Five things about me (or "just another post where Heather goes on and on about herself")

I got tagged by Kristin to come up with five things you might not know about me. If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, you probably know way more than you want to know about me, since I’m a bit of an open book and I have a tendency toward verbal diarrhea. But here goes anyway…

1. Even though my name is rarely mentioned, I have been “quoted” by hundreds of media sources all across the country and even in other parts of the world. As a professional communicator/media relations person, I’ve written lots of press releases and “media lines” about everything from mad cow disease to world hunger to the commemoration of D-Day. The next time you read or hear that politician or senior bureaucrat so-and-so said such-and-such about this or that, remember that there’s a good chance it was penned by some clever communicator who knows how to “voice-shift”.

2. I love road trips. (Well, almost any kind of trip really, but for now let’s focus on road trips.) I love to drive, even when it’s not a road trip to any particular destination. I could drive and drive for hours and not get bored. I used to go out driving sometimes when I needed quiet time by myself, but now I feel too guilty for burning fossil fuels selfishly. Once in awhile, though, when I’m on my way home from grocery shopping, I “miss” the turn-off and take the long way home.

3. When I was six years old, I completed a 20 (or 22 – I can’t quite remember) mile walkathon, just because I am freakishly stubborn and don’t like to quit. At 40, I am still freakishly stubborn, but I have less to prove, so I don’t know if I’d bother. On second thought, there’s a good chance that, if I got started, you wouldn’t be able to convince me to quit.

4. I don’t like phones. As my husband likes to point out “how can you be a professional communicator and NOT LIKE PHONES?” Weird, I know, but I really don’t. I’m SO happy I no longer need to have a cell phone attached to my hip. If I can avoid using a phone, I will either walk to someone’s office/house if it’s close enough, or send them an email. I’m a much better communicator when I can do it in person or in writing. I would rather talk in front of a room full of thousands of people than use a phone.

5. I once spent a summer dressed as a panda bear at the local zoo. (And you thought those were REAL animals in those cages. Pshaw!) When the pandas were visiting our city’s zoo one year, I got a summer job at the panda photo booth. Half of the time I was the photographer and the other half of the time I was the panda. It was depressingly hot that summer, and I was busy melting in a fur suit with people sitting on my lap. (Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this on another list on this blog, but it’s all I can think of this morning.)

And, because Robin asked, I thought I’d throw in a bonus point. (And, you know, there’s that verbal diarrhea thing.)

6. Robin wanted to know what I do for a living. So, because I am an open book (which you probably occasionally wish you could slam the pages on), here it is. I am the “Director of Resources and Communication” at a Canadian non-profit organization “working to end hunger in developing countries.” (That’s part of the mission statement I just helped re-write.) I lead the team responsible for all kinds of interesting things like public relations, community/church relations, media relations, fundraising, education, and public engagement. On the fun days, I get to travel to interesting countries and take pictures and tell stories of fascinating people who have to cope with hunger but often have greater joy and more interesting stories than many of the people I meet in “rich” countries. On other days, I develop material (brochures, website, posters, videos, press releases, newsletters, etc.) to help the organization communicate hunger issues. On the least fun days, I deal with human relations issues that come with having a staff of nine people. (This is where my phone albatross becomes a bit of a hindrance, because most of my staff lives in other provinces than I do.)

Here’s me on one of those fun days (well, except for the fly that's trying to crawl into my eye - it may be one of the 5 that committed suicide in my tea that afternoon):

(Kristin - by the way, that's me in Kenya. I threw that in because you mentioned Kenya in your list of 5.)

Now go ahead, tag yourself. Tell me something I don't know about YOU.

This is how parents spell "freedom"

Tonight Marcel and I went for a walk - JUST BECAUSE WE CAN! After eleven years of parenting, we have reached a new milestone. We can leave our children at home for short periods of time without a babysitter. Wow!

There were so many days in those eleven years when we felt like we would NEVER reach that magical day when the kids would be capable of staying home without us. All those nights when we dreamed of just going for a short walk together after a long day, and those weekends when we knew the best thing for our relationship would be date night but we hadn't thought ahead to book a babysitter - well, they're fading away and now it feels like barely any time at all has passed in between.

Just as we'd begun our walk, we passed the house of our neighbours M&J. Their drapes were open and we could see J trying on a new snuggli. M&J just gave birth to their first baby a few weeks ago. Marcel and I smiled as we walked past. Even though some days it felt like our kids would be dependent FOREVER and we'd never go for a walk alone again, other days it feels like just yesterday when we were in their shoes - trying on snugglis and rocking our new baby to sleep.

In the blink of an eye, it all changes and we enter a new stage in our lives. I love this stage just like I loved all the others. I don't want to go back to where M&J are, nor do I want to rush ahead to where Linda is. I will enjoy this moment while it lasts.


P.S. Speaking of our firstborn, if anyone feels so inclined, you could wander on over to her blog (yes, she's finally posted) and leave her a friendly comment - she's feeling pretty disappointed about not making the developmental soccer league. She's a pretty good soccer player, and (trying to be unbiased) I was a little surprised she didn't make it too. Even her old coach was sure she should have made it.

Pretty close to perfect

Last night was one of those nights. Lovely from start to finish. It started out with Winterlude at St. Vital Park, organized by the girls' school. Skating, sleigh rides, hot chocolate, and a big roaring fire in the fire pit. (Yes, I know that SOME of you live in climates that are way past the winter sports stage, but this is Winnipeg. We're still buried in snow with a solid ice skating surface on the duck pond.)

It was the perfect "end of winter" kind of night - with temperatures hovering around 0 celsius (freezing point) - pleasant enough to spend over two hours out of doors without having to chip the ice off your eyelashes. Nikki and Julie disappeared with their friends, Marcel went to do the "good parent" thing (volunteering to help serve hot chocolate, or something like that), and I hung out with Maddie while she skated/shuffled around the duck pond.

After awhile, when she'd had enough with skating, Maddie and I lined up for the sleigh ride. It was magical, sitting on the sleigh, listening to the tinkling bells on the horses' bridles, watching the children skate on the pond, while Maddie leaned comfortably on me. Straight out of a winter postcard! I breathed deeply when the smell of horses wafted across the air. I felt the old familiar longing to ride again. One of these days, I want to either own a horse again, or at least rent one for awhile. (When I told Marcel later that I liked the smell of horses, he looked at me incredulously and said "you like the smell of horse shit? Yeah, I guess he doesn't really get it.)

Towards the end of the evening, when most of the kids had grown tired of skating, I left Maddie in Marcel's care and put on my own skates. With few other people left on the ice, I skated round and round and round the duck pond. It felt SO good. I think I could have done it for hours if Nikki hadn't found me to report that she had a huge blister on her foot and was hoping I had some solution for her discomfort. (I didn't, but I had to at least sit with her and offer sympathy.)

When we got home from Winterlude, I ran a hot bath, lit some candles, made myself a cup of chai latte, brought a cd player into the bathroom, and climbed into the tub. I even locked the door and didn't let any children guilt me into opening it! Aaaahhhh... half an hour of uninterupted bath time! THAT'S about as close to perfection as any mother can get!

Before climbing into the tub, I tore open my new Andrew Norsworthy cd, which I got compliments of Jen Lemen. (Thanks Jen! Thanks Andrew!) It is purely delicious! Before the end of the evening, I'd listened to the whole thing twice. I think I have a new musician to add to my list of favourites.

After slathering myself in lotion, I put on my favourite luxurious pajamas (thanks AP - I still wear them), and climbed into bed, content.

An open letter to Dr. Dobson

Recently, I read the letter that you and others sent to the National Association of Evangelicals, urging them to step away from the issue of global warming, and to stop shifting “the emphasis away from the great moral issues of our time, notably the sanctity of human life, the integrity of marriage and the teaching of sexual abstinence and morality to our children.” I also read some of the rebuttals you received from people like Jim Wallis and Brian McLaren.

Dr. Dobson, this whole thing makes me heart-sick. It troubles me that a man of your influence cannot see that the “great moral issues” might also include the fact that over 800 million people in this world are still living with hunger. What about the fact millions of people are dying of HIV/AIDS? And what about the fact that, because of the greed and excessive consumerism in “developed” countries, global warming is having the most profoundly damaging effect on the poor and vulnerable?

I have read through the gospels several times, Dr. Dobson, and every time I do, I am reminded that one of the things that Jesus talks about the most is that we should care for the poor. Where does that fit into your “great moral issues”? If someone does not even have enough food to eat and has to put their child to bed hungry every night, how can you have the audacity to tell them that the only thing Christians should be concerned about are morality, abortion, and the evils of same-sex marriage?

Your letter goes on to say that population control is a dangerous issue that Christians should not concern themselves with because the only way population control can be achieved is “by promoting abortion, the distribution of condoms to the young, and, even by infanticide in China and elsewhere.” So, in other words you’re suggesting that your definition of morality should always trump the other issues in this world, like over-population in developing countries and the spread of HIV/AIDS? Might I suggest to you that if we first addressed the heavy burden of poverty, we might THEN be able to address the morality issues you’re concerned about? Take for example the situation where the men in the village need to leave the village to find work to feed their families. While in a foreign place, living with intense loneliness, they take up with prostitutes who infect them with HIV. They then return home and infect their innocent wives and children. Yes, you’re right of course, their immorality is wrong, but perhaps the whole problem might have been averted if the root of the problem – poverty – had been addressed in the first place. Preaching to them about the evils of immorality will not save their wives and children from death at the hands of AIDS or hunger-related illness.

Let’s go back to global warming. Not long ago, I visited a nomadic tribe in the Afar region of Ethiopia. Historically, this region faced drought every twelve years or so. Because they had sufficient rains in the years in between, they could usually survive the barren years and still maintain their nomadic lifestyles, following their cattle to drinking holes and grazing lands. But now, due to global warming, they face drought every 5 to 7 years, and their lifestyles are no longer viable. They can’t count on the in-between years to sustain them through the barren years, and most of them are living with extreme hunger. Add to that challenge the freak weather patterns that come along with global warming – like the flood that wiped out many of their roads and bridges last year – and you have millions of people left scrounging for food in desperate situations.

I saw the faces of the children, Dr. Dobson. I held their hands. I tell you that there is no way I could have preached to them about morality if I didn’t first offer them food and the promise that I would strive to play a smaller part in the global warming that is destroying them.

Dr. Dobson, I am neither a scientist nor a theologian, so I cannot “prove” global warming nor can I present a great theological argument about what I believe is our responsibility to respond. I can, however, tell you what I have seen and what is on my heart.

It is my prayer that the Christian church can someday set aside the divisions and together address what I believe are the great moral issues that you should at least consider adding to your list. If nothing else, Dr. Dobson, I wish you would at least consider Jim Wallis’ invitation to join him in a healthy debate on these issues. We all need to keep an open mind – myself included.

Home

The water's boiling for my tea, the house is quiet with the family all away at piano lessons, and I am curled up on my couch - home again. Another flight. Another magical lift-off moment. Another night spent in another hotel room. Another day spent in meetings and presentations (doesn't it just SUCK when your presentation falls into the 2:00 in the afternoon slot when everyone in the room is beginning to drift off to sleep?) Another taxi ride (no Ethiopian cab driver this time). It's good to go, but it's always good to return.

In my job, I often end up in meetings and conferences full of a variety of church leaders from a variety of denominations. As is still the case in WAY too many of them, today I was once again a tiny minority in a room full of men. The only other woman in the room was there with her husband - she worked as his administrative assistant. It makes me sad that so many churches are still missing half the wisdom, half the giftings, half the blessings, and half the opportunities to learn by not allowing or encouraging women to lead. If you'd asked most of the men in the room today, I'm sure they would have said "oh, of course we let women lead" and yet the room full of men tells a different story. It makes me weary.

But that's not a problem I'll solve today. The water boiled. It's time for tea.

Random thoughts from Regina

That's right - I'm in Regina. Just an overnighter this time. I have to make a presentation at an all-day conference tomorrow, and then I fly home in the evening. The kids will barely notice I'm gone. A few thoughts on this mini-journey...

No matter how many times I fly, I never get tired of that moment of exhilaration and amazement when the plane lifts off the tarmac. Give me any scientific explanation you want - it still feels like magic that a big hunk 'o metal can get off the ground.

My cab driver this morning was from Ethiopia. I'm not usually very chatty in taxis, especially at 6:30 in the morning, but I had a feeling he was from Ethiopa (his feature's told the tale), so I asked. It was frightfully cold in Winnipeg this morning. I wonder if his heart doesn't ache for the Ethiopian sunshine.

I've ordered room service twice since I've been here (late breakfast and late lunch) and BOTH times, they forgot something I ordered. Not a very good track record so far. (Note: I hardly ever order room service, as I normally love to wander around whatever city I've landed in and discover some lovely local restaurant, but the weather here is as miserable as it was at home and I'm stuck in one of those boring business hotels in a nondescript section of the city. I'd have to walk pretty far to find anything interesting.)

The second time the room service guy came to my room, Oprah was on TV and one of her guests was talking about diaphrams and masturbation (it was a show on women aging. Hmmm... what google searches will THAT bring to my blog?). The poor room service guy shuffled rather uncomfortably while I signed the check. He could hardly exit fast enough.

It's been extremely rare that I've watched any daytime TV since I've worked full time days all of my adult life, other than a few years in university and my maternity leaves. Oprah's program was mildly interesting, since I've tipped over the 40 line, but then Dr. Phil came on and I had to turn the TV off. Is it just me, or do you find Dr. Phil at least mildly annoying? I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something smarmy and just a tad arrogant about him. (Forgive me if he's your personal hero or spiritual guru.)

Lately, it seems, my favourite book choices have been memoirs. I've enjoyed the last two that I've read (Eat, Pray, Love and The Year of Magical Thinking), but I really think I need to look for some by people who lead less privileged lives and can't afford to jet all over the world on a whim. It's getting a little depressing. Any suggestions? Maybe something by and ordinary woman trying to juggle career, family, relationships, etc. Course, the publishing companies probably don't publish many of those, 'cause they're just not glamourous enough. (I just realized that the one before that was Left to Tell, by a woman who survived the Rwandan genocide - a decidedly less privileged life.)

That being said, both women (Elizabeth Gilbert and Joan Didion) said some brilliant things that will stick with me for awhile. I quoted Gilbert in a recent post, and I may quote Didion one of these days too. Her thoughts on grief have refreshed my memories of losing dad, and gave me more than just one epiphany.

Speaking of Joan Didion, her novel Democracy was one of my favourite reads in university. There was something delightfully refreshing about her writing style. I also remember the lovely little thrill I got when she introduced a country I'd never known existed (Kuala Lumpur). It had this great affect on my wanderlusting heart that there were places in the world that I hadn't learned about in high school geography classes that I could possibly some day explore.

I just saw a short report about two small kids (I think they're 2 and 4) who were being taught by their relatives to smoke pot. They have video clips of the grown-ups holding the joints in the kids' mouths. Seriously - were some people born WITHOUT BRAINS? Who DOES that? And do those kids have any hope of growing up reasonably well-balanced?

Who is Tara Grant and why has she taken over all the news programs? With so many millions of stories happening all over the world, and lots of them involving equal amounts of the mystery, tragedy and pathos, sometimes it baffles me which ones get picked for the media (and consequently the public) to obsess about.

Conversations with Maddie

Conversation #1 - after we'd made a hat out of magic noodles

Maddie: I just made wonderful stuff and I feel WONDERFUL!


Conversation #2 - when she was climbing into the bathtub

Me: Stop - there's a piece of toilet paper stuck to your toe.

Her: What!? How did that get there? (a grin breaks out on her face) Oh, I know - the little man in my toe was trying to wipe his bum!


Conversation #3 - in the bathtub

Me: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Her: (again with the grin) A dog.

Me: How are you going to turn into a dog?

Her: Well, I'll go to the dog store and see if they have a dog-turner-into and I'll use it. (throws her head back and laughs)

Monkey mind

You know how sometimes you visit your doctor with a list of symptoms, she suggests a diagnosis and describes EXACTLY what you've been feeling and you say "YES! That's IT!" That's kind of how I feel about this paragraph in "Eat, Pray, Love":

Like most humanoids, I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the 'monkey mind' - the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl. From the distant past to the unknowable future, my mind swings wildly through time, touching on dozens of ideas a minute, unharnessed and undisciplined. This in itself is not necessarily a problem; the problem is the emotional attachment that goes along with the thinking. Happy thoughts make me happy, but - whoop! - how quickly I swing again into obsessive worry, blowing the mood; and then it's the remembrance of an angry moment and I start to get hot and pissed off all over again; and then my mind decides it might be a good time to start feeling sorry for itself, and loneliness follows promptly. You are, after all, what you think. Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.

Exactly. Those pesky monkeys have me as their slave.

Along with giving up meat, I've been trying to spend more time in meditation and prayer this lenten season, but my monkey mind keeps getting in the way. I've been trying a few new things to help keep my focus, like prayer beads and centering prayer, but, alas, the monkeys in my mind tease me as they hop from limb to limb. "Just try and stop us!" they taunt.

Perhaps if I could afford the luxury of three months at an ashram in India, like Elizabeth Gilbert, I'd learn how to quiet those monkeys. But there's laundry to do, lunch to be made, children to play with, floors to sweep, groceries to shop for... you get the picture. Guess I'll just have to live with the monkeys for now.

You move me

Dear Martyn Joseph,

I don’t often write fan letters, but I’m making an exception today because I think you should know how much you moved me last night. I left your concert with a feeling of fullness – like I’d been given a delicious meal of succulent songs that fed the hungry places in my soul. Thank you for that. Thank you for writing such breathtakingly beautiful lyrics as “turn me tender again, mold me anew” and “my soul’s asleep now – wake me up” and – oh there are so many I can barely begin to list them. Thank you for giving of yourself again and again to us your audience. Thank you for taking risks. Thank you for baring your heart and soul and pouring your passion into the gift you offer us.

A few weeks ago, I was in Ethiopia. I traveled through some of the poorest regions of the country, visiting various food-related development projects. I visited people living in primitive huts made of mud and reeds. I watched labourers with picks and shovels painstakingly dig massive ditches to irrigate the parched land. I held the hands of children who weren’t sure where their next meal would come from. I walked past crippled or blind beggars sitting in the dirt next to centuries old churches.

Before departing on my journey, I downloaded my favourite music onto my daughter’s mp3 player. Music is so often my touchstone, my inspiration, and my solid ground and I knew that it would help me process and make sense of some of the pain and poverty I would see. Your two recent albums – Deep Blue and Whoever it was Who Brought me Here – featured prominently in my music selection.

Your music was just what I needed for that journey. You so beautifully reflected so many of my own thoughts – anger at the injustice, compassion for those in need, despair that there are so many hurting people and so little I can do about it, but always hope that there is a better way. Your words became my words as I traveled through almost incomprehensible beauty and equally incomprehensible pain.

I listened to “Yet still this will not be” over and over again and even shared it with my travel companions. More than anything, as I traveled through one of the poorest countries in the world, I wanted to believe that some day “the broken hearted shall indeed rule”.

One particular memory of my trip sticks with me. We stopped at the side of the road next to a rusty abandoned army tank leftover from one of the many wars that have ravaged Ethiopia. Passing school children, curious about our vehicles and our white skin, climbed onto the war machine to watch us. As I watched them, I felt a sadness settle into my soul. How could these school children have hope for the future when their path to school was littered with memories of war?
But then, high up on the hill above where the tank sat, a young girl called down to us. Giggling and waving, she shouted “salam!” (hello) She picked up one of the young goats she was herding and motioned for us to take her picture. In that moment, I felt my hope return. If there is any hope in Ethiopia, it is in this young girl, so full of life and joy.
As we drove away from the abandoned tank, the words of your song kept going through my head. Yet still this will not be. Yet still these tanks will not destroy Ethiopia. Yet still these ongoing wars will not destroy the spirit of this young girl. Yet still there is hope that some day the broken hearted will rule and the kingdom of the fool will be humbled and made low. Yet still there is within me the capacity to contribute to making the future a better place for this little girl and all those like her in this beautiful but broken world.

Thank you, Martyn, for coming with me to Ethiopia.

Tidbits

- The workshop with the dental staff was not my most stellar performance. It is much harder to deliver a meaningful workshop when the participants would rather be in the bar drinking. For the first half of the session, they just sat there staring at me like I had some nerve wasting their time that way. It's pretty hard to feed off of group energy when there is none. It wasn't a total flop, though. They warmed up to it and the group exercise I planned for the second half actually went over quite well.

- Nikki's Fair Trade birthday party didn't quite go according to plan. Some of the girls had a ringette game, so only one of them could make it to the party early enough to get to Ten Thousand Villages with us before they closed. But the other girls all bought their presents there ahead of time, and the store gave us a bunch of fair trade snacks (chocolate, dried fruit, hot chocolate), so it wasn't a total dud. Nikki now has a collection of funky global jewellery that rivals mine - the girl's got great taste!

- The rest of the party was at a hotel. I spent the night trying to sleep, while four giddy girls spent most of the night giggling. Though sleep would have been nice, I quite enjoyed the giggling. There is something very life-affirming about the joy of preteen girls. By two-thirty, though, I let them know that even though I was fairly tolerant, the rest of the hotel guests might not be, so they'd better keep it down. Soon afterwards, they were all sound asleep - all 4 of them in a King-sized bed. I wish my camera batteries hadn't died.

- We had a family get-together at our house for Nikki's birthday yesterday. Between the parties and the workshop on Friday night, I'm wiped.

- We made lasagna for the family party. Since I've given up meat for lent, I made a vegetarian lasagna which turned out better than any meat lasagna I've had in a long time. Mmmm... tasty! Leftovers for lunch today. Yum, yum.

- Dennis Quaid is shooting a movie in the old church next to my office. I haven't spotted him yet, but then again, I haven't really been looking. Mostly, I've just seen a bunch of big trucks blocking the street and parking lot.

- Speaking of celebrities, doesn't Britney Spears just look like a scared, vulnerable little girl under all that craziness? I wonder if anyone is loving her through this? I hope so.

- My next business trip is to Regina. After Africa, you can't get much more anti-climactic than Regina. Fortunately, it's only for one night.

- Maddie has asked me to pick her up more in the last month than she did in the 4 years of her life before that. My highly independent, non-cuddly girl has become cuddly lately, and I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

- Nikki has a new pen-pal - Vicki's daughter. In this age of electronics, it's fun to see a girl get excited about what's coming in the mail. I may have to help Julie find a pen-pal too. Anyone have a nine (almost ten)-year-old daugher they'd like to line up for a pen-pal?

The flip side

Lest you all think I'm just strutting around bragging and calling myself phenomenal (no that's NOT what I was suggesting we should do in the last post), I want to offer what I think is the other side of the coin. Yes, I think that we should embrace our giftedness and believe that we were created with potential and beauty, BUT...

I think there's another side too. We may be phenomenal, but we are also phenomenally flawed. And what I learned recently is that we have to embrace both sides of the coin. Let me tell you about a personal journey I went on in the last few years...

One day (I was going to say it was during my "40 days 'til 40" contemplation phase, but it might have been longer ago than that), I stumbled upon a book called "The Gift of Being Yourself - The Sacred Call to Self-Discovery" by David G. Benner. At first, I just thought it was another "believe in yourself and recognize your gifts, blah, blah, blah" kind of book and I really wasn't expecting much from it. But what I read when I first browsed through it intrigued me so I stuck with it.

Near the beginning of the book, Benner quotes John Calvin as saying "There is no deep knowing of God without a deep knowing of self and no deep knowing of self without a deep knowing of God." Hmmm. Interesting. So there's spiritual value in the navel gazing I'd taken up when 40 started knocking on my door. Benner also says "Being most deeply your unique self is something that God desires, because your true self is grounded in Christ. God created you in uniqueness and seeks to restore you to that uniqueness in Christ. Finding and living out your true self is fulfilling your destiny." Okay, this seemed worth considering, so I read on.

The first part was interesting, and I found myself nodding my head now and then, but it wasn't until I reached chapter 4 that I felt like there was something in this book that I needed to spend time learning. That's where Benner throws the hard-ball. "Knowing ourselves as we really are inevitably brings us up against what the Bible calls sin." Okay, this was getting a little tougher. So this wasn't just going to be a "touchy-feeling pat yourself on the back for how great you are" kind of journey. From there, the book goes into how we should contemplate, pray about, and try to analyze our "core sin tendencies" - those flaws that lie deep down at the root of who we are.

Core sin tendencies? This was a new concept for me. I'd heard about sin all my life, but I'd never really considered that I might have a propensity for certain sins over others. Over the years, I'd spent a fair bit of time trying to figure out my giftedness, my personality, my leadership styles, and all those other feel-good kind of self-discovery things that are part of almost every staff retreat or leadership workshop anywhere, but I hadn't really flipped my heart over and looked at the dark side. Maybe that was the fatal flaw in my navel-gazing phase.

"Genuinely knowing yourself as you are known by God can be quite frightening," says Benner. Yup, that's right, I was getting a little afraid of looking around those dark corners. Who knows what was going to pop up? "But if God knows you and still loves you deeply, there is hope that you can do the same."

When I closed the book, I knew it was time to take another step in my journey. Gulp. But I don't wanna know my flaws! C'mon God - can't we just stay out here in the light? Hmmm... God whispered "Nope. Trust me. This is gonna hurt for awhile, but it will be worth it."

So I started thinking, praying, reading my Bible, and searching for those pesky skeletons that had become firmly entrenched in the closets of my soul. It wasn't pleasant, but I did it. I even attended a twelve-step program for awhile, trying to figure out what things I had to overcome and what I had to admit to myself to get there.

And what did I find out? Well, at the time, it became clear to me that there were 2 things that I needed to work on - gluttony and slothfulness. The more I thought of it, the more I realized I had let many things in my life suffer because of these two things. My relationships were harmed, my potential was stifled, my body wasn't well cared for, my house looked like a constant warzone, and I was busy ignoring the fact that there was any problem.

I spent a fair bit of time addressing those things - I cleaned out my closets literally and figuratively. If you go back into my blog archives, you'll find lots of posts about the messes that I tackled. Back then, you probably didn't know why there was such urgency to clean up a whole lot of mess in my house and let go of some of the possessions I'd let into my life because of pure greed, but it all had something to do with this journey.

One day, when I looked around and realized the skeletons had shrunk and my home was looking liveable again, I felt this incredible feeling of peace come over me. Trust me, I was still a LONG way from fully addressing my sin tendencies, but at least I was no longer afraid to stare them in the face and challenge them to "get thee behind me."

I'm still learning this stuff, and on almost a daily basis, I slip back into old tendencies, but the journey has definitely been worth it. So when I say that I am going to believe that I am phenomenal, it is only because I also recognize that I am flawed and my only hope of being phenomenal is if I am humble and put my trust in the creator who knows what I'm capable of.

And now, it's time to pack my bags and head to Gimli where I'm teaching a bunch of dentists and dental staff about how they can use the "Six Thinking Hats" to make decisions and work more effectively. Here's hoping I don't screw up.

Phenomenal

A few nights ago, I went to a Ruthie Foster concert, and since then the song “Phenomenal Woman” has been going through my mind. It’s based on a Maya Angelou poem. You can hear it here (click on “Phenomenal Woman” on the right) and you can read the poem here. To me, Ruthie Foster is the epitome of a phenomenal woman – beautiful, sexy, glowing, confident, funny, and with a rich voice that soars through the rafters.

I like it. I like thinking of ourselves as phenomenal. I think too many of us have been raised to believe that we shouldn’t “toot our own horns” or “strut our stuff”. Was it just me, or did you grow up thinking that it was sinful to believe in yourself or be too confident? After all, if we believed in ourselves, then we wouldn’t rely on God enough, right?

Instead, we’ve learned patterns of self-deprecation and low self-esteem. “Oh, I’m not good enough” or “I really don’t have any talents worth sharing” seem to be common phrases on the lips of too many people. (Perhaps it’s especially true for Christians?) I think that’s the OPPOSITE of what God wants to hear from us, because he/she can’t work through us if we doubt our own abilities. Confidence is not sinfulness, it’s trusting that our creator knew what he/she was doing when we were made.

Like Ruthie Foster, I think it’s time to embrace our “phenomenalness”. Oh, I’m not saying we should all start bragging about ourselves, or taking on overly-inflated opinions of ourselves, but what’s wrong with believing that God made us beautiful and talented and phenomenal? Sure we’re all flawed – that’s a given – but we all have within us the seeds of great potential. Believing otherwise is doubting God’s design and ability to work through us.

So today, I am going to believe that I am PHENOMENAL! Truth is, this month it’s not hard to believe. I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve been more open to new possibilities, or if my two weeks in Ethiopia inspired me, but all kinds of opportunities and inspired ideas seem to be “dropping in my lap”. (Or perhaps jumping out of a plane last fall did something to unleash the inner boldness in me.)

Usually February gives way to the doldrums, but this past month, I’ve had lots of chances to use the gifts that I most love to use. I’ve been hired for 2 freelance jobs, both of which entail facilitating workshops on things I love to talk about – like leadership and creative thinking. I also facilitated an all day staff retreat (not my own staff), and got my first chance to fly by the seat of my pants and prove that I could do it (I saw the agenda 15 minutes before launching into the day’s discussion). I had a chance to speak in church a few weeks ago – another thing I quite enjoy. I’ve also had a few writing opportunities, and will see some of it appear in print soon.

And then this week, I stumbled onto one of the most inspired ideas I’ve had in a long time. Part of my day-job involves leading the fundraising team. I don’t have much of a fundraising brain, so it’s good that my staff do most of that kind of work. But I’ve just managed to come up with a new campaign that might revolutionize the way we raise money PLUS it involves encouraging people to do more (lifestyle changes, etc.) than just give money. (I can’t tell you too much about it because it’s still in the seedling phase.)

There must be something in the air, because I feel PHENOMENAL! (Sorry – am I bragging too much? I haven’t entirely let go of the idea that it’s NOT okay to talk about myself like this. In fact, I almost deleted this post.)

This is all really exciting stuff for me, because in a few years, I hope to leave a “nine-to-fiver” job behind and do freelance consulting, facilitation, and writing – just the kind of stuff I’ve gotten to do in the last month. Woohoo!

How about you? What makes you feel phenomenal?

Happy Birthday, Nikki!

(Yes, it's birthday week around here!)

It fills my heart with wonder how quickly you have grown
from this...

to this...

Happy birthday Marcel!

42 years! You've come a long way baby!

Remembering Dad on his birthday

Click to play.

Eureka! I think I've got it!

Further to my earlier post about birthday parties and the resulting truckload of stuff that takes over my home, I've been wrestling what to do with Nikki's party next week. As some of you have mentioned, we don't plan large parties, so it's not like I have twenty kids giving her gifts. But even four gifts, when you add it to everything she gets from her aunties and uncles and grandparents, ends up being a lot. I also don't give away traditional goodie bags. Instead, I've done things like take a picture of the party gang, print it on photo paper and put it in a funky (and cheap) frame for them to take home. I've also printed the picture on iron-on paper and then ironed it onto pillow cases. I'd rather give them a meaningful momento of the party than a bunch of crap that will end up in the landfill site.

But, despite these attempts to keep our parties within reason, I keep wrestling with the thought that there is still too much excess, and most of the gifts bought are probably made by some impoverished peasant working in a sweatshop and living on less than a dollar a day. I've tried to convince the girls that they should consider asking their friends to donate to a worthy cause instead of buying presents, but so far, they haven't been willing to make the sacrifice entirely. (Julie has given some of her birthday money away to the foster child sponsored by the children's community at church, but she didn't entirely forego gifts.)

This year, I've stumbled onto an idea that I think might be a hit. We live really close to Ten Thousand Villages, our favourite fair trade store. The girls and I love visiting this store and we often buy the gifts they bring to their friends' parties from there. They have interesting things from all over the world, and Nikki goes gaga over their funky jewellery.

So I'm going to suggest that instead of bringing gifts, her friends bring her a small amount of money and together we'll all go shopping for a few gifts for her from Ten Thousand Villages. It's a win-win situation. She'll still get gifts, but at least there will be some small amount of justice in the purchases made. I've contacted the store to see if they can help me make it even more meaningful and fun for the girls. Perhaps we'll include some storytelling about the things that they're buying and the places they come from, or some kind of scavenger hunt in the store.

Maybe, just maybe, a few ten and eleven-year-old girls will be inspired to put a little thought into what they purchase and why. If nothing else, I won't feel as overwhelmed by the clutter that another birthday party brings to my house.

I blame it on birthday parties

Over the weekend, I spent several hours cleaning the family room and Maddie's bedroom, sorting through toys and getting rid of a bunch of things nobody plays with around here anymore. Since Maddie's the youngest, I can get rid of her castoffs without having to save them for the next up-and-comer. Yay! Less clutter! But also since she's the youngest, she has inherited A LOT of stuff. It was becoming difficult to navigate both rooms because of the amount of toys scattered around. I'd almost forgotten there was carpet under all that stuff. Can we say "bomb site"? Oh yeah, that bad.

Once again, I found myself asking "Why oh WHY have we allowed so much STUFF to enter our house?" She has WAY more toys than she could ever play with. She doesn't even appreciate most of the stuff she has because there's just way too much of it.

I blame it on birthday parties. I know *I* didn't give her (or her sisters) all that stuff - it must have come from SOMEWHERE! It's all those birthday parties, that's what it is. Every year, with three kids in the house, there are three new truckloads of cheap plastic crap that enters my house and commandeers every available space. And nowadays, it's not just their OWN birthday gifts that enter our home - it's all the extra tiny little pieces of dollar-store evil that they bring home in goodie bags from other parties. (Why do we call them "goodie" bags when they are pure EVIL?) I swear, when all that stuff crosses the threshold into my home, it does a little happy dance and then begins to procreate and produce even MORE stuff until I am completely overwhelmed and feel like throwing a match on it all and walking away.

I want to boycott birthday parties. Or at least birthday PRESENTS. Seriously, parents, why do we do this to each other? Why do we continue to subject each other to truckloads of crap that ends up taking over our homes? Why don't we band together and say "enough"? Why do we cave to the pressure of whiny kids who just HAVE to buy their friends yet another tamigotchi or barbie doll or whatchamacallit? Surely if we get together on this, we can create a force that would be greater than all the whines of our children, no?

Yet, as I say this, I have already made plans for Nikki's birthday party next week, and no, I haven't managed to convince her to tell her friends NOT to bring presents, even though I've TRIED. Sigh. Oh, I'm a pushover just like everyone else, I'll admit it.

Seriously, though, it's not just the clutter I'm concerned about. (Yeah, this is your warning - Heather's getting on her favourite soapbox again.) It's just so completely out of whack how much we own and how privileged our children are. I just wish it were easier to find some balance, but sometimes it feels like the only way that would be possible would be to pull our kids out of society all together. At this point, I'm not really willing to do that. Any other suggestions?

Here are some sobering statistics to chew on...
- North Americans spend $18 billion a year on make up.
- It would take $12 billion to provide health care for all mothers and their children.

- North Americans spend $18 billion a year on pet food.
- It would take about the same amount to eliminate hunger and malnutrition.

- North Americans spend $16 billion on perfume
- It would take $5 billion to provide universal literacy to every person on the planet

- North Americans spend $15 billion on ocean cruises
- It would take $10 billion to provide clean drinking water for all

- North American spend $6 billion on ice cream
- It would take $2 billion to immunize every child on the planet

I don't buy make up, perfume, or pet food, nor do I go on ocean cruises, but that doesn't mean I don't have lots of other vices and luxury items. I'm thinking maybe I should develop a "justice fund", and then every time I decide to spend money on a luxury item (at least those items I can't buy fair trade), I place the equivalent amount in the jar to donate to a worthy cause.

Of course, that doesn't solve my birthday party dilemna.

Just a little more about Ethiopia...

Click to view...

Despite the current deep-freeze, I still love it

Considering the weather around here has been hovering between -23 and -45 for the last three weeks (that's Celsius - translated it means @#$#@!! cold!), Marnie's suggestion for Fun Monday feels like a bit of a stretch right now. "Tell me why you love where you live." Hmmm... you MIGHT have asked me that on a day when I actually felt some affection for this "freeze that ridiculous grin off your face" place, Marnie! Sigh.

But, even on a day when the best I can do is sit in front of my big picture window and dream about the day when I actually feel like venturing outside again, I can still find reasons to love this place.

And the number one reason? Seasons. I realize that some of you are feeling mighty glad right now that you don't have seasons that are quite as DISTINCT as ours are, but without winter, I can't imagine enjoying spring as much as I do. Each season brings new surprises, a whole new wardrobe, and something interesting to bring delight to my imagination.

To show you a little of the variation, all of the following pictures were taken in front of my house. This is what I have to look forward to in the next twelve months.

WINTER

SPRING

SUMMER

FALL

And just in case you want to know more about where I live, here's a little something I dug out of the ol' Fumbling archives...

I live…in a simple bungalow with an attached garage full of bicycles and a red car in the driveway.
I live…with my husband and three daughters.
I live…just a block from the mighty Red River.
I live…within easy walking distance of a grocery store, a drugstore, a dollar store, a bank, two gas stations with convenience stores, a GREAT wine store, Licks ice cream, a poster store, and a few other stores I’ve never been in yet.
I live…in the shade of a giant maple tree.
I live…within easy biking distance of St. Vital Park.
I live…in a house with ugly multi-colour carpeting in the basement, and a kitchen that’s too small for a family of five.
I live…next door to a bunch of university football players who are polite and friendly and don’t party too much.
I live…within easy biking distance of Ten Thousand Villages, the best store on earth.
I live…across the street from a housing co-op and the daycare centre my kids don’t have to go to anymore.
I live…just a 5 minute drive from the edge of the city and open sky and prairie fields.
I live…in the province where I was born.
I live…in a country that is known for its politeness, its cold north, its peacekeeping, and its multiculturalism.
I live…about 10 blocks (which is much too close) away from a shopping mall.
I live…in a house with a rotting deck and a play structure that’s almost too small for my children.
I live…within biking distance of my church.
I live…in the house with the wooden deck chairs in the front yard instead of on our deck, because we like to sit and watch the world go by.
I live…close enough to my sister and brother-in-law and little niece that we get to see them every week.
I live…further away from my brothers and their families than I’d like.
I live…closer to my mom than I used to, but further than I’d like.
I live…far from where my mother is right now.
I live…close enough to Marcel’s family that we can see them nearly every week.
I live…in a bedroom that has one dark burgundy wall, and three white walls that I wish I’d painted burgundy too.
I live…just far enough from my office that I get a good workout biking there.
I live…across the river from the University I attended nearly twenty years ago.
I live…with contentment and enough of almost everything.
I live…in a country where my children can grow up without fear or discrimination or poverty.
I live…in a world that’s getting smaller, but that’s big enough to offer me lots of places and opportunities to explore.
I live…in a house that’s never quite as clean as I’d like it to be, but clean enough to be comfortable.

Okay, so I'm no Julia Childs

When I ran frantically into the kitchen screaming "oh NO! I burnt the nachos!" Maddie marched into the living room, planted her hands firmly on her hips, and pronounced "Dad! Didn't you know you shouldn't let Mom cook that?"

Oh yeah, you can imagine how much he's loving THAT. I suspect I'll hear that phrase repeated over and over again every time I screw up in the kitchen from now to eternity.

Sigh. I concede the kitchen throne to my husband. It is rightfully his anyway. I'll try not to care that my kids trust his cooking more than mine.

Come to think of it, I think I'll use it to my advantage the next time he tries to convince me it's my turn to cook.

Where is she NOW?

This morning, in an email to my sister, I wrote the following sentence: "I haven't talked to mom all week, so for all I know they've left the country again."

Her response: "Yup, they've left the country again. Good guess."

There is just something very weird about writing a sentence like that, primarily in jest, and finding out it's true. And what's even more weird is realizing that the response no longer surprises you.

To put it into context - for the first 37 years of my life, I KNEW where to find my mom. Her life was lived within a fairly predictable and dependable space. She was at home, on the farm. If she wasn't there, then she could be found at the store she worked at for many years. If all else fails - check the neighbour's house. Or the church. Once in awhile, she'd venture to the city, but then she was visiting either myself or my sister, so we knew where to find her. About once a year, she'd fly out to visit my brother, or spend a few days at my other brother's house. That was about it. Not particularly exciting, but always dependable.

Then, for the next two and a half years, after dad died, she lived in the city, and though the walls of her life were a little less confined, she NEVER left town without telling me.

Now, suddenly, her life has been transformed and I no longer know where to find her. She's home less than she's away. She's been married less than two years, and in that time, they've spent two months in Holland, travelled to Alberta more times than I can count, and hopped across the border into the U.S. probably more times than she's done in her whole life before this.

Don't get me wrong - I'm happy for her. She loves to travel and didn't get nearly enough of it in her life before this. She's got a new lease on life, and I certainly don't begrudge her that. She has spent so many years being "dependable", she has earned the right to be "footloose and fancy free."

But - it can feel a little disconcerting to never know for sure where your mom is and when you can reach her. Moms are meant to be dependable. Reliable. Unchanging. Somehow, in a way I can hardly explain, it makes the roots of my tree feel a little shaky.

Besides that... does she have to make up for ALL that lost time in just a couple of YEARS? Sheesh.

Wordless Wednesday

(Well, almost wordless. I can't resist SOME explanation)

In one of those golden moments in Ethiopia
I sat on the steps of the staff housing
at the base camp in Arb Gebya
watching Hawk in flight.
He'd smelled the remains of the goat
they'd slaughtered for our supper
and he hoped for a morsel.
Soundlessly, he landed
on a fence not far from me.
As I fixed my camera on him
he spread his mighty wings
and took flight.
Glorious Hawk,
I thank you
for the brief and beautiful visit.

Taking a page from Hope's book

Sick.

Fun Monday

At first, when Swampwitch announced the theme for this Fun Monday, I just couldn't decide what to highlight as the most memorable posts I'd either read or written. So I took my time thinking about it and didn't end up signing up. Today, I'm at home with a sick child, and after too many hours of being awake during the night, holding her hair away from her face while she vomitted into the toilet, I just can't focus on all the things I SHOULD be doing. Instead of cleaning the house or doing laundry or writing those articles that I need to write for work, I spent a little time surfing and reliving blog memories. Now I'm ready to partake of all the fun.

There have been lots of memorable posts that have provided wonderful insight into the lives of my many new blog friends, but this time around, I decided to keep it in the family. Today's theme - the beauty of being "Aunty". The following posts are about some of the wonderful people who have entered my life as nieces and nephews, and the equally incredible people who are their Mommies.

My sister ccap has been blogging about as long as I have. At first, we didn't tell each other we were doing it, but it didn't take long for the secret to get out. Her memorable post is called "Grace" and it's about the long journey from being "favoured Aunt" to "the one and only Mommy who soothes my tears and fears". Ccap has been an incredible Aunty to my daughters, and in fact they often think of her as their "second mom". But as every Mommy knows, the leap from Aunty to Mommy, especially if it is long in coming, is still a huge and significant one.

My sister-in-law, Accidental Poet, has also been blogging nearly as long as I have. One day she sent me an email that said "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours." And thus we stepped into each other's blog worlds. Her memorable post is actually a series of posts that have the theme of "Seven Years Ago". The seven years ago that she was referring to was the incredible event of adopting a very special little boy named B. The first of the series is here, and it's actually about the death of her father which preceded the entry of B into their lives. Of the series, my personal favourite is the one in which I met little B - a very unexpected and delightful event that will forever rank among the favourite moments of my life.

The two little people at the centre of these posts are just two of the seven little people who call me Aunty. Each one of them is special and unique, and if any of the other parents blogged, I'd probably link to them too. There is something incredibly delightful about watching these little people come into the world and grow into the people they were meant to be.

One of my heroes

"Women can't think." That's what Elizabeth Milton was told the first time she visited the Afar Region. She'd been recently hired by Support for Sustainable Development, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the Afar people build more sustainable livelihoods in the drought-prone Afar region of Ethiopia by building water diversion projects to irrigate newly developed farmland. The Afar people are traditionally nomadic people who follow their livestock from one grazing area to the next. With drought occurring increasingly more frequently, however, and more and more people and livestock competing for the same forage space, their livelihoods are becoming less viable every year.

The men of the local village had gathered to meet with Elizabeth to discuss the development of canals and irrigation systems. She asked to hear from the women, but was told in no uncertain terms that here in the Afar, women could not be trusted to have opinions or thoughts on important issues such as water resources. They could be relied on to do much of the manual labour, like hauling water, building houses, herding livestock, and providing food for their families, but they could not think. Men did the thinking for them.

"That's why I decided to stay," Elizabeth told me when I asked her what had motivated her to spend the last three years in a remote camp, far from her family and friends, in harsh desert conditions. "I had to prove to them that women really can think." There was a twinkle in her eye when she said it.

At the base camp in the Afar region, Elizabeth leads a staff that varies from 50 to 80 people, depending on the stage of the project they're working on. In addition to the paid staff, who fill roles such as agronomists, engineers, and construction site supervisors, there are hundreds of local labourers who dig ditches and build dams in exchange for food to feed their families. The project is impressive in its scale and it's difficult to imagine what it would take to lead such an operation.



Elizabeth is not what you'd expect when you think of a bold female leader out to change the world. She's petite and shy, with an easy smile on her attractive face. When we visited her and her team, at first glance she could easily have been mistaken for one of the kitchen staff. Demanding no special attention or honour as "the boss", she quietly went about ensuring that we had cold beverages to refresh us after our journey, and could later be found grinding coffee and washing our dishes.

She's only twenty-four years old, but already she's done more to change the world than many people do in a lifetime. "I love my country," she told me, when I asked why she'd pursued a career in development. "I know we are capable of great things. But we must first ensure that our people have enough to eat. If Ethiopia has any hope for the future, it has to be in its own people."

Though she's clearly passionate about her work, Elizabeth's three years in the Afar have been fraught with challenges. There were multiple counts against her, in those early days. Not only was she a woman, she was young and seemingly inexperienced. In addition, she's a Christian in a predominately Muslim region. Building trust among the locals took a considerable amount of energy and commitment. "It was very hard at the beginning," she said. "Nobody really believed I could do it. I often felt like I was in over my head, and I was lonely. And I didn't always believe it would work." Plus, coming from another region of Ethiopia, she didn't know the local language. In order to work with the Afar people, she had to first learn their language.

Despite the challenges, the marks of success of Elizabeth's three years of leadership are not hard to find. First of all, there are the obvious signs, like an impressive water diversion system which consists of a well engineered water weir that redirects the water from the river, as well as miles and miles of irrigation ditches. All of this has been dug by manual labour. Where the water has been diverted and the crops have been planted, there are lush gardens that would be the envy of any gardener. While we were there, they'd just harvested some of the biggest red onions I've ever seen. There were also juicy tomatoes, spicy red peppers, and acres and acres of maize and grain.




The real success, however, goes much deeper than the harvest from the fertile, freshly watered soil. While we toured the gardens, we were introduced to two women who are members of the local water-users committee, which is now one of the most important governing bodies in the region. To understand how remarkable it is to have women playing these roles, you have to realize that before Elizabeth's arrival, no woman had ever served in a leadership role in this region before.



"I like to think I influenced the people here," says Elizabeth, who's almost too modest to admit she's changing the world. "They now believe that women can think. Before I came, they didn't trust their women. But now that they see their bountiful crops, and they realize that this is partly because a woman lead them in this endeavour, they have begun to trust their wives and sisters to serve in leadership roles."

Another sign of succes is the new village that's recently sprung up around the SSD base camp. It's a sign of trust and acceptance that the Afar people choose to be near the staff who brought change to their region. Often wary of Christians, particularly those who come from other regions of the country, these people have made a leap of faith moving in next door. New business has already begun to emerge as well. In a tiny shop in front of a woman's home, you can now by fabric, candles, and various other household items. Another important sign of positive change is the increased enrolment in school. When SSD first began working in the region, only one child attended the local school. Now there are nearly fifty.

In the evening, after we'd visited the canals and field that had all been developed under Elizabeth's leadership, we were invited to the village school where a group of young women and men gathered to perform their local dance. While we watched, several young school children clustered around Elizabeth. Affectionately, she put her arms around one of the young girls. It was a simple gesture, but to me it was the picture of hope.

In many ways that they don't understand yet, the future looks much brighter for these young girls than it did before Elizabeth Milton arrived in their village. Some day, Elizabeth will be only a distant memory, but when they have opportunities to take on more and more leadership roles, they will have her to thank.

Scattered thoughts

Scattered thought #1 - Nikki has been begging us for a two-piece bathing suit. After a party (involving a hot-tub) with her girlfriends a few weeks ago, she has repeatedly told us that "EVERYONE has one" (which, translated could very well mean one or two of them do). She used to have one - a nice modest suit - before she lost half of it. Last weekend, we got the bi-annual garbag bags full of hand-me-down clothes from my generous friend Suzanne, and wouldn't you know it - there's a two-piece bathing suit in her size. EXCEPT - this wasn't the nice modest suit she'd had in the past. The bottom was fine, but the top - well, can we say "string bikini"? When she walked out of the bedroom, her daddy took one look at her and his jaw dropped in horror. Though she's only ten, she has already developed curves, and our sweet little girl looked dangerously "hot" in this little number. Of course, the first thing out of her daddy's mouth was "you will NEVER wear that in public!" To which he was met with a barrage of retorts. "BUT - it's JUST a bathing suit. What's the big deal?"

Well, what IS the big deal? I'd really like to know, from those of you who have raised pre-teen and teen girls, what your reactions would be. I don't want to be an uptight mom with a long list of "thou shalt nots", but I also don't want my ten-year-old daughter being gawked at by hormonal teenage boys or dirty old men with nasty thoughts on their minds. But - how do you explain this to her in a way that she'll understand but not get totally freaked out and self-conscious about the way boys look at her?

Scattered thought #2 - Somewhat related to the above scattered thought, yesterday, while the girls and I were splashing around at the Pan Am Pool with some friends (Nikki was in her MODEST bathing suit), there were also a group of young teenagers playing a game with a beach ball. One of the girls jumped on one of the boys and held him down. He said "what are you doing?" Her response was "I'm raping you." Huh?? When did RAPE become funny?

Scattered thought #3 - Just like they say at the Oscars - "It's just an honour to be nominated." Along with a number of my excellent blogging friends, I have been nominated for "best writing" over at the Share the Love Blog Awards. Gee thanks! I'm tickled! If you feel so inclined, you can vote for me here. And give a nod to some of our other friends while you're there.

Scattered thought #4 - My lovely sister and her equally lovely husband are taking the girls for a sleepover tonight. Of course the girls are thrilled, but ya wanna know the best part? We get to have DATE NIGHT! Yay! A night alone with my beloved - you can't go wrong with THAT!

Scattered thought #5 - Hmmmm... I wonder if Scattered thought #1 or 2 will bring some undesirable google searches my way? If you've come here by googling nasty words - GO AWAY! You're not welcome here and you WON'T find any pictures of prepubescent girls in bathing suits.

Scattered thought #6 - The girls and I just went shopping for hockey sticks this afternoon. This winter, they've suddenly become quite passionate about skating and are all rather interested in playing some fun scrimmage games of hockey the next time we hit the ice. And after my night of hockey with the "W.I.L.D. Women", I'm looking forward to the next time, now that I have my own stick!

Scattered thought #7 - The other day, out of the blue, Maddie said "Mom, life is like a bowl full of spaghetti." She didn't have an explanation, but it left me wondering what deep meaning might lurk behind her random thought. Perhaps we're all just a bunch of noodles covered in sauce? Perhaps we've got nothing but squashed tomatoes to look forward to in our future? Perhaps we stick together and get all clumpy if overcooked? Hmmm...

If this were my virtual reality, I'd at least have a maid!

In the paper this morning, there was an article about this book on the blogosphere. Apparently the author thinks that we (bloggers) are "isolated and lonely, living in a virtual reality instead of forming real relationships or helping to change the world." It gets even better. Blogging is "melancholic and illusionary" and the community of support we find is "not real".

Gee thanks, Mr. Keren, for so glibly dismissing our chosen form of expression and community building.

C'mon though - if this WERE my fantasy world, don'tcha think I could come up with something a little better than this? Not that there's anything wrong with my life, but I'd at least have created a maid. Or even just a laundry slave. And maybe a lovely little cottage in the woods. And a writing career with a nice big fat contract that meant I never had to do a nine-to-fiver ever again.

And another thing - who says community can't be real just because we never see each others' faces? I suppose you think the support we offer each other is inauthentic and "illusionary".

Oh and I just have to ask - what have YOU done to change the world lately? Please tell me so I can toss aside this senseless blogging and follow your lead. I may be wrong, but I don't think writing a book about how pathetic other people are counts for "changing the world".

Maybe you should try blogging for awhile and see if perhaps there is some merit in sharing your thoughts and feelings, getting to know people from other places and other cultures, getting advice on life's dilemnas, getting inspired by how other people are changing their little corners of the world, and practising the art of expressing yourself through the written word.

But what do I know? I'm just a lonely and isolated blogger living in my melancholy virtual reality.

Just sittin' here smilin'

The next time I get one of those letters in the mail that says "thanks for your submission, but we can't use it in our publication at this time";
OR
the next time I tell myself there are so many better things I could do with my time than writing(like doing laundry, for example);
OR
the next time I assume every other writer is better than me and I'm simply wasting my time;

I will remember that Vicki said this of me:

"Her writing has this ability to cut to the core of my person. She can put into words things that only constrict me into a mental breakdown!"

or this:

"She can take the passing thoughts that flutter through our minds and put them down into words that make you say out-loud, 'Yes, how did you know?'"

and I will smile.

Wow! I hardly feel worthy of such high praise, but I will accept it graciously and try to remember that any gifts I have been given are meant to be shared. You are more than welcome to partake - provided you share yours in return!

Thank you Vicki for lifting my spirits in such a beautiful, heartfelt way. Now the rest of you should run on over and visit Vicki, because she's one of those people you will feel almost instantly could become your best friend. I think, if we spent an afternoon together, we'd barely stop laughing long enough to take a bite of that delicious apple cake she makes! (Which reminds me - I have some apples that need to be used soon... hmmm...)

Where have the years gone?

Because all the cool kids are doin' it, I wanted to join the fun and post some pictures of me as a young child. Unfortunately, it turns out that I have only a very limited number of pictures of bygone days in my house. I think it's time to root around in those old cardboard boxes my mom has been moving from old farmhouse to apartment to apartment in the last few years. I need a better selection.

Here's one of my favourite photos. I'm the blonde in the dark stripes and my sister is the cutie-patootie in the light stripes. Apparently we're in the process of mauling my dad. As a hardworking farmer, my dad didn't nearly always have enough time for his kids, but when he gave us his attention, he made sure that at least for those brief moments, it was quality time.



The picture below is of me with my oldest brother (who occasionally shows up in the comments as bbb). Doesn't he look smashing in the bowtie? (And for those who know him, doesn't he look alot like Caleb?) I was apparently fairly attached to that soother and dolly. I suspect it was a ploy to get me to sit still long enough for the Christmas photo. Even though we were fairly poor, Mom loved to dress us well - especially for Christmas. Almost every year, we got a new Christmas outfit. Usually it was something Mom had sewn.

Notice the drywall tape on the wall behind us? For the first seven years of their married life, Mom and Dad lived in an unfinished house. It must have driven my Mom a little crazy. Things didn't get much better either. From there we moved to a tiny farmhouse with only one cold water tap in the kitchen, a strangely named "cash and carry" toilet in the winter and outhouse in the summer, and so little space that when mom and dad went to bed at night on the hide-a-bed in the living room, their feet were in the kitchen. It was another seven years before we moved into a new house on the same farm property. My mom had to put up with A LOT back then! But... we were happy.

Sunday six

Six ways to avoid laundry.

1. Play Bingo with your kids.
2. Let your kids convince you that you need to play ONE more round before tackling the laundry mountain.
3. Write a lame blog post about avoiding laundry.
4. Tell yourself it's character building if the kids occasionally need to wear mis-matched socks or scrounge through random piles to find that last pair of threadbare underwear.
5. Phone a friend and commiserate about the never-ending laundry duties.
6. Pretend there's been a restricted quarantine placed on your laundry room and ONLY MOTHERS are not allowed to enter.

Sigh. Okay, so I'm getting tired of wearing the bottom o' the barrel underwear - the kind that slides into places it's not meant to slide - just because I've avoided laundry too long. Self - get thee to the laundry room!

No entrance

At the rock-hewn churches of Lalibella, where history is so thick it seeps from the walls, I stood outside the holy of holies. By virtue of my gender, I was barred entrance to that most sacred of places.

The men at the door said "no women allowed." I heard "you are unclean. Unworthy."

With some measure of discomfort, the men in our party stepped inside. "We'll report back," they said. "We'll take pictures and show you." Their words hinted at the guilt they carried for being the chosen ones. They didn't want to leave us behind.

Waiting on the outside, we three women made light of the situation. "What if we storm the entrance?" we laughed. "Perhaps if we trip on the doorway and fall into the room..." Kebede, our Ethiopian companion, didn't take it so lightly. "They will stone you," he said, his face reflecting the seriousness of the offense. "Or beat you with their sticks." All of the priests in this place carried long staffs with silver or gold crosses on top. I imagined those crosses smashing down on our backs.

In this foreign country, it was not my place to challenge history. I stayed outside.

Twinges of memory poked at my consciousness - my own history ringing in my ears. "You cannot read the Bible in church. You are a woman." "You cannot be class president. You are a woman." Each time I heard the words flung like stones - "You are unclean. Unworthy."

I looked down at my bare feet on the stones worn smooth from centuries of worshippers. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that these feet could walk on holy ground. I knew that these feet were no less worthy than the feet of those inside the holiest of rooms. After years of stones, I had learned to hold my head up high and believe the truth of "neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female."

I am woman. I am worthy. I can only put my faith in a God who tore the veil of the holy of holies and welcomed me to step over the threshold. "You are worthy," he/she whispered in my waiting ear. "Come and be clean."

On the radio

If you'd like to hear a radio interview I did together with Steve Bell, go here and click on "Steve Bell in Ethiopia".

The stunning scenery of Ethiopia

For lack of coherent thought, I give you a few more pictures...

Still recuperating

Yes, I made it home safe and sound on Wednesday night - a little later than anticipated (I missed my last flight and ended up re-routed), but home nonetheless. As I unpacked that evening, I immediately repacked in order to head out to a staff retreat the very next morning. I was too busy for jet lag to set in until Friday night, when it hit me with a resounding wallup as I tried to watch a movie at my Mom's house.

Over the weekend, I tried to find enough time and energy for my family, and then Sunday night I did a radio interview together with Steve Bell (which I believe will eventually be posted online here). Then today I had to facilitate an all-day workshop.

In other words, I haven't really stopped moving since I got home. It's all been good stuff and not terribly overwhelming, but I'm a little tired. Tomorrow's my first "routine" day at work - I may drift off to sleep by the middle of the afternoon.

No, I haven't had time to visit any of you or catch up on your blogs. I may NEVER catch up. If there's anything important that you feel I MUST read, you'll have to let me know, or else I'll probably just start from scratch when I get a few spare moments to surf.

But now, before they think I've abandoned them entirely, I'm going to make some puffed wheat squares with my kids. At least it's not labour intensive, nor does it require alot of thought. I can handle that.

By the way, if you're interested in a day-to-day journal of the trip (which I haven't gotten around to doing yet), Steve Bell is in the process of posting one on his blog.

Faces of Ethiopia

And here's the face of someone who's going home...

Going home

Tonight at 7:30, I’ll leave for the airport for the long trek home.

I’m ready to go home. I’m ready to throw my arms around my family. I’m ready to be in familiar places. I’m ready to be smiled at by familiar faces. I’m ready to sleep in my own bed curled up next to my husband. I’m ready to stroll down familiar streets without being branded “rich tourist”.

I look forward to that familiar moment when I walk down the stairs at the Winnipeg airport and I catch sight of my family in the crowd. There’s nothing quite like the feeling you get when you’re grinned at by people who miss you – people who are eager for you to be back in their lives again.

Today I took one last walk down the streets of Addis Ababa. I did a little more shopping at a lovely store that’s as cheap as anything I’ve bartered for in the market and a lot more peaceful. When you’re not used to it, the marketplace can be an overwhelming place. I get a bit of a thrill out of it for awhile – everyone trying to sell you things while you make a sport out of getting the cheapest price. I’m actually fairly good at bartering (for a foreigner, that is), but I get tired of it after the initial buzz. Today I just wanted to know the price, pay it, and walk out with what I paid for. Today I didn’t want to let my white skin paint me as a “rich tourist with lots of money to burn on trinkets”.

Of course, walking to the store (which is about a kilometer from my hotel) still meant that I had to suffer as a target for awhile. Street vendors and beggars spotted me from a mile away. Even the fellow who’d taken me to the market last week (and extracted a handsome price for it, I might add) showed up for a second round, but I turned him down this time because I knew where I was going and didn’t want to pay an escort to get me there.

It can be completely exhausting, having to say “no” to every child that says “sista,” while they hold their hand out pleadingly, and “no thank you” to every person trying to sell you a map of Africa, a packet of tissue, or a pair of cheap sunglasses. I’m sure I said no 50 times on the way to the store. I made sure I had a bit of change in my pocket, but I only gave it away when there were few people around and I could target one mother nursing a baby in the dirt next to the sidewalk. I can afford to give a few Birr away, but I can’t give to everyone I see.

Poverty sucks. It sucks that there isn’t more balance in the world. It sucks that so many people are reduced to begging while we live in our comfortable homes. It sucks that I can’t solve it by handing out a few pennies to begging children on the street. It sucks that the world is such an imbalanced place where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

After buying my last souvenirs, I took a cab home. My energy had been drained and I didn’t want to face it anymore. I didn’t want to have to look into the faces of the people who send their children across the street to beg from me because the children have the most chance of working on my sympathies.

This afternoon, before I leave for the airport, I will seek refuge in my hotel. I will walk around the lush grounds, sealed off from the poverty perched just outside the walls. I will try not to feel guilty for enjoying this pleasure, because I know that I cannot solve the problems of Ethiopia, even if I walk outside the walls and give away every dollar I own.

When I go home, I will remember this place both for its breathtaking beauty and its gut-wrenching poverty.

With love, from Ethiopia

It’s early Monday morning. At home, it’s Sunday night, and most people are settling down to sleep for the night. I’m sitting at my window, back at the Ghion Hotel in Addis Ababa. Just outside my window are the thatched roofs of the restaurant and meeting areas. On the other side of the largest roof is a massive tree with brilliant purple flowers exploding from its branches. A little closer to me, there’s a smaller tree with pale pink blossoms. A few birds float leisurely past my window.

After a long journey, I have a day of rest today. As I begin to process all that I have seen in the last week, I will take the time to soak in the sun’s rays, let the colours of the flowers refresh me, and try to breathe in enough of the warm air to sustain me through the remainder of the cold winter that faces me when I get back home.

I will write more about this past week’s journey over the coming weeks, but for now, let me tell you about some of the highlights:

Incredible scenery. Ethiopia is a beautiful country. Did you know that? Or were you like me and when someone mentions Ethiopia you think of “famine”, “drought”, “drylands”, and possibly fighting? I had no idea how much breathtaking beauty we would see. For most of the time on the road, we traveled through mountainous regions, on winding roads, up to the top of mountain peaks and then down to the bottom of the valleys. I can’t even begin to describe how beautiful much of the scenery was. I will post pictures once I have access to a faster internet connection.

People. We met hundreds and hundreds of people, and most of them were so warm and friendly it was somewhat humbling. People invited us into their homes, cooked for us, gave up their beds for us, and worked hard to ensure that our journey was pleasurable. Many of the people we met were concerned that we should leave Ethiopia with a positive impression, and I believe that all of us did. It can be a little overwhelming when, every time you stop the vehicle, you are surrounded by hoards of people (especially children) who want to greet you, smile at you, practice their English on you, and (especially in the poorer regions) ask for pens or Birrs (the local currency), or “Highland” (which meant they wanted our empty water bottles), but there is a hospitality and openness here that makes our reserved North American ways seem somewhat cold.

History. I had no idea how connected this place was to history and how much it means to the people here. We visited the rock-hewn churches of Lalibella, and about all I can say is WOW! I’ll write more about that another day, because it had a fairly profound impact on me, but for now, if you have some time, Google it and you’ll see a few pictures that hardly do it justice but at least give you some idea what we saw. In the twelfth century, King Lalibella felt called by God to carve 11 churches out of solid rock. It took 23 years and thousands of labourers, but the effort is monumental and astonishing.

Simplicity. About 95 per cent of the people in Ethiopia live in houses that we would call “primitive”, with thatched or tin roofs and mud or stone walls. They are tiny and the ones we visited had fewer material goods inside the whole house than we have in our front entrance. Sometimes, that just feels heavy - that the level of poverty here is almost unbearable. But sometimes, it feels refreshing – that these people who smile at us with such broad and welcoming smiles, know more about joy than many of us do with our houses full of material possessions.

Commitment. We visited 2 projects funded by the Foodgrains Bank (I’ll write more about that on my work blog), and both are staffed by some of the most incredible, gifted, and strong individuals I have met. These are mostly young people (between twenty and thirty-five) who have given up the comforts of their homes to live in remote, isolated regions because they believe in their country and its people and they want to see positive change. Elizabeth was one of the most noteworthy – she is a gifted young woman who is only 23 years of age and is living in the very remote Afar region where she leads a team of about 70-80 people (mostly men) in a remarkable water diversion project that is changing the lives of many people.

This morning, we said good-bye to Steve and Nancy, and tonight I say good-bye to Larry. Tomorrow night I’ll be on a plane headed for home. There are so many things I still want to write, but I still want to enjoy the few hours I still have left here, so I will walk away from the computer and soak in what I still can.

By the way – did anyone get a postcard? I sent out 20 of them last weekend, so they should arrive some time this week.

In Bahar Dar, by Lake Tana

"Salam!" I'm not sure if I'm spelling it right, but that's how you say hello in Amharic, the local language of Ethiopia. We're having an amazing time here.

Our journey across the countryside is nearing an end. The first members of our group (Jim & Sharon) are leaving this afternoon to fly to Addis Ababa and then home. The rest of the group will drive to Addis tomorrow and then we will prepare to go our separate ways shortly after that.

It has been an incredible week. I feel very blessed to have had the opportunity not only to see some amazing countryside and to meet incredible people here, but also to travel with a remarkable team of people. It has definitely been a "God thing", pulling some very gifted people together for this trip.

I don't have much time to write now, but I wanted to let everyone know that we are safe and happy, the journey has been a success so far, and we have fallen in love with Ethiopia. We have all commented how incredibly beautiful this country is - much more beautiful than we could have imagined. We have seen vistas that rival the Alps, the Grand Canyon, and the Rocky Mountains. We have met amazing people who are committed to helping their people and building their country into the place it has the potential to be. We have been blessed.

My heart is so full of the wonders I have seen. I will write much more about this, but for now, I want to live in the moment and enjoy a lovely hotel with a great view. Talk to you soon!

Peace!