My Very Best Friend

I have a lot of friends, I know a lot of great people, but I have one very best friend, a friend I know I can always count on, because I know she always cares about me.

There are very many reasons why I love her so much, but I will just name a few. She is incredibly humble. She eagerly learns from others, accepts feedback and seeks to improve. She doesn’t think of herself as being better than others, but values all people and sees good in them. She is patient. When waiting in necessary, she is willing to wait. She is helps me to wait patiently and recognise the good in each day. She is responsible. When there is work that needs to be done, she does it. When sleep is the responsible option, she takes it. She is also very hard working. She is respectful. She will never treat me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. She listens to and cares about my opinion. She values my thoughts and she values me.

The more I realise that she cares about me, the more I feel safe trusting her with my heart. It is hard for me to believe that someone might love me, and yet, I know she does. It is wonderful. Though she is far away, we look forward to a day when we can live together and do life together. I wish that could be right now, but she reminds me that we need to be responsible and patient.

I can imagine a day when I won’t be waiting for her to come online, rather, I will be waiting for her to come home to my embrace. I look forward to a day when we can eat together, shop together, play together and pray together.

I want to tell the whole world about my very best friend, but they have a hard time understanding. Most seem to doubt that we can accomplish our goals and our dreams. I look forward to proving them wrong. Still, their hesitation, and the uniqueness of this friendship, can make me hesitant to share this good news with others. Regardless, I don’t need them to understand, because my very best friend takes time to understand me.

Our friendship is sacred, special, unique and peculiar. Our friendship is ours. It does not require the approval of others, we seek rather to delight each other and to serve our God. 

I am so thankful to have a very best friend who cares so much about me.

Happy Birthday SJ.  I love you!

Blessed to Love

The main idea which stood out to me when my stake president laid his hands on my head and set me apart to serve a full time mission was that I would be blessed to love.  Even as he said it, I selfishly wished that he blessed me instead to be loved.  Though I do not always comprehend, I know the blessing he gave me is far greater than the one I hoped for.  It is greater to love than to be loved, harder too.  On my mission, I many times prayed that I may love those around me. Many times I was able to love them and focus upon them, rather than on me. 

I miss that blessing.  Now I am as I was before: I want to be loved.  I want to be noticed, valued, cared for.  I am seeking affirmation.  All of that I want on my terms.  I’m waiting around for someone to tell me I am spectacular.  I do not want to do anything to gain that approval.  I just want to be.  The truth is, when I laze around, I am not all that spectacular.  I am far from living up to my potential.  The truth is, as long as I am focused on others loving me, I am missing the point. 

I miss being a set apart missionary, because I miss that blessing.  That blessing, however, is not limited to me as a missionary.  Love is not just an attribute of a missionary, but a defining characteristic of Jesus Christ.   Now, even now, I, even me, can be filled with Christ-like love.  Moroni (Moroni 7:47) invites us to pray for that love, with all of our energy.  It is not that I should pray for that love, so others will love me in return.  Rather, I should seek to have Christ-like love that I may be like Jesus Christ. 

How to Love My Mission Companions without Falling in Love

As I prepare to leave on my mission, this is something I certainly worry about.  I could pray for ugly companions, but rather, I desire to love my companions fully and completely.  My thoughts on this topic have been shaped by (Gay) Mormon Guy’s post Learning toLove.  He acknowledges that love is good; love is what we are called to do.  He further identifies different levels or depths of love.  The first level desires present happiness (for the other), the second level desires future happiness and the third level desires eternal happiness.  In true love, present happiness is sacrificed for eternal happiness.

I was at the thrift store the yesterday, a thrift store where one of the workers has previously flirted with me.  Ha, I flatter myself.  She probably has never flirted with me.  She is just friendly, and good at her job, and I choose to interpret her actions as coquettish.  I was at the thrift store, she was at the thrift store and how I longed for her to approach me, give me her attention, whisper sweet nothings in my ear.  I thought of what I could say to here, but mostly I was thinking about what I wanted her to say to me.  I tried to distance myself from the situation and figure out what I really wanted.  My actions were not out of a desire for the eternal happiness of the woman at the thrift store, I didn’t even desire her present happiness.  My thoughts were completely selfish.  I wanted her to make me feel special.  I have a long ways to go.

Alma 38:12 has a lot of missionary applications.  It says “Use boldness, but not overbearance; and also see that ye bridle all your passions, that ye may be filled with love; see that ye refrain from idleness.”  If I let my passions run wild, I will be anything but filled with love.  But, if I bridle my passions, if I desire for my companions, more than anything, their eternal happiness, my thoughts and my actions will reflect that.

When I start falling in love with my companions, the solution isn’t to stop loving them, but to love them completely, selflessly, to see them as Jesus Christ sees them.  The answer might be that simple.  The actual act of putting off the natural man will be more difficult, but with prayer and humility, through the atonement of Jesus Christ, it is possible.

Married Life- An Allegory

For twelve years I’ve been married, half my life.  I couldn’t have known what I was doing when I first agreed to the idea.  I thought he was my only chance.  It hadn’t occurred to me at the time that other men might come along and sweep me off my feet.  They haven’t.  I’ve been true to my husband through the worst of it all.

The first few years I was his willing slave.  Like a young child willing to do the most ridiculous tasks to please her heartless older siblings.  My husband said jump, and so I’d jump and high as I could, over and over again.  I became so tired, so lonely.   

I was a marvellous wife, doing my best at everything.  I served him well but I wasn’t sure that I was loved.  I let painful thoughts enter my mind.  If I died would anybody care?  Was I valuable at all?  I was told I must trust my husband.  After all, he loved me.  It was his job.  So, I told myself that, and when I was feeling alone, I would talk to him, though I was never sure he was listening.  I knew he must be, but his body language never communicated that.  When he didn’t reply to me I’d read something that he had written to me long ago.  I started writing notes to my husband.  In them I’d let him know how I was feeling.  I’d talk about my friendships and ask for advice.  Maybe he thought I’d learn better if he didn’t tell me what to do.  He let me discover things that he already knew. 

                For the first six years of our marriage I spent time with him every day.  I convinced myself that he was interested in what I was saying to him and even more committed to me than I was to him.  I wasn’t sure how that was possible because I vowed, in my young age to never leave him.  No matter what.  So committed was I that I dedicated the whole of our seventh year of marriage to getting to know him better.  I wanted to know the things that made him happy.  I wanted to know how I could serve him.  I wanted to know the things he liked, but ultimately I didn’t want to just know information about him, I wanted to know him personally.

                I cannot lie.  That year was filled with many things.  I spent much effort trying to please him, but also trying to please a friend of mine.  Though it was a friendship with a boy, I don’t believe it hindered my relationship with my husband.  He was well aware of the friendship, and often invited hang out with us.  Ultimately the friendship wasn’t healthy.  I wanted the boy to be more like who I thought my husband was.  I had ideals and he did not live up.  Eventually I asked the boy to leave my life.  I didn’t need that friendship, I reckoned, because I had my husband as a friend.  I clung to my relationship with my husband, hoping that it would fulfill me, but it didn’t.  I pursued him.  I wanted to get to know him better, but I got only more knowledge and nothing intimate.  I thought he was supposed to be pursuing me.

                I moved to a new city with the hope that there I’d be able to serve him better.  I had hoped that there I might be able to spend more time with him.  I was willing to move where ever he wanted.  Nothing changed.  My husband had told me to jump, and so I spent day after day jumping, but eventually I got tired.

                When a man is never around it is easy for a woman to start wondering if he really loves her.  I remember one special moment we spent together in the past few years, but there should have been many more.  Or am I too demanding?

Sometimes people talk about my husband.  They’ll mention a nice thing he’s done for them.  It makes me angry.  Don’t get me wrong, I am glad he is doing things for other people.  I once thought that was all that mattered.  I didn’t care if he spent time with me if he was helping out others.  But I want him.  I want him to do something for me, just once.  I want him to take the time to be intimate with me, even if it is only for a few minutes.  I want him.      

As his wife I feel expected to tell stories about him that make him look good.  But I either have to make them up, or rely on stories that others have told me.  Sometimes I don’t even believe their stories myself.

One thing I must mention.  In the past 12 years I have never gone hungry.  There has always been money in the bank and food on my table.  When I thought my husband was hinting that I should get a job, I did and I hate it, but I know I have more money than I have earned.  It is possible that my husband likes to do things for me without me knowing and so all these years I have credited him for the food in my belly.  But now, I am just not sure that it was him.  I know many kind and generous people who continue to care for me, and it easily could have been any of them. 

                I’m still lonely.  I thought I’d never be lonely if I married.  I thought my husband would be around all the time, making sure I was okay.  I was counting on him.  I thought it would be wrong to rely on anybody else.  Now I am not sure that I ever should have relied on him.  I’m trying to make some new friends.  Not just people I think he’d want me to be friends with, but people I want to be friends with.  Not just people whom I can serve, but people who might serve me.  Maybe it's selfish, but I don’t want to be lonely anymore. 

                I thought once I was married that I would be able to curl up in my husband’s arms and rest, but my to do list keeps growing.  Whenever I have a moment to breathe, he is never around.  I try to enjoy the time by myself, after all, I am an introvert, but I keep looking to be fulfilled.  Maybe it was foolish to trust that he would satisfy me, but he promised me an abundant life together, joy and peace.

                I’m miserable.  It’s not my fault.  I keep trying, and I keep waiting, hoping that today will be the day he shows up and does his part.  I fall asleep alone.

                This year my dad died.  I begged my husband to show up and comfort me, but mourned his death alone.  I hardly mourned it.  Within a week of his death I was back to work, trying to serve my husband. 

                I know I shouldn’t blame my husband for my dad’s cancer.  It wasn’t his fault, it is not like he caused it or anything, yet a lot of my anger is directed towards him.  I hoped that he would have done something, anything.  He never showed up.  I can understand if he is busy with work or something, but I’m his wife!  Isn’t that a reason for him to come by and hold me? 

                I’ve been wondering if I’ve been lied to.  Maybe he isn’t the kind of guy he claims to be.  I don’t know why I’ve been fooled for so long.  I should have figured it out long ago.  I keep giving him the benefit of the doubt.  I keep hoping that he will come by.  I keep wishing that this year will be different, better.  Our relationship stays the same.  I’m not even sure it can be called a relationship, but a relationship with him is all I’ve ever hoped for.

                I promised myself to him.  I’d feel bad giving up now.  He might have good reason to be so distant, or maybe he is not as distant as I make him out to be.  I always try to justify his actions to myself and to others.  When he doesn’t come to an event with me, I tell others that he must have known it was for the better.  I’m tired of making up excuses for him.  I’m tired of giving him the benefit of the doubt.

                I’m still young.  I don’t think I can remain in this marriage for the rest of my life.  Would I be wrong to call it unfair, or even abusive?  I’ve trusted in his love, but I’ve never seen it.  I suppose there were a few times, but 4 times in 12 years is not enough and now even those times seem blurry.  Maybe I just gave him the benefit of the doubt before because I wanted to believe.  I wanted to believe that he planted the flowers for me, but maybe it was just the wind that blew the seeds into my garden.  Wanting to believe isn’t enough for me anymore.

                I wonder what my life would be like if I divorced him.  I know, it is wrong to even entertain such thoughts, but I can’t help but think.  Would I be able to form meaningful relationship after suffering in my marriage for so long?  Would I be able to heal?  Could I ever trust again?  There are some things I’d like to do.  Things I don’t do now because I know he wouldn’t approve.

                I’m tired of playing his game.  I’m tired of living by his rules.  And when I consider that he might be holding my back from real joy, from true love and from lasting peace, I don’t want to believe anything he ever did was good.  If he really is an evil husband, then it would be good, even right, for me to leave him.  I start looking for things to incriminate him, but whenever I find one my mind fights back.  It is as if I’ve spent the last 12 years of my life brainwashing myself to believe I have a lovely husband for it is impossible for me to hold other thoughts in my mind.  I’ve been living by his rules for so long that I need someone to tell me what to do.  I want someone to tell me to leave him.

                But I won’t.  I won’t leave him.  I am trapped.  I am his.  It is all I have known.  I cannot imagine my life without him.  Even though he has so infrequently been present, everything I do is for him.  I base my life on who he is.  I am his slave forever.  Somebody, please, come save me.

R.I.P Occuplaza, long live OCCUPY!

Every now and then I would hear about Occupy, but never really enough to fully understand it. My favourite way to learn about people is from the people themselves, so I had the desire to go down and talk with the people who were camping out. But, I kept putting it off. Then I read that the court had ordered them out by Friday at 2pm. I did not get down to the Occupy Camp until Thursday night. I took my tent and headed down. I thought that would be the best way to understand what was going on. I wasn’t sure what they stood for, but I believed that they had a right to say it, and that was enough to get me to go a support them.
I had no idea what would happen once I got there. I turned out that they had a plan in mind; plan of creative resistance, a plan to leave the plaza, but not without pointing out the injustice of their silencing. I met people I will never forget; people who have chosen community over comfort.
It was an honour to be a part of their last night at the Plaza, but counter to the media portrayal, this was not their last stand. Occupy lives on. There was such a community created at the camp that ridding the plaza of tents far from disbands the group. “The occupation was in-tents”, but it will continue even when the tents are gone. I believe that is party why the Occupiers could leave peacefully, and even before their eviction. They knew that it was far from the end, as one of the signs read: “ideas can’t be evicted”.
I had conversations with occupiers that I will never forget. One guy felt like history was just repeated itself, but it would not give us any better results this time around. He spoke about how things were rather similar in the Roman Empire. The Roman Empire got me thinking about Jesus. Would he be part of an Occupy Revolution?
Jesus brought his own kingdom, so he didn’t need to transform the one that existed. Rather he invited people to join his movement. But it was a movement that contains many of the values of the Occupy movement; the values of community, sharing, equality, and justice over the “Justice System”.
There were a couple of Jesus stories that came to mind over the night:
I was reminded of the creative resistance of which Jesus spoke in Matthew 5: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.” (to understand how this is creative resistance, it helps to understand the culture a bit better. This could help http://dustinfjames.wordpress.com/category/nonviolent-resistance/ I didn't fully read what was said on this site, but I think he's got the idea)
A conversation with a business man who couldn’t grasp the concept of Occupy made me think of the parable from Luke 12: “A man in a crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, tell my brother to give me my share of what our father left us when he died."
Jesus answered, "Who gave me the right to settle arguments between you and your brother?"
Then he said to the crowd, "Don't be greedy! Owning a lot of things won't make your life safe."
So Jesus told them this story:
A rich man's farm produced a big crop, and he said to himself, "What can I do? I don't have a place large enough to store everything."
Later, he said, "Now I know what I'll do. I'll tear down my barns and build bigger ones, where I can store all my grain and other goods. Then I'll say to myself, `You have stored up enough good things to last for years to come. Live it up! Eat, drink, and enjoy yourself.' "
But God said to him, "You fool! Tonight you will die. Then who will get what you have stored up?"
"This is what happens to people who store up everything for themselves, but are poor in the sight of God."
And I thought about the teachings of John the Baptist “And he would answer and say to them, "The man who has two tunics is to share with him who has none; and he who has food is to do likewise."” And the other John “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?”
I am happy with what Occupy did. Their signs and the art left on the plaza speak their message loudly (though I would say it is being distorted by the media), and they are far from disappearing.

Over the weekend I went to Jasper with my parents, both of my sister's and their husbands. It was a last minute family trip. We went on 3 hikes, all of which I had done as a kid with my dad. I am thankful for those father daughter camping trips I went on with my dad where we would hike, camp, and when I got older, backpack. Those are some of the times when I really bonded with my dad. We hike up the mountain Cavity, which was far more of a scramble than a walk in the park. I thought my dad was a little crazy for taking me up there when I was 6, but I still have a scar on my knee from that first trip. The hike up Cavity yesterday was dangerous. It was windy, and rainy, so the rocks were slippery. Looking from above, I watched my dad try to navigate an alternate route which only left him stranded on a rock wall. I hoped he would not fall.
My dad and I did a lot of scrambling, For a couple years we hiked into a campground called waterfall where two waterfalls met. One year we scrambled up beside the one waterfall, and the next year up climbed up the other waterfall. I think it was the first year when my dad and I had climbed different routes up a cliff. From the top I got out the camera and took a picture of him. "Good thing you took that picture" he had told me later "The rock I was holding was loose. That might have been the last picture you ever got of me." I shuddered, not liking my dad to talk like that.
The next year we climbed up the other waterfall. we came across some large rock piles let by glaciers. (I think they have a fancy name, but I don't know what it is now). We walked a couple of Kms to the far side of one, and on that end it was gently sloped. we walked up it with no problem and started heading back along the top. The problem came when we had to get off of the pile. The sides around us were a steep collection of large and small rocks. Everything was loose. My brave dad started down on his feet, but it wasn't long before he lost his balance and tumbled down the mountain. I thought he might die, but he was okay. I sat atop of the rock for a long time, terrified of going down. I thought about the song that said "your love is a mountain, firm beneath my feet", and wished that this mountain was at all firm. Eventually I made my way down.
We took a lot of pictures this weekend. And I thought about the time my dad had said that it was good I had taken the picture because it might have been the last. We found out a week before our trip to Jasper that my dad's cancer has come back, and with a vengeance. He seems healthy, but the tumors are beyond operable, and treatment can only delay the inevitable. He's made a bucket list, and on there was a trip to Jasper. Jasper is an important place for him. Take a Picture of dad on the mountain, this might be the last mountain he climbs. Take a picture of all of us together, who knows if we will all be together again. Take a picture of dad skipping rocks. Who knows if he will be out at a lake again. Take a picture of dad and his daughters because soon they won't have a father. Take a picture, it might be the last chance.

So, now I am feeling pretty hopeless and kinda depressed. I don't feel like doing anything, but I think the more I do, the better it is for me. I am feeling rather busy with school and work amongst many other things, and I can't do everything. Hopefully someday I will learn how to balance it all, but first I feel like I might crash.

I had a great day today

I had a great day today, and I thought you all should know about it. It started off with a great run with my roommate (oh boy, training for a triathlon). At that point I decided that I needed to take some me time to prepare for the day. I spent some time reading the Bible and in prayer. Then I headed off to my old Bible College. I debated whether it would really be a worthwhile trip. I didn’t have too much time to spend there, but it is a place I like to go where I can spend time with God without thinking that I should really be washing the dishes, or doing laundry, or sweeping, or checking my email one more time. So I headed up to the college. My theology prof was there, and I thought it would be good to have a chat with him. I stopped in his office and we had a great conversation about the Eucharist and about being the body of Christ. He confirmed a lot of thought I have recently had, and sent me on my way with a book. It was a really good and encouraging talk. Then I made my way to the LDS institute. In the last institute class I attended I really felt like I wanted to talk with the teacher, so I emailed him and we set up a time (which happened to be this morning). I wasn’t sure how our conversation would go, but in the email I had mentioned that I wanted to hear his story. I got to the institute building, and the doors were locked, which meant I had to ring the door bell, and that really scared me. A very large part of me wanted to turn and walk away, but I didn’t. I rang it, and I waited. I could see the Brother walk from the far end of the hall towards me. I think a million things went through my mind. I didn’t know what I was going to say to him. I had nothing planned. I sat down in his office as he finished off an email. I made some observations –Rugby picture –lobster trap –family photos; and said some silent prayers. “So, what do you want to know” he said breaking the silence. “Everything” I replied. And I felt like that statement was pretty true, I do want to know everything. He started from his birth and told me about his childhood, his grandparents, his experiences as a Catholic, as a born again Christian and then about how he became an LDS. He told me about how he came out west, and how he got a job with the LDS Church teaching seminary and then institute. He told me about his wife and his 6 children. And then his story concluded. He looked at me and asked about my story. “Did you grow up in the Church?” I was a little shocked by his question, but answered “I grew up going to Church, but not the LDS Church.” He was intrigued, but then I realised that more was needed to be said. I added “I am not a member.” He was shocked. He had no idea. I don’t try to trick people into thinking that I am LDS; I don’t know any Mormons with dreadlocks, but I guess it is mainly the LDS who attend institute, so it was understandable for him to think that I was a member. Then I shared parts of my story with him. I shared it much like I would share my story with kids at camp. I talked about my dad’s cancer and my parents love for Guatemala. I shared about my struggle with pride and about finding my worth in Christ. I shared about inner city mission trips and the way they have changed the direction of my life. I shared about Bible School and I shared about my decision to go to a different Church when I was in grade 11. I shared about why I moved and what I might take in school. There are a lot of things which have happened in my life. Then we started talking about the way he teaches. I admire his way of teaching so much, and he said that we should sit down and talk about it more some time. I’d like that. I didn’t think that we would talk for more than an hour, but we chatted for an hour and a half and we could have kept talking if he did not have a class to teach. He asked me where I attend church now, and when I told him that I went to a Mennonite Church he was rather surprised. As we walked down the hall to leave we talked about finding the value in different denominations even if we don’t agree with everything they believe.
I had told the girl I mentor that I would be at her house at one, but I did not leave the institute building until one and she lives far across the city. I also stopped at a gas station on the way to her house because I had to pee so bad, and while I was there I decided to buy gas and wash some of my windows. I then made a stop at Safeway, I more frequently shop at superstore, but Safeway was on the way and I have a gift card for there. I stopped to buy some fruits and veggies for the girl I mentor and her family. They lost electricity and thus lost all of the food in their fridge. I know that she will often tell me that there is no food it the fridge, but I know by that she often just means that there is nothing which she desires to eat, but when she asked for fruits and veggies, and her mom was well aware of her doing so, I know that they really did need some food. I got to the till and then remembered that I left my wallet it the car. I asked the cashier if I could run and grab it and she said that would be no problem, When I got back there was a different cashier and I was a little confused. Anyhow, I paid for my food, and completely forgot to use the gift card (good thing I will need more groceries again) and then got to her house at 1:51 Her nine year old sister greeted me and helped me put away the groceries. The girl I mentor was sleeping as she had felt kinda sick, but we woke her up to make cookies. And she came to life. After the cookie making I hung out with her little sister while she went and showered and then we went downtown to volunteer at a Centre which provides community, meals, food hampers and clothing to single moms and low income families. The girl I mentor and her mom and sister and a neighbour all came with us down there. It is great that they can volunteer and receive what they need at the same time, I think it gives dignity which is what that place is all about. They went home with food and new clothes. As I drove home (which give me a bit of time to think) I thought about how much I have come to love that family. I haven't always, but I think God has given me his love for them, and allowed me to see him in their love for eachother. That family is far from perfect. They hurt eachother, fight and yell at eachother, but in the end the love eachother, and care deeply for eachother and would do so much for eachother.
I also started thinking how it was pretty great that the place we volunteered at was able to give, and help out so much. I wondered if anyone practical would say that they should of had food storage so that when they were in need they had extra stored away, but I thought about the sharing that had taken place that night and then I got it. I couldn’t contain it. I laughed because I needed to release my heart. “That’s Christianity” I said out loud and I said it again, and again. I got it. Christianity isn’t having enough to care for one’s self, but about sharing when we have more than enough. It is about having a community to support those in need. It is about love. That is Christianity.
I think that Shane Claiborne echos the voice of the early Christians when he says that those with two coats ought to give one away, and to not give one away is like stealing from those who have none. I think if we have an extra can of food, and there are others going without, we have taken what rightfully belongs to them.

I want to look the poor in the face, and see the face of God

"I wasn't exactly sure what a fully devoted Christian looked like, or if the world had even seen one in the last few centuries. From my desk at college, it looked like some time back we had stopped living Christianity and just started studying it." -Shane Claiborne

“He pled the cause of the afflicted and needy;
Then it was well.
Is not that what it means to know Me?”
Declares the LORD."
-Jeremiah 22:16

"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them." -Bono

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." -James 1:27

Remand Centre

I was sitting on the city train and listening to the conversation of two men behind me.
“Did you just get out of the Remand Centre?” the one asked.
“Yep. You too?”
“Yep.”
I looked up and out of my window I could see the Remand. Its tiny windows are like keys, but they seem to be hopeless keys that will never fit the lock. Hearing them speak about the Centre, and seeing it up ahead I was filled with emotions which I cannot quite understand, but I felt them in my gut. The Remand Centre which was built to house 340 prisoners now holds upwards of 800. I have heard that the human right activists have spoken harshly against the conditions inside. It is understaffed and as I gazed up at it I felt sick. This isn’t right, I thought. The train headed underground and the Remand was no longer in my sight, but it was still in my heart as I thought about the horrible treatment which is experienced there. The say that once people are finally sentenced they get two or even three days taken off of their jail term for every day they were in the Remand Centre because the conditions are so horrible. I heard the one man mention that he had gotten off “Scot Free”. I don’t know what he did, but it made me hurt for those who end up at the Remand even though they are innocent.
The train stopped and the Transit Police got on. “Tickets, transfers and passes” they demanded. I searched through my bag until I found my transfer to show to the Policewoman. She continued down the aisle. When she got to the men who had just gotten out of the Remand one was up front confessing “I don’t got one”. The other man searched in vain through his bag hoping to make it appear as if he had lost his ticket. They were both escorted off of the bus at the next stop.
I think it is just a fine if you fail to pay for the train, but I have come to realise that some people have no money, they cannot pay off a fine. If the fines don’t get paid I can only imagine that these men will end up back at the Remand.
The thought made me angry. I wished I could do something about it. I considered giving them my transfer; I didn’t know what else could be done. I wanted to offer them grace, but I wasn’t sure what it would have cost me.
The simple fact is that the train costs money. They didn’t pay, so they deserve the consequences. That is what is fair. That is justice... right?
I don’t know. It doesn’t sit right with me. The problem is far greater than the surface. It goes back further than I’ll ever know. Sending them back to the Remand seemingly with just perpetuate hopelessness. I am not convinced that incarceration is beneficial or even just, but I fear that I don’t have the better option. I just wanted to offer them grace, but maybe it wasn’t mine to give.

My world is shattered - DC Talk lied to me...

"Boom! Burn! Bip! Yeah! Pow! Hey, ha ha.
Down with the dc Talk, d- d- down with the dc Talk
Are you down with the dc Talk,
d- d- down with the dc Talk
Pullin' out my big black book
Cause when I need a word defined that's where I look
So I move to the L's quick, fast, in a hurry
Threw on my specs, thought my vision was blurry
I looked again but to my dismay
It was black and white with no room for grey
Ya see, a big "V" stood beyond my word
And yo that's when it hit me, that luv is a verb"

So, love is a verb. That sounds right, an action word. something we should do. But today I learned that it is more than a verb. It is not so black and white. Love can be a noun... a NOUN, imagine that?!?! This changes everything!!!! I am not exactly sure how yet.

For she who has been forgiven much, loves much.

Ever since she moved into my house, I started to pray for her differently. It became rare that I would pray for her salvation, or healing, instead I spent my time crying out to God to give me patience; give me love. I never really like going on walks with her, at time she would try to hold my hand, or take my arm, and I just found it more than awkward.
Walking was worse in the winter. I could side across the ice with no problem. But that frightened her, it took her much time to walk down the side walk. I didn’t like always being told to slow down; ordered not to slide. I was doing okay.
This morning started before the walk to church. I was in my room, reading the Bible when she came in interrupting. I answered her questions quickly, just hoping she would leave. And she would leave, and come back too. She could tell I was being short with her. She didn’t like it. As she left I had to question what had I done. There I was, putting my alone time, this ritual up as a blockade. I made it more important than the second greatest commandment, Love people.
Maybe walking to Church was a bad idea. Anyhow, the whole way there I was dreading it. I didn’t like her coming to Church with me. Often times she would go with my mom or my sister, but my mom was working, and my sister out of town. I remembered the times before, having her at church, trying to distance my self from her, mostly from her touch. But I was struck by the familiarity of it all, confronted by something not only which I read, but that I wrote In a fictional story “I hate it, I hate how the church is today. I wish it could be a place where people might go and really feel God's presence, and feel loved. I wish it were a place of selfless people first there to serve God, then others. I wish God was real to the people at church… I'm sorry, I shouldn't of done that this morning, I mean... it was stupid of me. I knew it was what they were thinking… can't believe I did that.” and “No, God wasn't at church! Even you became less caring there, and more concerned about what others were thinking.” And I believe that must be how she felt coming to church with me those days.
I wish I could say today was better, different from those times in the past, but it wasn’t. If anything it was worse, I was aware that being in Church was maybe, if anything a reason to be more caring, and most definitely not less. I was aware I didn’t need to care about what others thought. I had read the story of becoming less caring at Church, and I certainly didn’t want anything to do with that. Yet I hate being told what to do. I didn’t stand during worship, and when she told me to stand I wanted to so much less. I sat struggling with this idea of love, and just wanting it to be easy. She would place he hand on my arm, or my leg, and I would sit uncomfortably until I could take it no longer. I had to move. I would search for a reason, like taking off my coat, but I could only take off my coat once. I struggled with this, not even knowing why it bothered me so much. But it angered me, tore me to pieces; kept me on the verge of tears. Then, when I did decide to stand, placing my hands on the pew in front of me, it was only moments before her hand was on mine. I tried to be okay with it, acting like nothing happened. But I hated it, I couldn’t stand it. I removed my hand, and though she tried to hold it I refused. I sat back down, trying to get as far away from her as possible. When I got home I wrote but four short lines in my journal. “God I failed at church… why is that? When reading my Bible, while at Church, I have no patience for her, no allotment for her awkwardness.” I wasn’t sure of what allotment meant, but it was the best word I could come up with. I asked for God’s forgiveness, I had failed indeed. Then I read the end of the story I had written; the part with the trip to church, the climax, the conclusion. But I started far enough before that, so I was distracted my mind put to ease rather than sent on a guilt trip.
We all make mistakes. We are all called to grace, and I am thankful for that grace. Tonight I went to another church. Before communion this was read: “My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have one who speaks to the Father in our defense—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One. He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world.” I was so happy for this grace so thankful for what God had done so ready to partake in communion. I was so aware of my short comings that I was so ready to accept the help, to accept grace. I just can’t make it on my own.

Restoration, Restitution.

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." ~Jesus