Room Enough For Me

For anyone who has spoken with me over the past few months or has read my blog in any depth, you will have an idea of how important the community in which I live is a part of my life. I was attempting to work here part time while I'm away at school, but I was recently told that the funds weren't available for that. I was a little hurt at first, but I knew I would still come back.

My house leader (sometimes called a boss, but rarely) took me aside today to talk about me not being able to come back in a staff position. She knows how much this house has become a home to me in the past two summers and how much the people here have become a family. She wanted to know if the reason why I wanted to come back was so that I would have a place to stay. With my parents living close to the community, that wasn't really my concern, but her next words made me cry. She said that there will always be room for me here.

Every Christmas when I hear the Christmas story, I am struck by the inn keeper saying that there is no room here. It may be the Christmas music that the sunshine in this house loves so much, but I've been thinking about that a lot lately. I really had no idea how much it would mean to me to be told in specific words that this is my home and there will always be room enough for me.

Beyond offering a physical place to stay, even if it is just a small corner, I know that I am also being offered a place in people's lives and hearts. I am not being told that I am leaving for school. I am going back to school, but that doesn't stop me from being a part of the family here that has supported me for so long. I know that there are other homes for me as well. I have my parents home and my home in London. I have a place in the L'Arche house of Jubilee in London and I will form more homes as my life goes on, I'm sure. The offer of a constant place to stay means so much. What means even more is the offer of acceptance and love.

While I have a room waiting for me here when I return to London, I know that that is not the only room there will be for me. There will always be room at the table and a place in the hearts of many here who I will never really be able to leave behind.

Love Changes Everything

Yesterday I heard a sermon based on Hosea. Admittedly, this is not a book in the Bible that I have read. It was interesting to hear so much about it though. One of the ideas the minister drew on was the image of a couple in love. At this exact moment, I have very little trouble imagining this. In fact, I don't have to imagine it at all, because I am now one part of those sappy couples that you see in the street who can't keep their eyes off each other. The minister talked about a line from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Love Changes Everything. I can't help but agree with her.

Love is something we tend to limit to couples. We think in a very narrow definition of how we should and should not love. We are allowed to love only our family and close friends. It is when we begin to love those outside of that box, the helpless and the hopeless, that we get into trouble with the rest of society.

Mother Teresa once said this about working in India. "There are no great acts. There are only little acts with great love." She was so incredibly correct with a simple idea that we sometimes neglect to follow through with. Many of us rush through the day and want to do something good, we really do. We just lack the time to slow down and give people what it is that they are really looking for. Love.

There are always the corny sayings about making something with extra loving and tender care. I have no idea if that actually changes the flavor of anything, but I think it does help. There is a difference from making someone a cup of tea and making them a cup of tea with love. There is a difference from waking someone up and waking them up with love. There is a difference that we sometimes forget. We don't want the amount of love we put into anything make a difference because then we will notice how much many of our actions are lacking.

Love changes things in either what we get or what we give. Love has the power to change the way that we live, despite how much we try to ignore it. When we limit love and try to keep it to just one area of our lives, we show that we don't want to change. We want our lives to stay the way that they are because that's easier for us. It's easier to not see the extra colours in the world or hear the extra sounds. It's easy to lock our hearts away in order to not get hurt. When we do that though, we block out the power of change.

Somedays the change is something the creeps up on you and you don't realize it at all. Other days it is something the hits you like a ton of bricks. When you stop putting your own needs first and think about someone else before yourself. When you are willing to change your life for someone else. When you make plans not simply based on yourself. It is when we change that we grow. That is the power that love has in our lives. It has the power to change everything.

Everybody's Got A Story

This morning there was an interesting story in the paper. It was true story about a taxi cab driver. He was a doctor for 15 years in India and saved a boy's life by cutting open his throat in order to allow him to breath during encephalitic shock. With Canada being such a multicultural country, we sometimes forget that everyone has a unique story that they bring to the place they live.

The community in which I live, we are aware that everyone comes here with a story. Sometimes it is a story of a loving and supportive family, but other times it can be a story of hurt and abandonment. We are so aware that everyone here has a story and sometimes it is a story that we choose to not always share, such as a doctor who has been forced to become a cab driver.

There is an Amanda Marshall song called Everybody's Got a Story. The one line that sticks in my head the most is this. "Everybody's got a story that can break your heart." Sadly, it's true. Everyone does have a unique story that will break your heart at moments. It will also make you laugh wildly and wish that you could have done something they had the chance to.

It is very hard to see the whole picture for anyone. We don't get to see the whole picture, we just get to see a part. We can't make assumptions about someone because we're not sure what else is a part of their life. There are so many things we want to know, but we can't.

I'm aware that I have a story that I choose to hide a lot of the time in my life. I'm not sure why I feel the need to hide parts of my life, but I do. There will always be something that someone doesn't know about me, although not necessarily out of spite or malice. There are things people won't know because I don't trust them enough to tell them, or if I just don't think they need to know so much about my life.

With the story in the newspaper, I was reminded of the reality of stories in everyone's lives. Most of us don't do something daring enough to warrant an article in the paper, but there are small acts of heroism every day that become a part of our story.

Desire for Children

There is a discussion that I have often at my house. It is about the desire to have children. I live with a man who would make the best father in the whole world. He's in the process of changing his life in ways that I cannot imagine ever doing and that is one of the things he wants to change. He wants children. After listening to his reasons for wanting to create his own family, I really do understand.

Last night, I was sitting in worship with two girls on my lap. They moved around a lot and sometimes I only had one. At that moment, I knew exactly why I want to have children. That's not something that's going to surprise a lot of people, since my nickname is Mom and I have wanted children for the past seven years at least. Obviously, given the fact that I was far too young to start a family for most of that time, that hasn't happened yet. I'm still not yet in a position to completely consider the idea of having a child. I'm still in school, and my marital status is not yet a marital status at all. I'm old enough to want a child, but not yet at the position to have my own.

It's nice to live with someone who has similar views to this idea as I do. While I am not remotely in a position to have children, he is in more of one and yet not as well. The reason why he wants to have children is because they are such miracles. The whole idea and reality of holding a newborn child is amazing and miraculous in and of itself. When he held a friend's newborn son, he began to cry. That is the same way I feel.

There is this incredible feeling when you hold a child. I have no idea what it feels like to hold your own, but I do know what it feels like to have someone curl into you as though they want to become a part of you. I know what it's like to have a small hand in yours and to watch a little girl walk by and know that she is a miracle of potential.

The desire for children is not something that not a lot of people seem to understand in me. At least not a lot of people my age. Most people my age are simply looking for independence. I have different ideas about that though. I can have my independence, but until someone is dependent on me, it is simply an empty independence. It is not the idea of leaving a legacy really. It's the idea of being a part of creating a miracle.

Deliberate Vulnerability

This evening there was an interesting topic at worship. It was the idea of prayer and how to pray. I will be the first to admit that I don't pray out loud. I was raised in a tradition that that is just not what you did. There were different ways to pray and they were more acceptable. Those who prayed out loud were different. They were the ones always called upon to say grace when there's a gathering and mostly those who were in ministry.

Prayer brings you to a very vulnerable place. It is a place where you open your heart and simply be yourself. Pretending to be someone else when you pray really does nothing good at all. You have to come simply as you are, with whatever mistakes or successes that you have had. It is when you come with all of these that you place yourself in a deliberately vulnerable position.

It's hard to make yourself so vulnerable in front of anyone. Perhaps that is why so many people shy away from the idea of praying out loud. They are frightened of letting themselves be that open in front of someone else because they can sense how much they can be hurt at that moment.

Much of society is harder than it should be. People can be very judgmental and use what is seen as vulnerability to hurt. I don't know exactly when we started to distrust each other, but it has happened. It has happened more and more when children are taught that all strangers are bad and they should never be out of a parent's eye sight. Society has become an entity that takes over vulnerability and makes it into something horrible and weak. It's not though.

To become vulnerable takes true strength. Letting someone get close and trusting them to not hurt you is an unusual experience. It takes someone strong enough to know that they can survive being hurt and also strong enough to trust that they won't be.

I will admit that I still have problems with the whole idea of praying out loud. Despite the fact that my house prays every night after dinner, there is very little in the prayer that can be considered truly close to my heart. I do honestly mean my petitions for safety and health, but there is so much more that only gets said in the silence and the space of my own heart. I have started to pray with someone who is very close to me, but I still have problems coming to the vulnerable place in my life with him. I've become so used to putting up walls in my life to protect myself, but now I am taking them down. It's partially the community in which I live, but also the fact that I now want to. I want to be able to simply trust someone and not worry about being hurt like I can do here. I like the idea of being vulnerable and seeking that state of being.

Vulnerability is hard. Deliberate vulnerability is even harder. It's harder and it can hurt more, but it is worth it to open yourself up to the healing power of those who surround you. That's something I'm learning more and more every day.

Ministry of Encouragement

There are many things in life that we forget to say on a regular basis, like telling someone that they are doing a good job. Perhaps that's why I love living in community so much. That's never something that doesn't get said. There is always positive reinforcement here even for the simplest things like setting the table. There is always a please when asking and then a thank you when something is done. It's the most incredible thing that doesn't seem to happen in the world on a regular basis.

We painted the house over the past three days. The night we primed all the rooms upstairs all the core members were home. They were great for encouraging us. The supervision was interesting as well. There were a few busted guts when someone nearly swallowed some of the white paint. It was the perfect way to paint a huge area.

There are many ministries here that are not understood by many people who aren't a part of this community. There is the ministry of hospitality that happens whenever someone walks through the door. The ministry of encouragement is the one that I miss the most when I leave though.

There is always something to have done a good job on when we're here. There are things that can be done badly as well, but we never seem to mention those. It always seems to be more important to build someone up. There is never any need here to bring people down, but laughter and humour are in high supply.

There are ministries that we don't think about until we are faced with the lack of them in our lives. We have lost the ministry of encouragement in much of society so when we find it, it is much more precious.

Little Things

I discuss the idea of relationships a lot with one of my friends. There are some days when I get very frustrated with him because he can sound like such a know-it-all. I still listen to him though.

One of the conversations we had was shortly after I began the relationship I am currently in. One of the pieces of advice he gave to me (which I at the time got annoyed at him for) was to not forget about the little things. He said that big things in relationships are great, like nights out, romantic dinners, bouquets of flowers, but it the little things that keep the relationship going. The little things like asking how someone's day is and then waiting for the answer, leaving a Post-It note with a reminder that you love them, sending an email in the middle of the day for no reason, giving a back rub just because. It is the little things that show you care more than the grand gestures.

I have been in a relationship for two months and grand gestures are few and far between. The day is completely full of little things though. Sometimes they are as simple as wanting to spend time with someone else. Other times it is bringing back a present from a vacation, even when it's something simple. It can be bringing down a cup of tea to set outside a door. It can even just be a look across a room. Those are the littlest things in the world that many people don't think about, but that are so important for a relationship.

It's not just in romantic relationships that the little things are important. A housemate and I tend to make tea for each other on a regular basis. We have also been known to crack open a bottle of wine at the end of a long day. We go out for coffee on a regular basis simply to sit together with our computers and catch up on emails and blogs.

We tend to neglect the little things in our relationships because we think that they won't make any difference. The reality is that they do though. Even when it's something so small as asking how someone's day was. The small gestures of good will can make someone's day a good one just as easily as a mean spirited comment can make it a bad day.

We don't spend enough time looking for the little things we can do to make someone's day easier. We don't really make an effort to make someone's day better with a cup of coffee waiting for them when they get up or a kind word when they get home. Most of us can't wait for someone to come through the door to vent our own frustrations of the day. We don't look to help people in all the ways that we can. We don't show our appreciation when someone does something nice for us, or we do because we never expect someone to do something nice for us.

It's amazing the difference that the little things make in someone's day. You will have the chance to make someone's day today. Take it.

Favourite Things

As a part of the Facebook phenomenon I am part of a group that sends messages almost everyday. They are part of a spiritual group and there are always interesting insights that come in these messages to my inbox. One of the recent messages I received was titled "My Favourite Things." It was interesting simply because it questioned what your favourite things are. It's interesting how much those things can tell about someone. Just for some fun I thought I would answer some of the questions here.

What are your five favourite things about your childhood? Growing up with a sister. Going to the cottage. Learning to swim. Reading. Learning how to be alone.

What are you five favourite things about winter? Watching the snow. (Apparently you can tell when it's snowing just by watching my eyes) Wearing big comfy sweaters. Throwing snowballs. Curling up in front of a fire with a good book and a cup of tea. Spending holiday time with friends.

What are your five favourite things about the summer? The sunshine and being able to be outside. Returning to my community. A break from school. Being in and around water in the form of lakes or oceans. The flowers.

What are your five favourite things right now? Being able to sit and drink tea in silence with a housemate. Laughing all the time. Aching muscles. The sunshine. Knowing that I am loved.

While that list certainly doesn't come close to all of my favourite things, it is a start. There are a few more things that I want to add though. Here are a few of my other favourite things. I wonder what they say about me . . .

The smell of fall in the air as the night gets more of a bite to it. The first flowers that come out in the spring. Looking at the stars where there are no city lights. Being held. Wrapping up in a comfy blanket. Presents for no reason. A smile in the morning. A hand reaching for mine when I have a bad day. Back rubs. Foot rubs. An invitation to talk. Someone who listens. Singing until my throat hurts. Road trips with good company and good music. The chance to sit down and write. A comfy chair to read in. A good writing pen. A new notebook. Having the chance to get dressed up. Someone making a cup of tea for me. Someone asking how I am and then waiting to hear the answer. Welcome signs.

Looking at the list of my favourite things, I'm realizing that it's not the big things that I love so much. It's the small simple things that happen almost every day, but simply get ignored. In the home I live in throughout the summer (and partially through the year now) the little things are what make our house a home. It is the fact that we think about making a cup of tea for someone else, or making enough dinner for the person who has their day away. It's the willingness to continue painting the house in spite of the fact that you are off. It's the open arms waiting to welcome you when you walk through the door.

Now that I have made a conscious list of my favorite things I'm curious. For all those who are reading this, what are yours? What is it that you love the most? Leave me a comment or drop me a line and let me know.

Domesticated

I have become domestic. I never really realized it was happening. Those of you who are close to me will laugh and say that I should have realized it years ago, but I never thought I would get to this point. I spent most of last night worrying about the colours that we are going to paint the living room and the kitchen at my house at the Daybreak community. I put the paint chips up on the wall like my mother taught me to and checked off the colours that worked with the light at the times of day. I am becoming my mother.

I'm worrying about things that most 19 year olds don't feel the need to worry about, like driving people to activities and when we should get a new van and how often I should water the garden. I make meals for more people than I thought I would be serving on a regular basis. I'm worrying about budgets and planning vacations and doctor's appointments for more people than myself. Actually also worrying about them for myself too, which is something that almost never happens.

There are some who would have told me in the past that I have always been domestic, that I am the soccer mom. We actually decided this summer that hockey mom would be more fitting as I am Canadian. Nationality seems to be an important distinction here. Regardless of the sport that goes along with the mini van I seem destined to be driving in the next ten years, I have always seemed to be the mother figure. I show up with cookies and cakes for everyone's birthday, including my own. I nag others to get papers handed in on time and make sure that people appear in the classes they are supposed to be in. While there can definitely be an argument made for the fact that I was already domestic, I think that I have hit a new level of domestication.

I got more than simply my name from the Martha of the Bible. The scripture from the past Sunday was about the welcome of Martha when Jesus comes to her house. That seems to be how I am. This summer I have learned the power that the kitchen has. Most nights when I cook, a housemate is there with me. Sadly, there is not usually wine at that time, but we still have great conversations. There is something about preparing a table that leads to more welcome amongst all those in the house. There is a different feeling in the house when there is guest coming and we are preparing for someone to be welcomed. There is not really a Martha Stewart feeling to the house, because God knows that that house never looks like something like that.

There seem to be different layers to my domestic. There are moments when I feel the need to clean everything, but mostly it is the ability to welcome people into the house. Also a few years ago this would have scared me. The thought processes that come from my house leader are now ingrained in my life. They still exist when I appear back in my apartment in London and I'm sure will continue for most of the rest of my life. Perhaps it's part of growing up to accept the fact of domesticity in life. It's nice to be settled in one place for a long time and then create a home there. It's hard to leave and move between those places, but being able to put down roots wherever you are is something that takes skill and passion and hard work. But most of all, it takes love. That's really the heart of all the domesticity in my life.

Moving With New Awareness

I am oblivious. I will be the first to admit to that. I do not pay a lot of attention to the world around me. I tend to focus on just a few things, specifically people. Mostly just those who are around me and not those who are on the periphery of my world. I have had my friends point out to me more than once that someone has been staring at me or calling after me. I just don't seem to see it.

I was talking to someone I live with and he has recently changed his life in a large way. He has lived most of the past two decades preparing for a life and living a life that he has now left. It is more than simply leaving a career as many do at many times in their lives, but completely changing how you see the world and how you see the people you interact with. He's in the process of rediscovering how to be similar to the rest of the population in how they relate to the opposite sex.

It's strange to see how many people are inherently aware of attention they attract and others are not. When you try to attract attention, you move in a way to make other people look at you. When you are not comfortable in your own skin, you don't move so that people will look at you. You move along the edges of people's vision. You stay to the side of the room, curl your shoulders down and attempt to disappear within yourself. I know exactly how to do it because I used to live my life like that. On the edges, hoping that no one is going to notice that you are there and yet desperately desiring for someone to care enough to notice.

When there is someone who does notice, then there is a new awareness that you begin to move with. You have the idea that you are now important to someone and so you move in a different way. When you know you are important to someone, then there is always the idea that there will be someone else who cares. It's amazing to sense the change in someone when they know there is someone who cares. You can walk with a straighter back, you don't wear clothes simply to hide.

There is also the growing into your body. I was tall as a child and also a little bit chubby. Not very much, but not being athletic led to me being not so popular among the other kids. It wasn't until I got high school that I really realized how much power I had. There were other tall kids there, so I started to stand straighter. Not completely, because I still tower over some of my friends, but much better than what I was like ten years ago. I also stopped eating for a month at the time and that got rid of the chubbiness although has led to various other problems over the years. I grew into the body that I had and gained a new understanding of myself while doing it.

In becoming comfortable with myself, in knowing that I can be attractive, I began to move with a new awareness that I simply lacked prior to that. I became more solidly myself and moved accordingly to that. I move with the awareness that I am attractive, that I have a power that comes with knowing exactly who you are, but most importantly that I am loved. I move in a way that shows exactly that. Because I know it and I won't forget it.

Irrelevance of Age

I was talking to one of the men I live with a few nights ago and we were talking about the idea of age, specifically looking for a partner of a specific age. There has been more than enough teasing in my life about the age of the men I tend to get involved with. The interesting thing in my life is that I never look for an age when I look for a partner. I look for someone who can match me on many levels. After that, age becomes simply irrelevant.


In the community we foster, age is highly irrelevant. The core members in our community neither look nor act their age. The assistants here come in many ages and many different abilities, but none of them act their age here. Details become so irrelevant here that you often don't know the last name of someone you might work with every single day and you rarely know their age.


Age becomes irrelevant here. We don't pay attention to them unless there is a major birthday. Those only come around every ten or so years and everyone will simply forget until then. It's strange to think that something that it so claimed in society (or lied about) is something that can become so irrelevant.

When we talk about age we will "I am . . " That is a solid way to claim how old we are. It is also a way to define ourselves. When we are younger, age is so important. I have heard more than once (and probably said more than once) "I am five and three quarters!" There is always a desire to be older, to be able to stand up and have your voice count in more ears than just your parents. When you are a teenager, age still matters because it dictates when you can drive, when you can drink (legally) and how much freedom you can generally have. It's not until you reach university that you realize how little many of those things matter. There are students in their first year of study who have returned after another career or raising a family. There are peers who look up to you, although you may be younger than they. There are interesting people who raise good questions that could change your life if you let them and allow them to have relevancy.

While we claim our age for so many years, there can come a time when we wish those years to fly in reverse and give us back the life that we didn't appreciate at the time. That seems to be when we find our age to be more relevant, when we can see it in the wrinkles in our face and the grey hair that has appeared. At least, we think we can see it. There is that beautiful time in between those years, when we accept that age has very little bearing on how we live our lives. There is no magical date when you have to "grow up" and there is not a specific time line for everyone's lives. Age is necessary only when it comes to government forms, and even there it has very little limiting power.

We learn how irrelevant our age is when we stop allowing it to stifle us into a mold we don't desire. When I am at Daybreak, I am one of the youngest assistants. I am not the youngest this year, but I come pretty close. While I'm here though, I am not treated like a 19 year old who has very little idea of what she wants to do with her life. I am both a parent and a child here. I can laugh freely and play, but I also have the responsibilities of a parent. I drive to activities, administer medication, clean the house and make meals. That really isn't even all that happens here, but it cannot be described at all. It can only be lived.

It is when you accept that age has no power to bind you that you can understand how truly irrelevant it is. We can place power in the number of years we have been alive. It's not the years that we have been alive that matter though. It is the years that we have fully lived.

Finding a Happy Ending

After ten years involved in the life of Harry Potter, the boy wizard that has captivated so many of us has finally left the world of literature. The last book came out this morning and I was sitting in the living room, waiting to pounce on the poor delivery man as he walked up the porch steps. I'm sure I nearly scared the poor man to death, but he might have been used it at that point in the morning.

After all the rumors about what might happen to Harry at the end of the series, I was relieved to find my happy ending at the end of my five hour marathon of reading. There were definitely a few moments of tension, and admittedly I did cry once or twice. When I read the last page, there were no tears although I was sad to bid goodbye to the characters who I'd begun to speak about as real people. The places of magic and mystery that will no longer hold my attention as release dates loom are leaving my life even as I write this. I know that with my happy ending comes a certain kind of sadness that can only come when you let go of someone to go onto something else. It kind of feels like that, but if you have never read these books you will have no idea what I'm talking about.

I love happy endings. I don't necessarily find them all the time though. I used to read romance novels simply because I knew that there would always be a happy ending at the end of the story. I don't do that as much anymore. There are some days when I still need my fix of happily ever after and then I find some fairy tales or romance novels that will always end in a happy way.

The reality of life however is that there aren't always happy endings. While I was reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows earlier today I was very aware of that. Some characters who had become close to my heart died before the last page turned and I wasn't sure if I could deal with that. I wanted everyone to survive the fight between good and evil, but they didn't. There was a happy ending in the end, but it came at a cost.

It's hard to remember sometimes that happy endings do often come with a cost. There will be somethings that we have to leave behind and sometimes some people will be hurt when we get to where we want to be. Sometimes the cost is too high for us and we turn away from what we really wanted. We choose to not move to a new country or take a leap of faith because we think we might fall. The immediate cost seems to be much to high for the future goal.

I don't know if it is possible to get to happily ever after without ever hurting someone or leaving something behind that you wish you hadn't had to. It's amazing what some people will do to become successful in the world and little they are willing to do to be happy. Happiness is not what happens when all your dreams come true. Happiness is when you can rest in the knowledge that you love and are loved in return. It is a safety of knowing that there is someone to catch you when you fall and bear you up when you don't feel like you can go on.

I'm actually not sure if there is even such a thing as a happily every after ending. The thing with happily ever after is that it's not really an ending. It's a beginning.

In the Heart of Every Girl

I've been listening to the soundtrack from Mona Lisa Smile recently. Specifically one song from the CD. It's really interesting to listen to music that is not from my era at all. In terms of music, I'm convinced I was born five decades too late. I love the music from the war time era. I love the commitment, that ability to wait for someone, to overcome the odds. I love the way that the strength of those who fought the war translates into the music they make. It does so much more than a simple expression of emotion. It makes you feel what the singer was feeling. This may also simply speak to the calibre of musicians that used to exist and the poor quality of pop musicians now.

The point of my writing is not entirely write about how much I love the music of this era, but the specific lyrics. The first line of the song that I had on repeat for a long time this morning was this. "In the heart of every girl, there's a woman waking up." When it comes to understanding women, that's on of the things that you have to know. Life is a constant process of becoming and that's where women always seem to be. I think the best guideline for growing up is truly to become a mother. Every woman thinks that they are becoming their mother, but they only fully realize it when they have their own children.

Another line from this song talks about the dreams that every girl holds in her heart. True to the times, the dreams focus simply around creating a home and raising a family, but there are other dreams that also must be honored by those who seek to love someone. To dream is something precious and something that we are robbed of too early in our lives. We are told that dreaming is waste of time and limits are set on what we can do. When you ask what dreams someone holds in their heart and what they really want to do, you allow that person to open up a world of possibilities they didn't have access to before that.

Another song from the musical Camelot is titled How to Handle A Woman. I will be the first to admit that when I read the title of the song I laughed. I thought there would be no way in the world to put that in a song unless it was sarcastic and not really any good advice at all. I was surprised when I listened to the lyrics. They were amazingly accurate for a Broadway musical. They said that the way to handle a woman was to simply love her. I don't think instructions for making a relationship work come any simpler than that.

In the heart of every girl . . . That's a very difficult phrase to complete. I've learned in the past months that woman appear to be much more complicated than we really are. I don't know if we like coming off that way, but we really can be a lot simpler than we seem. In the heart of every girl is exactly the same as in the heart of every guy. There is a desire for acceptance, respect and love. We need the same things as men do. We just like getting our own way a lot more, I think. At least some days. That explanation saved King Arthur's life, so I'm sure it still holds true!

Mystical Language

There have been a few things to come out of Rome recently that I disagree with. This is not an entirely unusual occurrence as I was raised Presbyterian and generally disagree with most things that are said by Rome. The one that raised discussion points at my house most recently was the choice to begin masses in Latin again.

I tend to be more from the Lutheran tradition that people should be able to understand what they are being told in church and that they have a right to interpret things in their mother tongue. The person I was having a discussion with had a very unique point of view. He supports the move back to Latin. He is from the Greek Orthodox Church and never really understand half of what goes on in the services anyways.

There seems to be a large difference between what goes on in most of the Protestant services and what happens in those of other denominations. Perhaps the services in English have lost some of the magic they used to hold. Fewer people are going to services, but I'm not sure if that's just because of the language. In making everything understood, for some, the magic and mysticism has left the services.

It's amazing how much the language of something can change it. I never really realized that until I became a part of this community. We have a great deal of languages represented here and each one sounds so different. English is spoken for the most part until more of the assistants get together. As soon as there are many of us gathered, there is French, English, German and Portuguese. Occasionally another language will appear, but it's hard to say. Each of those languages has their own mystical qualities that we don't always realize.

When you hear something spoken in a language that you don't understand, you always feel something towards it, whether you know it or not. This is why German is sometimes called a harsh language and Italian is considered the language of lovers. There is something incredible about not being able to understand a language that allows you to react to not what is said, but more to how it's said. It requires more motion and more tone to be understood on any level. It requires less listening to what is being spoken and more of what is being said.

There is something mystical and comforting about being spoken to in another language. The only reason I learned Spanish was because of the way I was first spoken to in that language. It's nice to not be able to understand all the time, but the intention behind the words can always be understood.

While I do not support the move back to Latin for masses as I think it would be less fulfilling for many worshippers, I can understand those who would enjoy that. There is a comfort in tradition that is centuries old that doesn't exist in what we have now. It is less mystical, which is too bad somedays. But it can also be more real.

Mild Wild

I have been called many things in my life and yet rebel is not one of those names that occurs regularly. Or really at all, admittedly. The idea of the rebel, especially the female rebel, is the one who stays out late, drinks, pops birth control pills and wears short skirts. Times are changing though.

The idea of the rebel was the one who broke all the rules, all the things that their parents felt were the good things to do. Those were wearing long skirts, marrying and having a family. Times have changed now. Mild is the new wild.

The rebels are the ones who break the rules. Over the past few years however, the rules have changed. More women are what are considered wild. The rules have changed to allow us to party, to work and to travel should desire any of those things. The rules have made it more difficult for women who choose to not have sex before marriage, or to stay at home and raise a family. If we don't want to be promiscuous, if we don't want a career, then we are considered to be the rebel.

We have changed the way women are viewed in the past decades. We have made huge advances in divorce laws, in work place rights. Women are more protected legally, if not literally, than they were five decades ago. We have the right to choose what we want in our lives to find that all the choices have been made for us once again. We brought sex and sexuality to an accepted place for women, and when we choose to not use it, we are considered odd. We have changed everything about how women used to be viewed. All that has led to though is another form of stereotype.

I suppose that now I would be considered the rebel. I'm the one who wants to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, learn how to knit and get a rocking chair. I don't want an exciting career. I want to create a family. I don't wear short skirts and I'm not a fan of loud parties. I'd rather stay at home curled up on the couch with a good book. That definitely fits the definition of mild. Somehow I am now the definition of wild. There are very few women who desire these things anymore. The wishes and dreams that are usually listed are a career, travel and an ability to change the world. We have changed the stereotypes from women who want to stay in the kitchen to women who want to rule the world. And now mild is the new wild.

Living to Hurt

An assistant from Germany celebrated his last night at one of the houses in our community last night. One of the other assistants was amazed that while he had stayed for such a short period of time, the people in the community had become so attached to him. They had opened their hearts and let him into their lives in ways that left them very vulnerable. He marvelled at how someone had so quickly become a part of the community and attached to what is there.

It takes a different kind of person to live a life that is completely opening and welcoming. I will admit that I don't think I would be strong enough to do it. It's a different kind of living because while there is joy when you welcome someone, you also welcome them with the knowledge that they will leave. They may leave in a month, a summer, a year or in a few years. There are very few people who have become permanent fixtures in this community. Even among those who are long time assistants or administration, there is always movement and change.

We tend to not realize how closed off we are, or unwilling to get attached to a large number of people until we come in contact with those who love and welcome unconditionally, regardless of how much they may later hurt from those choices. Many of us limit how much we care. We don't want to care too much, or get too involved because we might get hurt when the person leaves us. Leaving is possible in so many ways and we are so aware of all of them. We don't want to get involved in case the choice of leaving is not left for us to do first. We hold back in case we don't get to be the ones to walk away.

The people I live with never get the chance to be the ones who walk away. I will return to London in September with the chance to live a student's life in a very different way than what I live in community. The people who make this place home though are still going to be here when I get back. They will watch me being torn between various places throughout the year until I have the chance to return and I'm sure it will hurt them as much as it will me. They will be here, living out their mission of welcome.

The only problem with having a mission of welcome is that there is a dark side to that. The mission of goodbye. When you are constantly welcoming, you are also saying goodbye on a regular basis. You say it so often, but it still hurts as though you were saying it for the first time.

Many of us ignore the mission of welcome. We hide behind the idea that our houses must match that of Martha Stewart before anyone can cross the threshold or that we simply don't have time for someone else's problems when we have so many of our own. We ignore it because we don't want to have to hurt. We don't want to have to say goodbye or let go. We cling to the comfortable things that we have thinking that they will never leave us and that will keep us safe. The scary thing is that they don't. When it comes to comfort and security, we can only have that when we push our boundaries and risk being hurt.

I live with people who live to be hurt. They have been hurt by those who do not take the time to understand them, to encourage them and to love them. They have been hurt by systems that are not designed for them. Somehow they still are able to love though. They welcome those who may have once ignored them or looked down upon them. They welcome them and they love them. When those they welcome leave, they will be hurt. But they never stop welcoming or loving those who come with a need for just those things.

Always Present Past

There is a Spice Girl reunion tour that is supposed to happen sometime soon. This is a semi interesting fact in life given that I was young in the time that they were popular. It's also leading to clips of their songs being played on the radio. One clip that I heard was one line that continues ringing in my head. "If you want my future, forget my past." That has kept running around in my head and I really like it.

My past is one that seems to saturate all areas of my life. It follows me around, almost like the daemons in the Golden Compass. The memories I have are always at my shoulder and it is hard to get rid of. The more I try, the more they tend to stick.

Sometimes it's good to have a past that is around you. It's good when there are only good memories in such a thing, but it is rare for anyone to have such a thing happen in any one's life. There is no one who has no regrets or nothing in their life that they would wish away. Not everyone lives with their past though. Some have forgotten what is was, others have changed it to suit their needs. I'm not one of those. It's easy to see my past some days while I am better at hiding it.

The only problem with having a past that is always there is that it can sometimes inhibit the future. Perhaps this is why the singer asks for the past to be forgotten, condemned to a an earlier time, allowing it little impact on the future. Some days I wish to say the same thing. Other days I remember the fact that my past has made me who I am today. If I was any different from this, I would not be as loved as I am.

It is difficult to see the importance of the past, but it is not hard to see the importance of the future. The past is written. We have lived it and it is now done. The future is what we still get to change it, what we still get to write it. That is where we have our power and where we have our strength. No matter how present our past is, how horrible or crippling it might be, our future is stronger.

On The Edge

When I visited London I had the chance to visit with someone who has kept me sane for the past year. I overloaded on classes and just about anything else I could in order to keep myself busy. I never thought about it because it's just what I do. I never thought that I might be going crazy because I never realized how close I was standing to the edge. I don't really like looking down. It scares me.


The past year of my life has been my walking too close to edge and then having multiple people pulling me back. They would watch me run myself down and then try to bring me back from the place I had put myself in. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that. I had a good year with the exception of the fact that I spent most of it with large black circles under my eyes and not eating very much. I didn't realize that I was on the edge until it was too late.

There are always different sorts of edges in our lives. They can be the edge of reason, the edge of time, the edge of hope. We come to edges when we realize them and also when we don't. Some days we get lucky and have someone to pull us back and other times we don't. There are also the edges that we want to look over and see the view. Those happen often enough, but we never seem to appreciate them when they come along. We just know about the edges we don't want to be at. We also don't seem to realize when we come to these ones.

There is help offered when we know where to look for it. Somehow though, there never seems to be enough help offered. Or at least not enough help offered when it is most needed. There are always waiting lists and not enough patience when people do turn to each other. I'm lucky because I have about ten people always waiting to pull me back from my edge. I'm lucky in a way that many other people aren't.

There are more people on the edge than we realize. We forget to look for a great many people when they seem to step away from us. We ignore those who don't reach out. We don't reach out to them.

I have ignored my edge for a really long time. I know that I have ignored and have not worried because I know I will be pulled back. I'm the lucky one though. There are far too many people who never get the same chance. There are so many people who don't get pulled back and simply walk over the edge. We need to be more aware of those who come close to their edges through stress, through problems, through simply unawareness. When we reach out to those on their edges we are more aware of our own edges. And so more able to help.

Equal But Not

I had a fantastic discussion with two of the women in my community earlier this week. We were talking about the idea of feminism in relation to Hillary Clinton running for president. I (not being American) said I was in support of the idea on the basis that she is a woman and that would be really good for feminist ideals. This lead to the discussion of feminism in general.


For the past century women have fought to be seen as equals to men. They have gained the right to vote, the right to hold property, the right to divorce, the right to abortion and a great deal of other things that we didn't have prior to the 20th century. We have gained the right to educations and have begun to be seen as equals. We now have the right to choose career or family. Somehow though, we are still not equals. We do not have equal pay and we do not get equal respect in the workplace. There are more sexual harassment suits than ever and women are still targets for violence.


The reason for many of these things is that women are not equal to men. We aren't. I may sound like a traitor to the cause of feminism right now but I'm really not. We were not created to be men. We are not supposed to be the same as men. That doesn't mean that we are less worthy than men. We have just as much right to pay raises, promotions and most importantly, respect and safety. We have the right to choose a career over family and we don't always need advice on how to combine the two of these. Men don't. Why should we?


To acknowledge the fact that we are women and to use it does not make us less than equal to men. It really doesn't. We don't have to look like men, or act like men in order to gain respect. We shouldn't have to and we shouldn't try.


I tend to subscribe to the theory of lipstick feminism. This is the idea that women don't have hide their sexuality of their femininity in order to be respected in the world. It is actually the idea that we can use our sexuality and still stand strong for what we desire from the world, equality and respect. It is the idea that we can be attractive and still be taken seriously. We can be who we are and still be seen as worthy of respect in the world.


We are equal to men, but we are not. We are in the unique position of bearing children in the world and that is not something that men can do. We are not always equal to men. We aren't. We have the right to many things, but we don't need to change who we are in order to get them. We are equal, but we are not. And we have no reason to pretend to be.

The True Church

On Wednesday night I was out for coffee and overheard a conversation between two priests. It was interesting to listen to something that I knew was not meant for my ears, but spoke to my faith at the same time. They were discussing the idea of the true church and parts of the conversation made me fairly angry. I was raised in the Presbyterian tradition and now regularly attend an Anglican church which speaks more deeply to my faith and my needs. I don't particularly like the Catholic church for various reasons, not the least of which being that I would never be allowed to preach in one.

In the past week, the Pope has spoken to proclaim that the Catholic tradition is the only "true" way to worship. I disagree with that on so many levels. I live in a community that worships in many ways. We have Catholic, Anglican, United and Taize services. Occasionally we also have Jewish and Muslim prayers. Our heart of worship is not the liturgy that we use, it is the people who we live and worship with.

I will never be so bold as to claim that where I worship is the only true church. To make a claim such as that would be exclusive and not inclusive. It would turn people away who do not have the same heart I do. It would not allow for the great amount of diversity that is found in so many other faces and minds. Where I worship is indeed a church and a good one. I don't think that it speaks to everyone though. Sometimes the message is too intense and not what people can handle in their lives. Other times it is not enough and they need to hear more.

I don't think there is one true church in the world. To claim that makes faith exclusive and it's not. To be a church is supposed to show the love of God in the world and that is best shown with open doors and an open table. There is a line from a well known song that says "They will know we are Christians by our love." When we shut our doors and say that we have the exclusive right to acceptance and salvation we are not living that love. We are condemning those around us and not living the lives we are called to live.

The truest church in the world is the one that says "You are my brother. Would you like to join me?" It is the worship that is open and welcoming. It is the hand that reaches out to touch someone who needs help. It is reflecting the love that only God can give. There is no way to contain what a church needs within four walls or one tradition. It is the open heart and open hands that show that best.

Healing the Healer

There is something I have never considered before which is now being given a lot of attention in the media. It is the concept of compassion burn out. No one really seems to think about it, but it is possible to give enough to other people that you simply burn out and are unable to care at the level you want to for those around you. It's strange to think that in a society that is supposed to be very independent and self-centered, many of those under 25 are suffering from exactly this. We want to be able to do it all and care for everyone and are disappointed when we find that we can't.

The gospel from earlier this week was about the woman who was hemorrhaging. She came to the healer to be healed. For many of us, we think of ourselves as the healer. I know that I can be sucked into that at many points in my life. I am the compassionate one who gets called when someone needs a problem talked through with them, or just needs to cry. That is my role and I feel weak when I cannot fulfill it. When I come with the need to be healed, it's a very different experience for me. I don't really think that I like it.

To come with the need to be healed we leave ourselves completely open to those around us. We admit that we need help and find the strength to ask for it. It's a hard step to take. I hate being forced to ask for help, although I know I sometimes have to. In asking for help, we admit our weakness. We show that we cannot do it all by ourselves and that's not something we are always open to.

It's interesting to look at many of the healers in our society and notice that they have many of the unhealthy habits that should be healed. Many doctors and nurses smoke or drink excessively as do the clergy. Those who we come to for help can be reaching out for help as well, but we don't recognize it. We expect those in positions to heal be healed completely themselves before offering to help others. That's not the way life works though. There are always going to be dark and empty places in every one's hearts that crave attention and healing from someone else. Having the ability to offer healing does not mean that we never look for healing. It only means that we have something to offer.

Asking for healing is a humbling experience. It's difficult to come to a place where you can ask for that. It's hard because no one really wants to have to ask, we simply expect people to know. The reality is that they don't. Sometimes we have to sneak through the crowd to touch the hem of a cloak in order to get what we need. Sometimes we have to speak up for ourselves and say no to another commitment that is simply going to burn us out. Not all the time, but sometimes. Sometimes we need to be able to ask for healing.

Almost Adult

I had a very cute little girl talking to me today in a used book store that I love. She came up to me and wanted to touch my skirt because it's so pretty. She then complimented me on my toes and my rings. She asked if I had children, and if I wanted them. She told me I must be a princess because I'm so pretty. It was an interesting conversation, not the least bit because I answered that yes I do want kids with my boyfriend standing not too far from me. My reply to that question was yes I do want kids, but I think I might wait until I'm a little older. I was told that I am already an adult.

It's a strange thing to be told that you are considered an adult, especially when you don't feel that old. For all the grey hair that I have, I really am still very much so a teenager and I like it! I don't want that taken away from me and being told that I have to grow up. On so many levels I could be considered to have already become an adult. Legally, I am. I have passed the age of consent and I can now vote. My job requires me to take responsibility for other peoples lives in the form of administering medication and arranging for transportation. I have lived more or less on my own for the past two years and have survived that. I suppose that in some ways I am now an adult. I'm looking for adult relationships and not really interested in things that will simply last for a few months. I want to be taken seriously in the "real" world, but at the same time, I don't think I will.

Earlier this summer I was told by my head of house to take charge more often. I was reminded that I am capable of doing much more than I think I can, but I continue to doubt myself in so many ways. According to two of the girls I babysit, I am an adult. They are allowed to be on the dock when I am with with them because I am old enough. I nearly had a heart attack when I heard them call me an adult though. I may want to be part of the adult world. I think I really do at some points in my life, but I still want to be a kid. I was serious when I was younger and now I want to have my childhood back. That's the only problem with becoming an adult. You seem to be forced to choose one world or the other. You don't get to be both. You can either take responsibility for your life or allow others to take it for you. When you stop asking your parents advice all the time (or for money all the time) that's when you can really become an adult. When you are sure enough in yourself to be sure of what you are doing, or are able to say that you don't and mean it, that's when you become more of an adult.

There is no specific age that makes you an adult. Legalities aside, most of the teenagers I know are not ready to become adults. They are not ready to be pushed out into the real world and still rely heavily on the opinion of those around them. To be an adult certainly doesn't mean dealing with everything alone, but it does mean that you don't depend on the opinions of others for what you are going to do with your life. You have the power to take control and when you do, that's when you stop being an almost adult and really become one.

Storytelling

I love to tell stories. This is a tradition that I have learned honestly from my family. My father, my uncle and my grandfather will all tell stories that will have you howling with laughter and questioning them mercilessly about how they came up with such things. I tend to tell different stories. They are no less or more true because I tell them differently. They are simply different.

Most of my stories are written down, as opposed to the oral tradition my family's stories seem to take. I never thought I would miss writing stories. I was forced to write them while in school, and then I decided that I would write different things once I left high school. I'd forgotten the feeling that a story takes when it needs to be told, needs to be written. There is no other feeling like it in the world, no compulsion greater to force you to put down whatever you are working on and pay attention to the voice inside your head. I hadn't thought about it in a long time because I hadn't felt that in so long. It's like seeing someone you used to know after a long time. You hadn't thought of them, but when you do, all the memories come rushing back and you remember once again.

Story telling is beginning to be a lost art in many places of the world. Whole histories of societies were passed down in an oral tradition, using stories to make the past more memorable to the people. We so rarely take the time to listen to those around us that many of those things are being lost. Histories, languages and myths are disappearing as the older generations begin to pass on. Stories were told when sitting around the fire on cold winter nights when nothing could be done outside. We have lost that tradition in most cultures and that's too bad. There are few things nicer than curling up in front of a roaring fire and learning new things.

I love listening to stories. I used to love being read to, but now I love being the one reading. They may not be my own stories or words that I'm reading, but the sound and the power they have is incredible. The myths and tales from former generations are still powerful and there is something for us to learn from them. It is a shame that we are losing these stories that deserve to be heard.

Telling stories is a lost art. Or at least one we are losing. We shouldn't allow this to happen. Stories are the lifeblood of our societies. It is what our societies were built on and what we have come from. It shows how we have changed and how we continue to grow. When we tell stories, we are able to bond with those around us and create a common past. It may be a common past of heritage, of experience or simply of humanity. We tell stories to explain ourselves to each other, but sometimes we are most able to come to a deeper understanding of ourselves at the same time. That is what story telling is. We need to keep it and we need to find a safe way to share it with each other.

Different Points of View

I was discussing interpretation of the Bible last night over a glass of wine. It was interesting to hear the views of those who had never studied theology and those who had spent years studying that. There are many ways to read the Bible and some of them are more commonly used than others. There is the literal way to read everything that was written more than 2000 years ago. There is also the mythic way to see the stories of the Old Testament. Neither way negates the validity of what is written, they are simply different points of view. They are a different way to read the same words that are written.

I was also speaking about reading the ideas of women or any of the stories in the New Testament. When I read them, I read them from the point of view of a 21st century, feminist raised women who loves speaking and teaching. There was a point in my life when I considered ordained ministry to be a part of my life, but not anymore. Regardless of that fact, that is something else that changes the way I read, the way I read between the lines.

I know that I have a bias when I read. I realize that and recognize it. I don't try and say that my opinion is unbiased. It's not. It comes from an independent woman who feels that she has the right to have a voice in the church she is a part of, who feels that she was created equal to any man. In recognizing my bias, I am also recognizing the bias of those around me. I know that everyone has their own unique bias that comes from the experiences that they have had in their lives. They are formed by what they know in the same way I am formed by what I know.

It's the same as when you go to an art gallery. Two people can look at the same work of art and see two very different things. I experience this when I went to the AGO earlier this year and was attempting to make a friend see my castle in a Monet painting. He didn't see it until we were walking out and then it made perfect sense. I suspect that this happens often in people's lives. We can look at something, but be confined by what we think it looks like from the very beginning. Once we have formed our own thoughts, it is difficult to change our minds. We close our eyes to different possibilities and stop trying to see what someone is calling us to see. It is only when we turn around and see something unexpected that we can truly look at something in a new way.

There's a saying that you can never judge someone until you've walked a mile in his moccasins. I suppose that would be a uniquely Canadian saying, but it still holds true. We cannot attempt to force someone to see our point of view, because they can't, just as we cannot see theirs. There are some days when you can come close, but there is nothing to match the true experience of living a life every day. We have our different points of view and we have our biases. When we are able to recognize that and acknowledge them, that is when we can come to a more open and honest dialogue with those around us. When we can admit to what we don't see, or choose not to, then we can debate and learn more, not only about the world around us, but ourselves.

Regardless of whether you choose to read in the mythic or literalist tradition, there are different points of view. Sometimes they are hard to see, sometimes you have to walk around in someone elses moccasins for awhile, but it's worth it to see what you otherwise couldn't.

In His Image

I was debating Genesis in my hours off today. It was an interesting conversation and definitely made it feel more like a Sunday since I didn't make it to church this morning. One of the things that was debated was the idea of being made in the image of God. We were discussing the idea of Adam and Eve and the perfection that they were made in. My opinion was put against the opposing one that Adam and Eve were the most like God. I disagree.

To be in the image of something does make it the same as what it is in the image of. Photographs are proof of that, as well as self portraits. To be in the image of something does not indeed make it the same. For me, it is only when you have the same knowledge that you can really become a true reflection of something else. It's like looking at a portrait of someone and thinking that it is a poor reflection of what the person looks like. When you create something in an image, it never comes close to what the original is like. When Adam and Eve ate from the tree of knowledge, that is when they became more like God. They knew more than they had before. They were less in the state of grace they had been before, but they also had no need for grace before that.

I have no idea if what I'm writing makes any sense at all, but it makes sense to me. Prior to knowing, Adam and Eve were simply a poor reflection of the glory of God. They had no idea of the grace and the great power of God before that happened. They couldn't know because they had no reason to know. When they gained knowledge, they weren't as close to God as they had been, but they knew that they weren't and were able to have the desire to become closer to their Creator. They became more fully aware of who they were and how they were made. They knew what life was like and knew where they were supposed to be.

When we are created in His image, we are aware that that is something unique to each one of us. Our colour doesn't matter because God is the colour of water, taking the colour of whatever He is set upon. Our features don't matter as much because each one is the fingerprint of God. Everything is unique and yet the same. Whether we are aware of it or not, we were created with a blueprint. There was something we were based on and something that we are called to. We are called back to where we came from and we can't forget that. We can't ignore the reality that we have come from the place we shall eventually return to. We were made of dust, but were given something so much more than that. That is the image that we were made in and the image we shall only get to see when we return to the dust we were created from.

Forgotten Memories

There is something about the house I live in that makes me think about things I haven't thought about in years. Some of them are memories of my family that I simply haven't had any reason to think of over the past few years. Others are dreams, wishes and hopes that I have either forgotten or pushed to the side over the time that I have begun to grow up.

This morning I was talking about singing grace with one of the men I live with. He was reminiscing about a family that was in his parish back in New Brunswick and the way they used to sing grace. I was reminded of what my father always says after we sing grace, or at least he used to. Reading the words has no impact until you can hear the unique way my father says this, but he used to say "The Von Trapp family singers, the singers Von Trapp" to conclude our graces. I kind of miss that. I suppose I also miss singing grace with my family as that is not something that happens often anymore.

I was speaking about a used book store that is on the corner of my street with the sunshine in the house this morning and we were saying how much we both love it. I love books more than most other things in life. I will never travel without at least two books to make sure that I don't run out of something to read. This has led to my knowledge of most of the used book stores in whichever area I am in. As we were talking about this bookstore, I was reminded of a dream I had when I was younger. I wanted to open my own used book store. I can picture it too. It's something out of a novel that I used to read, or I suppose a blend of the book stores in two of them. I would love to have a loft in the store, with a winding wrought iron staircase heading up to the loft. There would be large windows and huge couches to invite someone to curl up in them. Old fashioned lamps would dot the room for when it got darker in the evenings. There would be coffee served in the day and wine in the evening. There would be local art on the walls for sale from local artists. It would be open for poetry readings and discussions about everything. I suppose had I been born a few centuries earlier I would have run one of the salons in Paris prior to the Revolution.

That's a lovely dream to have, but I would have to put up with so much in order to make that dream happen. I don't think I would be able to do it. I could try, but I'm not sure if it would work. There are other things in my life that I want to do that would prohibit that dream from coming true. So many other things that I had almost forgotten that had ever been a dream of mine. Now that I have recorded this idea in more than a verbal way, perhaps there is more of a chance of it happening, but I doubt it.

There are so many things in our lives that we choose to forget. Memories, dreams, hopes, wishes. As we get older, the world takes part of them away from us. We are made to be harder, less imaginative and less hopeful than we once were. We don't think that we can do anything we want anymore. What we want is tempered by what is easy to get, what we think we can do and what we are told that we can do. We no longer think that we can be an astronaut, or a writer or someone who is going to change the world. We settle into the existence that is expected for us and allow much of what we used to dream slip away from us. Many people in their middle age will look back and wish for what they could have done when they had their youth, when they had the time, when they had the freedom. If they had the chance to though, many of them would make the same choices they had before. We are taught to only go after our dreams when they are reasonable, when they are easily within reach. When it takes work, when it takes imagination and when it requires sacrifice, we don't. We don't take the chance because it's too hard. The sad part is that it might be easier than what we did do. It would be easier to follow our hearts and do what we want with our lives than to conform. When we do that, we may have regrets in our lives, but they won't be because we didn't follow our dreams. It won't be because we didn't try.

As we continue to forget the things we once loved, as we allow the world to harden us a little bit more, we should try and remember. We should remember our dreams and hang onto our imagination. We should take the chance and make one of our wishes come true.

Willing To Wait

I just finished reading a book about a woman who has the most enduring patience in the world. She's part of Greek mythology, the wife of Odysseus. Her husband left to fight in the Trojan war and didn't return for twenty years. She raised their son on her own and waited for Odysseus to return. She was a woman who was willing to wait.

I'm not sure if it is simply a function of society, but most of us are not willing to wait. I'm not. I am the most impatient woman in the whole world. I hate waiting for things. I won't wait for a bus longer than five minutes before deciding that it would be faster just to walk to where I'm going. I don't like waiting for my food to be ready and will only wait when I'm cooking for someone else as well. When I'm waiting for something, I always carry a book to read or have music to listen to. That being said, I think when there is something worth waiting for, I would.

A conversation that was held often at my house in London this year was the ability to wait for the right man to come along before getting into a relationship. My housemate seems to have infinite patience when it comes to this. I didn't. I've had a lot of relationships in my life and they have, for the most part, been the wrong ones. Part of me always wanted to say that maybe this would be what I was waiting for, but then I would realize that I hadn't really been waiting at all. About six months ago, I decided that I would wait. I would wait until there was someone who would sweep me off my feet and be what I was looking for in my life. It's surprising how when you stop looking for something it appears. When I returned to work this summer, I found it. I got lucky.

Many people in our society are unwilling to wait. We want everything and we want it now. The number of divorces speak to the number of people who rushed into something because they weren't willing to wait for more of their lives. We have fast food because we cannot wait for food to be made in a healthy way. We have radio and TV to constantly update us on situations in our cities and globally because we cannot wait to find out the next day. We have instant messaging and email so that we don't have to wait to get a hold of someone on the telephone or send a letter. We settle for things that are less than what we want simply so that we will have something immediately. We shouldn't.

We should be willing to wait for the things that we want. The generations before us had a better idea of how to do that. Many of parents and grandparents lived through WW2 waiting for the ones they loved to come home. My great grandmother waited for my great grandfather at this time, while raising their four children and building a cottage. It is amazing what we are willing to wait for and what we are not. What would happen if we made different priorities in our lives? What if we decided to wait for the things that would truly change our lives, such as the great love of our lives? What would you be willing to wait for if you knew that it would come one day?

I don't know if I would be able to wait for twenty years, but I know that I have waited for somethings. And it's been worth it. I still want to make plans and don't really want to wait to know where I'm going to be in two years. I want to know now, but I'm beginning to be willing to wait. I know that someone has a plan for me and I just need to trust in that.

Meeting the Family

I have been called a family person and a homemaker. I have to admit that I am all right with both of those titles. My family is very important to me and I am a family person. Because of that, my family is very involved in my life. Many of my friends at university cannot understand why my parents know so much about my life or why I want it is important for me to let them know about the relationships in my life. I don't have a specific answer for that, but it really is important for me.


Yesterday I brought my boyfriend to meet my family. He had already met my parents, but he got to meet my aunt, uncle, two cousins and part of my aunt's family. I'm not sure which part of that scared me the most. The fact that he is now involved in my family, or the fact that he fits right in! I have never had anyone in my life fit in that well with my family.

Meeting the family seems to be a rite of passage in North American society now. Given how disconnected families are now, this has lost much of the importance that it used to hold. It still is something that is a passage for relationships, whether it is mostly reserved for the serious points of relationships like marriage or right from the beginning. Some of us choose to have our families involved in our relationships and others choose to limit the involvement of our families in our personal affairs. It's a different meaning for all of us how we define our families and how we choose to accept them.

When I began to think more deeply about the idea of meeting family, it also touches on the idea of how we create family. Right now, sitting in the living room with the people I live with, I would invite many people to come and meet my family. There are two wonderful people who love life more than anything else who were born with Downs' Syndrome. There's an autistic woman who will bend your ear with talk of airplanes and big long skinny balloons for hours if you let her. There is the wise man who brings a sense of peace and calm to me life largely because I have to slow down a lot to listen to him. His body may be failing, but his mind is sharper than ever. There is a man who has a huge smile on his face when someone new comes through the door and can be very difficult to understand some days. There's a woman who travelled very far from her family to become part of this one and continues to learn a new language. There's a man who is changing his life right now, journeying in step with this family and bringing life and laughter wherever he goes. Our fearless leader is French Canadian and has boundless amounts of energy. This is one of the families in my life and one of the most important.

Genetics have a role in how we determine our family. Some of us allow that to set the boundaries of how we determine our family. If that was the only way we could find family, many of us would have gotten a rough deal out of that. Family is not who shares your DNA. Family are the ones who care at the end of the day, who want to be a part of the major events in your life and the little ones. They want to share the joys and the sorrows and know that each are equally important. Family holds you when you need to be held and then pushes you out the door so that you can fly.

In making the man in my life meet the family in my life, I realized something. I have more family than I ever thought I had. And I've gotten really lucky with them.

Immigrant Past

I am Canadian. Very Canadian. Fourth generation immigrant to a new place. Most of my family immigrated here to seek a better life from various parts of Europe. I can lay claim to heritage from Ireland, Scotland, England and Germany. I come from a family of immigrants, ones who were strong enough to leave all that they had known to come and make a new life in a new country. That is the past that has been created for me.

The legacy that leaves for me is one of home. It is the ability to create home wherever I go. I can leave one home and still call that place home while creating a new home in another place. I know that if I leave one place that I love, it doesn't mean I love it any less for having to leave it.

I have met many people in the past few years who have immigrated to Canada from various countries. They all have various reasons for leaving the countries they were born in. The only reason that has never occurred is that they don't love the country they left. They have left to seek a better life, or even just a different life for themselves and their children. They return to visit their homes when it is safe to do so, but for some of them, it will never be. They will never be able to return to the place they hold in their hearts. That is the past they will pass on as their legacy.

I have been called a homemaker more than once in the past and I can agree with that right now. I do make home and I love home. That doesn't mean I will only stay in one home though. I will travel in my life and create new places that I don't want to leave. I will love homes and I will have to leave some of them. I hope that I will be as strong as my family in that respect. I won't have to leave without the possibility of returning. I won't have to cross the ocean on a steamer, or take the railroad across the prairies. I won't have to clear land and live on it in order to keep it, but I will struggle with the ability to make home. Having the ability to move doesn't mean that your heart doesn't break when you leave places and it will never mean that you don't miss them. It simply means that you are open to the world of possibilities that exist when you are willing to move.

Pushing Boundaries

I am a shy, introverted person. I am most comfortable with myself, when I don't have a lot of attention. I love to sing, when I think no one is listening, or not a lot of people are listening. I pray when I can pray alone and quietly. I dance only when I think no one is watching. I'm learning that these are more flexible boundaries than I had once held them to be.

Over the past year I have pushed many of my boundaries. Most of this is because of someone I met last year who has been a great friend to me. He constantly questions me and wants to push me to try new things. I have half climbed a tree and gone skinny dipping because of him. He has gotten me to take chances that I otherwise wouldn't have and has stopped me from taking some very stupid ones.

Since then, I have met someone else who pushes my boundaries. Not my physical ones, as there is no tree climbing in the future for the two of us, but most of my other ones. In the past month, I have learned and gotten comfortable with the idea of praying out loud. Well, more comfortable with it. I have sung someone to sleep who is not half my age or scared of thunder storms. I haven't yet danced because . . . I'm not actually sure why. I'm sure I will in the next few weeks because it's something that I love.

It's strange to think that we set such a large number of boundaries in our lives. We set them without realizing and then allow them to become written in stone, almost like the space between railroad tracks. Many of the things we do are governed by the idea of staying within who we are. Staying within our boundaries are fine. Sometimes that's the best thing to do. The strange part of staying within our boundaries is that the people we most enjoy being with are the ones who push us a little out of our boundaries. The ones who ask us to take a chance, to make a leap in a direction that we wouldn't otherwise do. These are the ones who are there more often than not when we fall after making the leaps we were pushed to.

Pushing boundaries is something that doesn't happen often enough. We are too often content with where we are that we forget that there is something outside of the boundaries that we have. Some have accused me of living within my boundaries by living in community in the summer and not wishing to live outside of such a thing. Perhaps they are correct in that, but maybe they are not. If they were able to see how far I am pushed in so many ways when I am in the community, then they would not say this is a safe area. Regardless of where I am, I will have my boundaries pushed. It just depends on which direction I am going to be stretched.