Gulp

More than 60 percent of young women in high school express dissatisfaction with their bodies.

In college, it's 80 percent.

The obsession with weight starts early - 42 percent of girls in first to third grade express a desire to be thinner.

According to published research, 15 percent of women would sacrifice more than five years of their life to obtain the weight they desire. (REALLY? Yikes!)

There are at least eight million sufferers of life-threatening anorexia nervosa (reported in girls as young as eight years old), bulimia, and other associated eating disorders in America; 90 percent of these are women.

Since 1992, elective cosmetic procedures have risen a dramatic 198 percent.

Between 1990 and 1999 the number of facelifts in the US increased sixfold.

The diet industry has grown to a $40-billion-a-year business.

Popular women's magazines contain 10 times more diet-promoting articles and advertisements than comparable men's magazines. One out of every 3.8 advertisements sends some sort of message encouraging women to acquire a body that is "barely there".

Somebody PLEASE tell me how we're supposed to raise healthy daughters in this culture?!!?

(Information source: "Eve's Revenge: Women and a Spirituality of the Body")

On birth and busy-ness

There have not been alot of words making their way onto my blog lately. The reasons are both simple and complicated. The simple reason is that I'm still crazy busy these days. Most of the busy-ness is work-related, but there have been other things. Like facilitating another leadership workshop, making Halloween costumes, dealing with indoor soccer schedules, and then all those other things that show up unexpectedly. Throw in a little business travel, and I'm just about maxed out.

The complicated reasons aren't so easy to explain. Maybe one of these days I'll come on here and explain a little more about what's going on, but for now let's just say it's a bit of a personal spiritual journey, combined with the birthing of a new creative "baby".

This figurative birthing process has made me reminisce about my literal birthing experiences - the three that resulted in my beautiful daughters, and the one that resulted in my beautiful, though lifeless, son. The memory that's been with me today is that of my coming into motherhood experience.

Nikki had a really difficult entry into this world. I still find myself - nearly a dozen years later - getting a little emotional when I remember the intensity, pain, frustration, worry, seamingly endless agony, and yet ultimate joy of that experience (and a whole lot of emotions in between). It started out with me being induced because a fetal assessment showed (rather incorrectly) that she was a little on the small side and that my fluids were getting low (a week after she was due). Inducement led to hours of waiting for something to happen, followed by nearly 36 hours of labour (there's the "endless" part), three hours of heavy duty pushing, followed by an urgent call to the only obstetrician in the city who could do the necessary procedure to to deliver her without a c-section, lots of tearing and stitches, and then finding out that she had to be rushed away from me to be treated with antibiotics because there was a risk of infection.

When she was finally born, after all those hours of pushing, I had gone almost completely (though thankfully temporarily) blind. It turns out the agony of pushing for that long can mess up the muscles around your eyes so badly your vision gets messed up. They put my baby on my chest, but I had to rely on Marcel's description of her and the touch of my fingers to know anything about how she looked.

Not long afterwards, she was whisked away, and because it was late and we all needed rest, I was returned to my room and Marcel and my mom left the hospital.

The memory that has been clinging to me today has been not so much about the delivery but about what happened later that night. I awoke in the middle of the night and was suddenly filled with the most intense body-aching loneliness I had ever felt. My family had gone, and the baby that had moved in my womb for the last nine months was way down the hall behind nursery room glass. I'd given birth to her, gone through nearly unbearable pain to introduce her to the world, but I didn't even know what she looked like.

My eyesight had returned and I knew I HAD to see her. I knew it with the deepest longing imaginable. But I was in so much pain, I couldn't even figure out how to shuffle my body up in the bed in order to reach the call button to get the nurse.

But there is little that can get in the way of a mother who needs to see her child. I struggled for what seemed like an eternity, but I somehow managed to get my body up off the bed and down the hall. The nurses looked up in amazement as I passed them and entered the nursery. I'm sure there was a rather desparate look in my bloodshot eyes.

I found my baby. And I wept at her loveliness. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, hooked up to all kinds of wires and hoses, lying nearly naked in an incubator. Truly, she was not a beautiful baby - after what she went through to get into the world, it's hardly surprising - but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I reached out and touched her skin and knew that I had fallen completely and irreversibly in love.

I'm not sure why this is on my mind today, but I'm sure it has something to do with this creative birthing process. Some of it is painful, and it's possible that what comes of it may never "live", but at this point, I have to believe it will be beautiful.

This is the best I've got

Because life seems to be overwhelming me a bit these days, and because Maddie had a wee tiny (yeah right!) meltdown when it was time to dress up for Halloween, I didn't manage to take any pictures last night. Instead, I "stole" one from my sister, so I can at least show off the cuteness of the two monkey cousins. (And this is your opportunity to ooh and aah about the monkey costume I made for Nikki. Don't look too closely at the ears, though.)

Warm fuzzies

When I got home from work today, the girls came running toward me.

Julie: "Mom - come see the brownies I made!" Sure enough, a fresh pan of delectable brownies greeted me in the kitchen. Just because she felt like it. I think I'll keep her.

Maddie: "Mom - come see the playhouse I made!" In the basement - in the big empty space that's still awaiting floor finishing from the renovation-project-that's-sucking-the-life-out-of-me was an imaginative play-world, complete with a princess who was attending her first day of school, assorted stuffed animals who were in the playroom at daycare, a computer made of a discarded box, and several other rooms that all had unique purposes. I think I'll keep her.

Later tonight, Nikki was telling me what songs she'd uploaded onto her new iPod. "This Crowded House song is on there because it reminds me of Grandpa." That seemed a little odd, since I can't ever imagine my dad listening to Crowded House. "It was on the radio when we were on our way to the farm when we'd found out that Grandpa died. I'll always remember that." I think I'll keep her.

Women

Yesterday, I attended a “Gender in International Development” workshop where I heard stories of how, in times of crisis such as the tsunami that rocked the world, women are often doubly vulnerable. Not only do they lose their homes, families, and often their sources of income, but they fall victim to sexual predators, slave traders, etc. On top of that, they have to deal with aid organizations that are often paternalistic and exclusionary.

A few days before, I read the article about how, in the sports world, wife abuse is tolerated more than animal abuse.

A few weeks before that, I read Infidel, the story of Ayaan Hirsi Ali who grew up in a paternalistic, abusive, violent culture where abuse of women is not only tolerated, it’s expected. She is now speaking out against the discrimination of women in the Muslim world, and consequently she can no longer go anywhere without armed protection.

Around the same time, I heard of a local Christian church that has decided to take a step backwards and move away from allowing women to lead. I also heard stories of how frighteningly prevalent wife abuse is among Christian pastors. Some of the perpetrators feel their faith justifies their actions.

A month before that, I heard Ato G's story about some of the young girls we met in Ethiopia who have since died from female genital mutilation.

Today, I feel a deep sadness for all the women who lack freedom, security, hope, and peace – simply because they are women. I feel especially sad that far too frequently religion plays a role in propagating and/or justifying the abuse.

We still have a long way to go.

We've come a long way, baby... or have we?

Just when you thought the women's movement had done its' job and you could quit burning your bras, you read a story like this. It seems there is more tolerance for wife abuse than there is for animal abuse - at least in the sports world. I'm thanking my lucky starts I'm not married to a professional athlete.

Thirteen good moments in the last 48 hours

1. 4:30 this afternoon. Two days of chairing meetings - done.

2. Receiving a heartfelt compliment from someone who's generally critical of my work.

3. Feeling the energy in the room when, more than once, someone dared to say "What if..." and then proceeded to share a "blow your mind" good idea.

4. Introducing Steve Bell at the banquet and calling him "friend".

5. Listening to Steve tell stories of Ethiopia and sing the song.

6. Walking to the grocery store for milk in the drizzly rain after all was said and done and I could relax.

7. Eating the amazing food prepared by some of my favourite people who also happen to be the best caterers for miles around.

8. Realizing, at the end of a meeting with my team (the first of the two days of meetings), that it was the best meeting we've had since I started this job.

9. Watching the people I've hired since I started in the job and realizing I've hired well.

10. Being greeted at the door by two of my daughters doing a Charlie's Angel routine.

11. Words of encouragement from someone I admire.

12. Knowing I'd handled the talkative person in the room as graciously as possible when I had to tell her to "wrap it up".

13. Realizing I've developed some meaningful friendships with some people in this group of "business associates".

No title and basically no content either

I have very little brain-space for blogging these days, but I thought I'd at least come on and tell you I'm still alive and mostly happy and I haven't decided to ditch you for another set of blog readers on the other side of the proverbial fence. Here are a few random things you may or may not care about:

- I took Maddie to the cardiologist yesterday. She still has a slight heart murmur, which means she has a hole the size of a pin in her heart, but they assure us it will never have any significant impact on her life and there is no reason to worry. I felt a little guilty walking out of the heart clinic - most of the kids in there were regular visitors who really DID have heart problems (one had even had a heart transplant, and another had just gotten his wish from the Children's Wish Foundation and all the nurses were doting on him) and here I was with the healthy kid who didn't need to come back.

- There are about 30 people descending on me from all parts of the country this week, and I have to host them for two days of meetings and an evening banquet. I am SO not prepared. I feel completely scattered and disorganized. Fortunately, I've been doing this long enough that I'm pretty good at wingin' it and I have enough "back-story" to remember that it's often when I feel least in control that the results are the most positive and memorable.

- I helped put together a powerpoint for Rob's mom (Michele's mother-in-law) who died last week, and even though I hardly knew her, it was quite lovely going through her pictures and imagining what she was like as a young woman. She had the most beautiful, open, bold face in her youth. I think she would have been alot of fun to hang around with.

- I may live to regret it (if people start posting the kind of things on my wall that Joyce is collecting - yeesh!), but I joined Facebook. Okay, is it just me, or does it make you feel like you're back in junior high when you have to ask people to be your "friends" and then you sit and wait to see if they'll walk past your locker at recess and say "hi" even though they're one of the cool kids and you're SO not? I mostly joined so that I could hook up with the End Hunger Fast group that's linked to our new website, and now I'm trying to figure out what all the hype is all about.

- Today is World Food Day. If you are so inclined, take a moment today to prayerfully consider the over 850 million people in the world who do not have enough to eat. Approximately every 5-8 seconds, there is someone in the world dying from hunger-related illness. It's too much for the brain to comprehend, but as Mother Theresa said "if you can't feed 100 people, then feed just one."

Fumbling

Today was a "fumbling" kind of day. I made mistakes. I communicated poorly. I might have jeopardized an important business relationship because I treated someone rather brusquely before I realized what I was doing. On top of that, I had to have a couple of tough conversations with people who work for me. Feelings were quite probably hurt.

The mantle of leadership felt too heavy on my shoulders today. It was the kind of day that made me wish (at least momentarily) that I could throw off the mantle and just count widgets for awhile. Maybe just for a day or two. At least then I wouldn't have to make decisions or walk tenderly around relationships - I'd just count. Counting I can do. In fact I'm quite competent at it. 1. 2. 3... This leadership stuff... I'm just not feeling quite as competent today.

A few days ago, when I was cleaning up a corner of the basement for "the renovation project that will see my hair turning grey before it's finished", I came across an envelope addressed to me in my father's unmistakable handwriting. I think there were only two or three times I ever got anything in the mail from my dad. I wrote about another one of those times here. I could never throw any of them out, but I don't quite know what to do with them, so they have a way of popping up now and then when I'm cleaning. When I got home from work today, I re-read the one I'd most recently found. I needed it.

On a little pink scrap of paper (something that had been discarded from the Auction Mart where he worked - my dad was into recycling long before it was trendy), was this very brief note.

"The father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice: and he that begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him." Proverbs 23:24

I don't remember what preceded this note. The postmark says 1999, but I can't remember if there was something significant that happened that year that made my dad send me a note that, in his own way, said "I'm proud of you. You are a wise child." Perhaps I'd accomplished something that he wanted to honour me for. Or perhaps it was a time when I was filled with self-doubt and he thought I needed to hear that I was capable and that he believed in me.

I don't remember how it made me feel to get that simple note in the mail. I'm sure it choked me up a little. I only know how it felt to find it this weekend, four years after he died. And I know how it felt to read it again after a day that left me feeling anything but "wise".

I think I'll frame it and put it on my desk. Tomorrow when I go back to work, I'm going to need a little boost to help me move forward. If my dad believed I was wise, then who am I to doubt it?

Not-so-fun Monday

Pamela asked to see our October view for Fun Monday, and I had every intention of wandering around the neighbourhood today looking for the perfect shot to entice all of you to visit and to prove that Winnipeg is NOT the arm-pit of the nation, but it rained all day long AND I was stuck in the basement working on the "renovation project that just won't end". So you'll have to be satisfied with these slim-pickins'.

I stepped outside in the drizzle and snapped this. You can see that most of the leaves have been released from the trees.
This is along the side of the house - I snapped this a couple of days ago before the rains came.
I don't have a particularly inspiring view from my kitchen window, but when autumn comes, I like to watch the myriad of colours changing on our unruly shrub.
Here's a close-up view of that shrub. There seem to be a variety of plants that have managed to assert themselves in what is supposed to be a "shrub" bordering our property.

And here's a fairly common view in our backyard.

Check it out!

I don't normally post twice in one day, but I'm just SO excited that I can't resist. You just HAVE to check this out. It's the website for the new program I've been pouring a lot of passion, sweat, and a few tears into the last 10 months or so.

Go ahead - go there. Sign up on our "get connected" page. Watch the 2 videos I "executive produced" from my trip to Ethiopia with Steve Bell. Join our Facebook group. (If you want to make a donation, though, you may want to wait a few weeks - we're still working on streamlining that part of it.)

And then come back here and tell me you LOVE it - because quite frankly, that's ALL I want to hear. :-)

Okay, I'm a little giddy. This is a pretty big moment for me.

Cauliflower and milk

As I tried to relax in the bathtub last night, I heard this conversation:

“Who put the cauliflower on the shelf where the milk is supposed to be?”

“Not me!”

“I did! Because SOMEBODY had stuck the cauliflower where it got in the way of closing the door!”

“Well don’t blame ME!”

“Why would you put the cauliflower THERE?! That’s a stupid place for cauliflower!”

“Why are you always blaming ME for EVERYTHING?”

“Well where am I supposed to put the milk now?”

“That’s YOUR problem! I cleaned my share of the table!”

Sigh. Is it just me, or does your family also enjoy arguing so much that they can fight over cauliflower and milk? If you’re one of those really evolved families that calmly discusses everything and ALWAYS settles disputes without any raised voices, please walk away now or I may have to hurt you.

Autumn

“I know how to say red in French”
chirped Maddie
fresh from kindergarten
“It’s rouge.”

This morning
biking past the railway bridge
I stopped and stared in awe
at the brilliant leaves
still tenuously clinging to the vine

“I know how to say red,”
I thought
“with no words at all

A two wheeled WHAT?

This morning, as I watched someone ride past on a bicycle, I wondered for a moment about the person(s) who invented the bicycle. What reaction must they have gotten the first time they rode through town on a self-propelled two-wheel contraption? Thank goodness they were bold enough to do it, even though they were almost certainly mocked a little for it. Imagine how many great inventions may have been missed throughout history because the inventor wasn’t bold enough to risk ridicule.

What a week

It has been a full and rather intense week - the kind of week that feels like ideas and events and experiences and emotions are tumbling over you so fast you barely have time to process it all and give meaning to it. Here are a few of the highlights:

- It was really wonderful meeting Brian McLaren in person AND spending a delightful evening and plane ride home reading his new book "Everything Must Change". If you've been struggling with how your faith connects with the really big issues that are going on in this world - climate change, poverty, war, unfair trade, etc. - you really should read this book.

- Marcel and I attended the 25th anniversary celebration for our friends Steve and Nanci. I traveled to Ethiopia with Steve and Nanci (and produced a couple of videos with Steve, which I'll link to soon) and it's been really cool developing a friendship with them. There was great music being played at the social that night, the highlight of which was the reunion of Steve's old band "Elias, Shritt, and Bell". Their harmonies are truly amazing - kinda like Simon and Garfunkel or Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

- This week marked the seventh anniversary of the birth and death of our son Matthew. In what is becoming a family tradition, we celebrated the place he holds in our family's story by visiting his grave and making a trip to Dairy Queen for some birthday ice cream sundaes.

- I attended this concert and saw part of the related art exhibit. About all I can say is "Wow!" If you're in Winnipeg and you can take in the exhibit, you really should do so. It's incredibly moving.

- I got to chat with Bob Bennett and tell him how much his songs "We are the Kings" and "We were the Kings" have meant to me. It was a brief conversation and I didn't get a chance to tell him the story of how those songs served as a touchstone for me in Ethiopia when I found out my best childhood friend Julie's father had died and I couldn't be around to mourn with her. Perhaps another time.

- I also had a brief opportunity to talk to Carolyn Arends and let her know how her music had been my constant companion in the hospital during the three weeks leading up to the birth and death of Matthew. When she sang "We've been Waiting for You", I wept, because that was the song that was the most closely connected to our waiting and longing for Matthew. She got a chuckle out of the story of how I listened to her music on the Fisher Price tape recorder a friend had brought to my hospital room.

- After being gone for most of the week, I took Friday off and hung out with my kids. We did a little shopping and went out for lunch. They're at such a great age right now - they're truly fun to hang out with and don't require a lot of "caring for them" energy. We've had some great laughs this weekend, like when Marcel showed his age by referring to MySpace and/or Facebook as "My Face".

- I had some of the greatest conversations with people this week. Some of them happened in Toronto, as I mentioned in my last post, but some of them happened closer to home. It was really fun connecting with a new friend - the mother of one of Nikki's best friends - on her front yard. A conversation that started with the kind of sandals we both love wandered from there to fair trade, life changes, and the impact of losing a son. (Joanne, if you're reading this - WELCOME!)

- I spoke in church this morning - something I truly enjoy doing. You know what they say about public speaking being one of the most common fears among people? Yeah, well I'm an exception to that statistic. It gives me energy.

- With all of these incredibly inspiring things swirling around me, the muse has visited and I've gotten inspired with a few writing and work-related ideas. I can hardly wait to get started. Now if only I can find the time.

I think I need a quiet day in a retreat centre just to process all of this.

So good

If you want to know where I am (or where I'm about to leave, since I'm currently sitting in the airport), you can find all the clues you need here. Unfortunately, those pictures were taken on the only evening I had a chance to wander. The rest of the time, I was stuck in a boring hotel in the industrial wasteland near the airport. (Sorry Karla – no chance to hook up this time.)

But it’s been good. So good. Surprisingly good.

I’m at a Christian charities conference, and the last time I came to one of these, I felt like a fish out of water. As much as I make a continuous (or perhaps I should say repeated and sometimes sporadic) choice to be a person of faith, I do not speak the language of religion well. In fact, I wouldn’t even say that I “do” religion well. I’m a bit of a faltering Christian without the same sense of a box in which to place my faith as many people seem to have. Especially people who tend to gather in a place like this. The shape of my faith is a little less like a box and more like a loosely woven basket. (I know some of you are smiling right now, because you’ve got baskets too. And some of the holes are even bigger than you’d like, right?)

So when I’m in a context surrounded by hundreds of people for whom the language is as natural as breathing, I get a little antsy and often feel inclined to run from the room. Sometimes I envy them their boxes and their common language, but I just know it doesn’t work for me. (Like, for example, the guy who delivers the “spiritual challenge” – a mini-sermon – each morning, who says “God bless you” every time he steps out of the elevator. I seem to share an elevator with him every time I go to my room. I don’t know how to respond. “Um – yeah thanks?” Good thing he hasn’t noticed that I’ve managed to skip the “spiritual challenge” part of the morning every day since the first day.)

You can see then, why a place like a “Christian charities conference” leaves me feeling a little like an impostor. And an alien. A stranger in a strange land.

But this time, it’s been different. Not because I’ve conformed to the box or learned the language – quite the opposite. I’ve been having the most amazing conversations. I have found lots of other baskets in rooms I assumed were full of boxes. I’ve had pleasant surprises. I’ve had to readjust my perceptions of people. I love that. With one person in particular, whom I’ve known for a couple of years, a person who is a leader in a Christian relief and development agency – someone you’d assume almost certainly fits in the box category – I’ve had a couple of truly remarkable conversations. He’s faced the same doubts, the same anger at organized religion, and the same shaking of a faith he thought was fairly secure. He’s had to climb out of the box too, and is still trying to figure out the shape of his new faith. He is now my friend on a very different level than he was two days ago. What a lovely surprise!

And I’ve gotten to attend two sessions with one of my favourite writers, Brian McLaren. And after each workshop, I got a chance to chat with him one on one. He’s even more cool in person than in his books. Definitely a basket kind of guy. A basket guy who doesn’t pretend he’s got a box. My kind of guy. I’ve even got an advance copy of his new (not even released yet) book that he’s asked me to pass on as a surprise to a mutual friend of ours (but I get to read it first on the airplane on the way home). How cool is that?

There have been other great sessions too. I’ve definitely been refreshed. And I have some great ideas floating around in my grey matter.

I never expected I’d be this glad I came.

Time to put the lawnchairs away

Our private beach, Cass Lake, originally uploaded by Fumbling for Words.

In the summertime, our lawnchairs are always in the trunk of the car. Whether it's a soccer game, a family barbecue, a church picnic, a visit to the beach, or a camping trip, those lawnchairs get a lot of use. If you look closely at the photo, you'll see that the one on the left is falling apart. We've had that particular chair since shortly after we got married. It has been sat on hundreds of times by dozens of butts.

This morning, we watched the last outdoor soccer game of the season. It was a disappointing 1-0 loss for Julie's team in the semi-final round of the city championship (b-side). It's over. The end of another season.

It's time to put the lawnchairs away. Today didn't feel like summer was over - it was a beautiful day. But the leaves are changing, and we've already had the furnace on once or twice in our house.

Fall has arrived.

In other news, I'm sitting in a stinky hotel room. No funky bed and breakfast this time - it was just easier to stay where the conference is being held. I'm stuck in one of those rather boring corporate hotels close to the airport where there isn't even an interesting place to walk, and unfortunately I booked a little late and there was nothing left but a smoking room. Bummer. Plus I just had a very disappointing greek salad from room service, so this isn't shaping up to be a particularly memorable place to stay.

Oh well. At least the bed is comfy. And I have a new book to read, so I'm going to curl up with it right now. I took Lucia's advice and picked up Infidel in the airport. It looks interesting so far.

Thirteen things currently spinning through my head

(yes, I’m feeling spinny today)

Alternate title: A day in the life of my brain at work

1. Should I order more newsletters, or will 18,000 be enough?
2. Did I catch all the mistakes on the design proof of the brochure, or will someone point out a glaring error the moment 10,000 of them arrive in my office from the printer?
3. Is there something I committed to doing tonight that I’m forgetting?
4. What should I take along to read on my trip next week?
5. When will I find the time to prepare my speaking notes for Monday’s meeting? On the airplane?
6. I hope the band they hired for the conference I’ll be at next week won’t be the same country gospel one they had at the last conference I attended. (Please don’t hate me if you happen to like country gospel – it’s just not my thing.)
7. When will I get the first phone call from a disgruntled supporter saying that we shouldn’t have mentioned the connection between fossil fuel consumption and climate change in our newsletter?
8. Do they REALLY want 29,000 copies of the brochure? Just how many trees did that kill? Can I use recycled paper?
9. How will I replace one of my key staff members who gave his notice this week? Yikes!
10. Will we be ready to launch our big new program by early next month? Will I have an aneurysm before then?
11. After three years of monthly conference calls with my team, WHY haven't I learned to ask the questions so that I'm not met with stone-cold silence almost every time I ask for feedback on something?
    
12. Oooo… the new website is going to look SO lovely! Why didn’t I get this done years ago?
13. Will the designer hate me when he gets my email for 35 picky little changes to the document?

Babysitting Abby

The laundry didn’t get folded last night,
but I sat and rocked a little girl to sleep for the first time in about three years

I didn’t get started on the wall that needs painting,
but I watched my oldest daughter change her first poopy diaper and I marveled how quickly she has gone from the “pooper” to the “changer”

I didn’t sweep the floor or wipe the dirty fingerprints off the fridge,
instead I dutifully obeyed every time my 22 month old niece said “Hah-her come” (after all, when someone learns your name, how can you resist letting her wrap you around her finger?)

I didn’t pay the bills or change the sheets,
but I sat and read “Good Night Little Sheep” to an appreciative audience when it was nearly time for bed

I didn’t “accomplish” anything last night, nor did any of my children,
but for a short while we played the roles of doting auntie and cousins and we let our world revolve around a little girl who’s got a firm hold on our hearts.

At least there are some names that I DO know

I think hearing Ato G.'s story of dying girls left me feeling a bit of survivor guilt.

There's something about the nature of the type of travel I do in developing countries that makes me feel a little voyeuristic. I wander from village to village, get access to their homes, their schools, and their farms, they let me take pictures of their lives, I take a few notes for some stories and for my journal, but then I return home to my comfortable North American life, and they are left with the pain that I cannot share.

A lot of times - like the case of the young girls in the Afar region - I don't even get a chance to ask many of their names. It all happens so quickly and many of them don't speak English, so I leave feeling like I haven't really learned who they are. I am an observer. A watcher. I take back their stories, and I try to honour them the best way I know how, but I can never really be part of their pain.

While I was sitting with that thought yesterday, a little gift fell in my lap - just the kind of moment I needed to remind myself that I am doing the best I can, and that sometimes real connections do happen.

Daniel has recently arrived from Kenya. He's working in our office as an international intern this year. He'll be traveling across Canada, connecting with youth in schools and churches and sharing his story of growing up with hunger. You only need to look at his grin to know that it is not hard to fall in love with Daniel. He's got a bright light shining in him and I'm lucky to be close enough to be touched by it.
Daniel sat in my office yesterday, and I showed him my pictures of Kenya. In earlier conversation, I'd found out that he'd grown up in one of the regions I'd traveled in a few years ago. As I flipped through the pictures, his eyes lit up when he spotted familiar landmarks and even some faces that he recognized.

Then we got to this picture, and he burst out laughing.
"THAT'S MY SISTER!" he nearly shouted. Sure enough - this is his younger sister Agnes.

I remember Agnes. We were sitting at the table under the acacia tree on the farm where we'd tented the night before. It was the afternoon, between outings, and I'd found a shady spot to rest. I remember how she approached me and, in a bold yet quiet way, sat down close enough to brush her shoulder up against mine. It was clear that she wanted to be my friend.

The older women were busy cooking food for us on the open fire pit, but Agnes and one or two other young women clearly had other ideas in mind. They wanted to befriend these Canadian visitors. She sat down and we talked. For nearly an hour. She told me about her life. She was a school teacher, teaching in a village some distance from her family. She boarded with another family in the village. She talked about her family, and I'm sure she even told me about Daniel, though I had no inkling at the time that I'd meet him some day.

I am so glad that I remember Agnes, and that I can learn of her life two and a half years later. I cannot name the other girls in my last post, but somehow, remembering Agnes makes me feel a little less sad.

And I am even more glad that I get to spend the upcoming year getting to know Daniel.