Alternatively, "Easter celebrations in Miss Hillary's classroom."
The Easter Bunny paid our class a visit today. He left footprints, fur, a note, and some treats hidden all over the room - one little pink packet of chocolate eggs for everyone. (No way in heck was the Easter bunny going to leave random eggs strewn about for children to collect. That would have resulted in the biggest pushing shoving crying fiasco ever!) The kids, the little scientists, tried to catch me faking the visit, but no way no how. I had an explanation for everything.
A little background. The room I'm in was Mrs S's room for many years, and most of my kids were in her class last year. Come Easter time, the kids were very excited to tell me the Mrs S's pet bunny Scooter in fact WAS the Easter bunny. She brought him to school last year, took him to another classroom, put him in a little pen, and yet still he escaped and left a note and treats for the kids.
"Woooow!" I told them. "You're so lucky to know the Easter Bunny's real name! Not many people know that, you know!"
So of course, today, the note was signed "Love, the Easter Bunny (Scooter)" After the kids were finished their little Easter hunt, we were talking about it back on the carpet.
"You know, Mrs S emailed me last night to tell me that Scooter had escaped. He must have come back to 'his' old class to leave the treats for you!"
- No way! You're faking! That writing is all fancy [I... er, Scooter, had written the note in cursive] and Scooter's writing was messy!
Well what do you think Easter Bunnies DO all year? They make Easter Eggs and they learn to write in fancy printing to leave pretty notes. Scooter was just a young little Easter Bunny last year. He's much older now and has been practicing his printing all year long! He's gotten much better now!"
- Yeah! We learn stuff at school, so does the Easter Bunny.
- Hey! He goes to Easter Bunny school!
- But Scooter is only little, how did he write that note so high up?
Bunnies can jump really high!
- Hey, yeah! First he jumped here [a small shelf] then he jumped here [a child's chair] then up here [onto my chair] and then he wrote the note!
- These footprints aren't real! You just used flour! [icing sugar, actually. Darnit! They were paying attention to ingredient names when we baked bread earlier this week!]
- Yeah, it's the same as Santa's footprints!
No, that's not flour! Those are bunny prints! Santa and the Easter Bunny share the same magic, so that's probably why their footprints look the same!
- Ooooh! Maybe the Easter Bunny hopped all the way to the North Pole and got some magic from Santa at his workshop!
Yep! That's probably what happened!
- Wait! This bunny fur isn't real! It's the same as the cotton balls we used to make our bunny box tails yesterday!
Nooo! It's different! I bought that fluff because it looks just like real bunny fur! It really is close, isn't it?!
- But Scooter was BROWN, and this fluff is white!
Oh, yes, but in the winter time, bunnies grow extra fur under their normal fur to help keep them warm. Lots of animals do that. Now, because Spring is coming and it's getting warmer, they lose all that fur. That's what all that white fluff is - it's warm cozy wintertime bunny fur!
- But Scooter lives in Mrs S's house! It's warm there all the time, so he doesn't need the extra fur!
Yeah, but bunnies still do that, it's just what they do.
- But then he'd be hot.
- Maybe Mrs S has a special fan to keep the bunny cool, then she'd be freezing.
Haha! She WOULD be!
- But...
- Isn't...
- Why...
[I cut them all off.] Tell you what! Mrs S is going to come and visit after Spring Break, why don't you ask HER about the Easter Bunny. Ok, boys and girls, it's time for Calendar. [and time for me to stop being the reason you're going to need extensive therapy when you're older!]
Guess I'd better point Mrs S to this post so we're on the same page when she gets bombarded with questions about bunny school and Scooter's special fan, hey? Tee hee hee!
Hooray for Spring Break! It's officially started!
Showing posts with label Favourite Posts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Favourite Posts. Show all posts
Friday, March 14, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Rebirth, part four: Closed
[ If you're new around here, check out installments one, two and three of Rebirth to make a little more sense of this entry! ]
It was January 15, 2006. I was on a huge high from buying my new (to me) and issue-free car after my Beastmobile got munched. I called my mom to tell her about my car, and she mentioned a teeny weenie little announcement in their church bulletin: "Due to geological concerns, Camp Kawkawa will be closing down at the end of January." And with that, my high came crashing down. That was it. No more information, no warning, nothing. Closed.
I found out a week later at the farewell that the camp had had a geological survey done in hopes that the 20 year building ban on the site would finally be lifted and that they could finally expand and build, having acquired the evidence that the site was indeed safe from landslide risks and other geological activity. It turned out that the survey found just the opposite, and that there was absolutely nothing the camp could do. It's not like they ran out of money and just needed a big fundraising drive. No, the mountain might fall down. Who's gonna send their kids? Any takers?
Hands were absolutely tied, and everyone - in complete shock - made the decision to close the camp.
Armed with a mighty stash of kleenex, I attended the farewell. I took part in some of the activities, but then went off on my own and walked the site. From waterfront to dining hall to field to campfire to cabins to chalets to archery and riflery, to heibertisme, and finally to campfire. Every square inch of that place held vivid memories for me. Some fun, some painful, some deeply profound. I stopped in each place, for each memory, and cried. But I also prayed, committing those memories, those people, that place to God. It was all His, anyway.
Finally pulling myself together, I went back to the dining hall for the last function that would ever be held there. I remember it as a place that was filled with life - sunlight streaming in, the lake glistening down below, the ear-splitting din of a hundred kids eating and laughing and (more often than not) banging cups and plates and utensils, counsellors doing all manner of wacky things to get their hands on a much-appreciated piece of mail. The dining hall was alive in my memory, but on this day, a frosty, gloomy, January day, that life was dimmed. It was good to see people I hadn't seen in years, but, like at a dear friend's funeral, you wished you weren't seeing them under those circumstances. We hugged, we cried, we prayed. We shared memories and photos, and reassured each other that Kawkawa wasn't really the place, but the people, and that it would never truly be gone. And we only half believed it.
And then we sang. Amidst the sorrow, we worshipped. We didn't understand why God was allowing this to happen. Why God would let such a place used for His glory, such a powerful ministry, come to such a sudden and sad end. But still we knew that God is good, and that He had a plan. If He would let Kawkawa close, surely He had something better in mind, though none of us could imagine what. But we continued to sing.
One song hit me hard. Did I really believe what I was singing?
Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name
Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's "all as it should be"
Blessed be You name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Really? Could I really sing "Blessed be your name?" Really? And then came the words, like a punch in the gut:
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say,
Lord blessed be Your name
Through my tears I pleaded. "Lord, you gave us this camp. WHY now do you take it away? We've just renovated the chapel, we've just done all this work on the grounds. We have to turn a hundred kids away every summer. Why? WHY now do you yank this way from us? Help me. Help my heart choose to bless your name now. Cause I don't understand. I know you have a plan, somehow, but I just don't get it."
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord blessed be your name...
I drove the two hour drive home alone. I couldn't get that refrain from my head. That, and the words "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." What would happen to the buildings? Would they just be left to waste away? I pictured the forest taking over, moss growing on the roofs, the walls rotting away. "You give and take away, you give and take away. My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name." Could they sell the land? Who could buy it? It's not like they could build houses there, with the geological risks. What would camp become? "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." I thought of my conversation with Paulette, a beloved year-round staff person there. We both simply could not picture that once noisy, boisterous waterfront quiet. Still. "You give and take away." I thought about how I had always dreamed I would send my own children there one day. "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." I arrived home absolutely emotionally wrecked. While it was good to have a chance to say a proper 'goodbye,' it was among the saddest days of my life.
I cried every day after that for at least two weeks, and then sporadically for a few months after that. It honestly felt like a death. It's the hardest thing to describe, but that place, those people... the impact that camp had on my life... I couldn't believe it was over.
Time, as it does, eventually took the intensity of emotion away, but Kawkawa was still on my mind a lot. I began a website where people could write in with their memories, tell stories of their time there, acknowledge people who had made an impact on their lives, and write about the ways their life was impacted by their time at camp. It was my way of keeping camp alive, of doing something to deal with what felt like the loss of an incredibly significant part of my childhood and my spiritual development. Slowly, over the period of about a year, I came to grips with the fact that Camp Kawkawa - my haven, my "God place," my was gone for good.
I remember telling God that day that he had sure better have a bigger plan. Cause this plan sucked...
It was January 15, 2006. I was on a huge high from buying my new (to me) and issue-free car after my Beastmobile got munched. I called my mom to tell her about my car, and she mentioned a teeny weenie little announcement in their church bulletin: "Due to geological concerns, Camp Kawkawa will be closing down at the end of January." And with that, my high came crashing down. That was it. No more information, no warning, nothing. Closed.
I found out a week later at the farewell that the camp had had a geological survey done in hopes that the 20 year building ban on the site would finally be lifted and that they could finally expand and build, having acquired the evidence that the site was indeed safe from landslide risks and other geological activity. It turned out that the survey found just the opposite, and that there was absolutely nothing the camp could do. It's not like they ran out of money and just needed a big fundraising drive. No, the mountain might fall down. Who's gonna send their kids? Any takers?
Hands were absolutely tied, and everyone - in complete shock - made the decision to close the camp.
Armed with a mighty stash of kleenex, I attended the farewell. I took part in some of the activities, but then went off on my own and walked the site. From waterfront to dining hall to field to campfire to cabins to chalets to archery and riflery, to heibertisme, and finally to campfire. Every square inch of that place held vivid memories for me. Some fun, some painful, some deeply profound. I stopped in each place, for each memory, and cried. But I also prayed, committing those memories, those people, that place to God. It was all His, anyway.
Finally pulling myself together, I went back to the dining hall for the last function that would ever be held there. I remember it as a place that was filled with life - sunlight streaming in, the lake glistening down below, the ear-splitting din of a hundred kids eating and laughing and (more often than not) banging cups and plates and utensils, counsellors doing all manner of wacky things to get their hands on a much-appreciated piece of mail. The dining hall was alive in my memory, but on this day, a frosty, gloomy, January day, that life was dimmed. It was good to see people I hadn't seen in years, but, like at a dear friend's funeral, you wished you weren't seeing them under those circumstances. We hugged, we cried, we prayed. We shared memories and photos, and reassured each other that Kawkawa wasn't really the place, but the people, and that it would never truly be gone. And we only half believed it.
And then we sang. Amidst the sorrow, we worshipped. We didn't understand why God was allowing this to happen. Why God would let such a place used for His glory, such a powerful ministry, come to such a sudden and sad end. But still we knew that God is good, and that He had a plan. If He would let Kawkawa close, surely He had something better in mind, though none of us could imagine what. But we continued to sing.
One song hit me hard. Did I really believe what I was singing?
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name
Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's "all as it should be"
Blessed be You name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Really? Could I really sing "Blessed be your name?" Really? And then came the words, like a punch in the gut:
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say,
Lord blessed be Your name
Through my tears I pleaded. "Lord, you gave us this camp. WHY now do you take it away? We've just renovated the chapel, we've just done all this work on the grounds. We have to turn a hundred kids away every summer. Why? WHY now do you yank this way from us? Help me. Help my heart choose to bless your name now. Cause I don't understand. I know you have a plan, somehow, but I just don't get it."
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord blessed be your name...
I drove the two hour drive home alone. I couldn't get that refrain from my head. That, and the words "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." What would happen to the buildings? Would they just be left to waste away? I pictured the forest taking over, moss growing on the roofs, the walls rotting away. "You give and take away, you give and take away. My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name." Could they sell the land? Who could buy it? It's not like they could build houses there, with the geological risks. What would camp become? "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." I thought of my conversation with Paulette, a beloved year-round staff person there. We both simply could not picture that once noisy, boisterous waterfront quiet. Still. "You give and take away." I thought about how I had always dreamed I would send my own children there one day. "Closed." "Over." "Empty." "Gone." I arrived home absolutely emotionally wrecked. While it was good to have a chance to say a proper 'goodbye,' it was among the saddest days of my life.I cried every day after that for at least two weeks, and then sporadically for a few months after that. It honestly felt like a death. It's the hardest thing to describe, but that place, those people... the impact that camp had on my life... I couldn't believe it was over.
Time, as it does, eventually took the intensity of emotion away, but Kawkawa was still on my mind a lot. I began a website where people could write in with their memories, tell stories of their time there, acknowledge people who had made an impact on their lives, and write about the ways their life was impacted by their time at camp. It was my way of keeping camp alive, of doing something to deal with what felt like the loss of an incredibly significant part of my childhood and my spiritual development. Slowly, over the period of about a year, I came to grips with the fact that Camp Kawkawa - my haven, my "God place," my was gone for good.
I remember telling God that day that he had sure better have a bigger plan. Cause this plan sucked...
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Through a child's eyes
When the kids walked in the door Monday morning, the first thing they saw were four great big brown hoof prints on the floor. "Look!" I told them. "Santa came! And Rudolph, too!"
The buzz began immediately.
Santa! Santa came!
Hey, he left a note!
Rudolph put our paper chains on the ceiling!
And our letters are gone!
Santa took them!
The kids could hardly get their coats off quick enough to rush over the the chart board and read what Santa had to say. They looked around at the candy canes hanging, the paper chains a waaaay high up, and the big red fuzzy at Santa left for me to borrow (Miss Hillary, you're SOOO lucky! "Why's that?" Cause you get to borrow Santa's hat AND you get to see him again before Christmas to return it!!!). Some looked around in wonder, some were nearly shaking with excitement. And of course there were a few who punctured the glee with doubt.
It's not real!
The hoof prints are just paint.
Miss Hillary put those chains up.
"Nooo!" I told them. Eighteen excited kids all talking at once and asking questions was boggling my mind, but I just carried on, weaving a tale of Santa's visit and answering their questions as I went. "When I left on Friday, none of this was here! There is a little ladder in the school, but it's not nearly high enough to reach the ceiling! Those chains are WAY too high for me to have put them up. And I would get in trouble if I painted the floor! That wasn't me, either. Rudolph must have had very muddy hooves..." Then why didn't Santa leave footprints, too? [smart little kiddies!] "Well must have been riding his sleigh, so his feet didn't get muddy." It's just paint. Miss Hillary, you painted those. "Nooo! It's dried mud. They weren't there on Friday. Mr. G [an ESL teacher who had come in to drop something off], did you paint those hoof prints?" He didn't either, which was nearly enough to convince them. Miss Hillary, are you sure you're not lying? "I'm positive! I would neeever lie to you! Besides, what could have happened to our letters? And how else could those chains have gotten way up there? Anyway, didn't you say on Friday that you wished Santa would visit our classroom?
Yeah, but why does Santa always come when we can't see him? Why doesn't he ever come for us to see? Then we can KNOW that he's real!
They happily told everyone they saw, too. Friends, teachers, passing parents. Two even ran to the office at recess to tell the office staff.
The day proceeded in sugary goodness as we made and decorated our gingerbread houses. I have never seen so much candy in one place in my life! They loved it, and were definitely in the Christmas spirit, humming Christmas songs and chattering about Santa as they worked.
After school I found a large envelope in my box: our letters to Santa had been read and replied to! I wrote on the outside in big swirly red writing "To Division 21, Love Santa,"dumped a whole bunch of silver glitter inside the envelope, and shook it all around. Up to the staffroom I went, where I dripped some water on the outside of the envelope and stuck it in the freezer to chill overnight.
Tuesday after recess was the big event - our letters from Santa had arrived! I waited an extra minute or two in the staffroom to make sure all the kids were lined up outside our door. As I approached, I whispered excitedly to them. "Boys and girls, look! Santa answered our letters! And it must be fresh from the North Pole! See? There's even ice on the envelope!!!" Gravity and the freezer had worked more magic than I could have hoped, as all the water had run down to the edge of the envelope and had made about a dozen little frozen droplets hanging off the side. Our envelope had icicles!!
Look! It's cold!
And frozen!
It came right from the North Pole!
How did Santa answer them so fast?
He's a fast guy!
Oooh! It's dripping!
Wow! I never got a letter from Santa before!
We all rushed to the carpet where I speedily handed out the letters. I pulled each one out with a flourish, sending silver glitter fluttering to the ground over the students' heads. Miss Hillary, what is that?
With a big grin and a twinkle in my eye, I answered them. "It's MAGIC!"
As the kids got their frozen letters, they all buddied up to read, passing them around and comparing them.
Santa is really busy making toys, so he got his elves to write to us!
Hey look! My elf's twin brother wrote to my friend!
These MUST be real because he answered all my questions!
Oooooh! The raindeers fly using magic flying powder!
Phew! Santa says I'm on the nice list!
Hahaha! My elf's name is "Stinky!"
Here, look at mine! Can I read yours?
[while clutching her letter to her heart:] I LOVE SANTA!!!
The kids spent about ten minutes passing their letters around and reading. (And you have to understand that for my class, to have them that engaged for that long is a nothing short of a miracle!)
I couldn't let the magic end there, though. I know that some of these kids don't really do anything for Christmas, and a few won't have many gifts this year because their families just don't have the money. Santa had to make one last visit...
When the children arrived on Friday, there was a new set of snowy footprints all throughout the classroom - from the door, over to the chart stand, over to the Christmas tree, and back out again. There was a new note, the tree was covered in snow, and there were nineteen gifts wrapped up and laying underneath the tree.
This time there were no doubters.
Santa came AGAIN!!!
And he left us presents!
What IS this stuff?
It's snow!
But it's not melting!
Miss Hillary, those are YOUR footprints!
Put your foot in them, let me see!
... Oh! They're bigger than your feet!
Miss E [my special ed worker], try your foot.
It's not hers, either! That proves it MUST be Santa!
This is the very first present Santa ever gave me!
Oh, this is the best day of my LIFE!
After reading the note and handing out the gifts, the kids tore into them to find the biggest candy canes they had ever seen. These must have come from the candy cane forest at the North Pole! I didn't need to do anything to create the magic this time - they did it on their own. Stories and theories swirled about how Santa could have gotten into our classroom without a chimney (maybe he came through the walls, maybe the janitor let him in, maybe he came through the mouse hole [er, the mouse hole?!?! It's now been filled.]). They talked about how fast Santa's sleigh must be and about how cold the North Pole is. And I sat back and watched, loving every minute.
It's been a while since I've been able to see Christmas in that magical child-like way. It has significance every year for me because of that very first gift that was given long long ago, of course. But there's another aspect of Christmas that I have not seen for a while, and that's the magic, the innocence, the wonder of it all. Impossibility made possible. Childlike faith in someone that can't be seen.
Or then again, maybe it's really been there all along. Maybe that's what Christmas is all about, even for us adults. Childlike faith in a gift too good good to be true, and yet! There He lies wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. God become man to dwell, to die, to deliver. Impossibility made possible. What a gift we've been given.
As a very wise elf said in her letter to one of my students, "Whoever believes in Christmas will always have magic."
How right she is!
The buzz began immediately.
Santa! Santa came!
Hey, he left a note!
Rudolph put our paper chains on the ceiling!
And our letters are gone!
Santa took them!
The kids could hardly get their coats off quick enough to rush over the the chart board and read what Santa had to say. They looked around at the candy canes hanging, the paper chains a waaaay high up, and the big red fuzzy at Santa left for me to borrow (Miss Hillary, you're SOOO lucky! "Why's that?" Cause you get to borrow Santa's hat AND you get to see him again before Christmas to return it!!!). Some looked around in wonder, some were nearly shaking with excitement. And of course there were a few who punctured the glee with doubt.
It's not real!
The hoof prints are just paint.
Miss Hillary put those chains up.
"Nooo!" I told them. Eighteen excited kids all talking at once and asking questions was boggling my mind, but I just carried on, weaving a tale of Santa's visit and answering their questions as I went. "When I left on Friday, none of this was here! There is a little ladder in the school, but it's not nearly high enough to reach the ceiling! Those chains are WAY too high for me to have put them up. And I would get in trouble if I painted the floor! That wasn't me, either. Rudolph must have had very muddy hooves..." Then why didn't Santa leave footprints, too? [smart little kiddies!] "Well must have been riding his sleigh, so his feet didn't get muddy." It's just paint. Miss Hillary, you painted those. "Nooo! It's dried mud. They weren't there on Friday. Mr. G [an ESL teacher who had come in to drop something off], did you paint those hoof prints?" He didn't either, which was nearly enough to convince them. Miss Hillary, are you sure you're not lying? "I'm positive! I would neeever lie to you! Besides, what could have happened to our letters? And how else could those chains have gotten way up there? Anyway, didn't you say on Friday that you wished Santa would visit our classroom?
Yeah, but why does Santa always come when we can't see him? Why doesn't he ever come for us to see? Then we can KNOW that he's real!
"Ah, but it's not about seeing him. It's about believing. If you ever saw Santa, there would be no more magic."
By the end of our excited discussion on the carpet that morning, the biggest doubter was the biggest believer and every single child was convinced without a doubt that the big man in red had come to visit.They happily told everyone they saw, too. Friends, teachers, passing parents. Two even ran to the office at recess to tell the office staff.
The day proceeded in sugary goodness as we made and decorated our gingerbread houses. I have never seen so much candy in one place in my life! They loved it, and were definitely in the Christmas spirit, humming Christmas songs and chattering about Santa as they worked.
After school I found a large envelope in my box: our letters to Santa had been read and replied to! I wrote on the outside in big swirly red writing "To Division 21, Love Santa,"dumped a whole bunch of silver glitter inside the envelope, and shook it all around. Up to the staffroom I went, where I dripped some water on the outside of the envelope and stuck it in the freezer to chill overnight.
Tuesday after recess was the big event - our letters from Santa had arrived! I waited an extra minute or two in the staffroom to make sure all the kids were lined up outside our door. As I approached, I whispered excitedly to them. "Boys and girls, look! Santa answered our letters! And it must be fresh from the North Pole! See? There's even ice on the envelope!!!" Gravity and the freezer had worked more magic than I could have hoped, as all the water had run down to the edge of the envelope and had made about a dozen little frozen droplets hanging off the side. Our envelope had icicles!!
Look! It's cold!
And frozen!
It came right from the North Pole!
How did Santa answer them so fast?
He's a fast guy!
Oooh! It's dripping!
Wow! I never got a letter from Santa before!
We all rushed to the carpet where I speedily handed out the letters. I pulled each one out with a flourish, sending silver glitter fluttering to the ground over the students' heads. Miss Hillary, what is that?
With a big grin and a twinkle in my eye, I answered them. "It's MAGIC!"
As the kids got their frozen letters, they all buddied up to read, passing them around and comparing them.
Santa is really busy making toys, so he got his elves to write to us!
Hey look! My elf's twin brother wrote to my friend!
These MUST be real because he answered all my questions!
Oooooh! The raindeers fly using magic flying powder!
Phew! Santa says I'm on the nice list!
Hahaha! My elf's name is "Stinky!"
Here, look at mine! Can I read yours?
[while clutching her letter to her heart:] I LOVE SANTA!!!
The kids spent about ten minutes passing their letters around and reading. (And you have to understand that for my class, to have them that engaged for that long is a nothing short of a miracle!)
I couldn't let the magic end there, though. I know that some of these kids don't really do anything for Christmas, and a few won't have many gifts this year because their families just don't have the money. Santa had to make one last visit...
When the children arrived on Friday, there was a new set of snowy footprints all throughout the classroom - from the door, over to the chart stand, over to the Christmas tree, and back out again. There was a new note, the tree was covered in snow, and there were nineteen gifts wrapped up and laying underneath the tree.
This time there were no doubters.
Santa came AGAIN!!!
And he left us presents!
What IS this stuff?
It's snow!
But it's not melting!
Miss Hillary, those are YOUR footprints!
Put your foot in them, let me see!
... Oh! They're bigger than your feet!
Miss E [my special ed worker], try your foot.
It's not hers, either! That proves it MUST be Santa!
This is the very first present Santa ever gave me!
Oh, this is the best day of my LIFE!
After reading the note and handing out the gifts, the kids tore into them to find the biggest candy canes they had ever seen. These must have come from the candy cane forest at the North Pole! I didn't need to do anything to create the magic this time - they did it on their own. Stories and theories swirled about how Santa could have gotten into our classroom without a chimney (maybe he came through the walls, maybe the janitor let him in, maybe he came through the mouse hole [er, the mouse hole?!?! It's now been filled.]). They talked about how fast Santa's sleigh must be and about how cold the North Pole is. And I sat back and watched, loving every minute.
It's been a while since I've been able to see Christmas in that magical child-like way. It has significance every year for me because of that very first gift that was given long long ago, of course. But there's another aspect of Christmas that I have not seen for a while, and that's the magic, the innocence, the wonder of it all. Impossibility made possible. Childlike faith in someone that can't be seen.
Or then again, maybe it's really been there all along. Maybe that's what Christmas is all about, even for us adults. Childlike faith in a gift too good good to be true, and yet! There He lies wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. God become man to dwell, to die, to deliver. Impossibility made possible. What a gift we've been given.
As a very wise elf said in her letter to one of my students, "Whoever believes in Christmas will always have magic."
How right she is!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Rebirth, part three: On Staff
It was Spring Break, 1995, and I was finally old enough to go the Leadership Training up at camp. I was going to work on staff at Kawkawa that summer, and I could hardly wait.
Leadership itself was a great week - seminars, training, lots of work, and so much information I thought my head was going to pop. Bertski, Professor, and Prem (the director at the time) poured their hearts into us that week. It was intense and loads of fun.
Summer finally arrived, and I had been given three weeks to work - the first two weeks of July and the very last week of August. I was a junior counsellor for one week and taught some activities and helped run a Bible study the next. I was so sad to leave at the end of my first two weeks. At the end of the summer, I came back as a camper for my last year then stayed the weekend before the last week of camp. It was then that Prem asked me if I would like my own cabin for the last week. I was beyond thrilled that he thought I was ready for the challenge of going it alone.
And so I got my very first group of girls: Ellen, Ashleigh, and Kandace. It didn't matter to me that it was only three girls, I was going to be the best counsellor there ever was! It was such a great week, and solidified my desire to work at camp for many more years to come.
And many more years there were. I continued to work at camp for another seven years after that, anywhere from one to nine weeks each summer. If I thought I had grown as a camper, my years there on staff would blow me away.
It was on staff at Kawkawa that I had the honour of praying with someone as they decided to become a Christian for the first time. It was on the back steps of Chalet 401. I will never forget how I felt God niggling at me all day to ask this girl if she wanted to become a Christian. About how scared I was to actually bring it up, and about how eagerly she said yes. I was so excited that I thought I was going to pop. I ran back down to the campfire where the non-counselling staff were still praying and told Bertski about it because I just couldn't contain my joy. She gave me a hug and then told me to go get back to my cabin of girls. Oh yeah! Whoops! (Good thing I was a junior counsellor and there was still someone with them!)
It was on staff where I first saw how much the Bible is a living book. It was the hardest week of camp I had ever experienced. I had a really challenging group of girls, and I was having some conflicts with some other staff, too. I was at the end of my rope. About halfway through the week (um, DUH! Why did it take me so long???), I opened my Bible randomly and had never had something jump out at me in such a vivid, life-giving way. It spoke directly to what I was dealing with and was exactly what I needed to hear. It went so far beyond coincidence. The passage I read encouraged me, chastised me, and gave me comfort and hope. I came to see that God was (and is!) in that book, alive and well, and oh so relevant.
It was on staff that I saw God work in SO many different ways. Big, small, ordinary and extraordinary. It was amazing to get to see him work through me, in me, and often despite me, and in and through so many other people, too. Camp is not the only place I've experienced this, but the thing about camp is that all the rest of life's pressures and messiness just isn't there, so it's much easier to see things more clearly. And seeing God work and answer prayer at camp was training for seeing Him work in the 'real world,' where sometimes it's not so recognizable amidst the stress and business of regular life.
It was on staff that I had one of my most humbling moments - where God began teaching me to back off on my own plan, cause his is so much better. (Oh how I wish it only took that once to learn that lesson! It's gonna be a lifetime before I get that one down!) It was a particularly hot week, and I had wanted to surprise my girls by sleeping down on the dock. I had gotten permission, and waited till they were all ready for bed before I surprised them. They were so excited to get to sleep outside, and I'm sure one of the reasons was that it was about a kajilion degrees in our cabin. We bundled up our sleeping bags and pillows and made our trek down the giant hill to the beach, only to find that some of the junior counsellors were swimming and the dock was soaking wet.
It was definitely not one of my proudest moments when I told off the junior staff leader and made it perfectly clear how annoyed I was that now we couldn't sleep on the dock. I was disappointed for my girls, too, who were really looking forward to this. So, up we trekked back to our cabin - waaay up the hill - and had to go back into our sweltering cabin to sleep after being out in the cool breezy summer air down at the beach. *grumble grumble grumble* At staff meeting the next morning, I made sure that EVERYBODY knew that I'd like my girls to sleep on the dock, so puh-leeeease don't go swimming after campfire.
Take two. It wasn't a surprise, but the girls were still looking forward to sleeping out. After we all got settled on the dock, we began looking up at the stars. "Hey! There's a shooting star!" "And another one!" "Look! I just saw one, too!" It turns out that that night, and not the night before, was the night of the huge August meteor shower. We lay awake for hours watching falling stars and talking about God's creation, reading Psalms and praising God for his creativity and beauty. Ok, God, I get it. You've got a better plan! :P
And it was on staff that I made one of the biggest discoveries about myself I've made so far. For a year or so, I had been plagued with the question of "What's my passion?" I saw people with a passion for scuba diving, or a passion for missions, or a passion for sports and on and on... But what was mine? Sure, I liked a lot of different things, but I couldn't call any of them "my passion." I guess in some ways it was a quest for purpose: what is my purpose, my calling - where that place where my great love and the world's great need intersected?
Well, it was the last night of the second to last week of camp in 2001. I had had the most incredible week - I had the best cabin I've ever had, and witnessed some extremely meaningful changes in the lives of every single girl in my cabin. It was a particularly impacting week for many, many campers, not to mention staff. We were at campfire on the last night, and I found myself looking around. The kids - many who had never once set foot in a church in their lives - were singing with all their hearts, arms raised to heaven, knowing what it felt like to experience the love of God. They were deciding to trust him, choosing to accept the gift he offers.
It was at that moment that I knew. What's my passion? It's here. It's this. It's helping kids come to a greater understanding of who God is and what he's done for them. It's seeing lives changed. I've struggled since then to understand how that translates to the 'real world,' as sadly, camp is not a year round event. But it's trying to see how that works into my daily life - in whatever role I'm in - that will be the lifelong lesson. It was on staff at Kawkawa where I realized that nothing gets to my heart quicker than a child in love with God. And to have God allow me to help that happen? That's my passion.
Leadership itself was a great week - seminars, training, lots of work, and so much information I thought my head was going to pop. Bertski, Professor, and Prem (the director at the time) poured their hearts into us that week. It was intense and loads of fun.
Summer finally arrived, and I had been given three weeks to work - the first two weeks of July and the very last week of August. I was a junior counsellor for one week and taught some activities and helped run a Bible study the next. I was so sad to leave at the end of my first two weeks. At the end of the summer, I came back as a camper for my last year then stayed the weekend before the last week of camp. It was then that Prem asked me if I would like my own cabin for the last week. I was beyond thrilled that he thought I was ready for the challenge of going it alone.
And so I got my very first group of girls: Ellen, Ashleigh, and Kandace. It didn't matter to me that it was only three girls, I was going to be the best counsellor there ever was! It was such a great week, and solidified my desire to work at camp for many more years to come.
And many more years there were. I continued to work at camp for another seven years after that, anywhere from one to nine weeks each summer. If I thought I had grown as a camper, my years there on staff would blow me away.
It was on staff at Kawkawa that I had the honour of praying with someone as they decided to become a Christian for the first time. It was on the back steps of Chalet 401. I will never forget how I felt God niggling at me all day to ask this girl if she wanted to become a Christian. About how scared I was to actually bring it up, and about how eagerly she said yes. I was so excited that I thought I was going to pop. I ran back down to the campfire where the non-counselling staff were still praying and told Bertski about it because I just couldn't contain my joy. She gave me a hug and then told me to go get back to my cabin of girls. Oh yeah! Whoops! (Good thing I was a junior counsellor and there was still someone with them!)
It was on staff where I first saw how much the Bible is a living book. It was the hardest week of camp I had ever experienced. I had a really challenging group of girls, and I was having some conflicts with some other staff, too. I was at the end of my rope. About halfway through the week (um, DUH! Why did it take me so long???), I opened my Bible randomly and had never had something jump out at me in such a vivid, life-giving way. It spoke directly to what I was dealing with and was exactly what I needed to hear. It went so far beyond coincidence. The passage I read encouraged me, chastised me, and gave me comfort and hope. I came to see that God was (and is!) in that book, alive and well, and oh so relevant.
It was on staff that I saw God work in SO many different ways. Big, small, ordinary and extraordinary. It was amazing to get to see him work through me, in me, and often despite me, and in and through so many other people, too. Camp is not the only place I've experienced this, but the thing about camp is that all the rest of life's pressures and messiness just isn't there, so it's much easier to see things more clearly. And seeing God work and answer prayer at camp was training for seeing Him work in the 'real world,' where sometimes it's not so recognizable amidst the stress and business of regular life.
It was on staff that I had one of my most humbling moments - where God began teaching me to back off on my own plan, cause his is so much better. (Oh how I wish it only took that once to learn that lesson! It's gonna be a lifetime before I get that one down!) It was a particularly hot week, and I had wanted to surprise my girls by sleeping down on the dock. I had gotten permission, and waited till they were all ready for bed before I surprised them. They were so excited to get to sleep outside, and I'm sure one of the reasons was that it was about a kajilion degrees in our cabin. We bundled up our sleeping bags and pillows and made our trek down the giant hill to the beach, only to find that some of the junior counsellors were swimming and the dock was soaking wet.
It was definitely not one of my proudest moments when I told off the junior staff leader and made it perfectly clear how annoyed I was that now we couldn't sleep on the dock. I was disappointed for my girls, too, who were really looking forward to this. So, up we trekked back to our cabin - waaay up the hill - and had to go back into our sweltering cabin to sleep after being out in the cool breezy summer air down at the beach. *grumble grumble grumble* At staff meeting the next morning, I made sure that EVERYBODY knew that I'd like my girls to sleep on the dock, so puh-leeeease don't go swimming after campfire.
Take two. It wasn't a surprise, but the girls were still looking forward to sleeping out. After we all got settled on the dock, we began looking up at the stars. "Hey! There's a shooting star!" "And another one!" "Look! I just saw one, too!" It turns out that that night, and not the night before, was the night of the huge August meteor shower. We lay awake for hours watching falling stars and talking about God's creation, reading Psalms and praising God for his creativity and beauty. Ok, God, I get it. You've got a better plan! :P
And it was on staff that I made one of the biggest discoveries about myself I've made so far. For a year or so, I had been plagued with the question of "What's my passion?" I saw people with a passion for scuba diving, or a passion for missions, or a passion for sports and on and on... But what was mine? Sure, I liked a lot of different things, but I couldn't call any of them "my passion." I guess in some ways it was a quest for purpose: what is my purpose, my calling - where that place where my great love and the world's great need intersected?
Well, it was the last night of the second to last week of camp in 2001. I had had the most incredible week - I had the best cabin I've ever had, and witnessed some extremely meaningful changes in the lives of every single girl in my cabin. It was a particularly impacting week for many, many campers, not to mention staff. We were at campfire on the last night, and I found myself looking around. The kids - many who had never once set foot in a church in their lives - were singing with all their hearts, arms raised to heaven, knowing what it felt like to experience the love of God. They were deciding to trust him, choosing to accept the gift he offers.
It was at that moment that I knew. What's my passion? It's here. It's this. It's helping kids come to a greater understanding of who God is and what he's done for them. It's seeing lives changed. I've struggled since then to understand how that translates to the 'real world,' as sadly, camp is not a year round event. But it's trying to see how that works into my daily life - in whatever role I'm in - that will be the lifelong lesson. It was on staff at Kawkawa where I realized that nothing gets to my heart quicker than a child in love with God. And to have God allow me to help that happen? That's my passion.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Rebirth, part two: Campfire
It's summertime, and the sun has slipped behind the mountains, bathing the lake in orange as it set. The sky is turning a deep blue now, and campers are making their way up the path to the campfire, their feet crunching the dry gravel beneath them. Their voices are hushed after a twilight discussion, the shouts of the day's activities now subdued and calmed.
Two trees mark the entrance to the campfire area. Rows of rough benches - nothing more than heavy planks on wooden supports - are arranged in a semi circle around this sacred place. Moss-covered boulders, ferns, and scraggly trees rise up the side of the mountain behind them, while the patio lights of the cabins further up the hill pierce through the dark branches. There is a fence closing off the open side of the semi-circle - tall wooden boards painted green, all different lengths, their pointed tops drawing your eyes skyward. Perhaps they were intended to look like the evergreens that surround them. Perhaps they are a reminder to just look up.
Those who like the heat of the fire sit up front, while others scurry to the back row or make sure to sit beside their new-found friend or favourite counsellor. Near or far, everybody is mesmerized by the flames at some point, staring into the blazing, dancing, brightness; lost in the worship, lost in the story, lost in their own thoughts.
As the campfire flickers it sends sparks soaring upwards. My eyes follow them until they disappear, but by then it is not the sparks that have my attention. I crane my neck upwards and stare at the towering trees that surround this little circle of heaven. There is an open patch of now-dark sky directly above the flames. A handful of stars are visible in the opening, and I am in awe.
This is a cathedral. This is where God dwells, where he draws near, where his presence is felt. This is where lives are changed.
This is where my life was changed, over and over again. This is my "God place."
Two trees mark the entrance to the campfire area. Rows of rough benches - nothing more than heavy planks on wooden supports - are arranged in a semi circle around this sacred place. Moss-covered boulders, ferns, and scraggly trees rise up the side of the mountain behind them, while the patio lights of the cabins further up the hill pierce through the dark branches. There is a fence closing off the open side of the semi-circle - tall wooden boards painted green, all different lengths, their pointed tops drawing your eyes skyward. Perhaps they were intended to look like the evergreens that surround them. Perhaps they are a reminder to just look up.
Those who like the heat of the fire sit up front, while others scurry to the back row or make sure to sit beside their new-found friend or favourite counsellor. Near or far, everybody is mesmerized by the flames at some point, staring into the blazing, dancing, brightness; lost in the worship, lost in the story, lost in their own thoughts.
As the campfire flickers it sends sparks soaring upwards. My eyes follow them until they disappear, but by then it is not the sparks that have my attention. I crane my neck upwards and stare at the towering trees that surround this little circle of heaven. There is an open patch of now-dark sky directly above the flames. A handful of stars are visible in the opening, and I am in awe.
This is a cathedral. This is where God dwells, where he draws near, where his presence is felt. This is where lives are changed.
This is where my life was changed, over and over again. This is my "God place."
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Rebirth, part one
When I was eight years old, my nana and papa gave me a birthday present. I still remember where I was when I got it: the atrium section of the old White Spot in West Vancouver. The gift wasn't much to look at, but it would be one that would change my life. It was a card telling me that they had registered me for summer camp. I would be heading off to Camp Kawkawa for one week once school was out.
The time finally came (it's a long wait for a little kid from the beginning of February till summer!) and my parents drove me out to Surrey to catch the camp bus bound for Hope, the little town where the camp was located. Fearless little monkey that I was, I hopped on a bus full of kids I'd never met before in my life, and waved goodbye to my parents, who were definitely having a harder time saying goodbye than I was. I was off for an adventure!
Little did I know then what an adventure I'd be in for.
I don't remember much of that first week of camp, except vague pictures in my mind of my counsellors - Sudsy and Coke - and one of the crafts we did: leather bookmarks that we decorated with leather stamps... They were so cool!
The next year, of course, I wanted to go back. And the next, and the next. I didn't miss a summer - from kids camps to junior then senior teens. I loved the counsellors there - Bunta, Dewey, Squeak, Bertski, Prem, Link, Chunk, Gump, Squab, Lucy, Derby, Crocket, Festus... the list could go on and on. So many of them made such lasting impacts on my life.
And I met lots of great friends there, too. Every summer my address book would be full of new addresses - people I'd write to every now and then, maybe call on the phone once in a while (back in the days when it was a big deal to call long distance to the next suburb. Definitely no email or facebook to keep in touch back then!). They were all people I couldn't wait to see again the following summer.
The location was beautiful, the water was warm, the food was great (oh Georgy Porgy, you were the best cook!), the skits were hilarious, the activities were always fun. It was there I learned how to have a camera war, how to paddle -and tip! - a canoe, how to shoot a bow and arrow, how to watch the counsellor at the table like a hawk so I wasn't the last one to put my thumb up and be stuck scraping the dishes with "Mr. Scrapey." I learned goofy songs and ridiculous wide games, and I learned that sleeping out on the beach was an amazing experience - unless of course the counsellors woke you up early and told you that you were all going to play a trick on the director and sneak over to the provincial park across the lake via canoe. Let me tell you, 80 kids trying to hide behind two outhouse buildings just doesn't work. Grizzly was M-A-D when he got in the camp boat and came looking for us. Kids were in tears, the lifeguard threw down his whistle and quit, stomping off into the forest. Counsellors were mad, we were terrified of our punishment, and it all blew up... until Grizzly finally told us all that it was all a big joke, he'd planned it all, and YAY! We were going to have a pancake breakfast in the park.
Man, that all sounds so awful written out. It was pretty funny at the time, and I have only warm memories of the famous "Sneak." Maybe that's also because that was also the day I found out that my very first cousin was born (he's in grade 12 now!).
I learned all kinds of things at Camp Kawkawa, but the biggest impact that camp made on me was on my faith. It was there where I felt that my faith really grew the most - where I learned the most about God and about what it meant to be a Christian. It was all around me at home, too, but it somehow seemed that there, between the mountains and at the edge of the lake, away from "normal life" and school and parents and pressures, I could really experience God in ways I never had before.
Every year I left camp on a high. I felt like a new person every time I got home. The thrill would subside, but the lessons remained. It was at camp that I remember Gump sitting with me on the back bench of the campfire, ignoring what was going on around us and stopping to pray for my friend April, who was at camp with me and had just gotten called away to take a phone call about her mom who was very sick. I learned that I can pray any time, anywhere, for anything, regardless of what's going on around me.
I remember Bunta telling me straight up that I had a bad attitude when I kept complaining about the girls in my cabin practicing their cheerleading routines every night. I remember telling her, "You know what? You're right," and being so grateful she called me out on it. Those girls stopped annoying me from that moment on, cause I realized it was really me being the twit. (And funnily enough, one of those girls now is a fairly regular sub at my school!)
I remember Matilda's Bible study sessions one week when I was fourteen. She challenged us to make ourselves available for God. I did, and recommitted my life to Jesus that week. I would say that that was the week when my faith really became my own and I became a Christian because I knew it was what I wanted to do, not becuase my parents told me so.
I remember the campfires - the songs, the stories, the testimonies kids told on the last night of camp about how God had impacted their lives that week at camp. I can see their faces lit with an orange glow as they stood by the fire and told their story - of their life back at home - good, bad, or otherwise, of their struggle with friends, of new commitments they wanted to make, of what God was teaching them. I remember how they impacted me. I shared my stories, too, at the edge of that campfire. Of how God had challenged me, of who I was, who I wanted to be. Of renewed commitments and a refreshed soul.
I remember knowing that I wanted to keep going to camp as long as I could, and when I was too old to be a camper, that I wanted to work there. So when I was sixteen, I applied to work as a Leader In Training...
The time finally came (it's a long wait for a little kid from the beginning of February till summer!) and my parents drove me out to Surrey to catch the camp bus bound for Hope, the little town where the camp was located. Fearless little monkey that I was, I hopped on a bus full of kids I'd never met before in my life, and waved goodbye to my parents, who were definitely having a harder time saying goodbye than I was. I was off for an adventure!
Little did I know then what an adventure I'd be in for.
I don't remember much of that first week of camp, except vague pictures in my mind of my counsellors - Sudsy and Coke - and one of the crafts we did: leather bookmarks that we decorated with leather stamps... They were so cool!
The next year, of course, I wanted to go back. And the next, and the next. I didn't miss a summer - from kids camps to junior then senior teens. I loved the counsellors there - Bunta, Dewey, Squeak, Bertski, Prem, Link, Chunk, Gump, Squab, Lucy, Derby, Crocket, Festus... the list could go on and on. So many of them made such lasting impacts on my life.
And I met lots of great friends there, too. Every summer my address book would be full of new addresses - people I'd write to every now and then, maybe call on the phone once in a while (back in the days when it was a big deal to call long distance to the next suburb. Definitely no email or facebook to keep in touch back then!). They were all people I couldn't wait to see again the following summer.
The location was beautiful, the water was warm, the food was great (oh Georgy Porgy, you were the best cook!), the skits were hilarious, the activities were always fun. It was there I learned how to have a camera war, how to paddle -and tip! - a canoe, how to shoot a bow and arrow, how to watch the counsellor at the table like a hawk so I wasn't the last one to put my thumb up and be stuck scraping the dishes with "Mr. Scrapey." I learned goofy songs and ridiculous wide games, and I learned that sleeping out on the beach was an amazing experience - unless of course the counsellors woke you up early and told you that you were all going to play a trick on the director and sneak over to the provincial park across the lake via canoe. Let me tell you, 80 kids trying to hide behind two outhouse buildings just doesn't work. Grizzly was M-A-D when he got in the camp boat and came looking for us. Kids were in tears, the lifeguard threw down his whistle and quit, stomping off into the forest. Counsellors were mad, we were terrified of our punishment, and it all blew up... until Grizzly finally told us all that it was all a big joke, he'd planned it all, and YAY! We were going to have a pancake breakfast in the park.
Man, that all sounds so awful written out. It was pretty funny at the time, and I have only warm memories of the famous "Sneak." Maybe that's also because that was also the day I found out that my very first cousin was born (he's in grade 12 now!).
I learned all kinds of things at Camp Kawkawa, but the biggest impact that camp made on me was on my faith. It was there where I felt that my faith really grew the most - where I learned the most about God and about what it meant to be a Christian. It was all around me at home, too, but it somehow seemed that there, between the mountains and at the edge of the lake, away from "normal life" and school and parents and pressures, I could really experience God in ways I never had before.
Every year I left camp on a high. I felt like a new person every time I got home. The thrill would subside, but the lessons remained. It was at camp that I remember Gump sitting with me on the back bench of the campfire, ignoring what was going on around us and stopping to pray for my friend April, who was at camp with me and had just gotten called away to take a phone call about her mom who was very sick. I learned that I can pray any time, anywhere, for anything, regardless of what's going on around me.
I remember Bunta telling me straight up that I had a bad attitude when I kept complaining about the girls in my cabin practicing their cheerleading routines every night. I remember telling her, "You know what? You're right," and being so grateful she called me out on it. Those girls stopped annoying me from that moment on, cause I realized it was really me being the twit. (And funnily enough, one of those girls now is a fairly regular sub at my school!)
I remember Matilda's Bible study sessions one week when I was fourteen. She challenged us to make ourselves available for God. I did, and recommitted my life to Jesus that week. I would say that that was the week when my faith really became my own and I became a Christian because I knew it was what I wanted to do, not becuase my parents told me so.
I remember the campfires - the songs, the stories, the testimonies kids told on the last night of camp about how God had impacted their lives that week at camp. I can see their faces lit with an orange glow as they stood by the fire and told their story - of their life back at home - good, bad, or otherwise, of their struggle with friends, of new commitments they wanted to make, of what God was teaching them. I remember how they impacted me. I shared my stories, too, at the edge of that campfire. Of how God had challenged me, of who I was, who I wanted to be. Of renewed commitments and a refreshed soul.
I remember knowing that I wanted to keep going to camp as long as I could, and when I was too old to be a camper, that I wanted to work there. So when I was sixteen, I applied to work as a Leader In Training...
Monday, December 11, 2006
That's how the light gets in
Look around you this season. Light is everywhere. From the strings of red, blue, yellow and green hung from the eaves and draped over railings and hedges to the flicker of the candles that fill a room with the soft light so characteristic of this time of year. In these months when the days are shortest, still we find ways of filling our lives with light.
Light of the world, you stepped down into darkness...
And yet, this can also be a dark season. There are parts of us that are broken, longing, hurt. I see a little of that in my own heart at times. And for others, there may be great pain this season. There may be joy, yes, but mixed with the sadness of a life not quite as they hoped it would be. Regret. Loss. Unfulfilled hope. Whatever it is, we don't feel quite whole. There are cracks in our lives, in our hearts.
Do not be afraid, do not be afraid
..........Love has found its way to you, do not be afraid...
One of the things I love about this time of year is that, if I actually take the time to think about the baby boy born on Christmas eve, I am reminded again of new hope, new life, new promise. It's fitting, somehow, that Christmas is at the end of the year. Whatever the year has brought us - the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly - it all gets wrapped up in one last hurrah of boisterous parties, holiday food, generosity and goodwill, and, if we're wise, quiet reflection. It's a time to look back, to look forward... to look up. The baby, from cradle to cross, at the center of it all.
Come thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free
..........From our sins and fears release us, let us find our rest in thee
It's in the times of feeling that I'm so imperfect, have made so many mistakes, have so many cracks in who I want to be, that I am reminded that that's just how God wants me to come to him this Christmas. I don't have to be all polished and perfect, all my issues dealt with, all my problems solved. Instead, I can come in rough and dishelveled, goof-ups and muddy feet from the year that has almost passed in plain view, and kneel down beside the manger. Cracks and all, I offer what little I have to give to the baby lying there.
Ring the bells that still can ring
..........Forget your perfect offering
....................There is a crack, a crack in everything
..............................But that's how the Light gets in.
_______________________________________
Light of the World... from Here I Am To Worship by Tim Hughes
Do not be afraid... from Do Not Be Afraid by Carolyn Arends [listen]
Come thou long expected Jesus... from the hymn of the same name
Ring the bells... from Anthem by Leonard Cohen
Light of the world, you stepped down into darkness...
And yet, this can also be a dark season. There are parts of us that are broken, longing, hurt. I see a little of that in my own heart at times. And for others, there may be great pain this season. There may be joy, yes, but mixed with the sadness of a life not quite as they hoped it would be. Regret. Loss. Unfulfilled hope. Whatever it is, we don't feel quite whole. There are cracks in our lives, in our hearts.
Do not be afraid, do not be afraid
..........Love has found its way to you, do not be afraid...
One of the things I love about this time of year is that, if I actually take the time to think about the baby boy born on Christmas eve, I am reminded again of new hope, new life, new promise. It's fitting, somehow, that Christmas is at the end of the year. Whatever the year has brought us - the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly - it all gets wrapped up in one last hurrah of boisterous parties, holiday food, generosity and goodwill, and, if we're wise, quiet reflection. It's a time to look back, to look forward... to look up. The baby, from cradle to cross, at the center of it all.
Come thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free
..........From our sins and fears release us, let us find our rest in thee
It's in the times of feeling that I'm so imperfect, have made so many mistakes, have so many cracks in who I want to be, that I am reminded that that's just how God wants me to come to him this Christmas. I don't have to be all polished and perfect, all my issues dealt with, all my problems solved. Instead, I can come in rough and dishelveled, goof-ups and muddy feet from the year that has almost passed in plain view, and kneel down beside the manger. Cracks and all, I offer what little I have to give to the baby lying there.
Ring the bells that still can ring
..........Forget your perfect offering
....................There is a crack, a crack in everything
..............................But that's how the Light gets in.
_______________________________________
Light of the World... from Here I Am To Worship by Tim Hughes
Do not be afraid... from Do Not Be Afraid by Carolyn Arends [listen]
Come thou long expected Jesus... from the hymn of the same name
Ring the bells... from Anthem by Leonard Cohen
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Alive
A prayer wafts up
silently
amid the noise of day
thoughts louder than words
crash heavily
help
the flow of life
at times
opressive
at times
making my feet take off dancing
a life of their own
joy flowing down to my toes
the mixture bittersweet
and lovely
silently
amid the noise of day
thoughts louder than words
crash heavily
help
the flow of life
at times
opressive
at times
making my feet take off dancing
a life of their own
joy flowing down to my toes
the mixture bittersweet
and lovely
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Domestic
I woke up this morning to the sound of the rain, which is pretty impressive, because I live in a ground floor suite. There's no rain on the roof here, just the pounding drops hitting the ground outside my window.
I love the sound of the rain. There's something soothing about it. I laid in bed for a while, just listening, before I got up to start my day.
My to do list today is long, too long to accomplish everything, but I switched on some music and got to it. I did the dishes, then called Rachelle and talked to her for a while about life in Iowa with two babies. I talked about crazy work and all the fun of the single life while she told me about her plans to meet up with two other mommies once a month for a day of cooking and a meal exchange. After we said goodbye, I got back to work, some of my favourite worship tunes playing on my DVD player. I tidyed up, washed the floor, put away some groceries. The bathroom is cleaned, and the piles of paper in the 'office' are going to be dealt with today, by hook or by crook.
I've got the door open, so I can hear the rain that continues to fall. The cool-ish November breeze brings in the smell of wet leaves and the tiniest hint of smoke from a neighbour's chimney. The occasional ding-ding-ding of my windchimes float in over the music.
As I drag my couch back into position, I can't help but think that I really wish there was someone else here right now. Not to help me move the couch - I can do that on my own. I can do most things on my own, actually. But I don't want to.
Today is just one of those days when I look ahead to another rainy Saturday some years from now. I'll wake up to the rain with my best friend beside me. My kids will jump into bed with me for a morning snuggle before we go downstairs for breakfast and some Saturday morning cartoons. There'll be a bigger mess to clean up, with less time to do it. Life will be busier, more complicated, and I'll be more tired. But there will be a richness in my life that I can only attempt to understand now.
There's a quiet beauty in a rainy domestic Saturday. I'm looking forward to having someone to share it with.
I love the sound of the rain. There's something soothing about it. I laid in bed for a while, just listening, before I got up to start my day.
My to do list today is long, too long to accomplish everything, but I switched on some music and got to it. I did the dishes, then called Rachelle and talked to her for a while about life in Iowa with two babies. I talked about crazy work and all the fun of the single life while she told me about her plans to meet up with two other mommies once a month for a day of cooking and a meal exchange. After we said goodbye, I got back to work, some of my favourite worship tunes playing on my DVD player. I tidyed up, washed the floor, put away some groceries. The bathroom is cleaned, and the piles of paper in the 'office' are going to be dealt with today, by hook or by crook.
I've got the door open, so I can hear the rain that continues to fall. The cool-ish November breeze brings in the smell of wet leaves and the tiniest hint of smoke from a neighbour's chimney. The occasional ding-ding-ding of my windchimes float in over the music.
As I drag my couch back into position, I can't help but think that I really wish there was someone else here right now. Not to help me move the couch - I can do that on my own. I can do most things on my own, actually. But I don't want to.
Today is just one of those days when I look ahead to another rainy Saturday some years from now. I'll wake up to the rain with my best friend beside me. My kids will jump into bed with me for a morning snuggle before we go downstairs for breakfast and some Saturday morning cartoons. There'll be a bigger mess to clean up, with less time to do it. Life will be busier, more complicated, and I'll be more tired. But there will be a richness in my life that I can only attempt to understand now.
There's a quiet beauty in a rainy domestic Saturday. I'm looking forward to having someone to share it with.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Just to see 'em squirm
Last week I met some girlfriends in a park nearby my house to hang out, chat, and share a carton of gelato. Mmmm... Through a series of rather random events, my friend Rebecca and I ended up at a choir rehearsal in the community center next door singing the names of several cheeses in operatic voices with a couple of guys we met in the park.*
Yeah, I know. Welcome to my life.
Well I, being the music teacher I am, thought this song would be peeerfect for a few of my primary classes. I made mental note of the words, and Rebecca and I sung it to each other over the phone a few times over the weekend (I love my kooky friends!) and I was all set to teach it to my kids today.
Senooo-o-o-o-oooo-o-o-o-ooo-oore, senior-iii-iii-na
Mozzarella, parmigiana, pescatore, pizza pie,
Mozzarella, parmigiana, pescatore, pizza pie, buh-dum-boum
They had the tune. They had the words. But the emotion! Ah, it was sadly lacking. They were just a bunch of singing lumps on the carpet! I wanted them to get their voices and entire bodies to portray a deep feeling when they were singing this song (can we say, dramatic exercise?), so we talked about opera, and how it was intensely emotional.
"People aren't just happy," said I, pausing to smile weakly at them, "they're HAPPY!" I flung my head back, shot my arms in the air, arched my back, and raised myself up on my tippie-toes.
A little louder now, I told them, "People aren't just sad," as my eyes turned downward and I stuck out my lower lip ever so slightly, "they're SAD!" I rolled my shoulders forward and let my head drop. As my hands fell to my side, I let out a heavy sigh and let my face feel the weight of all the sorrow I was trying to convey.
Still louder, I continued. "People aren't just mad." I frowned at the class. "They're MAD!" And with that, I scowled my fiercest scowl, lunged at them, one foot forward and my fists up and ready to fight. A few of them squealed and scurried backwards on the carpet.
"And of course... do you remember what 'seniore' meant?"
"Sir!" "Mister!" They all called out variations on what I had told them.
"And 'seniorina?' "
"Mrs!" "Maam!"
"Ah Haaa! Well, In opera, we can't forget about one veeeery important emotion! People aren't just in love, they're IN LOOOOVE!" One hand on my heart, I threw my head back and raised the back of my hand to my forehead...
...at which point the entire class of eight year olds scrunched up their noses and cried, "EEEEWWWWWW!!!!!"
Some raised their shoulders to their ears in disgust, some covered their ears, and some physically turned around to avoid the horror of even thinking about those cootie-laden creatures of the opposite sex. One boy mimicked ramming his finger down his throat and made loud gagging noises.
I got them to show emotion all right!
Ah, how I love horrifying my students with my antics! Giggle giggle!
* ok, ok, so Rebecca knew them, but it just wouldn't sound as good if I had told you that, now would it? ;)
Yeah, I know. Welcome to my life.
Well I, being the music teacher I am, thought this song would be peeerfect for a few of my primary classes. I made mental note of the words, and Rebecca and I sung it to each other over the phone a few times over the weekend (I love my kooky friends!) and I was all set to teach it to my kids today.
Senooo-o-o-o-oooo-o-o-o-ooo-oore, senior-iii-iii-na
Mozzarella, parmigiana, pescatore, pizza pie,
Mozzarella, parmigiana, pescatore, pizza pie, buh-dum-boum
They had the tune. They had the words. But the emotion! Ah, it was sadly lacking. They were just a bunch of singing lumps on the carpet! I wanted them to get their voices and entire bodies to portray a deep feeling when they were singing this song (can we say, dramatic exercise?), so we talked about opera, and how it was intensely emotional.
"People aren't just happy," said I, pausing to smile weakly at them, "they're HAPPY!" I flung my head back, shot my arms in the air, arched my back, and raised myself up on my tippie-toes.
A little louder now, I told them, "People aren't just sad," as my eyes turned downward and I stuck out my lower lip ever so slightly, "they're SAD!" I rolled my shoulders forward and let my head drop. As my hands fell to my side, I let out a heavy sigh and let my face feel the weight of all the sorrow I was trying to convey.
Still louder, I continued. "People aren't just mad." I frowned at the class. "They're MAD!" And with that, I scowled my fiercest scowl, lunged at them, one foot forward and my fists up and ready to fight. A few of them squealed and scurried backwards on the carpet.
"And of course... do you remember what 'seniore' meant?"
"Sir!" "Mister!" They all called out variations on what I had told them.
"And 'seniorina?' "
"Mrs!" "Maam!"
"Ah Haaa! Well, In opera, we can't forget about one veeeery important emotion! People aren't just in love, they're IN LOOOOVE!" One hand on my heart, I threw my head back and raised the back of my hand to my forehead...
...at which point the entire class of eight year olds scrunched up their noses and cried, "EEEEWWWWWW!!!!!"
Some raised their shoulders to their ears in disgust, some covered their ears, and some physically turned around to avoid the horror of even thinking about those cootie-laden creatures of the opposite sex. One boy mimicked ramming his finger down his throat and made loud gagging noises.
I got them to show emotion all right!
Ah, how I love horrifying my students with my antics! Giggle giggle!
* ok, ok, so Rebecca knew them, but it just wouldn't sound as good if I had told you that, now would it? ;)
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Temptation
Call it a moment of weakness.
It's been a long time since he and I last met. We'd usually meet for breakfast, or sometimes we'd meet after work or for dinner, but we haven't spent any time together for over a year. Even so, I still run into him every few weeks. Usually I rush on by, doing my best not to think about him. Sometimes I pause for a brief second, wondering if I should give it another go. But no. He's one of those who just isn't good for me no matter how much I want him to be. It's just those eyes. They're the brightest, bluest eyes I've ever seen........No. It's not right. I try to convince myself of this and head on to more grown up, responsible choices.
I saw him again tonight. I met his eyes and I was filled with memories of how it used to be. But as sweet as he tasted on my lips, he never was one to be really deep. He wasn't fulfilling, but he was fun, sometimes nearly addicting.
I'll rationalize it by saying that I'd had a bad day (see below). I was tired. I just wanted something comforting, familiar. I almost walked on by again, but tonight I stopped, I reached out. I'm not proud of it. I guess I'm still a sucker for a man in uniform. He is a Captian, after all. Or should I say, a Cap'n.
His name, you ask?
Cap'n Crunch.
It's been a long time since he and I last met. We'd usually meet for breakfast, or sometimes we'd meet after work or for dinner, but we haven't spent any time together for over a year. Even so, I still run into him every few weeks. Usually I rush on by, doing my best not to think about him. Sometimes I pause for a brief second, wondering if I should give it another go. But no. He's one of those who just isn't good for me no matter how much I want him to be. It's just those eyes. They're the brightest, bluest eyes I've ever seen........No. It's not right. I try to convince myself of this and head on to more grown up, responsible choices.
I saw him again tonight. I met his eyes and I was filled with memories of how it used to be. But as sweet as he tasted on my lips, he never was one to be really deep. He wasn't fulfilling, but he was fun, sometimes nearly addicting.
I'll rationalize it by saying that I'd had a bad day (see below). I was tired. I just wanted something comforting, familiar. I almost walked on by again, but tonight I stopped, I reached out. I'm not proud of it. I guess I'm still a sucker for a man in uniform. He is a Captian, after all. Or should I say, a Cap'n.
His name, you ask?
Cap'n Crunch.
Friday, February 03, 2006
My feet are freezing!
Also known as "How slip on shoes and by-law enforcement officers are a bad combo."
Today was the last day to apply for summer school (my source of income for the summer months), and, as usual, it was down to the wire. I had left it till the last second to fill out and drop off my application. I was hastily filling out my application form and wasn't sure if I'd be able to get it in before the office closed at 4pm. As I was running out the front door of my school, I realized I'd left the address for a staff social back in my room. AK! No time! I called over to another teacher who was walking to her car and she rummaged around... she found it and off I went.
24 minutes till the office closes.
Key in ignition, and ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruuuuooooom. Uh, WHY is my NEW car having issues starting?!?! Oh yeah. The tank is empty. And I don't mean, oops, "I need to get gas soon" empty, I mean, "I reeeeally hope I can get it around the corner, let alone to a gas station cause I've been pushing the 'E' for two days now" empty. tick, tick tick... I decided against trying to push it all the way to the board office. Luckily I made it to a gas station. I pulled up, whipped out my card to pay at the pump, and ARG! I had picked the ONE pump out of ten that DIDN'T have pay-at-the-pump. Glug glug glug goes the gas. Great. There's a line up. I pay, and add a chocolate bar to my total. There's a reason I pay at the pump.
17 minutes to go.
Then I hit traffic. Broadway at 3:45 on a Friday. Brilliant. I kid you not when I say that I hit every single red light.
13 minutes to go. Uh. Slow drivers.
9 minutes to go. Dumb pedestrian! Hurry UP.
6 minutes to go. C'mon c'mon c'mon.
4 minutes to go. Sure, cut me off then turn left. It's ok. Go ahead. JACKASS.
I finally arrive at the board office. Parking is terrible in that area. TERRIBLE. All I'm doing is running in and out. The desk is right at the front door, no line up, nothing, just throw the application in a box. I pull up in front of a car parked at the last meter before a (very long) bus stop. The "no stopping" sign is at the middle of my car. On go the hazards and I bolt.
Now everybody knows that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, yes? So it would make sense to cut across the lawn/park in front of the office and not take the sidewalk, right? Well. This is no ordinary lawn. Grass, when paired with about 50 days of rain in the last 55 days is no longer grass, but a big muddy yet deceptively green bog. As I was sprinting across the grass, my shoes started to sink in a little, then a lot, then suddenly my stocking-ed foot went SQUISH into the mud. I was running, so there was no time to stop before my OTHER stocking foot SQUISHED down into the mud as well. It took a few steps through mud so deep it covered the tops of my feet before I could stop. Now I had to go back and get my shoes.
Mud, would you believe, has amazing powers of suction. It took some very strong yanking to free my shoes from the ooey gooey mess they had ensnared themselves in.
Shoes in hand, I continued on to the office, tippie-toed into the front door so as to leave as little mud on the floor as possible, practically THREW my forms at the lady, breathlessly mentioning something about the shoe-eating mud outside, then ran back to my car, totally laughing to myself at the absurdity of what just happened.
Before I saw her, I heard a voice saying, "I don't know why you stopped here, I'm gonna have to give you a ticket." I looked up through my rain-soaked glasses to see a metermaid's bright yellow jacket standing in front of my car. She had WATCHED me run through the mud, yank out my shoes, and run back to my car in my SOCKS. The show wasn't long. I figure about a minute and a half. No bus had come. No car had to wait cause I was parked where I was. I was half in a parking zone, and had been gone less than two minutes. I showed her my shoes and my muddy jeans and socks. No dice. I now owe the city $40. Special.
I now had to go home and change before the party. Halfway home, I realized I had a chiropractor appointment that started three minutes before. It was back near the school board. Great. And I didn’t even have my phone handy to call, cause I threw my purse in the trunk along with my socks and shoes.
And now, I'm late for the party. But hey, I've vented, and hopefully you'll find this story as unbelievable (and rather comical, minus the parking ticket) as I do.
What kind of day have YOU had?
Today was the last day to apply for summer school (my source of income for the summer months), and, as usual, it was down to the wire. I had left it till the last second to fill out and drop off my application. I was hastily filling out my application form and wasn't sure if I'd be able to get it in before the office closed at 4pm. As I was running out the front door of my school, I realized I'd left the address for a staff social back in my room. AK! No time! I called over to another teacher who was walking to her car and she rummaged around... she found it and off I went.
24 minutes till the office closes.
Key in ignition, and ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruuuuooooom. Uh, WHY is my NEW car having issues starting?!?! Oh yeah. The tank is empty. And I don't mean, oops, "I need to get gas soon" empty, I mean, "I reeeeally hope I can get it around the corner, let alone to a gas station cause I've been pushing the 'E' for two days now" empty. tick, tick tick... I decided against trying to push it all the way to the board office. Luckily I made it to a gas station. I pulled up, whipped out my card to pay at the pump, and ARG! I had picked the ONE pump out of ten that DIDN'T have pay-at-the-pump. Glug glug glug goes the gas. Great. There's a line up. I pay, and add a chocolate bar to my total. There's a reason I pay at the pump.
17 minutes to go.
Then I hit traffic. Broadway at 3:45 on a Friday. Brilliant. I kid you not when I say that I hit every single red light.
13 minutes to go. Uh. Slow drivers.
9 minutes to go. Dumb pedestrian! Hurry UP.
6 minutes to go. C'mon c'mon c'mon.
4 minutes to go. Sure, cut me off then turn left. It's ok. Go ahead. JACKASS.
I finally arrive at the board office. Parking is terrible in that area. TERRIBLE. All I'm doing is running in and out. The desk is right at the front door, no line up, nothing, just throw the application in a box. I pull up in front of a car parked at the last meter before a (very long) bus stop. The "no stopping" sign is at the middle of my car. On go the hazards and I bolt.
Now everybody knows that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, yes? So it would make sense to cut across the lawn/park in front of the office and not take the sidewalk, right? Well. This is no ordinary lawn. Grass, when paired with about 50 days of rain in the last 55 days is no longer grass, but a big muddy yet deceptively green bog. As I was sprinting across the grass, my shoes started to sink in a little, then a lot, then suddenly my stocking-ed foot went SQUISH into the mud. I was running, so there was no time to stop before my OTHER stocking foot SQUISHED down into the mud as well. It took a few steps through mud so deep it covered the tops of my feet before I could stop. Now I had to go back and get my shoes.
Mud, would you believe, has amazing powers of suction. It took some very strong yanking to free my shoes from the ooey gooey mess they had ensnared themselves in.
Shoes in hand, I continued on to the office, tippie-toed into the front door so as to leave as little mud on the floor as possible, practically THREW my forms at the lady, breathlessly mentioning something about the shoe-eating mud outside, then ran back to my car, totally laughing to myself at the absurdity of what just happened.
Before I saw her, I heard a voice saying, "I don't know why you stopped here, I'm gonna have to give you a ticket." I looked up through my rain-soaked glasses to see a metermaid's bright yellow jacket standing in front of my car. She had WATCHED me run through the mud, yank out my shoes, and run back to my car in my SOCKS. The show wasn't long. I figure about a minute and a half. No bus had come. No car had to wait cause I was parked where I was. I was half in a parking zone, and had been gone less than two minutes. I showed her my shoes and my muddy jeans and socks. No dice. I now owe the city $40. Special.
I now had to go home and change before the party. Halfway home, I realized I had a chiropractor appointment that started three minutes before. It was back near the school board. Great. And I didn’t even have my phone handy to call, cause I threw my purse in the trunk along with my socks and shoes.
And now, I'm late for the party. But hey, I've vented, and hopefully you'll find this story as unbelievable (and rather comical, minus the parking ticket) as I do.What kind of day have YOU had?
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Something about the ocean...
Vancouver, of course, is a city surrounded by ocean. It's protected water, though, sheltered from the open ocean by Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands. It's not the Oregon Coast kind of ocean. Instead, it's a much calmer beast, seemingly surrounded on all sides by mountains.
I can not imagine myself living away from the water. There's something about spending time on the beach that renews me. It's at the ocean that I often feel much closer to God than I do anywhere else.
I grew up no more than a 10 minute walk (usually much less) to four different beaches. First, there was the main beach at Deep Cove. We'd often go there in the summer to swim and year round to just goof around. Even as a child I was struck by the beauty there. I did a painting or a drawing one time in grade 5 or grade 6 of the view from Deep Cove. I loved it. My teacher loved it, too, and asked me if she could keep it. I wish I still had it.
About a five minute walk away from my house was my favourite place to go swimming. It didn't really have a name, I don't think. We called it the secret beach. There was a little path between the back yard of one house and the side yard of another that would take you to a rickety set of wooden stairs. It looked like you were walking through someone's yard to get there. The beach was small - maybe only thirty feet of sand and broken shells worn smooth by the waves - and it was nestled in between the rock retaining walls surrounding the waterfront homes on either side. The best times to go swimming there was when the tide was either way in or way out. That way, we didn't have to step all over the barnacle-covered rocks as we eased our bodies into the cold water. There seemed to be a strip of those nasty barnacles right at the mid-tide level. We'd often come home with tiny cuts all over our feet, but it didn't matter. There was great swimming at the secret beach.
Down at the end of my street, there was a little public dock. Right in front of the dock there was (is!) a small island with a house on it. Sometimes we'd swim to the island when the tide was low. That dock was my haven as a teenager. If ever I was upset and needed to get away, I'd go down there. The early morning or dusk were my favourite times: a mist hung over the water and the light was still grey around me. It was quiet and calm, and every now and then, if you were lucky, you might see a seal pop his head up off in the distance. I would often go there to meet with God.
Over the years, there have been countless encounters between me and the ocean. Snuggling up on the beach on New Year's Day with an old boyfriend... watching the summer sun slip behind the horizon at Birch Bay and remembering how my grandma loved to do the same when she was still alive... watching pods of killer whales swim alongside the boat up in Port McNeil... gathering with hundreds of thousands of people to watch the offshore fireworks competitions in Vancouver every summer... silently paddling from bay to bay in a kayak, watching the shore glide past... going for longs walks with worship music playing on my discman, feeling God's presence with me as I walk... looking out at the forever horizon down on the Oregon Coast or at Long Beach, with the waves crashing in and feeling so small... crouching at the shore to listen to the sound of tiny pebbles rolling over each other as the water eased in and out, in and out...
Most of all, the ocean reminds me of God and his faithfulness. It's steady and unchanging. It's where I often get a better perspective on my life. It's where I can block other things out and just focus on Him. I definitely need to spend more time at the water's edge.
I can not imagine myself living away from the water. There's something about spending time on the beach that renews me. It's at the ocean that I often feel much closer to God than I do anywhere else.
I grew up no more than a 10 minute walk (usually much less) to four different beaches. First, there was the main beach at Deep Cove. We'd often go there in the summer to swim and year round to just goof around. Even as a child I was struck by the beauty there. I did a painting or a drawing one time in grade 5 or grade 6 of the view from Deep Cove. I loved it. My teacher loved it, too, and asked me if she could keep it. I wish I still had it.
About a five minute walk away from my house was my favourite place to go swimming. It didn't really have a name, I don't think. We called it the secret beach. There was a little path between the back yard of one house and the side yard of another that would take you to a rickety set of wooden stairs. It looked like you were walking through someone's yard to get there. The beach was small - maybe only thirty feet of sand and broken shells worn smooth by the waves - and it was nestled in between the rock retaining walls surrounding the waterfront homes on either side. The best times to go swimming there was when the tide was either way in or way out. That way, we didn't have to step all over the barnacle-covered rocks as we eased our bodies into the cold water. There seemed to be a strip of those nasty barnacles right at the mid-tide level. We'd often come home with tiny cuts all over our feet, but it didn't matter. There was great swimming at the secret beach.
Down at the end of my street, there was a little public dock. Right in front of the dock there was (is!) a small island with a house on it. Sometimes we'd swim to the island when the tide was low. That dock was my haven as a teenager. If ever I was upset and needed to get away, I'd go down there. The early morning or dusk were my favourite times: a mist hung over the water and the light was still grey around me. It was quiet and calm, and every now and then, if you were lucky, you might see a seal pop his head up off in the distance. I would often go there to meet with God.
Over the years, there have been countless encounters between me and the ocean. Snuggling up on the beach on New Year's Day with an old boyfriend... watching the summer sun slip behind the horizon at Birch Bay and remembering how my grandma loved to do the same when she was still alive... watching pods of killer whales swim alongside the boat up in Port McNeil... gathering with hundreds of thousands of people to watch the offshore fireworks competitions in Vancouver every summer... silently paddling from bay to bay in a kayak, watching the shore glide past... going for longs walks with worship music playing on my discman, feeling God's presence with me as I walk... looking out at the forever horizon down on the Oregon Coast or at Long Beach, with the waves crashing in and feeling so small... crouching at the shore to listen to the sound of tiny pebbles rolling over each other as the water eased in and out, in and out...
Most of all, the ocean reminds me of God and his faithfulness. It's steady and unchanging. It's where I often get a better perspective on my life. It's where I can block other things out and just focus on Him. I definitely need to spend more time at the water's edge.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
To the tune of the Gilligan's Island Theme Song...
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a beastmobile
That started whilst driving to school,
I thought I'd lost a wheel
The hub cap popped and it rolled away,
Right into a very big ditch
The second one's gone and so's the third,
The fourth one I should pitch
I rev it once, I rev it twice,
And then I rev some more
When suddenly with a great big thunk,
It's on the road once more
Smoke from the hood as the oil leaks,
The engine light goes on
But it's ok, it always does,
Soon it will be gone
Electric windows they still work,
But not the passenger side
I control the windows though,
The other switches are fried
Cruise control, A/C long gone,
But the vent still does the trick
Don't keep it on for too long, though,
The fumes will make you sick
My dear old Cutlas beastmobile,
You still run, it's true
You've got character, they say,
I know we're not through
I'll drive you to the bitter end,
I'll be good to you
Please be good to me old girl,
I can't afford to fix you.
I can't afford to fix you!
Back to the contest
A tale of a beastmobile
That started whilst driving to school,
I thought I'd lost a wheel
The hub cap popped and it rolled away,
Right into a very big ditch
The second one's gone and so's the third,
The fourth one I should pitch
I rev it once, I rev it twice,
And then I rev some more
When suddenly with a great big thunk,
It's on the road once more
Smoke from the hood as the oil leaks,
The engine light goes on
But it's ok, it always does,
Soon it will be gone
Electric windows they still work,
But not the passenger side
I control the windows though,
The other switches are fried
Cruise control, A/C long gone,
But the vent still does the trick
Don't keep it on for too long, though,
The fumes will make you sick
My dear old Cutlas beastmobile,
You still run, it's true
You've got character, they say,
I know we're not through
I'll drive you to the bitter end,
I'll be good to you
Please be good to me old girl,
I can't afford to fix you.
I can't afford to fix you!
Back to the contest
Monday, October 10, 2005
Happy Thanksgiving!
I feel like I've been in a funk for a year. I'm tired of feeling this way. Sometimes when you're looking too closely at your problems or the things that don't quite seem right in your life, you can miss the big picture. It's time to lift my eyes up off of myself and get a change in perspective...
* Jesus Christ * fall leaves crunching underfoot * Nana, who has prayed for me every single day of my life * the chance to see some of the most magestic sights I've ever seen this summer * beginning a solid career at age 24 * those trees whose leaves turn colours from the inside out, leaving red leaves on the outside, yellow in the middle, and green closest to the trunk * having friends I know I can rely on when things are tough * oreo ice cream * my parents' example of a solid, lasting marriage * finally beginning to be friends with my sister * puffy white clouds against blue sky * country music that makes me cry because it reminds me of what's important * wonderful, friendly, caring landlords * the means to meet every need I have and more * my car (yes, MY car) which gets me where I need to go. Usually. * grace * living in Vancouver * having a life free of major disaster or pain * my pompom socks, which remind me of my best friend * hugs from kids * the experience of having loved * being raised in a Christian home * the chance to have gone to university * a wonderful roommate experience * a friend who is always able to talk sense into me * some painful experiences over the last year * a God who will never leave me * my suite * a church home that encourages me to be who I am, the good, the bad, and the sometimes ugly * I am safe and warm at night * laughter * the night sky * memories * Camp Kawkawa * the touch of a friend's hand on my arm * joy * the security of knowing my parents will always be there for me, no matter what * the ocean * my dog * freedom * a season of searching * gerbera daisies * God's faithfulness * wind that whips my hair around my face * music * chocolate * not getting what I think I want sometimes * sunshine * second (and third, and fourth, and fifth... ) chances * being able to be myself * the constant struggle to figure out who I am *
My life, just as it is
where I have come from
the road I am pointed towards
the joy I feel when I remember all I have been given
the hurt and longing and confusion that comes with living
waking up every morning
to the knowledge that I am safe
in the hands of the creator of the universe
and that this same God
knows me deeply and personally... ME!
My life, just as it is...
For all these things and infinitely more, I am thankful.
* Jesus Christ * fall leaves crunching underfoot * Nana, who has prayed for me every single day of my life * the chance to see some of the most magestic sights I've ever seen this summer * beginning a solid career at age 24 * those trees whose leaves turn colours from the inside out, leaving red leaves on the outside, yellow in the middle, and green closest to the trunk * having friends I know I can rely on when things are tough * oreo ice cream * my parents' example of a solid, lasting marriage * finally beginning to be friends with my sister * puffy white clouds against blue sky * country music that makes me cry because it reminds me of what's important * wonderful, friendly, caring landlords * the means to meet every need I have and more * my car (yes, MY car) which gets me where I need to go. Usually. * grace * living in Vancouver * having a life free of major disaster or pain * my pompom socks, which remind me of my best friend * hugs from kids * the experience of having loved * being raised in a Christian home * the chance to have gone to university * a wonderful roommate experience * a friend who is always able to talk sense into me * some painful experiences over the last year * a God who will never leave me * my suite * a church home that encourages me to be who I am, the good, the bad, and the sometimes ugly * I am safe and warm at night * laughter * the night sky * memories * Camp Kawkawa * the touch of a friend's hand on my arm * joy * the security of knowing my parents will always be there for me, no matter what * the ocean * my dog * freedom * a season of searching * gerbera daisies * God's faithfulness * wind that whips my hair around my face * music * chocolate * not getting what I think I want sometimes * sunshine * second (and third, and fourth, and fifth... ) chances * being able to be myself * the constant struggle to figure out who I am *
My life, just as it is
where I have come from
the road I am pointed towards
the joy I feel when I remember all I have been given
the hurt and longing and confusion that comes with living
waking up every morning
to the knowledge that I am safe
in the hands of the creator of the universe
and that this same God
knows me deeply and personally... ME!
My life, just as it is...
For all these things and infinitely more, I am thankful.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Untitled
The last tiny yellow petal fluttered to the ground. Back and forth back and forth. How would it end? Now she knew. Her heart sank and she sighed. She looked sadly at the little pile of yellow she had created and thought, if only...
Undeterred, she reached out and picked another flower. She smiled as the first petal touched the gound. Maybe this time.
Undeterred, she reached out and picked another flower. She smiled as the first petal touched the gound. Maybe this time.
Monday, May 30, 2005
True to form
Click the button to visit "Camp Kawkawa Remembered"Well, at least I'm consistent.
Once upon a time, many moons ago, little Hillary was up at Camp Kawkawa enjoying a fun filled week. She had been to camp before, and loved the canoeing activity option, so she signed up for it again. Out she went on the lake, dip dip and swing, dip dip and swing. She learned all kinds of new strokes, and even got to tip the canoe and learn how to do a boat-over-boat rescue. How fun! However, when she got back to the dock and went to get ready for dinner, she realized she was without one very important article... her GLASSES! She swore she had taken them off and left them wither her towel on the edge of the dock, but alas, they were nowhere to be found. She searched and she searched, frantic, but to no avail. She was just glad that it was sunny that week... maybe she could blame all the squinting on the sun. :P When she got home, her parents were very understanding (though I'm sure rather annoyed), and off they went to buy new glasses. They were sure to get the 2-for-1 deal this time... just in case.
Once upon another time, older and wiser Hillary was back up at Camp Kawkawa enjoying another great week. It was free time at the waterfront, and so she decided to go for a swim. Remembering the glasses incident a few years before, and determined not to make the same mistake twice, she had a great strategy: there was a covered shelf thingy out on the dock specifically for people to leave their valuables in while they went swimming. Out she went, reciting to herself, "Take your glasses off before you jump in the lake. Take your glasses off before you jump in the lake." She must have been so focused on her little chant that she forgot about the shelf, cause when she got to the edge of the dock she jumped right in. She felt the glasses come off her face and made a mad grab for them, but could only feel them slowly drifting down to the muddy bottom below. Frantic, and not wanting to have to tell her parents that he lost her glasses again, she went to the lifeguard and told him what had happened. After all the kids were out, he went diving for treasure. Her clear-lensed, black and dark brown tortoise shell glasses. He came and found her later that evening and handed over the glasses. YES! But wait... they weren't hers! Turns out another girl that week had done basically the same thing, but had been too embarrassed to admit it. Not Hillary, no siree... apparently she has no shame. So... take two for the staff member. Down he went again, and actually found Hillary's glasses this time! Man, was that ever a dumb move. She sure wouldn't do THAT again!
Or at least, she wouldn't do it again for a few years. Hillary was now a staff member at Kawkawa. Older, but apparently not wiser. She forgets the circumstances (blocked them from her memory, perhaps?) but into the lake she went, once again with her glasses on. And once again they were rescued from the murky depths. And I do mean depths. We're not talking about six feet of water here. It's more like 20 or 25. It's cold down there, and dark, and muddy.
We won't even speak of the time, also as a staff member, Hillary was getting cleaned up after a very muddy full contact game of bucketball and stepped on her glasses in the shower (there were no shelves anywhere, nowhere, not even a hook, to leave her glasses on. Silly washrooms.). Shattered the lenses. She ended up having to make an appointment for an eye exam in town and got a free pair of trial contacts to wear for the remainder of the summer. They were the wrong prescription. No wonder she was dizzy for two weeks.
Cut to this past weekend (and to a change in voice - I'm creeping myself out writing in third person!). I was now a guest at Kawkawa with my church. It was blazing hot on Saturday, and people were in and out of the lake all day. I noticed people diving up and down, up and down, with goggles on. Turns out a lady from our group had dropped her sunglasses in the lake. OH MAN! I could certainly empathize. I joined in the search (really, it was the least I could do!). I could see them, but they were too deep for me to get. Eventually a staff person got flippers and retrieved the glasses. Of course, that brought up all the (painful - *sniff*) memories. ;)
But apparently not for long.
A few hours later, after an afternoon spent hiking, kayaking, and swimming (during which time I hung my glasses on a hook on the swim board just before going onto the dock, I might add), I was on the dock talking to some friends. Dinner was soon, and I was pretty much dry, so I wasn't planning to go back in. However, the cool, sparkling water of the lake was just too tempting, so in a split second, "ah-why-not" moment, I dove in. The second I felt the refreshing sensation of the cool water surrounding me, I realized what I had done. Again.
Down floated my glasses once again, meeting up with their old friend, Kawkawa Mud. I came up out of the water shouting "craaaaap!" (and then realized the pastor was sitting right there on the dock, making me really glad I wasn't shouting some other word! :P ) But hey, at least I dove in at a DEEPER place than the woman earlier that day had done. (Do you sense my sarcasm?) Well it was too late to do anything now. I dove down a few times, but was too worn out from the afternoon to hold my breath for any length of time. I decided I'd ask the staff hero from earlier that day to try looking again tomorrow, and off I went, blind as a bat, for dinner. Of course, me not being able to keep my mouth shut, I told my friends on staff, who then proceeded to mock me relentlessly, knowing that this was not the first time I had done this. *Sigh* :P Thankfully I had brought my contacts with me!
So Sunday after lunch, I hauled a staff member away from his washroom-cleaning duties (kicking and screaming, I'm sure... I mean, who would want to jump in a nice cold lake on a blazing hot day when they could be cleaning toilets?? ;) and under the watch of about eight people, up and down he went trying to find my clear-lensed black wire rimmed glasses at the bottom of 25 feet of water. You could see the fluorescent flippers, and boy, was he a long way down. I was feeling bad for making him blow out his lungs and ears for the second time that weekend, and I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I was going to have to go glasses shopping this coming week, when up he came with my glasses in hand (to the cheers of all the folks on the dock, all women) !!! "Uh, excuse me, they're scratched!" said I, in my best rich-stuck-up-teeny-bopper voice. Heh heh.
Somebody get that boy a medal!
And somebody get me a brain!
Jesse, my hero!
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