i have decided to move my blog over to wordpress so this is my last post here.
Please continue to visit me HERE
furtherdowntheroad.wordpress.com
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
remember when...
In a short (long?) seven months, I am going to marry my best friend. We've been engaged a month and a half and I'm still pleasantly surprised every time I remember that it's real. Yesterday, after a particularly harrowing day, involving two sick souls--including one especially sick matt, a long wait at the walk-in clinic, sneezes, coughs, sighs and all around germ-iness, matt said to me (probably slightly drug induced) "remember when we got engaged" -- and of course I said yes. "that was great" he said.
And it was. It really was an amazing night. I am trying to be mindful of each moment as an engaged couple. Mostly because I know these next seven months will be like none other that follow. In fact, things have already begun to change. When Matt first proposed with this beautiful, shinny, ring -- it felt like a complete foreign object on my finger. Every time I looked at it I literally though "oh my gosh". Now, that my ring has been sized and I have gotten used to wearing it, I often have mini panic attacks when I think I've lost it because I can't feel it on my finger. Then, I realize that I'm crazy and I've just grown used to it. As much as an engagement ring can be a frivolous luxury, it can also be drenched with meaning and symbolism. For instance, I noticed today that there are some small scratches on it, nothing that couldn't be polished off, but scratches nonetheless. I love the idea that I am going to wear this ring forever, and it's going to get scratched and worn. I hope when I'm 80 years old I can tell my grandkids the story of how it was given to me. Already, this ring represents a part of me, and in a strange way, a part of who I've always been. But on the other hand, every time I look at it, I can't help but think of our future- of what's to come, of it's shininess and promise of what's ahead. I wonder if years from now this ring will always remind me of this time, our time dating and our engagement? Or maybe it's meaning will change and grow? I assume the latter will be true.
I don't want to have the expectation that our wedding day will be the best day of our lives-- because isn't that a little sad? To think that after our wedding it's all down hill? I think the perspective that I'll choose to take is that maybe our wedding will be the beginning of the most blessed, joyful, most loving time of our lives-the beginning of being paired, supported, encouraged and able to take great risks because we know we've got each other's backs. Our wedding day will be so important because it will be the beginning of a powerful partnership, based on a promise made that day.
Until then I am going to do my best to soak up every minute and to create a lot more "remember when..." moments.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
25 things
Lately it seems as though everyone in the land of facebook is writing those "25 things about me" lists. I must admit, I find them very interesting and read them whenever they pop up on that creepy feed. The facts about people surprise and interest me, but what I find even MORE interesting is seeing what people choose to write. You know what I mean? That's the beauty about facebook or any sort of communication that is completely controlled by the user. Notice how no one ever writes about how they still pick their nose, have a terrible temper, or sometime act passive aggressively. The thing about these lists is that, perhaps without intention, they let us create a small, incomplete snapshot of ourselves-- just the pieces that we want people to see. I know that if I were to write one of these lists I would try to make myself as mysterious and cool as possible. And because that would be a lot of work, I'm just not going to do it. Don't get me wrong, I am definitely not judging these lists going around. Like I said, I find them interesting. I have just been reminded how much we all long to be known. I have written extensively about this topic here but can't help but think that I didn't quite fully get it then. Maybe we're too scared to be REALLY known by people. Maybe that's why we settle for incomplete lists of tightly controlled facts. I guess what I am trying to suggest is that we take a step further than these "25 things" lists and be vulnerable with the people with who we love and trust...that we take the time to listen and to see the heart of those around us. To be truly known and seen by those we love and trust is, in essence, freedom. Because if someone can know us, really know us--the ugly, the shameful, the cruel- and love us anyways, it means we're ok. You know? Isn't that what unconditional love is?
As I wrote about before, I know that we are fully known by God. Depending on the day, I either find great peace in this truth or great shock. I will probably never fully grasp that God already knows all of my thoughts and actions -- and loves me despite all of this.
Your life and worth could never be expressed in 25 facts. Either could mine--and while it's fun to read about, it's an incomplete picture of the complexity and beauty of who you are- who we all are.
Monday, February 2, 2009
New Recipe # 1 (and 2 and 3)
I was a keener this week and made THREE new recipes. Martha Stewart watch yo' back!
Here's the run down.
First I made rosemary focaccia bread-- it had onion and parmesan cheese on it. Delish! I would definitely make it again.
Then, Matt and I made a chicken curry recipe that I ripped out (read: stole) from a magazine at the gym (bad i know).
BUT--it was also soooo good. Spicy, creamy, hot. I would for sure make this again.
Here is a pic!
Hmm...looks a little gross- BUT...we ate all the rice so it's just the sauce. Next time I'll work more on "presentation"
Here's the run down.
First I made rosemary focaccia bread-- it had onion and parmesan cheese on it. Delish! I would definitely make it again.
Then, Matt and I made a chicken curry recipe that I ripped out (read: stole) from a magazine at the gym (bad i know).
BUT--it was also soooo good. Spicy, creamy, hot. I would for sure make this again.
Here is a pic!
Hmm...looks a little gross- BUT...we ate all the rice so it's just the sauce. Next time I'll work more on "presentation"
Here is a photo of the bomb that hit Matt's already disgusting kitchen once we were finished.
Not to mention that after I put the leftovers in the fridge--I reopened it to grab something and splosh went the curry all over the kitchen floor. Awesome. 
Finally, I made a "leek" potato soup--but couldn't find any leeks at the grocery store. I bought blub onions instead...needless to say, bulb onions or not, the soup is definitely mediocre. I think it's because I am getting sick of the smell/taste of thyme. Next time I will try a completely different soup. Probably one that doesn't need to go in the blender..because what a MESS that is. Burning soup all over my hands AND my walls. I don't think I'd make this soup again. Although I will be eating it for lunch for the next 2 months as it made a wack-load and is taking up lots of room in my giant freezer.
For week one, I am thinking two out of three ain't bad.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Class Division
Growing up as a Christian, I knew a lot of kids that went on “mission trips” to far off places to help the less fortunate. My friends would gush about how life-changing the experience was to go to such and such poor country. They would tell me how the people, while poor, were so much richer in spirit than us here in North America. I always found this idea to be a little bit ridiculous. It seemed to me as if my friends going on these pricy trips to help “poor people” created this communal lie about the local people being so joyful, so full of life, so rich in love. It seemed like a convenient untruth that rich, white, Christians could tell themselves in order not to feel guilty about their personal wealth. It was hard for me to believe that all poor people in the developing world were happy and better off than us here, despite not being able to feed their children, not having electricity or adequate access to water. It all seemed like a pile of crap.
I studied international development in university. There I was taught to horrors of missionary work. I was shown how short term “service” trips can actually harm struggling communities in the developing world. I piously felt like the people who went on these trips, went for themselves, to add meaning to their own lives. I used the argument that the money spend to send down a team of x number of Canadians would be much more effective if it was used to hire local people to do the same work. I came to see these vacationing missionaries as modern day colonizers, taking with them a sense of superiority and advanced civility.
When I was 23 I took a job working for a church as a youth assistant. Part of my job was planning and helping lead a trip to Ecuador for a small group of youth. I stepped off of my soapbox (mostly in light of my desire to travel) and took up the job rather excitedly.
In Ecuador, in a small jungle village, I had one of my first “a-ha’ moments about class, race and privilege. We were building a community building in the village so that there would be a place for people to gather when it rained. The village had gotten running water only weeks before we arrived. I met a woman who I immediately liked. She was kind- her eyes were kind. She smiled at me and let me hold her baby. After some hand gesture charades due to the language barrier she took one of the students and myself to explore the forest where they got their food. She had her daughter shimmy up papaya trees to pick us fruit and taught us how to machete banana trees. She cooked us jungle potatoes and watched, with tangible joy on her face, as we ate them. What I learned in that moment is that classism and class division dissect our humanity. In an instant it became clear to me that while we were officially there to “help” her and her community, she had, through example, just given me so much more.
Class divisions create a world where we only want to associate and interact with those in our particular class. Sometimes, if we’re feeling ambitious, it is socially acceptable to converse with those in the class above you if you are looking to climb the social ladder. That day, in the Ecuadorian jungle, I learned that by only living within your societal class, one essentially negates all possibility of being fully human. The rich are not meant to be givers. They are not meant to be the “sugar daddies and mamas” who simply write checks to appease their consciences and the poor. The Poor are not meant to be receivers, constantly taking, giving nothing back. The middle class is not meant to sequester themselves off from both the rich and poor, protected by their picket fences and PTA meetings. Rather, each person, regardless of their socio-economic class is meant to be both a giver and a receiver. That is what it means to be human. We all have something to offer the world and we all have something we need from the world. We were not created to be self-maintaining organisms.
My friend in the jungle showed me that I needed her. That day, I needed her kindness, her generosity and papayas. By accepting her gift of fruit, I acknowledged not only my thankfulness, but also broke down the false notion of giver and receiver, rich and poor.
When I came home from Ecuador, I had a much better understanding of why friends in the past had come back and said that the people were so joyful, so happy, and free. I still would not fully agree with that analysis, or the singular story it tries tell of an entire country’s population. Instead, I’d like to suggest, that my friends, like me, had realized that they were receivers, not only givers. Perhaps what my friends were seeing was their own joy reflected back. This is the most real truth I know about class- It divides us. We cannot experience wholeness existing in human-made class groups. We need the poor and the rich. They need each other. Furthermore, we cannot care for the poor or the rich unless we know their names, their stories and their hearts. Ending class division will take a lot more than writing big checks; it will take more than philanthropy and charitable foundations. Ending class division will only happen when we create space for us to get to know each other. A place to have coffee, to talk about the weather and our kids and reality tv. Class division will not end until we accept that “they” are just like “us”.
I studied international development in university. There I was taught to horrors of missionary work. I was shown how short term “service” trips can actually harm struggling communities in the developing world. I piously felt like the people who went on these trips, went for themselves, to add meaning to their own lives. I used the argument that the money spend to send down a team of x number of Canadians would be much more effective if it was used to hire local people to do the same work. I came to see these vacationing missionaries as modern day colonizers, taking with them a sense of superiority and advanced civility.
When I was 23 I took a job working for a church as a youth assistant. Part of my job was planning and helping lead a trip to Ecuador for a small group of youth. I stepped off of my soapbox (mostly in light of my desire to travel) and took up the job rather excitedly.
In Ecuador, in a small jungle village, I had one of my first “a-ha’ moments about class, race and privilege. We were building a community building in the village so that there would be a place for people to gather when it rained. The village had gotten running water only weeks before we arrived. I met a woman who I immediately liked. She was kind- her eyes were kind. She smiled at me and let me hold her baby. After some hand gesture charades due to the language barrier she took one of the students and myself to explore the forest where they got their food. She had her daughter shimmy up papaya trees to pick us fruit and taught us how to machete banana trees. She cooked us jungle potatoes and watched, with tangible joy on her face, as we ate them. What I learned in that moment is that classism and class division dissect our humanity. In an instant it became clear to me that while we were officially there to “help” her and her community, she had, through example, just given me so much more.
Class divisions create a world where we only want to associate and interact with those in our particular class. Sometimes, if we’re feeling ambitious, it is socially acceptable to converse with those in the class above you if you are looking to climb the social ladder. That day, in the Ecuadorian jungle, I learned that by only living within your societal class, one essentially negates all possibility of being fully human. The rich are not meant to be givers. They are not meant to be the “sugar daddies and mamas” who simply write checks to appease their consciences and the poor. The Poor are not meant to be receivers, constantly taking, giving nothing back. The middle class is not meant to sequester themselves off from both the rich and poor, protected by their picket fences and PTA meetings. Rather, each person, regardless of their socio-economic class is meant to be both a giver and a receiver. That is what it means to be human. We all have something to offer the world and we all have something we need from the world. We were not created to be self-maintaining organisms.
My friend in the jungle showed me that I needed her. That day, I needed her kindness, her generosity and papayas. By accepting her gift of fruit, I acknowledged not only my thankfulness, but also broke down the false notion of giver and receiver, rich and poor.
When I came home from Ecuador, I had a much better understanding of why friends in the past had come back and said that the people were so joyful, so happy, and free. I still would not fully agree with that analysis, or the singular story it tries tell of an entire country’s population. Instead, I’d like to suggest, that my friends, like me, had realized that they were receivers, not only givers. Perhaps what my friends were seeing was their own joy reflected back. This is the most real truth I know about class- It divides us. We cannot experience wholeness existing in human-made class groups. We need the poor and the rich. They need each other. Furthermore, we cannot care for the poor or the rich unless we know their names, their stories and their hearts. Ending class division will take a lot more than writing big checks; it will take more than philanthropy and charitable foundations. Ending class division will only happen when we create space for us to get to know each other. A place to have coffee, to talk about the weather and our kids and reality tv. Class division will not end until we accept that “they” are just like “us”.
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