Thankful to the end of the year 1929-oops a few too many.

1. Thankful for free climbing wall. 
2. Glad I could go there with SJ and our friend A. 
3. Thankful for my wife's hard work. 
4. And her parents
5. Grateful to help make piñatas. 
6. And for ice cream
7. And for my colonoscopy tomorrow. I don't think it will be fun, but it will be nice to know if everything is okay. 
8. Grateful to be able to process some of my time as a missionary. 
9. Grateful for my companion B in the MTC 
10. I'm glad I felt comfortable with her. 
11. And for the other sisters in our room. 
12. I am grateful for the teachers. 
13. I appreciate their enthusiasm. 
14. I am grateful I was able to learn teaching skills. 
15. That I learned to teach people, not just lessons. 
16. That I was able to gain some teaching confidence at the MTC. 
17. That I am still able to teach. 
18. Lights. 
19. The darkness that makes the lights even prettier. 
20. Inspiration on the bus. 
21. Beautiful sunset tonight. 
22. Black Friday is over!
23. My mom. 
24. Her willingness to pick me up tomorrow. 
25. Her health advice. 
26. Nova Scotia. 
27. Beautiful places in Canada. 
28. Pictures of my dad. 
29. Charades. 
30. Friends who like to play games. 
31. A push for green energy. 
32. Inspirational young people. 
33. I am thankful for garbage presentations. 
34. Inspiration to care for the earth. 
35. Christmas lights at night. 
36. Snow 
37. Mini journals

    

    www.etsy.com/ca/shop/SeizetheMomentCrafts 

38. CDs
39. Music
40. New CDs for a variety of music while driving. 
41. Black bean brownies. 
42. Tests to check my tummy. 
43. Updates from immigration 
44. Just Right
45. Just Right boxes. 
46. Purple pens. 
47. Online learning. 
48. Times at work to complete progress reports. 
49. Staff meetings. 
50. Getting paid for staff meetings. 
51. Snowshoes!
52. Big parks in the city. 
53. Snowshoeing in the city. 
54. Fun winter activities. 
55. Bubble tea. 
56. Soup. 
57. "Cloudy soup"
58. My wife's patience with me. 
59. Finished with on more medical test. 
60. Friendly people. 
61. Crosswords
62. I am thankful for free newspaper. 
63. I am thankful for our first sale. 
64. For locals who support locals. 
65. The Sunrise. 
66. Mini Journals. 
67. Coworkers who like my journals. 
68. People to watch. 
69. Improve field trips. 
70. Warm showers. 
71. Coming out monologues
72. Supportive folk. 
73. Diversity. 
74. Gender diversity. 
75. Freedom to learn.
76. Freedom to be me. 
77. So many reasons to give thanks. 
78. I am thankful for the distress line.
79. Thankful for my grandparents' home. 
80. Pottery
81. Skating rinks
82. Cross county skiing. 
83. My mother. 
84. Beautiful buildings. 
85. New food to try. 
86. Dice games with students. 
87. Not having to tutor tonight. 
88. New friends. 
89. The end of semester. 
90. Grandma jam on grandma buns. 
91. This year of changes and fresh starts
92. I began this year by being thankful for the clean water the comes into my house. I end this year thankful for the sewer systems that take dirty water out of our houses. 

And I could continue!  I might not write down all my reasons to be thankful, but I will continue to be thankful into 2020 and beyond!

From Polarisation, Hate and Fear to Community, Joy and Hope: Thankful 1928

I was encouraged by my friend's example to show real life on social media. FB has often been accused of being a platform where people present their picture perfect lives, and others feel horrible because they cannot match up.
Not all the posts on FB are cheery. Recently I've noticed a lot of political posts, often written from a place of despair or anger. People are worried about the economy, they are fret about job security and powerful politicians. It has been easy for me to feel anxious, hopeless about my city and the economy and the future of human kindness and civilisation. 

Polarisation, hate, fear. 

Now for my real life moment. My wife and I went to a Christmas lights display at a golf course. We watched a sort of community form, of families and friends enjoying the lights. As we walked past the tobogganing hill, I heard genuine laughter. True, I don't know the challenges they face. Perhaps the man sliding down the hill with his toddler on him lap just lost his job. Perhaps the friends, each pulling a child on a sled, can't sleep at night, afraid of what the world will be when their children grow up. A couple holding hands. Perhaps they worry that they won't be able to pay their bills this month, so they decided not to put up their own lights. Each person there has struggles and challenges, but at that moment they chose to be happy. Regardless of political situations, economic slowdowns, uncertainties about the future, we can choose happiness. On a cold dark evening, light coaxed people out of their homes, rewarded them with joy and filled me with hope. If they find peace, perhaps I too can choose to enjoy life here, rather than running from the difficulties, dreaming of that stress free place that just doesn't exist. For this experience I am truly thankful.

Community, joy, hope.

That Girl Who Went to the Preston Missionary Training Centre.

That girl who went to the Preston MTC in England wanted to be friendly with everyone, but found herself shrinking away in groups, becoming almost invisible. She wasn’t sure if her roots could hold her, so often she hide. The girl who went to England, knew the way of the religion she was spreading, yet wasn’t sure if she believed it. She prayed to believe, she fasted and she accepted every twitch in her tummy as a declaration of truth. The girl who went to the Preston MTC was like a plant, her leaves longing for sunshine, yet she kept them in the shadows. She was gay, she knew she was gay, but she wasn’t sure what people would say if she mentioned it, so she kept it to herself. She wore skirts. That was the expectation. She offered prayers, she knew the kinds of words to say, but found it hard to be genuine when others were listening. That girl who went to the Preston MTC made the choice to believe in a male God. She chose to believe in living prophets who commanded those with same-sex attraction to stay single or marry the opposite sex. She desired to go on a mission, to teach, to serve her church, even if she knew it would mean wearing clothes that made her feel uncomfortable for a year and a half. When the girl went to the Preston MTC, she didn’t eat much. She wasn’t hungry. She knew there were vegetarian options, but rather than choose those, she avoided the meat and picked through whatever else was given her. Her tummy hurt. In the moment she was hungry, she was told she couldn’t eat. The classroom wasn’t the place. She wished to explain herself, but rather, she held back tears and submitted. Her leaves withered. One curled up and dropped off the plant. When the girl was in the Preston MTC, she flirted with the idea of coming out. She yearned for light. In front of a crowd, she proposed to a girl, but everyone knew it was a joke. She wanted people to know who she was and love her anyways. But she was told all gay and lesbian people should go live and die out on an island. She tried not to watch the other sisters change, she didn’t mean to admire the curves of their bodies, covered in white, shaped like angels. She didn’t want to be accused of being a 14 year-old boy, though she understood how they must feel. With her companion, she joked that she’d come out later. Before her companion could say a word, she carried on with the story she was telling. Her gay foliage battered the shadows, crying out to be seen. She wondered if she hid it long enough, if her gay branch would break off and die. The girl in the Preston MTC searched for truth in her religion. She was in so far that finding truth was the only answer. Though she had questions, she trusted there were solutions which she didn’t yet understand. In England, though she hated praying, her prayers were answered, signs were received, and she could believe in her message. The signs formed her witness, her testimony of truth. A testimony that she decided was more powerful than any doubt. This was the testimony she’d been hoping for. In the Preston MTC, that girl received three compliments. They breathed life into a twig of her being. If she hadn’t been insecure, perhaps they wouldn’t have mattered. The comments convinced her that she could be a fantastic missionary, that she could teach and touch hearts, and that she could share her thoughts and change lives. She clung to this encouragement, believing that she was where she needed to be.

Sometimes I am ashamed to say this. At times, I long to hide my past, but I was the girl who went to the Preston MTC. Though it was more than four years ago, that was me. I have changed; I am the same. Though I’m no longer a member of a specific religion, I still pray. I try to pray out of desire, but too often it come from a place of routine and obligation. In the MTC I understood why the church told us to pray. Now I am not sure I know the reasons why I address my thoughts to an unknown being. I hope, somehow he can strengthen my limbs and branches. It has been a long time since I have fasted. When I fast next, it will be medical, so the doctors can check out my tummy. The pain is different than it was before, and while I still don’t have much of an appetite, I am not losing weight like I did in the MTC. My roots have expanded and I absorb more nutrients. I’m still gay. Some branches never die, regardless of how long we deny them. I don’t try to change my orientation anymore. In the sunlight, this branch buds and blossoms, and I realise how much it is a part of me. I married the most compassionate and understanding woman I’ve ever met. And yet, at times I am afraid. I am scared to tell people that I am married, nervous to say that I have a wife. I still fear their rejection. My leaves, however, touched by the sun refuse to stay in the shadows for long. In the MTC my teaching skills were complimented and encouraged. Now, I continue to teach, though my message is no longer faith based. I am eager to learn how to be a better teacher, but slower to accept the advice I receive. I chose to think and reason for myself. I recognise that one person’s style of teaching might not be for me, and that is okay. I continue to thrive when I am watered with praise. Perhaps it was my joy of teaching that brought me to the MTC, that sustained me there and through my time in England. I knew if I was going to teach in England, I needed to believe my message, so I forced myself to find signs of its veracity. Teaching as a missionary meant denying my gay branch, wishing it would die. It meant teaching others that homosexuality was wrong. As I continue to teach, I teach independence. It is easy for me to believe my message. Yet, I am still concerned about my students knowing I’m gay. Though my message no long dictates what people ought to do in their bedrooms, I fear losing credibility if the students knew what I did in mine. Every day when I teach, my gay branch hides in the shadows. The leaves reach for the light coming through the crack. They want the sunlight. They want to be seen. Just as the girl in the MTC hoped to one day come out, so to do I wish to live without hiding any of my branches.