday school teachers said to her, I remember thinking that I had heard those words from countless other mouths. They were not intentionally hurtful words, they were simply careless. 

And I know it is difficult to take theological concepts and complex biblical stories and present them to young children. I know this very well. However, I also know that it is possible to do so without compromising the message. I most often think of it as progressive revelation. Whatever we teach our children now must be consistent with what we hope they will know and grow into throughout their faith journey. It may be somewhat incomplete, but it cannot be in opposition. It cannot be in opposition! I cannot say this loudly or emphatically enough!

Right now I am marking papers for an undergrad class and sometimes I am shocked. These kids are struggling. Their theological world is being shattered in many cases, and not because they come from churches that embrace a different theological position than their professor or the school, though this is the case for a few individuals. Primarily their faith is being shattered because they have been entrusted with a simplistic and theologically compromised Gospel that in many cases is no Gospel at all. It is a list of dos and don'ts. It is a vending machine God. It is simplistic and individualistic. It is moral therapeutic deism. It is not a firm foundation on which to stand. It is not a foundation on which to grow. It is a shaky foundation that at best leads them to semi-regular church attendance and guilt-laden prayers and at worst leaves them feeling morally superior to non-Christians or those who share different understandings of morality. 

It is not okay to read a story to children in church about how we should be nice to people. It is not okay, even implicitly, to teach children that God is like a cosmic vending machine who is there to solve all our problems. It is not okay to teach our children that if we behave ourselves and are "good" little boys and girls then we will have everything we want. It is not okay to allow children's time or Sunday school to become less than a genuine proclamation of the Gospel message. And by genuine I mean full, deep, whole, biblically-based, theologically sound, and consistent with the teachings of our congregations. This is what we strive to offer our adults, what we strive to offer our youth, and what we have the responsibility to offer every child in our midst.

My heart aches.

Still Here, Still Passionate

Yes, I'm still here, no I've not given up on blogging. 

I find people blog for various reasons. One is to keep family and friends far away (or in the immediate vicinity, which I find odd) updated on their lives. Some people blog as a way of scrapbooking their children's lives. Some people blog as a way of processing their own personal work, like having an online therapist. Some people blog as a way to tell their story, to be heard. Some people blog in order to network with others. And then there are people like me who blog when they get upset or, as I prefer to think, righteously indignant about something. It's cathartic and I guess lately I just haven't been that ticked off. Or when I have been, I haven't been near my computer!

So if I'm not upset, why am I blogging you might ask. Well, today I'm choosing to use my blog for another, no less passionate purpose; advocacy! Winnipeg has two very important and valuable resources that I think need a plug (whether they're looking for one or not!). 

First, Mediation Services. This is a great organization that I think is being totally underused by churches. If Alicia didn't work there in the front office, I would never have known the extent of what they do. They are busy, they are successful and they are providing awesome services to a lot of people. A large part of what they do is actually provide mediation services for groups and individuals. They work closely with the court system, but they also work a lot with large and small businesses and more personal matters. Apparently they are the place to go when you and your neighbor just can't get along. But what I think is tremendous is the amount of classes and certificates that they offer and this is where I think churches need to get on board. 

This last week I took a one-day class called "Managing Unresolvable Problems." Where was this class when I was in seminary!? It was fabulous.Churches and schools, especially those that welcome hearing from people with varying opinions are constantly confronted by issues that cannot be resolved (worship wars, theological differences, tradition vs. change, planning vs. action etc.) The instructor was engaging and taught the material as one who has lived with it for a long time (thought he's not that old, probably about 40). And one of my favourite aspects of the class was its practicality. I learned theory interwoven with story, interwoven with practical application. We were up and moving in the room, we were working together, we were all actively engaged the whole time. Did my mind wander occasionally? Yes. But the reason it wandered was because I was actively imagining how I could use the material in various settings. And this was possible because he wasn't trying to cram TONS of material into one day. The amount of material was manageable! Quite a difference from seminary where I felt like I could never really internalize anything and figure out how to apply it because there was always more theory to learn. 

As I sat in this class all I kept thinking was where are the pastors? All those pastors who struggle with presenting a vision, with managing conflicting opinions, with living up to bizarre expectations because their predecessor did something that worked initially, but in the end led the church right back into their old rut. 

And Mediation Services offers so many more classes. Next week I'm taking "Dealing with Change", and I can't wait to take "High Stakes Conversations", "Culture and Conflict", "Dealing with Difficult People", "Transforming the Argument", and "Generations at Work". These are short one or two day seminars that give you a small amount of theory and practical tools that can really be applied anywhere (home, work, church etc.). Because the groups they work with are so diverse, they really present things in a way that can be helpful to everyone there. At least that was my experience. 

And taking that class reminded me that I really am a practical concrete learner, something that I struggled with a lot in my undergrad and grad work where abstraction is valued. For once I felt in my comfort zone!

This is really a great resource. So pastors out there who have continuing education budgets, this might be the place for you! It would be money well-spent. Here is the link to the Resolution Skills Centre which is the training wing of Mediation Services. http://www.resolutionskills.ca/

Second, the Mennonite Church Canada Resource Centre. This is another fabulous resource for Canadian churches. They carry books dealing with peace, theology, spirituality, music, children's ministry, youth ministry, pastoral care, children's books, curriculum, cd's, dvd's etc. The staff there do an amazing job at looking at what's out there and choosing good quality material that support an Anabaptist Christian understanding of the Gospel and what it means to be the church. Again, they have high quality material. It never ceases to amaze me what I can find when I go there. They also have a large database of downloadable material. Is your church looking at different ways to do parent/child dedication? Just go to their site and download material from various churches. Are you wondering what books you might like to put in your church library? Visit the site, or the centre and see what's new.

The material is not all Mennonite, though certainly anything published by Mennomedia can be found there. The staff make an effort to draw from many sources in order to offer the best material to their constituents. If you are part of an MC Canada church, this resource is FREE. And when I say FREE, I really mean it. If you live in B.C. and you see a book you'd like to check out, just call up the centre, or email and they will send it to you for FREE. And you can send it back for FREE. If you belong to a different denomination, you too can benefit from all the FREE-ness just by paying a small yearly fee (it really is small, like $20 or something). 

Right now the Centre's website takes a bit of practice to navigate, but coming soon is a brand new website that will be really user friendly, at least from what I've seen. 

This really is a great resource. I know, I know. You can just order it on Amazon. It's so much easier. It is easier, but it also costs money. And if you don't know what you're looking for, Amazon can be an nightmare to navigate. You can find anything on Amazon, and that includes a whole lot of crap. The resource centre does so much of the work for you and their staff are knowledgeable.They also give you the opportunity to practice creation care and good stewardship by checking out a book before you buy it or using it without having to buy your own copy. Church libraries should be all over this place!

Check it out!

http://www.mennonitechurch.ca/resourcecentre/Home 

All this is to say that I strongly support Mediation Services, and I strongly support the Mennonite Church Canada Resource Centre.

I'm not sure if you noticed.