Deer Tick-Dirty Dishes

Alan Hirsh and Michael Frost - changing the meaning of the word MISSION

This is a great blog.

Shapevine Missional Training And Learning Resources

Alan Hirsh has some incredible insight on how the word and idea of mission work is changing. I am also incredibly inspired by a very bright yet down to earth guy named Michael Frost who hails from Australia. I saw him present at a recent conference hosted by Vision Ministries, right here in Waterloo last weekend. I am looking forward to digging into more or their work. They redefine what it means to 'know God' by taking a literal look at who Jesus was. It is nothing less than mind-set shattering. They also suggest that perhaps the traditional ways the large churches have approached mission work is not how Jesus would have done it. True effective mission work means to become part of the folks you are serving, (not self righteously to tell them what to do, but to learn from them what they are doing already and move from there).

I am inspired by a newer entrepreneur in mission named Nigel Barham, who is the founder of MOVEIN, which has followers of Christ actual move in to some of Toronto's high needs neighborhoods and live as Jesus would have serve the community they become part of. (www.movein.to). pretty inspiring. You'll hear more about these people for sure.

Today I read a great summary of the main causes of the world's poorest countries continuing to be poor.It is part of the summary of the book, The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries Are Failing and What Can Be Done About It by Paul Collier brought to us by David Mays. It gives a good overview and was well worth the time it took to read. 


There's lots going on. 

There's listening, and then there's listening.

A group of churches in our community are taking the month of May to give back to the community. They are coming together despite the differences in their beliefs and practices to exercise a common belief. If you want to show true love, serve others. Pretty simple. I love to see simplicity. I have to admit, I'm not always good at keeping things simple, when it's most required especially. I love this campaign, and am sorry I didn't see it sooner. However, I am thankful I saw it at all.

For an odd unknown reason, I needed to purchase a paper copy of The Record yesterday, and one day late at that. I said to the teller, I don't usually buy newspapers, because life is so busy, I am used to just going after exactly what I want to find on the internet. But yesterday, I felt I needed information to come to me instead, opening up the possibility that the universe would provide me with some new piece of information I may need for the days to come. Back to coincidence, or fate, or synergy, or God, depending on who you are and what you want to call it.

So, I opened the paper and I listened. For these church groups, May has been designated as a month for giving back. For me, in my own immediate life, I am starting a few steps behind. First, I have to know what is truly going on, then I might have a chance at knowing what is required of me. It seems I spend so much time planning, executing, assessing the aftermath. This is all great, but it can also make reality harder to find. What's really going on can get lost in the chaos of life. If you want to see you have to look. If you want to hear, you have to be quiet..and listen.

So, in the month of May, I am listening. At the beginning and ending of each day, I will take pause to record what I have heard, but also, how I have listened. I am ecstatic in anticipation of what I might hear. When you listen to life, I believe, it talks to you, lays down straight where things are at. Much like I feel when I think about doing push ups (which I haven't done in far too long), I know it's going to be a challenge at first.

Opportunities to listen. I am sure there are tons I have ignored most of my life.  There is listening to someone, and then there is listening to hear what they are really saying. How much will I hear if I listen to the people around me, messages from different sources out there, the silence.

I'll start today, with mindful listening. The first thing I hear is that a certain three point five year old needs some fresh air. Maybe we can join one of the churches in their park clean up.

Mother's Day is coming

She liked Lily of the Valley.
She loved animals.
She would have made a good veterinarian.
She was very chatty with the people she met met along the way.
I wonder if people rushed her when she chatted with these people..the UPS guy, or woman selling milk at Beckers, a man at the post office.
I wish I could tell her, I totally get it now.

The things you never plan for..

It's 5: 30, almost dark, unfortunately, in the winter. We are in the car, headed to watch my little God son's hockey game.
"Mama," she says from the back seat.
Her car seat is getting too small for her. Come to think of it, I've known for two weeks now, she is 42 pounds, big enough for a booster seat. Saw them on sale in a flyer. Need to get on that.
'Yes, hun, " as I have said a thousand times, with a thousand mini but hugificent questions she asks.
We have just driven by a cemetery.
"Is that where Grama is, Mama?"
How do I go about answering that. She interrupts anyways.
"Why did grama die? Am I gonna die mama? Am I gonna go to Heaven? Are you gonna die too?"
Shit. I thought these were glorified moments of TV drama, not real!
"Is Grampa gonna die?"
Ok, think..
"Yes, honey, some day..but he is still young, and healthy, he will be around for a long time too, so don't worry"
"Grama was old then Mama, wasn't she? She had to go to Heaven where old people go. Old people die Mama, right, old people are in Heaven"
don't lie to your children, don't lie to your children...
But she is still too young to make sense of this. Do they really have an innate sense, this young, to start asking questions this meaningful?
"Well honey, Grama was very sick, so she wasn't old, she was still pretty young, but she had to finish her time here, it was hard for her, and she had to go be in Heaven with God where it's better for her"
"She was my Grama, right Mama? She was your Mama...and she was my Grama?"
Is there a day I don't wish she was here to meet you Avaih?
"Yes, Avaih, she is your Grama"
"But she died, Mama, but she wasn't old"
I have no idea what to say.
"But Mama, what about Grampa, he is gonna die soon, right?"
Hmmm, shit, yeah, i guess..sort of, relatively, well, how knows, sort it out T, you are a grown up..
"Honey, we never know when we are gonna be done here and go to Heaven to be with God. But when we go, we are ok, and Heaven is a nice place, with God who loves you, and with princesses and castles and fairies and all kinds of candy"
I can't see her face, it's darker and there's a lot of traffic at this time of night.
Thank goodness she can't see mine.
"So Mama, I'm gonna tell Grampa he's gonna get candy and see princesses soon Mama,"
Oh no, wow, didn't expect this so soon. I can't have her saying that to Dad. Who wants to ever hear something like that.
"No no, honey, it's best you don't do that, see Grampa might be sad about saying goodbye, and so we shouldn't really talk about it much, you know, just talk to mommy about.."
She interrupts.
"Ok Mama, we won't tell Grampa he is gonna go to Heaven soon cause he is old and have candy and princesses. But can I go too Mama, I'll come back, I promise, I won't stay too long,and I will bring Grama back too Mama, to see you. I will go with Grampa"
The reds and yellows of the cars' lights, green of the go light, though they are more blurry tonight, take one of my hands and guide me towards home. The reality of it sinks from the surface towards the inside.
I think.
Thank God for every day I hear the little thunk of your feet hitting the floor out of bed, and the twist of the bedroom door, and then, "Mama, get up, get up, let's go downstairs, I'm hungry."
Every day is a gift. Such a cliche, but I don't even care.

Happy Birthday, to my Mama, this week you would be 57. I can't believe it.
I try to imagine, what you would look like. Can you believe it's been ten years Mom, ten years..so long, but also so short. The blink of an eye. But also 100 years, stretched as thin as possible, especially when I really need you.
I remember the good times, and I remember the good things you taught me, and I am trying to do a good job of keeping those things in my everyday, and teaching those good things to your granddaughter.

We will never forget you in our day to day. Your virtues are alive and well in us every day, and are carried on through our generations. Happy Birthday Mom. (January 28, 2010.January 28, 1953.)

Fighting with the last little while..

Ever find the climb is so steep you can't see what's ahead of you? Or how close you are to the top? So, weary and inspiration run dry, you go back down before ever reaching your final destination. It's only when you get to the very bottom again that you can see how close you came to reaching the top. The only thing to do is now is to remember how close you came, so next time you can keep on going.

The last few laps are always the longest, the hottest, the driest, when muscles are fatigued, hearts have sunken low.

I think, often our preparations get even more unbearable just before we are about to realize achievement of our goal. The trick is to remember this during the struggle, and use it to power through.

"Many of life's failures are people who don't realize how close they were to success when they gave up. " Thomas Edison

I'll try not to give up on what I believe in, and do what I think I am here to do.

Not 60 random things..but things

Curiosity

obviously...to the universe..since no one reads my damn blog anyways.

1. Beauty need only be a whisper...(says Katie Melua) so if so, what would it whisper, does it matter what the words are? Is it still beautiful if the whisper is a lie? or ill will? Is that beauty enough as it is, unconditionally,came first as  a whisper, then in a hollar, wail or empty seductive invite? Or is it only beauty if it stays within the confines of your original definition of beauty? How often do you remind yourself of the whispering days? Before it becomes something other than beauty?

2. Is there a love strong enough to withstand anything? Or can the strongest love be broken down or disolved by the harshest wind, the strongest poison, or just worn down to weariness by neverending obstables?
ok universe..talk to me

Monday, January 26, 2009

Love #1.7

Love...
'You can say I love you a million times and it will still end with a single Let's break up. This is what love is about.'

In any lanuage, it is the same. Aicha, Ayesha, Aisha

Keep your treasures
I'm worth more than all that
A cage is a cage, even if it's made of gold
I want the same rights as you
And respect for each day
I don't want anything but love
Jean Jaques Goldman 

synchronicity 

(sin chronic ity)
a tricky old spirit,

timeless magician,
steers ships of possibility to port where they tradewhich otherwise would pass in the night without note.not cousin of coincidence nor spouse of luck,
she works alone, yet with all.
she dances past you,  flows, circles, and waits.she steps in swiftly with a playful grin, enters riding on the tails of a gap
in your moments of certainty.and just like any good guest
she never shows up empty handed, and most certainly, 
never comes without invitation.

جنبا إلى جنب

walk with me
through gallant jungles and saucy safaris.
the world`s modest beaches
wrap their naked arms around us.
we can eat Kilimanjaro for breakfast,
chew it well,
drink Po as the freshest juice, if you want.

I`ll drag you through rooms empty of time.
you`ll guide me through storms of silence.
we`ll give our eyes as gifts to each other each day,
draw circles of laughter, like fire around our path.
I`ll clothe you in the words your senses whisper to me.

never leave our one room all inclusive.
endless in capacity, the world seeks invitation to come inside.
never get off the bus alone,
as the back seat for one is an abstinent ride,
and the walk is too long and dry on your own.
never look to your side and not see the reason
you never have to ask why.

you have found your side by side,
your جنبا إلى جنب,
give praise.
copyright. TU. 2009

Feeling Squeezed?

When we want to butcher an animal such as a lamb, I have heard we often put it in some kind of aparatus that squeezes it from all angles possible. I see it like a box, slowly and gently closing in on them from all sides. There is somehing about squeezing, or applying pressure, that calms an animal and gives it a sense of comfort, if it is done at the right speed, and the right pressure applied. This, to us, seems the most humane way to prepare it for what's to come, I suppose. The animal begins to feel supported, and that if they push out, from any direction, something firm and solid will hold them in their place, make them secure. And all along, this increased sense of comfort, albeit confinement, brings them the savoury prepleasure of the unknown darkness approaching. As the pressure is applied, the animal gives up control and begins to rely on the heaviness of the pressure to keep it in its place. Then, without knowledge or warning, it is quite easy for us to take the life and soul out of the animal, as it almost offers it up anyways. Not to mention, by the time the animal were to know what is happening, it is far to late to try to wiggle, or even scratch or crawl their way out. By then, the fight is already over.

The machine is so misleading, and this girl says, if you see it, or feel it, run for your life

for your life

Humilty

History is a Broken Record at the Jane Bond Cafe

Jane Bond Cafe,Uptown Waterloo, February-mid, 2008
At the bar I sit, thoughts the only company I desire. Then in she steps, ripping through my small canvas of time, 
halting my nakin paged poem.
In tote, she has some tall nameless important guy.
 I look up, rest the pen on a coaster.Lips do their best to fake
a minor toss of delight their way.She sees what I am doing,
wants to showcase familial talent. I chuckle inside.
His eyes pop out, I see where this is going.
I toss the napkin, he reads a little,
his brow begins to buckle.

She'll shrug her shoulders at this point.
Be too cooland betray me.
I wait for it. It always backfired in the past. But it continues.She tried hard to be proud, to a point. I hear her voice.
'if she were thinner
she would bereally pretty'
And the lemmings around her would all agree.
I humbly appear, as always. She has no clue what I know.'if she had any depth she would be
really ugly.'
Nameless nods a few times, 'its uh, really great.'She doesn't know what it means either, I am sure. So she might as well call it shit.
'she's done better ones than this'
For a moment, I enjoy
quiet, secret, personal humour, among the best kinds.

With a grab of the pen I get up, say my goodbyes,
and carry on into the street. I leave the bar, with pen, napkin and smirk.A scribble scratched off the edge of a page.
This poem's for you, Sellout Sista 

Writing My Own Definition in the Dictionary

My Five Lives

If I could be five things at once, this is what I would be (in no particular order):

1. a dancer
2. a writer
3. a mother of many children and wife of one amazing man
4. a dance therapist/ cafe owner
5. a photographer