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.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
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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