I was walking down the street the other day, and noticed a family of three approaching me: a mom, a dad, and a little boy who looked like his head was too big for his tiny little body, and who was struggling to put one tiny foot in front of the other as his parents waltzed down the sidewalk. With his tiny woolen toque and black leather booties, he was the cutest thing since fuzzy kittens.
As I approached the family, the little boy stopped at a flower bush, feeling the petals and smelling the roses. The parents waited their patiently as the boy explored this new scent and beautiful piece of nature, smiling over him as they watched his curiosity in action.
I walked past and giggled at how cute he was, and the father looked at me in a serious tone, saying, "You must stop to smell the roses. You must!
I suddenly felt as if I should kneel down beside the toddler and start smelling. Instead, I walked by as quickly as possible so as to avoid the judgement that lay in wait for me for not stopping to smell the flowers when my bus lay at the end of the street.
I have to admire the father's dedication to the child's imagination though. We so often rush through life without appreciating the simple moments and pleasures that surround our everyday lives. It's as if we don't even recognize that they are there anymore; they're "decorations" or sidenotes to the main story of life.
Children are beautiful because they have so much awe in these simple pleasures of life. These are new discoveries, new pleasures, new joyous discoveries that bless them. The smiles and giggles that light up their faces at these simple pleasures are what make them so innocent, so lovable, so pure.
So let's all learn a lesson from them and stop to smell the roses.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Oh bother
To every girl who feels alone and thinks a guy will make you feel better about yourself:
He won't.
The end.
---
Okay, so I'm being silly. This is a half-truth though.
I think that there's an important lesson to life, and this is that there is no one in the whole world who can fill the empty spaces of your heart. There is no one who can make you whole again. There is no one who can make you feel valuable when you don't feel valuable all by your beautiful self.
I think the person who is right for you is the one who loves the quirks, inconsistencies, goods, and bads about you, and makes you feel like your on fire when you're around them. The best version of yourself comes out, and maybe they even inspire you to improve on those darker points of yourself.
But certainly, it will never be someone who poo poos you, who doesn't support your dreams and hopes and ideals, who treats you like a child or a little girl, and who doesn't like you for exactly who you are.
You need someone who respects you for you. Who loves that you're a crazy cat-loving, neon-coloured-outfit-wearing, banjo-tooting, singing-on-the-street, feminist-environmentalist-social-justice-hipster-woman, who loves life, laughing, and loving people. Who encourages you to be that crazy person. Because that's who you are!
But if you don't love yourself as you are, how are you supposed to have a healthy relationship with someone else who loves you for the things that you don't like about you? Learn to love yourself for all you are first. You're not going to find what you're missing in yourself in somebody else.
The perfect relationship happens when you learn to accept yourself as you are right now first, and then someone else, who is equally confident in who they are by themselves, finds you, and the little jagged edges that make each of you perfect and unique fit together like the gears in a bicycle. You need some oiling every now and then as the rust and friction builds, but together, you move forward as jagged pieces along an immense and unfathomable path, spurring each other on in the journey of life.
He won't.
The end.
---
Okay, so I'm being silly. This is a half-truth though.
I think that there's an important lesson to life, and this is that there is no one in the whole world who can fill the empty spaces of your heart. There is no one who can make you whole again. There is no one who can make you feel valuable when you don't feel valuable all by your beautiful self.
I think the person who is right for you is the one who loves the quirks, inconsistencies, goods, and bads about you, and makes you feel like your on fire when you're around them. The best version of yourself comes out, and maybe they even inspire you to improve on those darker points of yourself.
But certainly, it will never be someone who poo poos you, who doesn't support your dreams and hopes and ideals, who treats you like a child or a little girl, and who doesn't like you for exactly who you are.
You need someone who respects you for you. Who loves that you're a crazy cat-loving, neon-coloured-outfit-wearing, banjo-tooting, singing-on-the-street, feminist-environmentalist-social-justice-hipster-woman, who loves life, laughing, and loving people. Who encourages you to be that crazy person. Because that's who you are!
But if you don't love yourself as you are, how are you supposed to have a healthy relationship with someone else who loves you for the things that you don't like about you? Learn to love yourself for all you are first. You're not going to find what you're missing in yourself in somebody else.
The perfect relationship happens when you learn to accept yourself as you are right now first, and then someone else, who is equally confident in who they are by themselves, finds you, and the little jagged edges that make each of you perfect and unique fit together like the gears in a bicycle. You need some oiling every now and then as the rust and friction builds, but together, you move forward as jagged pieces along an immense and unfathomable path, spurring each other on in the journey of life.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Rags to Riches
It's easier to experience culture shock than most people realize. I certainly have gone through a bit of culture shock just coming from one Southern Ontario city to another.
I worked at an inner-city church all summer, working with youth, adults, and young children. Some came to a food, clothing, and breakfast program, others I met at a soccer camp, others I met through working with the nearby school, breakfast program, after-school program, and day camp that was running through the summer. There would be kids who would come in with no food in their bellies, there would be kids who would say things that no child should know how to say, and they would do things that I can only assume they learned from someone else. And I loved those children. My heart burst for them. They taught me how to find joy in such little things, they taught me how important it is to discipline a child with love, how much a child needs to, loves to, desires to be told that they have a purpose in this life and that they are so precious and valuable, for no other reason than that they are who they are.
And now I'm studying for my Masters. I've come across people who angrily said that Tim Horton's should know better than to not serve creamy soup as a vegetarian option. I came across people who complained that there are too many leather, comfy swivel chairs in a room - that is rather spacious anyways. This isn't to say that I don't do the same thing too - I've complained in my own time about stupid little things that I shouldn't complain about. That I don't deserve to complain about.
But here's the thing: when you have everything in the world, then you complain about every little thing when it's not there. We think we are somehow "entitled" to things. And it's disgusting. It's plain disgusting. All I can do is laugh at how very ignorant we are to the pain, suffering, and struggles of the people living all around us.
The only thing that "entitles" me to anything at all is the fact that I have money in my bank account, I have a nice diploma on my wall, and I have a family that raised me in a beautiful neighbourhood in the suburbs and afforded me all the necessities and non-necessities I could ask for. Others are not so fortunate to have all of that. They will live their lives without even being able to afford Tim Horton's or a Master's program. They will struggle to feed themselves day-to-day, they will struggle to clothe themselves. And they will - if you meet them - rarely complain. They know that it's wrong, they know that they need what they need, but there's a matter-of-factness to it.
I am disgusting for believing that anything I have is anything but a privilege. I only hope that I can use it to serve others, to serve the people that God loves in the same unfathomable way He's loved me. Help me Lord to do so.
I worked at an inner-city church all summer, working with youth, adults, and young children. Some came to a food, clothing, and breakfast program, others I met at a soccer camp, others I met through working with the nearby school, breakfast program, after-school program, and day camp that was running through the summer. There would be kids who would come in with no food in their bellies, there would be kids who would say things that no child should know how to say, and they would do things that I can only assume they learned from someone else. And I loved those children. My heart burst for them. They taught me how to find joy in such little things, they taught me how important it is to discipline a child with love, how much a child needs to, loves to, desires to be told that they have a purpose in this life and that they are so precious and valuable, for no other reason than that they are who they are.
And now I'm studying for my Masters. I've come across people who angrily said that Tim Horton's should know better than to not serve creamy soup as a vegetarian option. I came across people who complained that there are too many leather, comfy swivel chairs in a room - that is rather spacious anyways. This isn't to say that I don't do the same thing too - I've complained in my own time about stupid little things that I shouldn't complain about. That I don't deserve to complain about.
But here's the thing: when you have everything in the world, then you complain about every little thing when it's not there. We think we are somehow "entitled" to things. And it's disgusting. It's plain disgusting. All I can do is laugh at how very ignorant we are to the pain, suffering, and struggles of the people living all around us.
The only thing that "entitles" me to anything at all is the fact that I have money in my bank account, I have a nice diploma on my wall, and I have a family that raised me in a beautiful neighbourhood in the suburbs and afforded me all the necessities and non-necessities I could ask for. Others are not so fortunate to have all of that. They will live their lives without even being able to afford Tim Horton's or a Master's program. They will struggle to feed themselves day-to-day, they will struggle to clothe themselves. And they will - if you meet them - rarely complain. They know that it's wrong, they know that they need what they need, but there's a matter-of-factness to it.
I am disgusting for believing that anything I have is anything but a privilege. I only hope that I can use it to serve others, to serve the people that God loves in the same unfathomable way He's loved me. Help me Lord to do so.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Unexpected "friends"
It's funny how people walk in and out of your lives.
I think it's God way of saying that you can never escape your past, no matter how much you run from it. You'll always have to struggle with those parts of yourself that you wish you didn't have to deal with.
Anywho, I ran into an old and unexpected friend the other day. In high school, she had a massive crush on my brother. It was blatantly obvious by her walking past him and stroking his shoulders as she did so. Lingering eye glances. Giggles whilst she looked at him. Taking him out for walks and lunches and dinners, but leaving me at home alone. As his sister, it made me want to barf. Little to say that I did not like her.
She symbolized, to me, a feeling of inadequacy in my own life. All the girls in my youth group were half in love with my brother, and I struggled to gain friends on my own because I was shy and a tad socially awkward. The girls would often ignore me so that they could get my brother's attention, or only say hello to me when I was around my brother. In fact, the first time I ever went to youth group, I went over to a group of girls to say hello. They said hello, but ignored me after that. I listened to their conversation, which went along the lines of "Do you think he will talk to me?" At which point, they all got up, left me standing alone, and went to talk to my brother. I decided at that point that I preferred hanging out with males because at least they didn't - for the most part - want to be my friend so that they could talk to my brother. They were also all closer to my age anyways, and they were easy to get along with, so I pretty much became the tomboy of the bunch. My one girlfriend in youth was a girl that never competed for my brother's attention, who I never felt as if I had to earn the right to be a friend with, and who had an absolutely beautiful heart. Even though we've gone separate ways and I don't speak with her anymore, I still use a daily friendship quote book she gave me for each day of the year and think of her fondly.
All of these details to say that the girl who had a massive crush on my brother popped back into my life the other day at a home church in a different city. There I was, a complete newbie to the group, and she popped in and happens to be a regular attendee. Funny though, I have absolutely no resentment anymore. And I realize that my unwillingness and resentment from my past towards her was totally unfounded - she was just a bit lovesick, and she has always been as much a struggling Christian as myself. Now I see in her a fellow sister in Christ, and a new friend perhaps.
If she reads this, then she should know that I am sorry for ever harbouring resentment.
It was certainly never my right to do so.
I think it's God way of saying that you can never escape your past, no matter how much you run from it. You'll always have to struggle with those parts of yourself that you wish you didn't have to deal with.
Anywho, I ran into an old and unexpected friend the other day. In high school, she had a massive crush on my brother. It was blatantly obvious by her walking past him and stroking his shoulders as she did so. Lingering eye glances. Giggles whilst she looked at him. Taking him out for walks and lunches and dinners, but leaving me at home alone. As his sister, it made me want to barf. Little to say that I did not like her.
She symbolized, to me, a feeling of inadequacy in my own life. All the girls in my youth group were half in love with my brother, and I struggled to gain friends on my own because I was shy and a tad socially awkward. The girls would often ignore me so that they could get my brother's attention, or only say hello to me when I was around my brother. In fact, the first time I ever went to youth group, I went over to a group of girls to say hello. They said hello, but ignored me after that. I listened to their conversation, which went along the lines of "Do you think he will talk to me?" At which point, they all got up, left me standing alone, and went to talk to my brother. I decided at that point that I preferred hanging out with males because at least they didn't - for the most part - want to be my friend so that they could talk to my brother. They were also all closer to my age anyways, and they were easy to get along with, so I pretty much became the tomboy of the bunch. My one girlfriend in youth was a girl that never competed for my brother's attention, who I never felt as if I had to earn the right to be a friend with, and who had an absolutely beautiful heart. Even though we've gone separate ways and I don't speak with her anymore, I still use a daily friendship quote book she gave me for each day of the year and think of her fondly.
All of these details to say that the girl who had a massive crush on my brother popped back into my life the other day at a home church in a different city. There I was, a complete newbie to the group, and she popped in and happens to be a regular attendee. Funny though, I have absolutely no resentment anymore. And I realize that my unwillingness and resentment from my past towards her was totally unfounded - she was just a bit lovesick, and she has always been as much a struggling Christian as myself. Now I see in her a fellow sister in Christ, and a new friend perhaps.
If she reads this, then she should know that I am sorry for ever harbouring resentment.
It was certainly never my right to do so.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Descriptive rendition of a church service
As the clock approaches six, a crowd full of well-dressed 20-year-olds enters the doors of Jack Purcell Community Centre, located at the corner of Elgin and Lewis streets in downtown Ottawa.
Held in the centre’s second-floor hall, the Saturday evening service of the Calvary Fellowship of Ottawa begins as about 100 people take their seats in lines of navy blue and orange plastic chairs. An overheard comment indicates that, this week, the service is especially full.
The room is reminiscent of an elementary-school gym, with off-white brick walls complemented by the constant hum of ceiling fans and fluorescent lights. As I enter the large push bar doors into the hall to look for a seat, a balding man in his late 40s greets me with a smile and asks my name, responding that his daughter’s name is also Rachel.
The room echoes with familiar church hymns, as the four-person band begins to play. Afterwards, there is a loud murmur of introductions as audience members turn to greet each other. I acquaint myself with a man sitting two seats away, and he comments that he, too, has a daughter named Rachel.
The 30-something pastor, Andy Falleur, directs the congregants to the next element of the service, asking if anyone would like to share “praises” from their week. Chairs screech as people turn to face the voice of a woman named Rita, seated at the back of the hall.
“I’m going to rehab in Whitby,” she says, detailing the financial difficulties that have prevented her from seeking treatment before. “Welfare is helping me go and is offering to help pay for my train home.”
There are shouts of “praise the Lord,” along with enthusiastic clapping.
Pastor Andy directs people to a biblical passage in first John chapter two on abiding in God and in His teaching, rather than the teachings of ‘the world.’
The sound of flipping pages fills the air. One woman uses an online Bible on her iPad. The light smell of perfume drifts past. The pastor wears a constant smile, recounting humorous tales and frequently bringing the audience to laughter. Church attendees hum and nod their heads in agreement as the sermon continues, occasionally answering with amens.
The pastor ends the service with an a cappella rendition of “Spirit of the Living God”. The crowd mingles over coffee and pink strawberry wafer cookies. As chairs are stacked and the auditorium cleaned, the gathering gets increasingly sparse. With a flick of the lights, the last stragglers make their way outside.
Held in the centre’s second-floor hall, the Saturday evening service of the Calvary Fellowship of Ottawa begins as about 100 people take their seats in lines of navy blue and orange plastic chairs. An overheard comment indicates that, this week, the service is especially full.
The room is reminiscent of an elementary-school gym, with off-white brick walls complemented by the constant hum of ceiling fans and fluorescent lights. As I enter the large push bar doors into the hall to look for a seat, a balding man in his late 40s greets me with a smile and asks my name, responding that his daughter’s name is also Rachel.
The room echoes with familiar church hymns, as the four-person band begins to play. Afterwards, there is a loud murmur of introductions as audience members turn to greet each other. I acquaint myself with a man sitting two seats away, and he comments that he, too, has a daughter named Rachel.
The 30-something pastor, Andy Falleur, directs the congregants to the next element of the service, asking if anyone would like to share “praises” from their week. Chairs screech as people turn to face the voice of a woman named Rita, seated at the back of the hall.
“I’m going to rehab in Whitby,” she says, detailing the financial difficulties that have prevented her from seeking treatment before. “Welfare is helping me go and is offering to help pay for my train home.”
There are shouts of “praise the Lord,” along with enthusiastic clapping.
Pastor Andy directs people to a biblical passage in first John chapter two on abiding in God and in His teaching, rather than the teachings of ‘the world.’
The sound of flipping pages fills the air. One woman uses an online Bible on her iPad. The light smell of perfume drifts past. The pastor wears a constant smile, recounting humorous tales and frequently bringing the audience to laughter. Church attendees hum and nod their heads in agreement as the sermon continues, occasionally answering with amens.
The pastor ends the service with an a cappella rendition of “Spirit of the Living God”. The crowd mingles over coffee and pink strawberry wafer cookies. As chairs are stacked and the auditorium cleaned, the gathering gets increasingly sparse. With a flick of the lights, the last stragglers make their way outside.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Stop being a know-it-all
I have type-1 diabetes. If you don't know what that means - it doesn't mean that I'm too fat or don't exercise enough - then look it up.
To clarify, I was diagnosed when I was 4-years-old after getting severely ill with the flu. It kick started something that caused my immune system to attack my pancreas, the organ that produces insulin - which digests sugar amongst other important things. In the end, I lost all of my baby fat, threw up all of the time, had a completely unquenchable thirst, and was always going to the bathroom. I was diagnosed a couple weeks later.
I tell you this story because I continue to come across ignorant, and subsequently completely insensitive, people who tell me I should fix myself or take an herbal remedy or fix whatever problems I've had in my past life to make myself better. Can you even hear yourself? What child of four-years asks for this? My parents were good to me. I don't believe in past lives, and I've lived my very best in this one. And even if I haven't, I don't think it's fair to say a four-year-old should get a chronic illness because karma had it coming.
We are not know-it-alls. I appreciate the admission of ignorance to the giving of advice on something you know nothing about. Sorry, but where were you when my parents were crying in the shower to stop us from hearing them elsewhere? Where were you when I ran around my house screaming while my parents told me that I only needed the one injection? Where were you when I nearly fainted in my kindergarten class? Where were you when I refused, time and time again, to have sweets with the other kids? Where are you, everyday, when I consciously have to carry juice, sugar, and wear an I.V. of insulin to ensure that my blood sugar levels are maintained to keep me alive?
You have not lived my life. You do not know my struggles or my past, and I do not wish to make myself into a victim over something I cannot change. This is simply a part of my life. It does not control me, and I am only happy to admit that I have learned a great deal through my experiences with it.
Be respectful. Keep stupid thoughts to yourself. "We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves to those we let slip out." - Winston Churchill. Guard your mouth carefully.
To clarify, I was diagnosed when I was 4-years-old after getting severely ill with the flu. It kick started something that caused my immune system to attack my pancreas, the organ that produces insulin - which digests sugar amongst other important things. In the end, I lost all of my baby fat, threw up all of the time, had a completely unquenchable thirst, and was always going to the bathroom. I was diagnosed a couple weeks later.
I tell you this story because I continue to come across ignorant, and subsequently completely insensitive, people who tell me I should fix myself or take an herbal remedy or fix whatever problems I've had in my past life to make myself better. Can you even hear yourself? What child of four-years asks for this? My parents were good to me. I don't believe in past lives, and I've lived my very best in this one. And even if I haven't, I don't think it's fair to say a four-year-old should get a chronic illness because karma had it coming.
We are not know-it-alls. I appreciate the admission of ignorance to the giving of advice on something you know nothing about. Sorry, but where were you when my parents were crying in the shower to stop us from hearing them elsewhere? Where were you when I ran around my house screaming while my parents told me that I only needed the one injection? Where were you when I nearly fainted in my kindergarten class? Where were you when I refused, time and time again, to have sweets with the other kids? Where are you, everyday, when I consciously have to carry juice, sugar, and wear an I.V. of insulin to ensure that my blood sugar levels are maintained to keep me alive?
You have not lived my life. You do not know my struggles or my past, and I do not wish to make myself into a victim over something I cannot change. This is simply a part of my life. It does not control me, and I am only happy to admit that I have learned a great deal through my experiences with it.
Be respectful. Keep stupid thoughts to yourself. "We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves to those we let slip out." - Winston Churchill. Guard your mouth carefully.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Hippy Love
I recently moved to a new city to start my graduate degree in Journalism.
The way I found my house is a very interesting story, one that I think compliments the essence of my newfound roommates, which - I suspect - will give me lots of material to fill this particular blog of stories.
My best friend is a self-proclaimed sociologist. She is a fairly liberal, locavore-food lover, Saturday morning pancakes with friends maker, and overall jovial individual. I love her to itty bitty pieces.
I went to visit said friend because she lives in the same city that I'm doing my graduate studies in. Ironic because she's moving to the city that I live in to do her Masters studies. But life is always better with a bit of irony.
Now said friend has a serious boyfriend who lives nearby. So we visited him together. Said boyfriend has roommate "x" - who is cooking tempurah stir fry and wearing a green flowy shirt - which was likely self-made using old scraps of a beautiful green tablecloth - and a brown ripped skirt. She is the epitome of hippiness.
We chat - she asks if I'm a Taurus. I reply no. "Actually, I'm a Gemini."
Suddenly, a young man whips around the corner, smiles, and says hello to me. Slipping his hand around roommate x's waist, I take a wild guess that he is her current love interest. I introduce myself. My best friend's boyfriend's dog comes over and licks my leg. This would normally mean very little to a normal person, but I am particularly ticklish, and I start laughing hysterically while said "love interest" is nearby.
He says that I am adorable and lets me know that he has a place open for rent. Check - New place found.
Anywho, two months later and I am officially moved in. And it is everything I should have expected from the first little bit there. There is a solarium where we have communal meals and philosophize. My roommates have decided to educate me on everything from Eckhart Tolle to Buddhism to continually throwing in such profound things as "We continue to live using only our minds and kill our hearts. And that's so dangerous, man. You remove emotion and feeling from your lives." And they tell me about recently broken hearts, the lost hope in the male gender for someone who would treat them better, the continuation of cycles of hierarchy in our culture and the need to reverse these cycles of oppression.
I love these guys.
I appreciate their honesty about their ideas and thoughts because I feel as if we are all struggling together to find meaning in the world. I find mine in God - He is the only thing that gives me meaning. And yet, it is a beautiful thing to watch something whose trying to find their own.
The way I found my house is a very interesting story, one that I think compliments the essence of my newfound roommates, which - I suspect - will give me lots of material to fill this particular blog of stories.
My best friend is a self-proclaimed sociologist. She is a fairly liberal, locavore-food lover, Saturday morning pancakes with friends maker, and overall jovial individual. I love her to itty bitty pieces.
I went to visit said friend because she lives in the same city that I'm doing my graduate studies in. Ironic because she's moving to the city that I live in to do her Masters studies. But life is always better with a bit of irony.
Now said friend has a serious boyfriend who lives nearby. So we visited him together. Said boyfriend has roommate "x" - who is cooking tempurah stir fry and wearing a green flowy shirt - which was likely self-made using old scraps of a beautiful green tablecloth - and a brown ripped skirt. She is the epitome of hippiness.
We chat - she asks if I'm a Taurus. I reply no. "Actually, I'm a Gemini."
Suddenly, a young man whips around the corner, smiles, and says hello to me. Slipping his hand around roommate x's waist, I take a wild guess that he is her current love interest. I introduce myself. My best friend's boyfriend's dog comes over and licks my leg. This would normally mean very little to a normal person, but I am particularly ticklish, and I start laughing hysterically while said "love interest" is nearby.
He says that I am adorable and lets me know that he has a place open for rent. Check - New place found.
Anywho, two months later and I am officially moved in. And it is everything I should have expected from the first little bit there. There is a solarium where we have communal meals and philosophize. My roommates have decided to educate me on everything from Eckhart Tolle to Buddhism to continually throwing in such profound things as "We continue to live using only our minds and kill our hearts. And that's so dangerous, man. You remove emotion and feeling from your lives." And they tell me about recently broken hearts, the lost hope in the male gender for someone who would treat them better, the continuation of cycles of hierarchy in our culture and the need to reverse these cycles of oppression.
I love these guys.
I appreciate their honesty about their ideas and thoughts because I feel as if we are all struggling together to find meaning in the world. I find mine in God - He is the only thing that gives me meaning. And yet, it is a beautiful thing to watch something whose trying to find their own.
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