The Passion Spill~*

Masterpiece

2012-03-04T23:16:00.006-05:00

The conversations bear weight. They tip the scales on fluffy, light, airy chats....and shoot directly for the blazing target in the distance.

The heart.

The soul.

The challenges that invade life without permission...or apology. The helpless ones who stand empty handed and bewildered with spinning reality. The wounded who whisper for a lifeline..while life swirls around..and threatens to consume.

We stand in the gap. All of us do, at different times. We listen...we advise...we console and defend. Sometimes...we lead. We do so by creating the way for someone who just can't anymore...

can't stay the same... anymore.
can't face the day... anymore.
can't bear the grief... anymore.
can't believe the lies... anymore.

We spread our own personal brand of magic over a life shattered...and with great care, reassemble the dust-like shards of devastation...and help someone build. The action isn't grand...the action is not overt...most often..the action is as simple as a conversation.

We save each other. We do this everyday...we learn from each other, and grow from each other...and create our new perspectives, because of each other. It's a pretty powerful thing...to contribute to the shaping of the formless, into a masterpiece. We all create...we all have good blooming inside of us...

I believe we're all creating ourselves while we create each other. What a gift. What a miracle. What a priviledge it is, for God to drop people into our lives...and to recognize it.

The Grace Effect

2012-02-25T11:30:00.009-05:00

It's a gusty, frigid Saturday morning. The view out the window to my right is bright and white. Overnight, the world as I know it has been blanketed, and frozen in time. The deep freeze is unexpected...it was forcasted for another time, but arrived fashionably late to the party. We wait for the rebirth...for the promise of Spring, and growth..and new life.

The access routes of my life will need to be cleared...ie: I will need to shovel the driveway and the stairs to my front door. I need to do it for my own safety and, of course, passage out into the world. But also...I need to clear the sidewalk, so others can safely pass by on their daily journey. In essence, what I clear for myself, I also, inadvertently, clear for others as well.

It's not enjoyable...to heave heavy snow...to endure whipping cold winds, and to clear the path. It's often thankless, and would seem pointless in a way...as it's just going to throw down snow again, anyway. After all... you're going to have to go out there again anyway tomorrow, a few days from now, or next week to do it all over again.

Sometimes...that thankless job is a place to demonstrate a glimpse of good. Taking on the temporary challenge of lifting someone elses load...and clearing the way for them to get safely where they need to go. Because this world can seem so utterly void of connection..and compassion...and basic kindness, the act can be shocking to the recipient.

The challenge is not to get discouraged. With the unending precipitation...or the burden of the lifting...or with a silent response to kindness. The challenge is to DO, because you CAN, not because you're expecting a return, or a response. The weight of your character lies in the willingness to act, not in expecting a response.

And when the burden becomes too much...in shovelling snow...in the giving...in the negative responses to life...I believe, His Grace is enough for me. He calls me to act...not to worry. He calls me to be a person of action..even when the well seems dry. When I say I am weak, He says, " My child, I've got this"...and I know my cares are in His safekeeping.

He COVERS all. He SEES all. He KNOWS all. He PLANS all. He BEARS all. What have I to fear?

My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness.

2 Corinthians 12:9

A Prayer for the Lost Ones

2012-02-12T22:17:00.014-05:00

I'm watching the 54th Annual Grammy Awards. The hours between February 12th, and 13th are quickly closing...1 hour, 41 minutes, and an anniversary will be upon me again...one which changed the course of my life forever, 2 years ago.

I am watching with more intent tonight than other years. I am usually quite bored by now, and am deciding to crawl into bed. But tonight, an incredible talent...a trail blazing pioneer for African American women...a superstar, an idol...a mother, and a daughter is being honoured.

Fair enough that a legend be honoured. Not unexpected for her to be recognized for her unmatched contributions to music and film. Celebrities love to honour each other for greatness and unparalleled skill...and even for overcoming unthinkable odds.

Whitney didn't overcome. Whitney, the breathtakingly beautiful, unrivaled voice of a generation...Whitney, the church choir songbird died alone in a hotel room in Hollywood. She brazenly taunted addiction for years, and last night, it devoured her...wholly, completely, and quietly.

I have heard varying commentaries on her death. From tears to indifference...and grief to anger, all emotions from one pole to the other have been expressed. I by no means think that people aren't entitled to their opinions, or their right to share them. But I will venture a guess, anyone with a calloused, hard, flippant comment or opinion hasn't ever loved and lost someone to addiction.

Addiction doesn't start out as such. It is a romancer of sorts. It often courts patiently, quietly and methodically. It fills a void. It whittles off the sharp edges, and it creates a need for habitual intimacy. It alienates and segregates....like an abusive, controlling lover. It seeks to consume, with consumption. It doesn't care about your position in life...who you're married to, who your father is, or what your bank account is... it's completely out for itself...and it takes no prisoners. It lies and deludes...and it makes tragic memories of incredible, broken and stained people.

The lost ones. Wealthy and famous....nameless and penniless...they are the same. They fall into the same short life club. Addiction is not reserved for junkies or losers, freaks or screw ups. It finds all kinds of people...talented, charismatic, loved, compassionate people...mothers, fathers, daughters, sons...cousins, friends, nieces, nephews...people you know, and people you hear about. They share life with you...and if they don't...trust me, they will, or they do so without your knowledge.

My prayer, for every addict, is for them to find compassion, and to find peace - inside of their life here on earth. I pray that their race from the demons that pursue them will be conquered...just one day at a time. I pray that they will find the answers...the why's to the unanswered questions of their pasts, and that they will live out life with purpose and healing. I pray that they will find support and strength...I pray that they find Hope.

Dum Spero Spiro ~ While I breathe, I Hope.

Hope will rise tomorrow...for the lost ones will find their way. And I'm going to be a part of it however I can.

Keeping my promises to you MB, always. xo

Fate Deal

2012-02-08T22:10:00.013-05:00

Dear Michael~

It's happening. I know you know. I know you're in the middle of it...giggling...smirking, and winking at fate as it comes into focus for those of us here.

It's lifting. That hazy, thick, stifling blanket I've been using for shelter. It's protected me from the storm, in it's own way...from the drenching down pour...the flood I've lost myself in for 2 years. It's felt good to be under it's safe keeping...it's felt right to be shadowed by the sadness...and the comfort of unparallelled grief.

I see it fraying...I look through the threadbare thinness of the fibres that once used to block the light...and I see the sunlight. The warmth feels old and new all at once...and the familiarity is starting to awaken what's been left behind...it stimulates me, to bloom again.

I peek through the unravelling edge...I inhale a breath of the newness, and of the opportunity waiting out there where the world is bright. I grab both edges, and in one swift motion, throw off that weary blanket that was eclipsing the future, for a brief, but necessary interval.

I stand momentarily blinded by the embrace of the daylight. I realize I've been half alive in a way...dealing with the disbelief and apprehension of your abscence. I accept daylight's embrace... and listen closely to the whisper of hope urging me to believe in the bigger picture.

And as I talk to fate again like an old friend, and a patient teacher...I am caught distracted. A man in flipflops, a white American Eagle t-shirt and an old pair of blue jeans is standing in the distance...his unforgettable laugh rings out, and he slowly nods. Fate turns to look at him, and then looks at me and confidently exclaims,

"All is well. All is going according to plan. Trust in the bigger picture."

I can finally tell you friend...I'm smiling again. I know you and fate have struck a deal for the future, and I am proud that it includes things so near and dear to your heart. I'm making you a mountain of promises, and I know you're good on arranging the rest.

Thanks for the 244. Thanks for TBW. Thanks for MH.

Thanks for being my Michael.

J. xo

Dear Michael

2012-02-01T14:44:00.016-05:00

February 1st, 2012

Dear Michael~

It's coming again. You know, that time of year when the storm looms in the distance...and I throw back the curtains of my life...and watch it approach. There's no way to stop it, or avoid it...it will find me wherever I am, because it's not something I can outrun, escape, or turn my back on. It's that day...and I will live it, and remember that there have been 2 years with you not here. The briskness of winter winds whip around me..and my memories. They feel hollowing, and comforting all at once. I embrace the sleeping, frozen world at this time of year...because it reminds me of when you left, and somehow, that feels like the right correlation between the living, and winters suspended consciousness of life.

My sister met someone who knew you yesterday. She told me the story of this elderly lady who was your Sunday School teacher a million years ago...and how you were the most charming child she has recollection of. She said how proud she was to know you, and to witness all of the good work you did in those few short years, reaching out to the worlds forgotten ones. She spoke of how she felt when she said goodbye to you on that unthinkable February day...how her heart shattered...like the rest of us.

I think of you often when I am left to care for my nieces and nephew...and how your world too, revolved around the little ones in your life. I love them more, in your abscence...because I know you would advise me to do so. I picked up 5 bags of clothes yesterday to pass onto an out of the cold program. I will speak of you with gentle fondness, and fierce pride...my fearless, dear friend who left a countless number of hints behind...for how to live...who to be, what to believe, and where to go.

There's so much I want to tell you...so much I hope you now know. I loved you unendingly, my friend...and that doesn't stop. Life has moved on in ways...but that magic spell, that Michael impression is forever appearing my life...like drawing a heart into a frost laden winter window. You've left me with a, "do it now" attitude...whether it be to reach out...reach up, say something, or to create something that didn't exist before..it's you who has shaped me into the Jenn with 2 n's I am today.

Keep finding me, in your way. You know I am still looking for you...and trust my gut when I feel you around. I know you're still present...I know you're okay. Thank you for what it was that we had...for what we were. Thank you for the honesty...I have yet to go there again with anyone...you were special Michael...very special, my kindred friend.

You've become my go to answer for so many of life's questions. Why do I: Care about the homeless? Walk through grief with people? Choose to do what's right, and not easy? Tell people I love them? Give second chances?....Pick up pennies?

It's because of you, Michael...and always will be.

Miss you much kiddo..every moment, every day.

J. xo

The Tangibles

2012-01-21T23:33:00.013-05:00

Some set goals. Some resolve to be resolute. Some make promises, either private or public...and some don't venture into commitments they feel they may not be able to uphold.

At the beginning of a new year, I don't make resolutions. I do step into the newness though, mindful of where I want to be at the end of these 365 days...and where the past 365 have brought me to.

I spent 2011 choosing to be mindful in the big and small moments of my life. I'm becoming progressively more and more aware of how the past can either paralyse your future...or it can prepare you for it. I am 100% choosing the latter. Choosing to forgive others, and myself for imperfections and flaws...indifference and lack of awareness. For I am trying to believe, that we really are all doing the best we can with where we are in our life.

One truth that has become brightly lucent and luminous, is the fact that all things tangible, when related to people...are of the highest worth. Relationships that are lived out loud...in real life, face to face. Those good, bad, ugly and sometimes confusing exchanges...are still better than any kind of cold and empty text message, email or contact through social media.

We live so much of our lives in places that actually aren't real these days. We talk about Facebook like it's a busy, happening place, and Twitter like it's the coffee shop serving up hot, steaming 140 character shots of caffeine to our ever insatiable habit for information. We are relentlessly bombarded with the endless pressure to be happier, wealthier, thinner and more fashionable..and funny enough...we're doing it to ourselves.

I have chosen, in 2012, to be present in the tangibles. The conversations, interactions, heart to heart moments...unforgettable songs, hysterical laughs and all of those blissful moments that life is throwing my way. I have in the past, often chosen to picked up the phone to check a bbm message, or check my Facebook, when a real- live- breathing human being is sitting in front of me, and engaging me in aunthentic relationship. That kind of disregard is to me now, painfully rude, and unforgivably selfish....we are all worthy of 100% attention when we are spending time with those who we do life with.

Choosing to be present is hard work at first. It requires moment to moment decisions to be out in your life...and not creating a semblence of a life on a laptop. With 2 small children now in my life, the recognition of my role in their development of self and worth is paramount. They need to know that what they say, do, dream, and believe is all important to me...and that I am 100% passionate about the quality of their lives. Truth be told...I hope any and every person who is in my life feels that way, from my family, to my friends to my co-workers and clients. I am craving authenticity...out there, in that place we call the world.

So go get it my friends. That life you're dreaming of...I assure you, is just past the other side of your first step towards it. There is a great big, marvellous, spectacular world out there...now stop reading my blog, and go get it already!

The Auntiehood

2011-12-23T19:15:00.010-05:00

She has wet hair. It looks like unravelled rope, and hangs wrecklessly almost to her waist. She is indigo eyed, with a perfect little girl giggle... she liked chocolate and can't wait for Ho Ho to get here on Christmas Eve.

He is a toe head. A term I had heard a bazillion times..even when explaining me, and mine. But trust me when I say, you will n'er see a more ideal specimen than you will in this boy. He prefers white chocolate, and likes ketchup on his Kraft dinner. He's one of the sweetest souls I know.

I live with them. My niece and nephew are under the same roof as my sister and I, for an undetermined amount of time...and life is perfect.

As someone who has wanted a family of my own...a home a flurry with plastic cups and dishes, milk before bed, and unceasing, brightly tinkling laughter - I was certainly at a loss on the timeline of the arrival of these things. When life spun a wee bit off course, and circumstances presented...life fell into place. It's not in the manner of my expectations...but it's exactly what I have wished for.

Children change you. Any parent would tell me I surely don't know the half of it. Perhaps because they are fluttering through that brief, yet flawlessly radiant time in life when all things are new...expectation is paramount, and disappointment lasts about as long as it takes to kiss someone on the end of the nose - I am aware pretty much every moment with them, that I am priviledged to be a part of this. The shaping of their ideas on happiness, and security...what is right...and what is wrong... all of those fundamental core beliefs about life are being formed...right before my eyes, right in the very shadows of my grown up life...every minute...everyday.

As I watch the precious littles dance in my room, often to music far too complex for their minds... I am breathless with the realization that they have had no disappointment...no one has told them they're not good enough, pretty enough, or too chubby to do it...they just feel it, and go. My nephew thinks he's an A1 breakdancer at 4 years old...and my niece is the baddest little spinner this side of the talisman in Inception. Perhaps I am biased? They, along with my other 2 angelfaced nieces are the best thing that ever happened to me.

Christmas will come in the wee hours of the dark just a little more than a day from now. We'll create our traditions for them...we'll be the fearless memory makers, just as our parents were...and theirs before them.

Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see. ~Neil Postman

Let It Be

2011-11-06T22:08:00.013-05:00

Sometimes I find life quietly lulls along...it feels as if it's bobbing lazily along with the stream of my life. Of course, things are plodding along as normal, but those "shake you awake moments" seem to be sitting dormant and silent on the sidelines. And all at once, I seem to be whirling and buzzing with the bittersweet beauty of clarity...and those snapshot moments that I wish so desperately I could put on the inside of my deepest, most secret pocket.

Goodbye's. Or maybe those moments you realise something is, in fact, over...are rarely happy. October presented a chalk full 31 days. A television appearance...an unforgettable vacation, a car accident, 2 brilliant concerts, a double dose of goodbye...and a night spent with 2 children caught in the wonderment of Halloween. I can say the month didn't end without my heart brimming to uneqivocal overflow.

Those perfect moments of the month keep everything in perspective...and the good surely does outweigh the bad. But with honesty, the goodbye's are bruising. They leave dull, aching pain and reminders of when life was a little less complicated...and when the unknown was exciting, and not scary. Learning that things aren't as you thought they were...well, who is prepared for that?

Goodbye means change. Sometimes it means a reboot of sorts, and a chance to start afresh without the constraints of ankle weights holding you to the past. It frees both sides to grow...if they weren't meant to grow and intertwine together. It inevitably, administers relief to one, or both parties. Sometimes, amidst the release...there is still the unresolved, hanging in the air like wispy smoke. Sometimes...you choose to live with the "why"...because "why" lives in a place called 10 minutes ago...and it just doesn't matter anymore.

So, now 5 days into a new month...I look back on October with a grateful smile...a renewed sense of what I want for my one and only life...and a few tears that I won't wipe away just yet. I accept what is...and I will let it be...whatever that may be.

Fair Trade

2011-10-23T12:59:00.008-04:00

Everyday we trade things. I began trading stickers in primary school. Two scratch and sniff stickers were fairly negotiated for a puffy Scooby Doo. I was an avid reader as a girl. Library books were traded and consumed over and over again. Global economies are upheld by a trading system of commodities and stocks, and our financial stability is waged on the culmination of good and bad, long term and short term decisions.

I traded 2 days of travel for an adventure between the Sea and Sky. I spent many hours in airports and airplanes, so to visit my incredible friends on the west coast, and one hell of an amazing city. As I flew across the country last week...over mountains and prairies, through cumulus clouds and time zones...I thought about the trade off.

If we place the highest worth on those things that are most precious and impossible to duplicate, then the expense of our time should have the highest trading value in our lives.

Sometimes we realise after a transaction, whether it was financial, emotional, spiritual or an increment of time, that perhaps, we made an unwise decision with our investment. As it may be, the pay off wasn't equal to the contribution. Or we realise what exists, was bound to change and develop...and the initial investment grows into a very valuable and strangely prismatic personal masterpiece.

We don't get our time back. Hopefully, we mindfully trade into those things and people that are going to provide a continual and flourishing return. A fear faced and conquered provides the most gratifying return on your trade. A fear faced and failed at, still provides valuable lessons and tools for the future. When we know better...we do better.

So think about what you're trading...your time..your heart..your money..your peace. Choose honesty. Work to follow your heart in your trades. Be fearless. Even if the only outcome you land with after the leap is clarity...I venture to declare, it was worth it.

“You have to let go of who you were to become who you will be.” ― Candace Bushnell

Keys

2011-10-13T23:06:00.007-04:00

I am somewhere else. I am sitting in the apartment of someone I know, in a city on the other side of the country...and I feel somehow like a newer, more attuned me.

I found a key on the sidewalk yesterday... in this city that I don't live in...in a place I haven't been before. It's unusual, and like no other key I have seen before. It is slightly tarnished, and a shape that I am not familiar with. It's now on the inside of my red purse, and I will string it around my neck when I get home as a reminder of my vacation.

It somehow serves too, as an even bigger reminder that keys are falling in front of me all the time. That new things are being opened up to me as I step into life with just a whisper of faith sometimes...believing that those magic, crazy kismet moments I hear about...those moments that seem to happen to everyone else...well, they may just be springing up as my toes hit the pavement.

No one needed to tell me that there is a certain amount of clarity and calm exhale that comes from taking a break. I remember a break I took last year after the worst loss of my life...and truthfully, and with 100% honesty, that escape to another country and into the arms and company of my deeply kindred and most beloved best friend saved me. Being away and being home with her all at once, was more soothing and cleansing than any church I could enter. I found peace...protection, love and understanding in that hiatus from my chaotic life.

And now, in this moment, I am in a city that boasts sea and mountains, and houses some amazing people I am lucky to call friends. I am renewed again. I will head home in a few days, and somehow feel rejuvenated and wildly excited about the next chapters of my life...new beginnings as I step off an airplane headed East, and home...

and a key to remind me to always chase new beginnings to open up my own happiness.

Not Me

2011-09-30T10:13:00.006-04:00

I used to bask in the naivete of youth. There was a quickly fleeting belief in the unbreakable chords binding my safety. The long list of things that happen to other people was neither read, nor considered by me to have any capability of impact on my life. Funny enough, the list included both good, and bad things...unconciously, perhaps my expectations of life were low, and high, all at once.

Surely, no one in my immediate family will ever experience a divorce. We aren't that kind of family. Coming from a long heritage of Godly and strongly moral people, this concreted my belief that it would never impact our family. But it has. It is in front of my face daily as we, the unequipped due to lack of experience, wade through that which is so unfamiliar and chaotic. The lessons learned already are many...the blessings too many to count...we are sheltered by an incredible network of praying family, friends..and strangers. One persons selfishness ripples out from the initial strike...but that which was intended to harm, debilitate and destroy only makes us stronger...and we are thankful for the beauty that rises out of ashes.

Surely, I won't lose someone I love in an untimely manner. Surely, those I love will live to be old, and we'll live out our years with health and prosperity and all die in our sleep. Surely, if an untimely death is to occur, it won't happen as a result of suicide or addiction or a raging disease. Of course..it's knocked on my door, time and again...deeply kindred friends...beloved family members, parents, children and siblings of those I love so much. Not me, doesn't apply. The unparalleled joy of loving people is far greater than the fear of losing them...we are blessed to love each other and to share our lives...no matter how long we get with each other.

Surely, I won't have a house...children in my life...my dream job, my dream car...or someone to cherish me. And of course...I do. They've all come to me at different times in life, but each one has arrived at the right time, when I was ready to receive. Having enough presence of mind to recognize the value of each good thing has humbled me. While I feel undeserving and somehow unprepared at times for the life I am in fact, right in the middle of...I know it's all working together for my good. Those are His promises. So for all of the good things around the bend, I am cautiously optimistic as I raise my hand. The response is no longer, "Surely, not me", it whispers confidently in my ear:

WHY not me??

Full Circle Life

2011-09-18T19:07:00.012-04:00

I didn't know. When life was flying by like a milkweed on the fragrant wind of my youth...I wasn't thinking of the future.

The sidewalks I skipped down...the cracks I leaped over so to not break my mothers back... they all absorbed the imprint of my childhood. The towering maple tree in the front yard of our familes house that has a well worn branch from our tire swing...it's still there. I wasn't thinking then about what I was leaving behind, I was powerlessly flung into my future and somehow feel like I woke up in my mid thirties...back where it all began.

Resistance to the familiar and to your own history is pretty normal, I like to think. Most people want to spread their wings and venture towards the unclear horizon...and towards where they think their future lies. I have always wanted to go out and find life...make big things happen, and quietly, and introspectively marvel at quite humble beginnings. This has perhaps been with the notion in mind that surely, I won't come back to where I came from. I will escape and close the chapters of a biting, bittersweet past...and I will be done.

And here I am. Back in the city that taught me all I needed to know..about life, about family...about joy, disappointment and resolution. It's all here...and I am conscious of the peace I feel right now, to be home. No street is unfamiliar. I see people I know regularly. My memories live between the earth and the sky here...airborn and landing everyday like they were waiting for the moment I returned.

I am watched over by a deeply kindred spirit. I think of him...and feel him present on the pavements here like nowhere else. I sometimes think if I look closely enough I will see his footprints fade in front of me, like watery impressions on a sandy shore ..and in every Tim Horton's drive thru between here and the highway. He is here...and I feel like I have more of him closeby now as I drive past the indelible imprints of our friendship in this city, and can look out my bedroom window to a church he frequented.

Back where I began. I am watching Treehouse with my niece and nephew...and banana muffins are in the oven...the air is cool, the sun is setting into lavender and coral ribbons, and tomorrow is a school day. A well placed quote, to sum up my life in this moment,

"The wheel is come full circle." William Shakespeare

The Jingle Dancer

2011-08-27T09:56:00.006-04:00

Everyone should find pride in who they are. With strengths and weaknesses, idiosyncrasies and quirks...unashamed beauty and fractured self at times.

Mariah was a different kid.

15.

Strong.

Inspiring.

Motivated.

Fragile.

She danced the Jingle Dance as part of her Chippewa heritage. That native dance costume was a reflection of Mariah...brilliantly coloured, flowing like an accomplice in the dance...and free to the wind and to the skies. Great meaning is placed on the sacred garment as explained by Evelyn Thom...a 76 year old jingle dress dancer:

"It is a gift to be able to dance. The jingle dress was a gift from the Creator. It is important to carry that healing vision to the people".

Complex. Aren't all teenagers? I don't think there is a parent out there who is raising, or has raised a teenager who wouldn't tell you that escorting a young girl from childhood into adulthood isn't a tireless job. But if you knew Mariah...you might say her mother was luckier than most. She effortlessly achieved good grades, brilliantly expressed herself through art, and volunteered her time with seniors in the evenings. She was a different kind of girl.

But she was the same too....she was in the throws of her first love. She loved Jersey Shore and found herself plunked on the couch when it was on...bumpit in place and a room full of GTL companions. She loved MAC makeup and Coach handbags...and she loved her family...immediate, and extended.

Mariah has inspired a movement. The circle that has started adds new members everyday...hand to hand, arm to arm, in the battle against teen suicide. No one is immune to this. Everyone will know someone either personally, or second hand, who has lost a sister or brother...daughter or son as they have died by suicide. Don't look away and ignore the obvious.

This circle aims to surround those battling depression...young and old, wildly successful, or just getting by...Mariah's Mission aims to shield and guard those most vulnerable...those who want to harm themselves and don't see a reason to live with the pain anymore.

So dear sweet girl...tonight we gather, and honour you for your 16th Birthday Bash. We will laugh, and I am sure shed more than a few tears...and we will carry on your desire for advocacy.

Dance on, beautiful jingle dancer....and we will carry out your mission of healing to the people. xo

Clover Honey

2011-08-21T23:08:00.008-04:00

The mission is simple.

Be real.

Repeated attempts to conquer it are far too many to number. Because truly...what does being real really look like anyway?

I had a very honest conversation with a good friend a while ago, and for some reason truth spilled like clover honey...thick and heavy and consuming. The overwhelming results of my actions in life up to this point were mirrored in front of me. I was faced with the weight of my dissatisfaction with life and my anxious frustrations about the future. A revelation filled me to overflow...I am living in the aftermath of a closed life.

No one intends to be closed. To be guarded and protected. I find it hard to believe that anyone conciously decides to shut down, and build walls. But with brutal honesty...I did it. I did it a year ago. I had a monumental heartbreak and swore never again...NEVER. It's hard to admit. It's risky to admit defeat...and to admit you're not as strong as people believe you to be. So...the walls have armoured soldiers on the perimetre and you assume the post of commander...and swear you'll never hurt again.

My friend challenged me. The conversation hurt. A lot. I don't know why he said the things he did. I don't know why in that moment I was ready to hear it...but I was. Perhaps it's because he knew my Michael...which changes everything in my heart. Michael breaks me open...and I know if someone loved him...then they might just get me like he did. It left me unsettled and angry...tears flowed in frustration because I knew he hit the bullseye...and so began the process of breaking me open. What a journey that is.

Living authentically is hard work. It's respecting your own boundaries, but confidently sitting atop those parametres and looking at a life that is aching to be lived. Atop the wall life presents like a parade...beautiful and invigorating to watch. The choice to watch it from inside your safe place is not uncommon...spectating is a fairly benign activity.

But to march. To be part of it...to be on the inside and look out and feel the satisfaction that you're exactly where you should be...that's the beauty, isn't it? It's a real, concious, mindful and voluntary behaviour...and it inspires the soul. Because life is too short to not let people inside the fortress...it's too damn short.

So...my friend sparked something in me. He helped me realise just how much is going on out there. He didn't assure me it's a clear mission...or that it's not risky...but he told me it's worth it, and more importantly..that I'm worthy and deserving of more. Guess what? I don't have it all together. I'm like you, trying to find my way. But now, my toe is dipped in the stream, and I am cautiously contemplating wading in...and apparently I have always known how to swim, I just needed a well placed friendly nudge.

Thank you TE...it meant a lot.

Broken Open

2011-08-14T11:34:00.010-04:00

"If it ain't broke, then don't fix it".

You've heard it. I have heard it. I thought it was quite amusing the first time I heard it as a child. My juvenile comprehension of the concept went to those things that are tangible and physical...my red bike with the banana seat, or my mothers green Oster blender.

As an adult, I have come to realise that brokeness isn't always a fatal incident. As walls crash down, as dust swirls and rubble is assessed...opportunity has been released from the inside for something new to emerge. That place that was being protected on the inside suddenly has the access to move outside of its confinement, and towards destiny...towards liberty.

Of course, it always comes back to choice. Doesn't life always present that way?

Be broken.

Or be broken open.

I have seen people at their worst possible low. It's always as the result of a loss...a death, a failed relationship or marriage, a job that declared the person redundant. Perhaps it's a loss of how things "should" have been...expectations being shattered. Some of the worst examples of brokeness I have witnessed are as a result of a loss of confidence...a loss of self. I have been this person at many different intervals in my life. We have all been there. But if I know anything about how humanity works, there is always a bust before a boom.

We break. We repair. We refine what's important. We move forward with new understanding.

Someone I love with my entire soul has faced the biggest challenge of her life. The loss of how life should have been is unmatched. As I have witnessed the rebuild with my own eyes, I have seen miracles rise up like giant sunflowers...large, blatant and evident. Just as a sunflower follows the sun throughout the day as a basic, yet magical characteristic of its DNA, so has she kept her eyes on the Son...the source of light, and strength, and rebirth. It's inspired me beyond comprehension. The miracles are not questionable or subtle...she is being taken care of. The brokeness is absolutely, unequivocably being overshadowed by the untold blessings that have already materialized, and those that are ready to appear just on the break of the horizon. It's already been proven to her...and to us;

Hope survives.

Assess your brokeness. Allow it to let the light in. Don't hold tight to the shards of the debris...or you will continue to hurt. Be present in it. Feel the grief of the loss.

Take charge. Move forward. Embrace change, even if you just give it a weak handshake, know that agreement will move you forward.

Broken or broken open. Bust to boom. Make the right decision for your one, only, precious fleeting life. I believe you're worth it.

Michael Has Poked You

2011-08-04T23:04:00.013-04:00

Life is taking some interesting turns lately. Somehow, I am very clearly aware of the places I can be better. Be better at what you might ask? So many things.

I can be better at being thankful for what I have.

I can be better at being present in my own life.

I can be better at pushing through fear to understand the unknown.

I can be better at letting people love me.

I can be better at trusting.

A few funny things happened today. Niether of them are so earth shattering that anyone else would take to their blog and write about them...but I am learning in unusual, and wierdly wonderful ways these days. Mostly out of choice...because I want to change those things I can be better at, and I want to feel peace in the process. Let me tell you, it's tough.

I picked up a hitchhiker today. I didn't do it on purpose, and I didn't even notice I had a passenger until I was miles away from home. At first, the detection of my companion was alarming and freaked me out. Green...6 legs...long antenna, and about 4 inches big. A praying mantis, hanging on for dear life on my passenger side mirror. I thought for sure, it would be caught by the wind, and disappear into the windscreen of the unfortunate car behind me. But no, the creepy crawler kept adjusting its position to survive the ride. I am sure it didn't have any intention of moving 30 miles away from where it found me. But then, this is my first mantis relocation, perhaps, they crave a change of scenery regularly? Someone let me know. It stayed...for a long time. Between multiple stops, it hung out in the sun, hid behind the mirror...but just found contentedness where it was. And when I got to my sisters house, it found it's way out of the mirror, and onto the lawn...and was off for a new adventure. Oh to be so trusting of the process...accepting of the new and unfamiliar, and willing to take a risk.

I visited someone who has a damaged door. The dead bolt is fine...but the doorknob fell off in the hand of the homeowner. It has yet to be repaired. While watching tv tonight with my friend, we heard a slight bump somewhere in the house. We wondered what it was, but it wasn't alarming and we didn't check it. Much later, we realised the door had blown wide open.

How long has the door been open in my life? How long has the door been open in yours? Letting in the fresh air of opportunity...sending gusts that blow off the thick film of fear that lingers on the surface of life? How long has it been ajar, and waiting for me to find it. I keep thinking...when I've been ready in the past, I have found open doors....and doors opening.

I heard a song on the way home that played at the funeral for my dear friend Michael. It speaks of heaven, and what he'll do "When I get where I'm going". I smiled and listened...and felt him around me, whispering to me to just relax, stop overthinking everything, and enjoy life more already. I felt myself saying..."I'm trying Mike...I'm trying hard." Then a car pulled in front of me with the licence plate "MB 88", and the emotions overcame me. I need to live life more authentically...and I want to live it to make him proud too.

So Michael, I have learned today...to be a brave traveller absolutely takes risk, but can take me somewhere new and wonderful if I just trust the process...trust that life is happening as it should, and all is well. As for the door being blown open...well....I hear it loud and clear my friend...and I am getting ready to walk through it into my destiny. Enough of the pushing...a poke will suffice. ;)

Love you and miss you every single day. xo

Just a Girl

2011-07-24T15:20:00.008-04:00

Some people have it all. Youth. Unbounding talent. Originality. Fame.

If those 4 things a happy person could make, then gossip magazines and television entertainment shows would surely find themselves emaciated for content. There wouldn't be stories of eating disorders, run-ins with the police...drinking binges or hopeless drug addiction.

But as another young lady with the world in her hands snuffs out her own life as a result of addiction, I feel not cold or cynical...I feel deeply sad for her, and those who loved her. To them, she wasn't a celebrity...she was a daughter, a sister...an aunt and a friend. Just a girl with a big life.

Having loved someone very deeply, and having them torn from your life is unparallelled. Parents aren't meant to bury their children...20 somethings aren't supposed to have their kindred extinguished quietly like final smokey embers of a cigarette butt. But it happens...it happens all the time. We embrace a cynical, calloused attitude because surely...it won't happen to us, or to those we love.

I assure you it will. Someday, somewhere, life will blind you with it's unfairness...and you will begin processing just how precious it is to love someone through their weaknesses and frailties. Once that person is gone...you will change. You will become bitter and hard...or you will alter your outlook on the world, and become a respector of the whisper that is this life. You will look at the daughter of a cab driver...a tattooed, birdlike, beehived soul singer from England who struggles everyday with addiction...and you will feel compassion for her. Because she didn't get it. She didn't see what her life was. She was ravenous for the high...she longed for the buzz...and she wanted to repeatedly escape.

She succeeds...she breathes her last breath...and she dies alone.

She is not unique. Incredibly talented, vibrant people die everyday as a result of addiction. But know this, a pop star with an addiction is the same as your baby cousin who has an addiction. It's the same as the successful Insurance broker who has an addiction...it's the same as the veteran prostitute who will sell her fluttering soul for her addiction. It's all the same. Resources are available to all of these people...but it takes surrender to crawl out of the torture and towards recovery. Many don't make it...maybe most don't make it. It makes loving them, in all of their incompleteness...and their delicacy... that much more timely and necessary.

So to those I have loved and lost...you have taught me. Your release from a tortured life is horrendous to live with...but I am happy for your freedom, for your peace, and for your emancipation from the insatiable hunger. It's not easy...but it's been an honour to love you.

The Little Things

2011-07-17T10:12:00.008-04:00

If my profession in the beauty industry has taught me anything, it is this:

the small things are the most pleasurable, desirable and coveted.

I can show my clients amazing new products, awesome promotions, and endless ways to be more profitable...but at the end of the day, when it comes down to what excites people most, it seems to be the mini's...travel sizes of their favourite products.

Life is funny. I think if we were to keep our eyes on the little things; those little sparks of temporary childlike bliss, they may just create all of the magic we need in life. For all of the striving to get ahead...to have more, and to be more, I think we so often miss the moments.

Does frustration relentlessly tamper with your peace? Call you a failure, an habitual screw up, or point it's knobby filthy finger at you with accusations of not being enough? How often does your past look down its crooked nose at the life you're in right this very minute...and tell you, surely, you should be further ahead. Sometimes, we need someone to remind us of all the things we have accomplished, or are accomplishing right now. All of those little achievements, the baby steps...the steady chipping at the marble slab of your life...are revealing a unique masterpiece, one chisel stroke at a time.

So the next time you hold the chubby Smarties stained hand of your niece, like I did today, realise...she won't be 2 forever...and that was a moment of pure magic. The next time you speak words of encouragement to someone who is breaking...know that seed will be responsible for something beautiful one day. If you got a promotion, or started something entirely new...know you stepped toward your future, and that the universe is smiling fondly on you. Maybe you made your final car payment, and now have extra money to save for something special. Perhaps like me, you caught the scent of campfire on the wind...or freshly cut grass while watching the sun slowly melt into the western horizon, and realised something profound.

Don't you know? God made those moments...and they're His expression of adoration to you. He, like any Father...finds joy in your successes, miniscule and tiny...momentous and monumental...He is there for all of them, snapshotting them, and cheering you on. He knows your favourite things...and He drops them on your path to display His unending affection towards you. Campfires, cut grass, fireflies and sunsets...those are the ones He sends to me.

So choose to be present in life...even just once a day. Stop. Look around...count your achievements and your blessings. They are big...and they are small...but they are propelling you forward. You're not still...you're not stuck.

You're making this life...one little thing at a time.

Canadian

2011-06-30T18:22:00.011-04:00

Proud. Patriotic. Free.

These are 3 of the biggest identifiers of being born a Canadian.

We are a confident, and quietly different breed of North American. We are peaceful, polite, and passionate...we are connected to the greater good inside, and outside of our country. We have a social conscience.

There are so many things I love about being a Canadian. I love that we sit smack in the middle of 3 oceans, and have fresh water lakes dotting the landscape from coast to coast. But please don't be fooled by your idea of a "lake". Any one of the Great Lakes appears to be an ocean to the naked eye...with water as far, and beyond what the eye can see. We have it all...we have the Rocky Mountains, and we have rainforests in British Columbia, we have the wind swept Prairies, and the high spirited Maritimes...and no one can say, that Canada doesn't deliver 4 seasons.

We know what a toque is. We eat poutine, and think french fries a la carte are quite bland, really. We have turned out the greatest hockey players in the world...and will continue to do so. And just as an FYI, it's hockey hair...not a mullet. We have eclectic, quirky humour, and trust me...you know a Canadian comedian when you see one. They have something special. A mosaic of off colour and quick wit comments, mixed in with true observations and a little self deprication just for kicks. Why not? Canadian's are famous for apologies.

Most of us know Oh Canada in English AND French. We likely have more than one childhood memory of a snowsuit under a Halloween costume. We know the May 2-4 weekend could be anything...balmy, rainy, cool...or why not snow. We feel patriotic when we see Molson Canadian commercials. We know Kraft has a Canadian founder, and quietly realize...Kraft Dinner MAY be keeping the Canadian economy afloat. Canadian's recycle. We love our country...and we don't want it marred by litter. ( Not trash, if you're American).

We know what a double/double is. We go North to cottages for the weekend, in summer AND in the winter. We know eating a Beavertail is actually suitable for vegetarians. We have a Roots sweatshirt now, as we did 20+ years ago. We may still have Roots buttons kicking around in a junk drawer...along with some Canadian Tire money. We know ketchup chips are the bomb, eh.

We have universal health care. We have a Prime Minister, not a President, and he's not a celebrity. We are welcomed the world over, as travellers, and as Peace Keepers.

So now, on the eve of Canada Day, you'll have to excuse me. I am going to go eat some maple cookies, drink some Red Rose tea, watch some reruns of Degrassi Jr. High (what will that Joey Jeremiah get up to this week?) while wearing my Roots track pants and Joe Fresh t-shirt. Later I might watch some Anne of Green Gables while eating some Pizza Pizza. I'm thinking of going to an IMAX movie to watch some Superman, or maybe just stay home, and talk on that wild invention of Alexander Graham Bell's...the telephone? You may have heard of it.

I LOVE being a Canadian, I live in the best place on earth.

The true North strong...and free.

Water Therapy

2011-06-25T22:19:00.011-04:00

It flows. It swirls. It runs, it swells...it recedes.

It speaks...it whispers, it calls to, it soothes and comforts. It absorbs, and listens with complete intent, and full non disclosure. It remains silent, and keeps your secrets.

If you are someone who has an affinity for water...then you understand what I mean. I feel most like myself when I am close to water. Perhaps it's that it's always in motion...or that in 99% of occasions...it's just so much bigger than me. It helps me find perspective on a chaotic life...and on an infinitely capable God. It calls to me...and I seem to always breathe more deeply when I am with it...whether it be a lake, a pond, or any ocean. It's a silent, supportive friend, and it has held my heart for years.

Some of my favourite memories are on water. Childhood moments building sand castles on a beach...chubby hands sticky from bubblegum ice cream..and sun streaked whispy blonde hair. The tide playing in the background of my innocence like a metronome...keeping time, and steadily marking the passing seconds without my noticing.

I had a magic night with a friend years ago...quietly walking together, close to the shore in the night through long feathery grass toward the faithful, weathered lighthouse. We found a bench at the edge of a cliff, there in the quiet of night...and watched the millions of stars like a glistening cosmic chandelier. We challenged each other to spot satellites...and we talked about life. That may be one of the most honest moments of my life...the steady tides...and my summertime friend, have kept confidences close to their souls...and have never spoken them out loud again.

I sat on a beach...broken hearted, and very far from home...and contemplated how to order chaos. I picked up milky sea glass, and put it in my pocket. I listened to a party on a houseboat... the funny accent of those bobbing along in the harbour...and shared my disappointment with the sea. I took a walk to the top of a hill along the shore, and felt accompanied by a friend...that harbour to my left, stood silently beside me, and protectively listened to my heart.

I've found peace drifting in a canoe...I've felt the thrill of the wind in my face while skimming the surface of a lake in a speed boat. I've dangled my feet off the end of a dock, and let the water tickle the bottoms of my feet. I've sat bankside eating lunch....and just today, I stood with my sister overlooking the river that has run through my entire life...and I felt peaceful in my soul.

In a way...all that I have shared there, is coming back to me when I return, but it comes back solved. No matter the shore where the conversation has happened...the inevitable flow has taken it out, and away...and has returned it back to me...washed, fresh...and clean. The secrets I have shared far from home have echoed back to me on local shores...and I am sure that sharing things to the river, will someday be found in the sea...for it's all the same...

no matter where the water has consoled me...the remedy has flown past me later...and has offered me conclusive peace.

"Don't you realise that the sea is the home of water? All water is off on a journey unless it's in the sea, and it's homesick and bound to make its way home someday." ~Zora Neale Hurston

Daddy's Girl

2011-06-19T11:23:00.007-04:00

Some kids are army brats. I have known more than one PK in my day...Pastors kid to the non church goers. There are kids whose dads listen to black glossy records on hazy Sunday mornings, with a cup of tea... or those that take their kids out on Saturday morning to give their mom a bit of peace.

If you had a dad with a hobby, then you're sure to remember the days of being dragged somewhere against your will...dusty musty antique shops... canals to watch the boats come in, a boat that bobs silently, where you are without your permission, holding a fishing pole...and hoping nothing bites.

I was a baseball brat. My dad was a semi professional athlete for many of my growing up years. We didn't watch the games, my sisters and I...we would make mud pies under the bleachers, hope there was a park closeby...and swing our hearts out til the final inning finished..and we were summoned back to the mini van. I remember the smells of those days...a worn in baseball glove that had a chalky leather smell...and fit my Dad's hand like a second skin. The smell of muscle ointment for repair after a no strike winning game. My Dad was an incredible pitcher...I remember him pitching 90 mile an hour line drives. I knew that was a big deal in some way...but never knew why until I was a grown up.

He fostered a love of the old in me. He has an eye for the beautiful, and the unusual as he has spent my entire life being an antique dealer. We've swooned over glorious vintage jewellery, incredible first edition books...and some historical items that no one would believe hung out at our house. There wasn't much in our house that wasn't for sale...I remember coming home one sunny afternoon from school, to find all of my grandmother's china strewn on the diningroom table....my dad had sold the hutch and the buffet.

Mom? Not so impressed.

He has taught me so much. To have passions in life. To be silently kind and generous. To work hard. To be fiercely loyal. To question what is wrong...unapologetically, but with humility. He is the fixer...and he is someone who makes things happen. He isn't just talk...he follows through.

A glimpse into my relationship with my Dad, is really secured in the last chat I had with him... the 3 things he said in that conversation sum up who he is to the core:

God is faithful.

I am proud of you.

I love you.

I am a lucky woman...still my Dad's Jenny. xo

In the Still

2011-06-14T20:33:00.009-04:00

There is a house...it's red brick, has white trim, and a parking lot to the right. It has a billowing oak tree in the front yard...and a long buried baby robin in the flowerbed from 25 years ago. It used to have a sour cherry tree in the back yard, until my dad chopped it down. The neighbors doted on 3 small girls with slushies in the summer, and excessive halloween candy every October 31st.

I grew up there. I loved that house...I dream of that house all the time, and secretly think, maybe...perhaps if I win the lottery one day...I will knock on that white glossy door, and offer the current owners a ridiculous sum of money to move out...and they'll somehow give me back my childhood.

I drive by all the time...I remember every square of concrete that lead to my elementary school...the corner store where we bought penny candies...the snowballs we used to whip at the kids who went to the catholic school across the yard. You know...those days when the worst swear word you could muster was "JERK"!!! It's a touch stone in a way... it's a place that I drive by, and remember a simple life...before the monsters of loss and grief and reality and frailty forced me to grow up...and be more human than I ever thought possible.

I am learning, that in times of crisis...in times of pain and unrest, we find those things...those sacred places, those saviour people who help us make sense again. We are compelled to find them, because they know us. They are a part of our fibre...they are ours, and we, theirs.

There is a camp ground I went to every summer with my sisters...our crushes still echo there if you listen closely...the wind that breathes in the trees and causes them to sway seems to whisper..."hello dear friend...I have kept it all here, safe and protected...you come see it whenever you want". So, I go back, and drive slowly, and watch the recorded memories play on the lawn in front of the tabernacle during the rosiness of dusk...I listen to that cricket song, the echo of hymns...and the faint footsteps of those who have left their imprint, but have left this earth.

So, as I live in the days where life is uncertain, for me at some points, and for those I dearly love, I am comforted by the sameness of some things...and some people. A long kindred red headed friend who has always opened her arms to me, and mine...to a century old highschool that holds my teenage secrets...to an angel friend in England...to an old cell phone I found last week that still has phone numbers for my friend Michael when he lived in Toronto...I am happy to have these things...these people...these reminders.

If I long quietly for solace...these people and these places...they are my assured gravity...and they are my reminder of who I am.

They have my unspeakable gratitude for bringing me back...to me. xo

Innocence Found

2011-06-01T18:41:00.010-04:00

Innocence. What does it bring to mind? Perhaps it makes you think of gurgling babies... laughing children...safety and security.

I have realised that innocence is a tiered word...a set of steps, some intervals being much bigger than others, and some barely noticeable, but still evident in hindsight.

Most think innocence is reserved and sacred to childhood. It's kept safely in all of our pasts...locked inside a mirror that we can visit and ponder... and perhaps long for. The giddy excitement of Christmas Eve... baking cookie while wearing an apron that belongs to your grandma...flour dusted across a freckled nose, and a sugar high from eating too much chocolate frosting. Perhaps it's barefoot breezy summer days playing baseball... making mud pies or swimming in a lake...it's the sound of crickets at dusk, the lightning fast flight of dragonflies...and a dirty, chubby handful of dandelions presented to your mother with wholehearted pride.

And then you reach the next interval... when a bike or a car is ultimate freedom, and the world is truly yours. Nothing stops your dreams of movie stars and boy bands... and a key love song is the most personal expression of your heart, as proven by the repeat button. Your money comes from an allowance, your future is past the horizon...and it's all blooming...your corner of the world is creating you.

Innocence isn't confined to a time. We are progressing, from innocence into time....time into innocence. Pain teaches us to grow and forces us to constantly recreate ourselves. Sometimes by choice...often and more regrettably just by the nature of what human life is....uncertain.

Joy finds us in the most unexpected of places. Perhaps it's watching children dance, or hearing a baby laugh. Maybe it will strike you in an unanticipated way as you meet someone new, and they seem to have always been a part of you. You will find it as you give a dog a belly rub...or watch a feline in a prismatic ray of sun. They have found their sweet spot...they have claimed a moment of innocence by choice....

and so can you. xo

The Time Stone

2011-05-04T22:29:00.013-04:00

It breaks off. It falls quickly...at a rapid unforgiving speed. It hits the frigid water, and cuts beneath the murky depths of the tide. It is jagged and sharp and asks no forgiveness of someone who may step on it, or catch an elbow on it as they dive into the depths. It is unapologetically real...it sticks out, and waits.

It is grief. It is change...it is a stone.

An interesting understanding has graced me in the last weeks and days. Time has a way of refining the hurts in life. Of course...everyone has heard that "time heals all wounds". I think that's a patronizing statement in the thick of a crisis. It means nothing as a giant stands on your expectations of life...or laughs haughtily at an incomprehensible loss. But as time separates you from the confusion of the puzzle...it gently assembles your life back together...corner to corner...piece by piece.

Time is like sand against that stone in the sea. At first, surely, that stone will cause harm and inflict pain on whoever crosses its path, for it is freshly separated from its base. The separation by nature has caused it to tumble and shatter...out of control until it lodges in a place where the weathering can begin. That stone will defiantly lodge in the mud...it will strike unexpectedly to passersby...causing a wound... leaving a scar. But with each touch...with each grain that swirls around it...with each ebb of the tide, it will change, it will diminish. The bladed edges will melt..and it will become something new.

Someday... it will be a smooth, glasslike thing of beauty. It will have a history, it will have a million untold stories of contact. Each interaction will shift that instrument of pain into a cool glistening and polished gem of sorts.

Perhaps, someday... that stone will find itself on a fireplace mantle...or maybe on a beautiful coffee table. It could very easily work as a paper weight in an office...or as a door stop in a bedroom.

Time will refine those pains in life that injure us. It will carve out a softer, more peaceful identity for each and every one. That peace will come over time...over the days, over the tides of life. It will manifest in understanding, or at the very least... surrendered acceptance. As for the stone, it is still what it has always been...a stone. But now it's found beauty, and purpose. For it has changed forever all that has touched it....and all that it has touched.

True Story

2011-04-26T22:01:00.009-04:00

What is the last good book you read? If you're not a novel reader...do you remember a great newspaper article, witty advertisement or unforgettable movie that got on the inside of you? The sequence of events that was developing that just spoke to you?

I am betting that story has resonated with you, because there is truth in it. I am confident that it spoke to your life... your position, and your journey and told you something. Maybe it revealed something new to you, or maybe it whispered to your identity and made you feel clearly understood.

I love a good story. I love a million different kinds of writing. A great love story will bring out 2 things in me...hope, and cynicism. A great mystery takes me back to the rainy days of watching the Goonies, and hoping a treasure hunt is really possible. A psychological thriller will remind me why I love the intrigue...and why I walked out of a class in Forensics.

Stories should be told. Stories should be written...whether they are fiction or reality, our story is a fundamental base of our identity. When we fail to share our story, especially the parts that best identify *who* we are, and *where* we are at any given point in life...we cheat others of knowing who we really are. Worst of all... we rob ourselves of honesty and integrity as well.

Bravery lives in a story. Any story well told, that captures your attention and makes your heart clench in anticipation, is not likely to be one without challenges, drama, sadness and change. We love those stories because we can identify with the scenario. Imagine the value in sharing YOUR story...even when it's scary... even when it's possibly going to end unfavorably...even when you may not get your happy ending. Imagine the risk..imagine the rush...imagine the clarity and relief of being fully understood.

The best stories are the ones that are real, that are unashamed... that are honest. The people who have shared themselves with me on that level have my unending gratitude and thanks. You have changed me... you have mirrored me and told me it's going to be okay just by being brave.

True Story.

We Will

2011-04-10T21:57:00.010-04:00

The deepest and most valuable satisfactions in life come from being present in the small things. I believe life will arrive as we have wished it, as we are mindful in each interaction, transaction, and reaction to life. We will all do things in life...things we think are uniquely ours, completely solitary to us, and us alone. But rest assure...as we all need each other, and mirror each other in our humanity...there are things we will all encounter and endure.

We Will

1. Love. Love those who love us back...and sometimes, regrettably...not.

2. Laugh. Most often with others. However, on occasion God will drop a magic wink into your world, and you and He will laugh together.

3. Lose. None will be spared loss... unfortunately, it's a large part of the human journey.

4. Listen. Whether it be to our own voice...our intuition...or popular opinion, we will absorb that flutter in the soul that urges us in one direction...or another. Hopefully, it will be according to our own convictions and passions, and not the voices of a chaotic world.

5. Grieve. We will all be forced to let go of those we love. It may be the loss of love, it may be the loss of the familiar. It will find us all as we bury our kindred. Parents...friends, siblings, spouses...pets. The lesson is to love now. Make memories NOW. For you....for them.

6. Change. No person will be the same from year to year...experience to experience. Change will hopefully refine us...and not consume us.

7. Fight. Yes... we will. We do. Lets settle on fighting fair, and coming out the other side with understanding and not resentment. And, if it is unresolvable... may we walk away knowing we did all we could, and that we have retained humility and dignity.

8. Clarify. Defining moments. Forks in the road. We will all come to those junctures where we will make hard decisions. Hopefully we will choose what is right...not what is easiest.

9. Resolve. To be. Maybe it will be intentional in life...to be purposeful. Maybe it will be to not take anymore from someone who isn't good for us. Perhaps it's to retain peace in the midst of a storm. Resolve makes us unshakeable...it creates destiny.

10. Share. We will all do our lives with other people. Anyone, and everyone, has family...has peers. We will let people in. We will allow them to carve their names into the fibre of our identity. We will do this, because, at the end of the day...we need people. We need each other...we are stronger together than alone.

We will all miss someone. We will be glad we had them, even if for a blink. We will remember them everyday, in quiet and out loud. Their absence will sometimes be painfully tangible. We will feel things on their behalf. We will hope..and wish...and yearn for contact.

They will find us. They will soothe us...they will inspire us.

Miss you much MB, thank you for sharing those moments...every last one. xo

Forever

2011-04-05T21:35:00.009-04:00

15 years old.

I was 15, going on 16 in 1991, as was my brilliant friend, Keri. We had talked about getting our drivers licences, we thought down the road to the careers we might chase...and the lives we dreamed of having. We visualised our apartment in Toronto with a glass block wall in the entry way, and a part of the livingroom that would be void of furniture, and only pillows.

That's who we thought we'd be.

She died. She died 20 years ago today. Her life came to an abrupt end, and the trajectory of my life was forever changed that day. The loss is not lessened due to time...the emotion and ache is merely more tolerable, but not less persistent when I permit myself to think about her...and us, and our childhood moments that should have stretched out into adulthood.

I stood at the foot of her grave today. The wild wind whipped around me and felt strangely comforting. Snow began to swirl, and I heard echoes of who we were. I closed my eyes...I felt the moment...I embraced the sadness like an old friend, and I remembered. I remembered all the things I was so scared would leave my memory.

She used to pick my nailpolish off in church. She bit her nails down to the nub, so she would occupy herself in a boring church service picking mine off. We often skipped Sunday School, or service and would hide out in unoccupied classrooms...sometimes under tables in dark rooms, just daring someone to catch us. She wore insanely baggy jeans. She wore high top Converse. She had her own phone line. The smell of baby powder still reminds me of her. We used to sneak into her brothers room when he wasn't home and read the scandalous love letters he got from his girlfriend. We swung on the rope swing in the barn. Her lovely sweet dog Sandy was a faithful companion and staple around the yard. She had a crush on a boy in a far away town...and she used to write him love letters.

Funny that. I have often wondered about him and his sister when the name of their town has entered my mind. A month ago, my sister went to a ladies retreat, and unbenounced to her, as she talked to a new friend, Keri was an unexpected connection they shared from that life those many years ago. She named her oldest daughter after her. In some small way...my dear friend lives on.

I miss her. Every year the missing is different. The older I get, the more I wonder who she would be. Sometimes I like to think about her life out there...in a far away busy city, where she is a graphic artist, or a hippy chick with a guitar, with a fabulous loft apartment, and a black cat named Jinx. I think she'd have amazing laugh lines around her mischievious eyes by now, but the glorious sound of her laughter would still be that of a 15 year old girl...

The girl I knew. The girl I know. The girl who is forever a part of me.

Miss you much, George.

Love,

Jenaroo. xo

BFF.

Ugly Beautiful Truth

2011-04-01T21:53:00.015-04:00

Sometimes you come to your end. Somedays...there isn't enough left inside, and the tank runs dry...leaving you emotionally stranded on the edge of your own life. Sometimes, the suffering, both personally and to those you love...and to a broken world is just SO exhausting that there is nothing left to do except surrender to emotion...to tears...to a break.

I do believe there is cleansing in tears. I have fallen under their medicated washing, I have succumbed to the flood on occasion..and I have felt relief at their end.

But sometimes... it just hurts more. Sometimes...there aren't enough to cover your head in glorious submersion...there is merely a misting on the tips of your toes.

Then what?

I know we have all had those days when we feel that surely nothing more can be endured. Perhaps, it's a season of darkness that violently swallows the light of peace...the glow of possibility. It's likely a time in life where it appears that everyone else is finding their way...and you are painfully behind. Or maybe, it just appears that they are better equipped than you are to bear the burden.

I'm not built for a broken heart. I'm not built for rejection, or dishonesty... half truths, or ignorance. A broken heart paralyses me. Rejection and dishonesty claw at the thin membrane around my soul. Half truths and ignorance taunt me and buzz in my peripheral.

The only remedy I can come up with tonight for these things is to fall back on my resolution for 2011. Don't be that person. Live with integrity. Live in honesty...be open minded and realistic about boundaries. Be ruthless with what is and isn't acceptable in this life. Stick to it.

As for a broken heart? What can I say? I don't have a means of seeing myself out of it. I have no recommendations for survival. Letting someone go who isn't good for you is a chosen grief. I suppose, it comes down to a quote I hope to someday tattoo on the inside of my everyday consciousness,

"Don't be reckless with other peoples hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours". ~Mary Schmich

Urgent Life

2011-03-18T17:19:00.009-04:00

Urgency. I often get emails with little red exclamation points beside them, indicating that the content is of the utmost importance...critical. It's usually something that needs to be attended to immediately... a phone call, a report due, and change in the company... or something that can't be missed.

What if situations in life were that easy to segment and identify? You would wake up in the morning, and your blackberry would send you a reminder..."Tell your Dad you love him today". Perhaps it would tell you to pay attention to that stranger, save a $20.00 bill for an emergency or start decluttering your life. The possibilities are endless, really.

I made a mental resolution as 2011 emerged on January 1st. It was to have difficult conversations this year... to say what I feel, to be honest to my core, and to carefully set and stick to my boundaries. This is applicable in all areas of my life.

A funny thing happens when you consciously make a decision like this....the opportunities find you. The challenges are mirrored in front of you, and your course of action now determines your character. Do you avoid a conflict and also inevitably compromise your integrity? OR, do you speak your mind with kindness and humility, and a resolute heart? I am choosing the latter this year...and it's been empowering, a little scary...and strangely liberating.

Someone once said, "When you know better, you do better".

I know much better. I know that life is precious...and it is happening NOW. After all, this isn't a dress rehearsal, this is our life. (Thank you to The Tragically Hip for that incredible line).

So tackle those things you are putting off...or conveniently not thinking about. Attempt to resolve the unresolvable.

Saving Money? DO IT NOW.

Losing Weight? DO IT NOW.

Telling someone how you feel? DO IT NOW.

Putting your own happiness first? DO IT RIGHT NOW.

One life, friends. Chase the dreams... pursue the incredible...be authentic.

It's an urgent situation.

Outcome?

No regrets.

Superhero Mom

2011-03-05T20:49:00.009-05:00

Have you ever thought back to where you learned the rudimentary, basic skills of life? What about those quirky, interesting, not so everyday tasks that required someones expert guidance?

I guarantee you, dollars to donuts...it was likely a parent... and I'm even more sure, it was probably your Mother.

I know people who have lost their Mothers. I feel like people my age are much too young to be losing parents. I am in my mid thirties, and feel like I still have so much to learn from my Mother. I still feel like a girl...even though I was 9 yrs. old when my Mother was my age. Oh, how the world has changed.

Over the last 24 hours, my Mother has stepped in, and done what she does best...

Help.

Teach.

Guide.

Save.

I realise, how much she knows, just by virtue of being who she is...and the lessons she has decided to learn herself, and then pass onto me...and the hundreds of Grade 6 students she taught over 38 years. She is an invaluable resource...she is a tireless cheerleader...she doesn't do it FOR you, she shows you HOW. She is amazing.

She helped me wallpaper last night. She came over with soup and cake for me, just because. Secretly, I think she does it as a way of still taking care of me. She told me how she and my grandmother used to wallpaper together...I loved the stories. Today I asked her to fix a tear in my favourite black skirt...like I have a million times, and she had it repaired in a few minutes. She has helped me move, make curtains, hang a towel rack...and has listened to my woes of brokenheartedness time and time again...did I tell you she is amazing? Because she is INCREDIBLE.

So Mom, know I appreciate you...I see you as a woman determined to love, support, befriend and lead. I have learned the big and small things in life by watching you live them in front of me.

I will always need you..I will always love you...you are my rock. xo

Boy on the Hill

2011-02-09T18:56:00.009-05:00

It's like watching a storm role in. You see it on the horizon...you feel the air change and whip around you... you feel tension in the atmosphere, and you want to head for safety.

It's like hearing about a terrible accident on the radio, and knowing that is the exact route you are driving on...you have to approach it, look at it, drive past it and let it into your consciousness for a brief time.

It's just the same as remembering where you were when you first found out about 9/11... where you were when you found out Princess Diana had perished in a highspeed car chase... where you were when you heard about the Tsunami, the Haiti Earthquake... Hurricane Katrina.

My hurricane...my tsunami...my earthquake is this Sunday. It will force me to review a year... and to let the grief in again. It will jolt me awake early, with aggression and brute force. It will slap an expiration date on the last year, and taunt me...it will flash like a sign in my consciousness...

He's been gone for 1 year.

The wish in my heart is not to have Michael back. I know he is unthinkably happy. I know he is whole, and has conquered his struggles. I know God saw my dear friend that early morning, and called him home for something greater... something so great that my feeble human mind struggles to find meaning in. I know this last year has had moments of such unbelievable coincidence and joy, that I am left to believe, those moments were truly orchestrated by my friend...to tell us he is ok.

I wish him here for selfish reasons..for human reasons. Selfishly, I want to see his sheer disbelief... I want to see the pride swell inside him.. I want to know he has seen the unspeakable love, the selfless acts..the sacrifice of many hours of sleep...the tide of tears, both joyous and grievous to serve those he loved and had a passion for. I want to see the smirk on his face and him shaking his head as he overhears conversations between people who were strangers a mere year ago. I want to assure him, with all that I am...and all that I have...that his legacy has JUST begun, and that he too, can "trust the bigger picture".

So to my dearest friend... may you smile when you see what your world has become in the last year. May you laugh that raspy, full hearted belly laugh when you see some of the antics we have all gotten up to. May you sit back on a lawn chair with a triple/triple, and watch your nephews discover an amazing world. I pray you will find yourself in our dreams...both awake and asleep, as you lead us into new and wonderful opportunities that only YOU could have inspired.

And all of those things you hoped for? Michael's Hope is on the horizon....and I know the Boy On the Hill is watching over me...and us...and an indescribable destiny.

Miss you kiddo. xo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=riu-9y3SkjY&feature=related

The Heaven Perspective

2011-01-20T19:08:00.015-05:00

A Father drops off his young daughter at a birthday party. The child sits quietly on the way, hands clasped in her lap. She is noticeably anxious. If you were able to penetrate her thoughts, you would know her emotions are swirling and mixed...she is SO excited to be going to a party, it's her first one, after all! This will be the first party where she is a big enough girl to go on her own...the first party where she gets to play with her friends, eat cake, and play lots of fun games.... and inevitably, she's bound to receive many incredible gifts, and make some new friends during the day.

She has some anxiety...a flutter in her tummy... and an unsure feeling. This is the first time she will be away from her Father...this is the first time He will not be evidently by her side to keep an eye on her, and protect her. She timidly asks Him, "Daddy... what if I don't like it there? What if I need to talk to you"? Her Father smiles and looks His beautiful child in her trusting eyes..." My precious girl...don't you know? I am just a call away...ALWAYS". She sighs...she is reassured.

They arrive at the party, and the little girl is met with open arms, and excitement..."She's HERE"!! Yells the lady who opens the door.... and she escorts her into the party, where, unbenounced to her, she is the guest of honour... for she is the celebrated.

She is shocked to find all of the wonderful things in front of her. Exquisite boxes wrapped in jewel tones, with floral ribbons, and bows tied with thick velvety ribbons. As she opens the first box...she gasps in shock...for before her lies a map. It is a living document, with a starting point, and an ending point...and all of the exciting places in the middle are marked with a fuschia "X".

The next box she opens, has 2 cannisters in it. She looks curiously at them, and gently pops the lid to the first one. An explosion of silver confetti fills the air, and inside the empty container, she finds a ring...and it has an inscription on the inside of the band. It says..." Potential, Courage, Faith, Hope and Love...Love Dad".

The second cannister does not have the same explosion, but rather, a small pendant on a gold necklace...the pendant is a violin. She knows this will be a part of her life...for she has always had a passion for the instrument.

The day carries on...and the Father actually becomes homesick for his little girl. He calls to see how she is doing. He is thrilled to find that she got the ring and the necklace..for they were gifts from Him. She tells Him how wonderful her day has been. He is a contented Father.

Later on...as the afternoon fades into evening, the little girl becomes tired. She is worn out from an amazing event... a place where she has had more fun than she could ever imagine...has been given personal, invaluable gifts that she cherishes, and has indeed, made many friends throughout the duration of the day. She has also had some arguements, shed a few tears, and even found herself with a skinned knee when she fell on the sidewalk. Just as she has the phone in her hand, to call her Father to come take her home, an amazing thing happens. He is there. Standing in the doorway...a broad smile across His kind face...arms spread wide to embrace his girl. He sees the daughter he adores...and runs towards her... arms expectant of His little girl, ready to come home. "Daddy?", she asked puzzled, "How did you know I was ready to go?" He laughed lightly, and touched her cheek. "My child...I knew the minute you would arrive, and surely, I know when you're ready to come home".

He asks her, "Did you have fun, favourite child of mine"? She buries her head in His shoulder... and she holds His neck tightly. "Daddy...I had such a good time! I played with my friends, I met so many great people who I love very much! I learned how to play so many games I didn't know how to play before, and I received gifts so perfect for me, it's like I picked them out myself".

He grinned broadly, and whispered in her ear..."my beloved...I gave you the gifts...the ones that mattered...I gave you the map to mark your path...I gave you the engraved ring so to remind you that all of those things are in you. I also gave you the necklace... it was my favourite gift to you. I knew how much you adored your violin, and you have always played so beautifully."

"Daddy", she whispered..."I want to go home, but I don't want to leave my friends...I love them so much". He looked compassionately at his baby girl, and said..."Honey... they will come over to OUR house soon...you don't have to miss them. Remember how you felt at the celebration when I dropped you off? The friends from far and away are at OUR house right now, because we're having an even BIGGER party to welcome you home!!"

As they got into the car, all of the attendees from the party rushed out to the front lawn to wave goodbye to the guest of honour. She rolled down her window, and shouted, " I am going home for another party! I get to see my grandma, and my favourite uncle, and my little sister who has been away for a long time!" The crowd of friends cheered and waved...and blew kisses to the little girl. "I will miss you!" she exclaimed, "Thank you so much for the great party! Daddy says, whenever any of you comes over, we will have a party for YOU when you get there! I will see you all soon...I love you all very much".

While sadness filled the crowd as the little girl pulled away with her Father... a collective energy raced through them like electricity. "We will see her again!" Someone said. "I can't wait to go to her house, and see what kind of party her Dad puts on!" said another. A small voice rose from the back of the crowd, and said..."I'm going to learn the violin... I will think of her everytime I play, and someday...we can play together."

"In my Fathers house, there are many wonderful places! If it were otherwise, surely I would have told you. For I am going ahead, to make ready a place for you." John 14:2

My friends, don't you want to go? xo

Trust

2011-01-09T19:25:00.008-05:00

Trust. I realised on Saturday morning, at 3:56am, that trust is the strong hand that grasps for Hope. If we didn't trust that life could be different...situations could change...or that God would intervene in a moment of absolute desperation...then our hope would be futile.

I watched someone I love very much leave a body riddled with cancer, and step instantly into a heavenly, eternal existence. She trusted and loved Jesus for as long as I knew her...she was a tirelessly compassionate, committed child of God. She is my mothers sister...she is my aunt.

When she was diagnosed, she put full trust in the Lord to heal her...and trusted that He would take care of her. She extended her hand of trust toward heaven, and hoped.

She wasn't healed this side of heaven. She passed away in front of my eyes...and I knew in that instant, that she was new. She was in a perfect body, she was in the arms of her Saviour. He didn't abandon her...He didn't let her down...He came to get her. Her hopes were realized as she looked in His kind face, and He embraced her like an old friend that He had been waiting for with anticipation. I imagine that she wept in His strong arms...tears of joy, gratitude and overwhelming love. He took her to the celebration...to the homecoming. She had returned from a long journey...and she's now home.

So, for my Aunt Sharan...I thank you for the privilege of witnessing your unshakeable faith. I can't say I am that strong...not by a long shot. I am humbled and honoured that you let me be there as you stepped out of your sick, tired, broken body, and met our Jesus. I can only imagine that place called Glory. I know you will keep your promise to me...meet me when I get there. Thank you for going ahead of us...you always were braver than most and loved an adventure.

But until then...I can only imagine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_lrrq_opng

The Leader Board

2010-12-18T10:11:00.013-05:00

A year in review. I am sure you are doing the same thing too as 2010's end is on the horizon, and the dawn of 2011 is cracking over the near future.

I took at peek at my vision board this morning...there were so many things I thumb tacked on there a year ago before things changed so much that I didn't know....didn't know what, you might ask? Why didn't she finish that sentence? Truthfully...for parts of this year...I felt like I didn't know anything anymore. 2010 turned into a year of reinvention, and it was without choice...I was pushed under the bus of reinvention, because everything I knew before February 13th, 2o10...was all I had EVER known. This meant, there was no room in my mind for boundary pushing, new ways of thinking...change. Then a phone call on February 13th, at 10:47pm broke my coocoon wide open...and there was no opportunity to return to the comfort of my confining chrysalis...the only chance for survival was to move out into the new world.

My vision board had words on it, that I didn't know at the time...how to fulfill. Some of them were:

Serving Opportunities

Adventure

Brave

Sleeping Peacefully (THAT didn't happen a lot this year...but I sure did enjoy it when it did).

Strong

I didn't know that any of those words would serve ME in a year of grief. I just didn't know what they meant...I knew I wanted all of those things...but it was abstract to me... it was a different vocabulary of my own language...or perhaps a foreign dialect altogether.

I am amazed at the reflection this morning...I am moved to deep emotions in this moment, because what I put out there this year, truly did return to me in wierd and wonderful ways. This is a true testament to me that what we focus on, what we repeatedly visualise, think about and have in our face everyday....my friends, it MATTERS. It matters because you can truly create your life according to the things you think about everyday...what you think is the biggest catalyst for opportunity and change in your life.

I didn't know in January 2010, that those words would propel me like a hurricane force wind in the sail of an aimless sailboat. Now, as I think about the words that will be at my back guiding me through 2011...I am thinking carefully about what I want December 2011 to look like...and I am thinking backward. Perhaps if I see where I WANT to be, the decision will be more mutual between destiny and myself.

So I challenge you to think about it my friends... what do you put in your mind everyday that affirms you? What words do you see that challenge your soul? How long will you think that your life doesn't go where your thoughts have already been?

Welcome to your life... where is your roadmap?

Life Guard

2010-11-29T22:26:00.009-05:00

To guard a life. To bravely stand watch. To hold a post commissioned by an employer, but more often...by ones own choices and convictions.

To stand between the weak, and inevitable or predicted harm is a mission some care not to participate in. Their mission is avoidance of responsibility...of getting "too involved". The greatest rewards in life come from the most imminent risk. Jumping head first into a situation, like that of the skilled Life Guard requires intent...fiery on the inside of the soul...blazing with the assuredness that sitting on the edge of the danger is surely not an option.

When a Life Guard trains, they are required to memorize the following chart explaining why people drown. Interestingly enough...all of these points, are transferrable to everyday life. In taking on the guardianship for the weak and troubled...we are able to pull victims from a potentially fatal situation.

1. Lack of Education

2. Lack of Protection

3. Inability to Cope

4. Lack of Safety Advice

5. Lack of Supervision

Standing in, or with someone who is at a moment of vulnerability and brokeness, is not an act that requires the answers. It doesn't command explanation...it merely asks, in the gentlest voice, for solidarity and loyalty. It's like the guard on the tower. We are safer as swimmers because we are protected by the faithful eyes and razor sharp skills of the forward thinking guard. We know they are there if trouble should pull us under...but otherwise...they observe life on the beach, and stand watch...often in silence.

So, your words may be few to someone who is being pulled under by the riptide of circumstance...your actions may be swift and your words zero, in a moment of crisis. But know this... we are the guardians of each other. God has equipped us to be His grasping hands, and his swift to act feet... or His shoulder when there is nothing left to do but collapse under weeping and grief. Know there is immeasurable, eternal value to the sacrifice of those actions.

After all, my friend...you're saving a life.

35

2010-11-18T20:26:00.009-05:00

I have a birthday coming next week. Usually around a birthday, I contemplate the last 365 days, and agonize over things that should have been different, risks that should have been taken...words that should have been said, or maybe not at all.

In the past, birthdays have reflected regret back to me... I have always thought I should be further ahead in my life by having the status quo; an adoring husband, a beautiful house, 2 healthy kids a loving ginger coloured dog and a minivan. But this year...I have realised something pretty epic:

I'm not where I thought I would be, BUT, I am EXACTLY where I am supposed to be.

The changes that happened in my 34th year are substantial. I gained a new niece a month after my birthday...and she is pure joy wrapped up into a chubby, gurgling bright eyed little girl. She has the most beautiful spirit. I was one of the first people to meet her as she was welcomed to the light of earth on December 28th, 2009. I held her for about an hour soon after her birth, until my sister said to me..."Uh...can I hold my baby?" I have been smitten with that darling wee one ever since. Even at that moment, I had a private sadness...wanting, hoping for the day when it's my turn to be the new mom with the beautiful infant.

February spun my world into a tsunami size storm. The debris of losing Michael left everything irreparable. Nothing was or is the same...my existence turned into numbness and knee buckling grief. There is very little I remember between February and May, to be honest. I was swirling in a drain, just trying to find air...trying to not let the surge vacuum me under the tide of grief. Amazingly, a life raft overflowing with new friends drifted past me, and I found myself in the middle of something not short of miraculous. We are the M.E.L.B.'s...we are 14 women who knew Michael...we are honouring our friend everyday...we loved him, and now we love each other.

If I have learned anything in my 34th year, it is this:

Change is inevitable...resilience is a choice.

I took on a new role at work in May. I moved at the end of July. I got a new vehicle in September...my parents are moving out of my childhood home the day after my birthday. It's a lot...when added and divided by the weight of each event...to some, it would be overwhelming at the best of times. This year has truly shown me what I am made of. There have been moments of pure loathing and hatred towards the events of my life...and there have been moments where I have been washed with the cleansing and healing balm of gratitude and understanding....

If I die young, I had just enough time.

I won't be sorry.

I've loved...I've learned..and I have lost. My birthday this year will find me quietly contemplating my blessings..and the things I hope cross my path in my 35th year.

Great adventure...confounding love...much laughter, few tears.

MB...I'll do 35 up for both of us...don't worry, I'll make you proud. xo

Storm Watch

2010-10-30T12:47:00.008-04:00

A woman leaving a 22 year marriage. A young mother diagnosed with cancer. An aunt wasting away with an agressive tumour. A woman getting that phone call that tells her the father of her children has died.

What do all of these things have in common, besides being unthinkably sad? Unfair? Grievous? Painful?

These are all people I know.

A friend of mine has chosen to walk through the fire with someone. This girl has, in the last year or so, been diagnosed with cancer, has found her mother ravaged with the same disease, and is now in the beginning stages of wading into grief, as the father of her girls was killed in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. My friend expressed to me how helpless she feels. She asked me, "what do I say, or do...or explain to her about life? How do I dare to say life happens as it should...and that everything is working together for good?"

In a lightbulb moment, I responded with something that could only be a God thought, a divine revelation...clarity.

You don't have to do or say anything. You are the palm tree in the storm. Your purpose is to remain still..stationary, fixed. In this life we are different things at different times...sometimes we are the palm tree, sometimes we are the debris, and sometimes, we are in fact, the storm.

When a cyclone whips a life into disrepair...when it destroys familiarity, safety and faith...there is a refuge, and that is shockingly, at the middle of the storm. The place we know as the Eye in meteorological terms. In human terms...I believe it's the Soul. As Wikipedia explains:

"In strong tropical cyclones, the eye is characterized by light winds and clear skies, surrounded on all sides by a towering, symmetric eyewall."

The storm can rage all around...but there is a refuge. If the storm has beaten you past the possibility of faith...if the Eye inside you has been lost due to a tidalwave of epic circumstances, then might I challenge you...find a palm tree. Find someone with deep roots...someone who bends with the storm, but remains fixed, and strong and provides shelter for you.

Someone did that for me not so long ago...he caught me as I was defenseless against the elements. In a blink, he was gone. In a second my life is different. Today I am grateful for his friendship....and I am overcome with the lesson, " At the moment of your greatest challenge, is also presented your greatest opportunity".

Thank you Michael...I know who I need to be. xo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_jSSVJwGek

The Post-It Project

2010-10-14T23:15:00.010-04:00

It's been a long time since a post has gotten me out of bed...but here I am. I was awakened abruptly, often around 3:00am, not so long ago, with ideas...with stories...with lightbulb moments that dragged me sleepily to my laptop.

It's much earlier than 3:00am tonight...I have not been jostled awake by agonizing grief, or memories of a simpler life that sits comfortably in my peripheral...I've been brought here with an idea.

The Post-It Project.

I have an ungodly amount of Post-Its in my office. It's true. For some reason, everytime I order my monthly supplies from work to stock my home office...I order more. I have no idea what I am thinking. I haven't ordered any in a number of months now, because a brick of Big Bird yellow, sticky pieces of paper, caused a casualty. A stack of them, not yet opened out of the plastic wrap, tumbled off the shelf above my desk, and unforgivingly, and with great precision I might add...took the "G" clear off this laptop. NO room for repair...total massacre.

So, with all of these Post-It's...what's a girl to do?

Starting tomorrow...I will have a block of Post-It's with me, at all times. Each time I enter a business, whether it be a convenience store, a coffee shop, my dentist....a gas station...I am going to leave a message. I might hide it somewhere...maybe on page 137 of the latest Harper's Bazaar fashion magazine...perhaps on the mirror in a public bathroom...definitely on the back of a pack of gum, or on the handle of the gas pump I am using.

These notes will say affirming, thoughtful things to the recipient. I will never know who gets the message...and that, I think is brilliant. Perhaps I will quote Shakespeare, or maybe, I will compliment the shoes I'm not seeing...but, the intention will be to make someone smile, and to create a bright spot in their day to day, mundane activities.

So, don't be surprised if you start seeing yellow tabs on magazines at Chapters... or a hidden one found in the next cookbook you buy when you get to page 48...I'm determined to post some happiness into this world, one yellow square at a time.

Do you need some Post-It's my friend? xo

http://www.operationbeautiful.com/

Who Are You?

2010-10-08T17:32:00.009-04:00

Someone mentioned an interesting philosophy to me this week. It has entered my mind in quiet moments of reflection, and times when I am able to to contemplate just who I am.

We have all heard that in life, there are givers, and takers. But, in taking that concept one step further, the question raised to me was:

Are you a lifter or a leaner?

The tide of this human experience determines times where we are inevitably either the reliant, or subsequently, the relied upon. There isn't a single person who has been just one, or the other.

We can choose to be the student, or the teacher. I would hope, that at all points in this brief life...being a student ravenous for knowledge and experience would be a goal that is top of mind, morphing and adapting to a life out in front, not behind. Being a teacher to someone seeking an advocate and gentle guidance is more than being mindful of your role as a teacher...sometimes, the life you live in front of someone, a life lived on purpose, inspires one...or many to seek a life past their predictable horizon.

I have observed in the last number of months, that it is truly easier to be a nice person, than an unpleasant, negative one. Kindness is disarming...kindness defuses...kindness is acutely unexpected in our world. Pouring a glistening drop of belief into someones life, reaches far beyond the initial contact...it leaves a ripple mark, it instills hope...it activates a beacon deep inside a person desperate for a champion.

A positive attitude is contagious...and also needs to be protected with great diligence. Surround yourself with those who are likeminded. Build an inpenetrable border for yourself with people who uplift you...believe in you...and push you beyond what is acceptable according to your capabilities...as they urge you to stretch, push and grow personally, professionally, emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Don't be ashamed to ask for help. Find something everyday that you can say, "I don't know" to...and aggressively seek the answer. Know that as you are surrendered to leaning at different times in your life, that you are preparing, even in those dark, blurry moments for a call:

To be a well equipped, just on time, not late for even one second... lifter.

Love Is..

2010-09-28T21:38:00.006-04:00

There is nothing that love can't endure. It stretches thin, it swells to fill...it absorbs all.

I have been thinking about the character of love today. Just what does it mean to me? What does it do for me? To me? In spite of my shortfalls?

Love is like a sponge to me. It's not really useful, unless it is absorbing, and being used to capacity.

Love, like a sponge, is an instrument to clear things up. It holds no limit, as it can be rung out, over and over again. Very little will cause it to crumble and lose its absorbancy, for it by nature, is a cleanser. It doesn't lose effectiveness with different spills...it consistently does its job, and clarifies.

If you have read even a couple of my posts, you will know that I am wading through the loss of someone irreplaceable. With this loss, I have for some reason felt a semblance of responsibility for the hearts of the grieving. It's a hard one to explain. Many times, and never moreso than in the last few weeks have I wanted to grab that sponge, and somehow sop up this horrendous, murky dark puddle of dispair. My heart aches with each beat, the loss scratches at my soul, preventing the opportunity for a scar to develop. My efforts to absorb grief, both my own, and others, has stretched me beyond what I thought I was ever capable of, or desirous of. With much discomfort and an unruly, restless soul...I have come to a conclusion:

We are qualified for the mission when love is the reason we chose to participate.

I loved Michael. I still do. Truthfully, I always will. Because I loved him, I continue on with what he thought was important. I absorb the grief of others, wring it out with compassion and understanding...and head back toward the swirling ocean of heartache...determined, to start all over again. I do this, because he did it for me. His way of loving me, of being that sponge...was to be an unfailing, intent listener. He carried my secrets, and I his. Now I CHOOSE to absorb the details of each person I come across...the beautiful, the hideous, the resplendent...all in a quest for understanding, both of myself, and that of the person sharing with me.

If you seek the character of love, might I leave you with a clear picture of its nature:

“Love is patient; love is kind and envies no one. Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude; never selfish, never quick to take offense. There is nothing love cannot face; there is no limit to its faith, its hope, and endurance. In a word, there are three things that last forever: faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of them all is love.”

May we strive to love beyond what is merely acceptable, to that which is extraordinary and pure. May we come alongside the broken hearted, the weak and the lost and gently take their hand, or put an arm of mercy around them. May we do it not for ourselves, or our own recognition, but rather, to bring the glow of grace into a life that has burned low the wick of hope.

Michael...I do it for you.

Reminder on the Path

2010-09-25T19:02:00.011-04:00

A friend of mine shared a story with me not long ago. I loved the story so much, that I asked him if I could share it. It's a story that all of us are hoping will be the outcome of our life.

To be found.

My amazing, insightful and brilliant friend is on a journey right now. He is seeking truth...he is searching for peace, and I believe, he is desperate for meaning. Not just personally, but in the grand scheme of this whisper we call life. I see all great things layed out before him...layed out on a table. Some of those things are face down and are waiting to be discovered. Some pieces are upsidedown, and need to be set right again. A few pieces, I think..are fatally damaged. I believe those pieces need to be examined for what they were...and what they now are, and put away in order to allow a masterpiece to emerge.

My friend took a walk not long ago. He was meandering along the waterfront, not far from his home. He came upon an elderly couple stopped in the middle of the path. They were transfixed with one of those things we often overlook as one of lifes little miracles. A monarch butterfly had paused on the ground...and was gingerly flapping its wings...slowly...methodically...in a trance like state. He too halted his walk for a moment, to observe this lovely winged black and orange undercover angel.

As he carried on his way, I believe his mind was fine tuned for a not so random encounter. His senses were heightened for a moment predestined just for him.

He strolled along the waterfront, as he had many times before...and came upon a park bench that he had walked past on numerous occasions. This time..he took notice of the bench...and this time, the bench stood guard over a secret. Something out of the corner of his eye was tuned to something nestled in the grass at the back righthand leg. As he went to investigate...he found a brilliant reminder of how God finds you where you are.

A bracelet. Beaded with pictures of Jesus, and Mary... and various religious figures on an elasticated band. For a man on a quest to find God...to find meaning...I believe this was a clear message, gently whispered to a wounded soul...."I see you...I am with you...I want to be close to you on your terms".

So my dear friend wears that bracelet now. I don't know if he sees that story like I do...but I did assure him that it wasn't a mistake...not one second of that encounter was by chance.

I think of you often and with fondness SP...always when I see 88, when I hear a brilliant piano player...and when I think about the undeniable fact that life is continually coming together for all of us. Magic will fall onto your pathway always...and point you towards this one fact,

you're never so lost that you can't be found. xo

Free Bird

2010-09-19T20:55:00.012-04:00

Don't put a bird in a cage...for it is meant to be free. It is meant to flutter its feathers in anticipation of a journey. It will gently fan its tail feathers, give it's head a shake, and instantly ascend at its own whim. Don't take its freedom, and try to keep it a prisoner...for this goes against its nature as a creature of the breeze.

What things do you hold onto in a cage with a tiny little door? Do you open that door, just to feed the control you are trying to contain? Is it a relationship you can't let go of? Or, perhaps a past hurt or wrong that has caged you, and caused you to live your life inside of a world of mental bars?

Once again, a common saying has come to me in a radiant new light.

"If you love something, then set it free. If it is yours, it will return...if not, it was never meant to be".

I let go of something yesterday. While it was material, and in critical need of replacing...my heart told me to retain it for a time when I was better prepared to be at a loss. It would be nothing to most people...it would be a very exciting time for most everyone I know. However, it struck me with anxiety and complete aprehension.

I bought a new vehicle. My lease on my beloved Jeep is finished in November, and I knew I wouldn't be keeping it. Most people would think this was an exciting time...one of new opportunity, and of course, something shiny and more current to learn about, and park in the driveway. The caging of my excitement came because of this...

My Jeep is the first place I was with Michael...and it is also the last. So, the substitution of the Jeep for something newer is just one more step in the process of accepting the loss of him...the loss of us. On Wednesday, I actually grabbed the phone to call him and tell him about the new wheels...for a flash, life was as it had always been...and he was still here.

But as with a caged bird...or anything held too tightly, a funny thing happens. It cages you and holds you, as much as you hold it. You inadvertantly become obligated to the care and nurturing of the prisoner. Just as the bird needs to be fed and taken care of...so do anxiety and fear in order for you to sustain them. You must supply them with the necessary nutrition to survive, otherwise, existence isn't possible.

Or so we think.

When we open that cage door...or open our hands to the new, whether it be healing, forgiveness or understanding, we are instantly released...just as the inhabitant of the guilded cage is. While life without the company of the inhabitant of the cage is strange, and perhaps a little unsettling...it is best for the one who lives in the cage, and the one who decided it needed to be there in the first place. The release is like setting a bird free...and watching glorious emancipation stretch out its wings, and soar into the distance.

So, the Jeep is gone. I am stronger, and free in its release. I am protective of the memories I hold in the most sacred of places...but rest assured...there is no locked door on my remembrances of Michael...

for he is a Free Bird. xo

Persolvo is Porro

2010-09-12T20:07:00.012-04:00

Persolvo: this verb carries with it the paying or filling of an obligation or vow.

Porro: forward, further, next, in turn.

It sounds very romantic in the Latin. The concept is not new, and was first expressed in a play in Athens, Greece. The year was 317 BC. Humans through history have stumbled toward the beauty of this action...and that is, to Pay it Forward.

Pay it Forward. What does it bring to your mind? A cheesy movie with Kevin Spacey and Haley Joel, "I see dead people" Osment? Or does it stir recollection? One of an act of kindness that caught you bewildered, or just brought a smile to your face? Or does it provoke a memory of when you were the one who extended an unexpected kindness?

I think the easiest, and most inexpensive of acts, is a compliment. It's amazing to see someone light up for your recognition...whether it be a compliment about their appearance, a talent, or just because. If compliments were currency, I would certainly hope that we all have a surplus in our bank. One where we can deposit the ones we have received, but more importantly, spend on those who need one most. The exchange rate of thoughtfulness never leaves one with less than they started with, rather, it grows with each transaction.

While it is exciting to be part of this amazing ebb and flow in our life journey, I am of the opinion that keeping the acts you have participated in to yourself. I'd guess in the grand scheme of life, that kind of installment holds a much more precious value. Keeping it silent, I believe is the entire essence of the interaction.

Some people spend their lives taking. Never being secure enough in their own skin to extend any kind of sincerity to another. Puddle deep. That's what I call those people. Some people spend their lives wild with jealousy...I would rightfully anticipate, that Paying it Forward is the last thing on their mind. Or, of course, there are those so wrapped up in their own lives, and their own personal dramas, that they can't shift even a baby toe over the line of compassion, and to the recognition that there is more to this life than just them.

But then, you meet someone who blows the doors off of your Pay it Forward concepts. That person is sent to you, to show you that you can do so much more...you can BE so much more, if you will just pay attention in this life. That person is perhaps catching up...for years of being a taker...but is doing one hell of a job making a difference here and now, and...from now on.

Thankfully, Pay it Forward doesn't die when we do. It lives on inside the ones we love.

The movement continues...from Athens in 317 BC, to my apartment in September, 2010 AD.

Michael...we're off at it again...walk ahead of us, so we can follow your unquestionable shadow. May we Pay it Forward with focus and endurance...and may we make you proud. xo

The BUFF and the Grenade

2010-09-07T22:17:00.010-04:00

People never cease to amaze me. A great deal of the time, the things that amaze me are the brilliant things people do for each other. Sometimes, on the opposite side of that swinging pendulum, I am awe struck at the things people DO to each other.

Have you heard of grenades and landmines? Sure you have...ongoing war in Afghanistan, daily bombings in Baghdad..WWII. Grenades and landmines have taken on a new spin in recent months...but seem to deliver the same kind of damage as those used as fatal weapons.

A wildly popular reality show has quietly crept its lingo into popular vocabulary. These kids from a Shore somewhere south of NYC have created a new language. They have degraded human beings, specifically women into two categories...grenades and landmines.

"A grenade is a girl who is quite frankly, not hot. Not to say that the girl is ugly, but she just doesn't measure up to our qualifications of attractiveness. Basically, this girl is a bomb about to go off. A landmine is like a grenade but is usually thin or petite and you don't realise she is a landmine until you realise you want someone better looking". Pauly D.- Jersey Shore

(Btw...that quote needed to have punctuation and grammar corrected in it before I posted it. It seems Pauly D. isn't that bright).

Seriously? Are you kidding me? This is the kind of grading system we are using these days, and allowing our children to emulate?

The reason I am so fired up about this is this: an ugly guy I know dropped this phrase the other day. See...I used an old school word...UGLY. He could be a model on the cover of Men's Health Magazine, but to me? UGLY..repulsive as a matter of fact. (btw- he's no cover model).

Here is why...I read a blog tonight from a lovely, sweet girl who is on an amazing weight loss journey. I applaud her. I believe in her...I want her to be all that she has hoped to be. She recalled an incident while out with her thin girlfriends. She was innocently out at a bar...having a good night. She said she was insecure even in that moment, as these friends of hers don't struggle with their weight. A group of hot guys approached the table..and began to laugh as they got closer. When the girls asked what was so funny, the response was unbelievable..." Your table just proved there is a BUFF in every group of girls". When they inevitably asked for a breakdown of just what a "BUFF" is, this was the response.." Big Ugly Fat Friend".

I have NO words.

Words hurt. Words burrow themselves into your psyche, and paralyse you when you least expect it. She said this incident happened years ago..and she hasn't gone out again. To prey on someone unexpecting, and obviously different than the crowd is just cowardly..cruel, and should be punishable.

So the next time you see someone who isn't appealing to you...or someone who rubs you the wrong way..maybe think twice about what made them the way they are. Exercise your mind to think beyond their exterior, and to the person they really are. I'm trying...everyday...I hope you will too.

What I Love

2010-09-03T20:37:00.011-04:00

I'm taking a break. I have disengaged from a popular social networking site...I'm taking a sabbatical from text messaging. I am taking some time to regroup, take the pressure off...and BREATHE.

Do you ever catch yourself in a moment...and realise, "I honestly don't remember the last deep, cleansing breath I have taken". I think that's a big deal, in the grand scheme of things. Breath is life..shallow breath, shallow life? Perhaps. Or, in my case right now, too much going on, and seemingly not one second remaining for an extended inhale.

But let me tell you, when you turn off distractions, a funny thing happens. You mentally purge chaos, and find beauty in the small things again...you smile quietly to yourself when something catches your funnybone...or your heart..and all of a sudden..you feel like....

I'm back.

Today I love so many things. One thing that always grabs me, and shakes me, is how great Canada is. I'm not biased..this is the best place on the planet. Here are two reasons:

Last night I went to Dairy Queen with a friend of mine...we sat in the car and laughed, and shared our hearts. As we sat there, a black van pulled up beside us, and a mennonite family got out. A father, a mother, and 3 daughters. They were in simple, homemade, ankle length floral dresses...the girls and their mother had on Birkenstocks. The father looked like a minister...but then, I kind of think that all mennonite men look like ministers... like Reverend Alden from Little House on the Prairie. The ladies had white bonnets on. No matter their religion, or ancestry, last night, they were like the rest of us..and they wanted a Blizzard. There was zero risk for ridicule. I LOVED this moment. My friend and I sat and watched them from the car...it was a brilliant thing to be aware of. They weren't being judged, or looked down upon..they were just a normal family wanting ice cream on a hot summers night.

I am always caught with a grin on my face, when I see children of different religions, different sizes and different backgrounds playing together. Today I saw a very chubby, red headed boy with a milky way of freckles across his face, bouncing a basketball down the street with his friend. His friend was crazy tall, rail thin, and had luminous black skin. They were laughing and goofing around like only young boys do...and I was caught with a wildly, profoundly proud feeling in my heart...Canada is a RIDICULOUSLY awesome corner of this world.

I love that for some strange reason, babies and animals are drawn to me, and are comfortable with me. I don't know what that means. I don't know if it means I have a wild heart, and a calm soul? I just don't know. But I love that those most vulnerable seem to find security with me. My sister once called me the Baby Whisperer...funny that...as I don't have children.

I have learned intriguing things on my short writing journey. I am learning to keep my eyes open, and not just focused on what is right in front of me...but right out to my peripheral...to the blind spot. I am learning to listen closely...and to always have a story brewing in the back of my mind. Sometimes they simmer and bubble slowly, and sometimes, they wake me in the night, and I am powerless to them until I put them down, right here at the Passion Spill. Who knew? Writing holds one of the top positions on my, "What I Love" list.

Question:

What do you love?

The Rabbit and the Median

2010-09-01T20:04:00.017-04:00

I am wrestling with this post. I've been bothered all day about this one...but I know it needs to go out there...even if it's just for me to get it off of my chest.

Monday morning this week started very early. I was on the road at 6:45am, heading into the city for an event for work. I actually don't spite the occasional predawn morning when I have to hit the road...I drive east, and I see the sun come up. The world is quiet...peaceful and fresh.

As I hit traffic slowing down about 20 minutes from my home, (trust me, this is just the way of it...heading into Toronto in the morning is not for the faint of heart or the impatient) I looked to my left, as something unusual caught my peripheral. There, sitting on the hard, concrete median, was a rabbit. I am sure my face wound into an immediate look of perplexity and disbelief. It's face was intense...it's eyes darting against the fast moving traffic going westbound. This rabbit was trapped. I am sure it had crossed in the wee small hours of the morning, when there was little risk...when there was an open road, and no four wheeled predators to snuff out its life. The choice this wee furry one had to make now was one of three things:

1. Take a chance now..run into traffic, try to escape without being scathed.

2. Wait...wait all day if necessary. Wait until the conditions were the same as the time it crossed in the first place.

3. Travel east or west...try to find a break in traffic, or try to find a bridge. Even if it takes hours...the journey will likely ensure that life is preserved, even if its a rough and exhausting quest.

I haven't been able to get the parallel nature of this story out of my head...that damn rabbit has been haunting my mind for 48 hours. How often do we get into something, darting forward when there is little possibility for harm, to find that where we ended up is a very scary, unpredictable place? That place we ended up was new and exciting and a little risky...until the time crept forward, and brought out the eighteen wheelers, and all of the unexpected dangers we never thought about?

I tend to think...intuition is that thing you must follow. Your gut feeling is your road map. That your attempts to get to those new places, sometimes isn't a journey worth the destination. Of course, I am not saying to not try anything new...I'm not implying that meeting new people, and seeing new places isn't a worthwhile journey...but I think, if you were honest, as I am trying to be everyday...we KNOW what is right for us, and when.

Sometimes, we have to wait out the traffic until there is a safe crossing. Sometimes, we have to head in an unexpected direction to find a new path that will be unpredictable, but will be away from the traffic that gradually increased, until safety was futile.

I'd love to tell you that this story has a happy ending. But I saw that sweet rabbit this morning, lifeless on the side of the road....a casualty of choice. My heart sank, but I knew in my mind when I saw it there on Monday morning...this would be the unfortunate, inevitable end to the story. That rabbit didn't have the mindpower to think about it's choices, and how to find safety..it only saw traffic. We, as humans are blessed to have the wherewithal to think forward, and to choose from the multitude of options that lay before us. We aren't trapped...we can think things through..and we always have each other, if the lines are blurred and we need counsel.

So I choose, to be more mindful of my choices...more protective of my direction, and as always, to keep my eyes open for strange, unusual, heartbreakingly real lessons that will make me a better human being. Thank you God, for the rabbit...and the lesson.

Probability

2010-08-27T22:31:00.018-04:00

Probability: A measure or estimate to the degree of confidence one may have in the occurance of an event, measured on a scale from zero (impossibility) to one (certainty).

I was born 12,696 days ago. I was born in Canada. I was born in Galt, Ontario. I am a firstborn daughter...I was the firstborn grandchild to my paternal grandparents. I was the third grandchild born to my maternal grandparents. I am now the oldest of 3.

The longer I live...as tomorrow will mark my 12,697th day on earth...I hear more and more frequently..."Wow..what a small world". I'm realising with age, that yes, the world is small..and the probability of occurances, head spinning events, and brilliant instants of syncronicity are less and less coincidence...and more and more an absolute certainty.

Why was I born in Canada? Why was I born in 1975? Why was I born a healthy baby girl? Why did I have 2 parents, and not a single mother? An estimated 360,000 babies were born in Canada the same year as I was. Which implies there were 360,000 possibilites of me being born somewhere else..to someone else....if you didn't believe in probability. I believe, God holds probability...and spins it into destiny.

Michael collided with my world..somewhere in the summer of 1986. The probability of that happening might have seemed remote. We went to different schools. We didn't have mutual friends. I WASN'T a cool kid. Like....AT ALL. I remember seeing him in the church parking lot, one summer evening after youth group. He was talking to my friend. I think he had a popped collar. We met then...it was brief. I heard different things about him through junior high as he was an enigmatic figure in my city... certainly better than Kirk Cameron, or any other teen magazine crush. He resurfaced in highschool. Once again...we didn't associate with the same crowd, so while we took a few classes together, we remained casual.

The probability of us becoming friends? If past behaviour is the best predictor of future behaviour? Slim to none.

But then we found each other in 2007... and we got each other. We laughed like those 11 yr. olds in 1986..we beared our souls like lifelong friends...and met each other at that exact point where life had brought us. His life had brought him to the other side of addiction..mine had brought me to very real confessions about why I am the person I am, due to things that are, were, and will always be out of my control. We went from 0-100 in every conversation... we always did. I had moments...even when I was sitting across from him, thinking..."how did THIS happen"?!

When Michael died...my expectations of probability died. I lost my belief in those things that are meant to be. I spun wrecklessly close to the edge of disbelief. But I knew in my heart...as I do now..the probability of peace and resolution? It's absolute. It may not be now...it may not be tomorrow...or next year..but I DO believe that one day, there will be more answers than questions. Even if it's not this side of heaven. I believe this, because Michael didn't lie to me. I believe this, because I believe in a God who has taken the guess work out of life. On a scale of uncertainty, to probability...I believe there IS beauty for ashes, we WILL dance among the ruins...and we will SEE it with our own eyes.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7TgV1mDZUk

Will I see Michael again?

CERTAINTY.

Face Time

2010-08-20T23:02:00.024-04:00

Saving face. Putting on a brave face. The face of a watch. Face time. What a varying range of descriptions for one simple, 4 letter F word. If you look up the word "face"on dictionary.com, there are 56 different explanations for the word. It goes from examples of the word as a noun, a verb, and an idiom.

To give something a face, is to give it an identity. It is recognizing individuality...it is admitting it's real.

Facing something without filters on...without a means of coping can be an excruciating part of the human journey. To face something, or someone with hands open, and the white flag of surrender blowing above your head is one of life's undesirable, fatal collisions. It's calling out the truth from its hiding spot. It's shining a light on a debilitating monster...it's being honest.

I have witnessed many things in my life. I have witnessed the irreverent waste of life itself, as I have observed on more than one occassion, the life of an addict. I have faced the fact, through much turmoil, animosity, and insane resentment that there is one hard and fast rule in life...you can't change someone. You are responsible for one persons happiness, health, direction and servitude..and that my friend, is YOU.

Facing all you feel, without a distraction, is the mark of a brave soul. It's not a meaningless choice. The resolute decision of an empassioned heart can move mountains...it can change the world. When life gets ugly...when your scars identify you for a time....when the healing begins...that's when the face of a situation grows more gracious. The investment in personal integrity increases authenticity.

Tonight I faced a road. An actual road that I haven't driven down in a very long time. It's been 3 yrs, and 4 months. The first 2 yrs and 10 months are irrelevant to the story, it's the last 6 that have marked my avoidance. I have been trying to remember every minute of time with Michael. I have been locking away all of the laughs, the cheeky off colour comments..and some of the most soul bearing conversations of my life. I have put them away for safe keeping... quietly facing them for solace, for reason...for flashes of relief from my flexing identity...I am the bereaved. I have avoided that road...because it feels like the last precious memory that I haven't gotten to. I have kept it there, on a winding country lane next to a sleepy golf course. I couldn't bear to think, that maybe there are no memories left....maybe I have recalled all of the great things that made him who he was...and who we were....and now it's gone. So I didn't go down that road, until tonight.

I felt this blog post coming on tonight...something about facing those things we don't want to. I was driving home, and hit a major traffic jam, and veered off the highway to take another route...and that route, took me down Ellis Rd. I grinned in silence as I realised...I have to drive that road...there isn't another way. So I did it...and I talked myself through it...I remembered a crazy night where we sat in the car, and watched the sun come up over the golf course...and I cried as I drove past the mist of that memory...and I cry as I write this.

The face has open wounds on it...desperate for healing. Desperate for time to administer a salve of acceptance and recognition...it was all real. I will continue to face things that hurt, not to punish myself, or to create more grief...but to do one thing...and that for Michael is this:

I will never forget you. xo

Sign Language.

2010-08-16T19:41:00.013-04:00

I find pennies. I find pennies all the time. I find pennies, because I ask to find pennies...I don't find quarters, nickles or dimes...toonies or loonies...I find what I ask for, and what I ask for, is pennies.

Pennies are a sign for me. Pennies connect me to Michael. I actually think in my mind..."oh there you are", when I find one. I asked for a penny one night coming out of a gas station...I was having an insanely frustrating night. I was furious with anger and completely irritated, and I needed to vent. If it had been this time last year, I would have found Michael...I would have texted him saying how much my day sucked, and he would have sent back something cheeky. It's also likely it would have been scandalously inappropriate! It would have made me laugh, roll my eyes, and shake my head. But, now that he is gone...I ask for pennies. I found a penny that night...and it was from 1986. That is the year we met...we were 11. I knew he was still around...I knew in a second.

What signs do you look for? What signs do you ASK for? I believe we have not, because we ask not. I ask for signs all the time...the more wild, and outlandish, the better in my mind! Then I know for sure when they happen, that it hasn't been a mere coincidence...it has been the answer to the desire of my heart.

I am saddened when people say that a sign is a mere coincidence. I believe that time has been orchestrated...like a magnificent symphony. The parts don't just come in and out on their own. It is sometimes majestic and ringing...and other times, it whispers in your ear, and keeps time with your steps. Time allows you to be the transcendent solo sometimes...soaring and catching the wind, like a feather rising on the breeze. Other times, you find your part in the chorus...where being part of the whole just magnifies the greatness of the anthem. Time conducts you to those magic moments, where there is no choice but to believe, "that happened just for me".

So keep your eyes open...ask often for signs. Don't just ask for them when you feel you need an answer to something big in your life...ask for them everyday. I believe they will show up just to make you smile. I laughed out loud at a license plate in the parking lot of my new building last week...out of all the cars, in all of Ontario, to park across from me, the one that found me said, "MELBEE". (Michael's nickname at his workplace was, "MELB").

You never know when your actions, could be a sign to someone you know...or to a complete stranger. To the person who dropped a penny at the gas station today and decided to not pick it up? Thank you...I'm 100% confident that Mike slipped it out of your pocket, and left it there on the floor just for me.

Forever smooth Michael...I still laugh with you. xo

Hope Chest

2010-08-08T22:52:00.012-04:00

I have uprooted my life in the last week. I moved house. I am taking on a new chapter, in a new place...anxious to find out how my story weaves itself and inserts me into new and exciting adventures and experiences.

Upon moving, I realised something about my Hope Chest. It has dutifully sat beneath my television for two and a half years, and all the while...it has remained empty. I don't remember emptying it out. The day the movers came to transplant my life from one place to the next...I realised that my Hope Chest would cause them little stress or exertion due to its bare interior and the musty echo of 4 walls and a lid.

My Hope Chest belonged to my grandmother. It still has some old newspapers in the bottom drawer. They are yellow and delicate with age, but I will never part with them. I don't know why she put them there...but my not knowing, doesn't change the fact that she thought they were worth keeping for some reason.

I felt drawn to look at the history of the Hope Chest, and this is one I liked:

"Early hope chests were handmade and often lined with cedar, a fragrant wood that helps preserve fabric. Many fathers built their daughter’s hope chests and spent hours decorating them with artwork, wooden mosaics, and other decorations. The hope chest was then passed on from mother to daughter, becoming a family heirloom".

Funny, that a father carved out Hope for his baby girl. I imagine that labour of love beginning early, so the collecting could start...the hopes, the dreams..the anticipation of things while unseen, were longed for..waited for.

I don't know if my Hope Chest will ever be something I take into a marriage. I don't know if my Hope Chest will be passed onto a daughter. I have long ago let those hopes and dreams find the wind, and scatter far from me...to possibly land somewhere in that place called the future. Perhaps this is why it has remained empty. It hasn't been carefully organized and stacked to protect precious cargo...because I don't fully believe that the collecting will settle into anything traditional and tangible.

So, my Hope Chest is a place in my mind. It's not a box passed down..it's not an heirloom...it's a checklist of sorts, that sets me on a journey to strive for those things that are achievable. I will toss in those things I wish to accomplish, now, later, whenever. Things like filling a passport before it runs out....growing an incredible garden...taking any one of my nieces to their first boy band concert...teaching my nephew how to avoid breaking too many hearts.

My Hope Chest will find its way to one of my nieces one day...perhaps they will find something random in there, and wonder why I found it worth keeping. I hope they honour me by saving it...whether it be a movie stub, a train ticket...a photograph.

And if hope is to be believed in, and expressed...I will strive to model this: don't put it in a box, and let it sit until it *may* become useful...use it...scatter it, broadcast it to the world...and when you hear the broadcast bounce back to you someday... recognize that you sent out the frequency, and remember to also believe in it yourself.

Snapshots of Fifteen

2010-07-19T22:21:00.017-04:00

I found something this weekend while cleaning out a closet. It's the closet in my old bedroom at my parents house..the place I had all of yellowed Sweet Valley High books, cherished stuffed animals from childhood...dusty memories waiting patiently to be revisited.

I found some old photos. Not to be unexpected in a closet. However, these weren't photos I was in...nor was I present when most of them were taken. These were photos taken by a mother many years ago, of her sweet baby girl...capturing moments of her childhood, savoring the flitting and fleeting time when she was a safe, happy, vibrant little girl. There was the one that made me giggle even now, of a 5 yr old with the chicken pox...there was the brilliant snapshot of the blonde, pigtailed countrygirl on the back of a riding lawn mower wearing a white sundress freckled with strawberries.

These photos were given to me by the girl in the photos when we were about 12 or so. We had this silly idea, one summer afternoon in her parents basement, to trade baby photos of each other. We went through their family albums, and pulled out the ones that we liked. I still don't remember if she ever got any of mine. The photos ranged from her at 3 weeks old, right up to the summer of 1990, when I took 3 photos of her...because I was an expert photographer,don't you know. Funny, wannabe model photos, right down to the Kirk Cameron poster behind the brass daybed.

I was caught with short breath, and tears in my eyes when I saw these photos. While I smiled and fell back on the memories..I was slammed again with flooding emotion, and my grief as a 15 yr.old girl. That newspaper clipping beside the photos in the album, declaring, "Cambridge teens mourn the loss of Keri" took me back. I am 34 now...but in revisiting it all..I was 15 again, walking in the front door of my parents house after school..and having them tell me my vibrant, perfect partner in teenage crushes, and prank phone calls... had died that morning.

I wanted to lock the door of heaven from my side. I wanted to know her for my lifetime...not just my childhood. I wanted us to have a lifetime of memories, beginning when we were girls. To think of that now...we did have a lifetime of memories..15 yrs. is a lifetime for someone who lived life as brilliantly as she did.

I reflect on a scripture now, with much more insight, understanding and peace.
" For I know the plans I have for you..to prosper you, and not harm you..to give you hope, and a future".~ Jeremiah 29:11

God doesn't say, "I think I know the plans I have for you"..He says, "I know". It was no surprise to Him on April 5, 1991 that Keri would fling open the door of heaven, announce herself, and jump over a sofa into the expectant arms of Jesus. She is there...I can see it in my mind...I can hear her laugh if I listen..she's more than a memory, she is forever a part of me...her and I are forever 15.

I mailed the photos back to her brother today...I released the weight of the memory back to a sunny day in 1991, when my world spun out of control, and stood still..all at the same time. Maybe I have taken a step towards closure..or acceptance if you wish. I still see things that remind me of her...converse high tops...skate boarders, Garfield comics. But never moreso, than when I see teenage best friends...laughing, telling secrets...and being all of those remarkable things that fifteen brings. I hold back on telling them what I desperately wish to share..."remember every moment, what the laughter sounds like..what the butterflies feel like...how you feel like you own the world, because this moment in time, is fifteen year old magic".

The Roll Call of Gratitude

2010-07-10T19:25:00.015-04:00

I had a busy day today...I spent the morning with new friends who I feel like I have known for a lifetime...and the afternoon celebrating the marriage of an old friend I have known since childhood. Tonight I will go out with some crazy girlfriends, and I will celebrate what today is to me...precious... and fleeting.

I drove away from my friends reception, put on a great album, and was suddenly overcome with emotion.

Why?

Because I am blessed. I am SO blessed. I sometimes feel like I might be more blessed than most...and these are some reasons why.

I have two sisters. They are incredible women...ladies..girls...and they are on the inside of my soul. They validate my existence. We laugh hard, we have lifelong inside jokes that no one else would get...and that to me, is magic. I'd take a bullet for them...I'd stand in front of a bus for them...I would and will do everything I can to stand firm between them and harm. Today, I am washed with love for them...for being in my life...for being who I need, now, then and always.

I have a Nicola. You don't know what it means to have one of those, unless you have one. She is my best friend. She has been in my life longer than she wasn't...and she is incredible. She accepts me...she cheers me on...she in some subtle way, stands as my protector. She is cooler than anyone I know...she is a rockstar, poet, wealth of knowledge, passionate, true to the core kind of chick. I am blessed...I am glad she belongs to me, everyday...more than I can put into mere words.

I have those girlfriends who get the glamour whore I am...Cara...Stacey, I am better for knowing you...you validate that being true to your passion is what life is about. You demonstrate what being lead by your heart does...it impacts your world in a unique, beautiful...faaaaaabulous way....I love you.

I have a Michael. He isn't here in body anymore..but he is still with me. He knew how to make me laugh when all I wanted to do was fall apart. He showed me the power of listening intently...and thinking before talking. Knowing him touched parts of me that I thought were fatally damaged...as he applied the balm of friendship. He hugged harder than most..he had a sick sense of humour, and he got me. I had him for 3 years...and through that journey, til the end...I knew he would stand up for me, cheer me on...and champion my sometimes fragile soul. Michael knew he couldn't leave me without a patch...without a means of coping...and so, in true Michael fashion.. he left his family to me. Right now...I find myself breathless with the gratitude I have to him for this. For all of the feeling lost I have experienced since he died...I have found twinkling reminders of him...never moreso than when I find Terri and Linda. The relief is inexplicable...someone still gets me...and gets what he was to me.

So in this very moment, my gratitude runs over...it swells in my heart, and makes me look at today, in this world...and realise that love has come my way more times than I can count. To quote the song I had a constant repeat on my drive home:

"Love only comes, once in a while...and knocks on your heart, and throws you a smile..."

Thank you for finding me my cherished people.

Time, Truth and Money.

2010-07-03T09:57:00.016-04:00

I think we, as humans, have come up with a pretty novel idea. When we come up short on emotion, or come up lacking in things to say...we throw money at a situation. We buy people things to appease their anger and our guilt, we buy flowery cards as a way to say thank you, to mark a celebration...or to express what we can't put into words. It's a sad case when some bad, cheesy poet gets to tell your loved one how you feel.

When I think of all the things we waste in our lives on our brief little journey, the one that makes me most frustrated and impassioned, is TIME. That passing, steady, click click click on a clock. I would rather have someone waste my money than waste my time...after all, money can be made again..time is a limited edition, priceless thing, that you get to stamp with your original trademark.

“Time is more valuable than money. You can get more money, but you cannot get more time.” ~Jim Rohn

If you were to ask someone who is dying, what they would like more of, my guess is, you will rarely hear, "more money". They will likely tell you about the things they had dreamed of accomplishing...the amends they thought they had time to make..the love they had always wanted to share with someone...but put off for a more appropriate moment.

And if money and time, are so closely linked in our expressions to one another...I feel it may be because of this...we don't want to - or don't know how to tell the truth. There is an ironic thing about the truth. Two commonplace quotes about it find themselves to be opposite when explaining its very nature.

1. The truth will set you free.
2. The truth hurts.

What to think? How does that work? The truth isn't always pretty. The truth is that finite, undeniable actuality, that doesn't sway. And if that is the case, yes, sometimes, it will hurt you. Sometimes it will more than hurt you...it will enrage you. It enrages me most when it has come in on the sly, as second hand information...and has broadsided the transparency of my trust.

The bottom line is this...and I hope you will agree. I would rather be hurt with the truth, than a mistruth. I would rather have all of the cards on the table, showing the hand I am being dealt, so I can make an educated decison on my next move. All of the money..in all of the banks will not alleviate, or justify the lack of answers, or the blanket thrown haphazardly over the discomfort of the truth.

The truth does indeed set you free...it unleashes the time you have wasted, and brings understanding...and even if it does hurt, sting, or blindside you, know this:

When money speaks, the truth remains silent.

So say what you need to say today...tell someone you love them....tell them how you feel, even if it's uncomfortable. Have that difficult conversation...there is absolution on the other side. After all, an itegral part of this great human experience is trying to understand ourselves and each other.

Come on...you know you want to.

The Classroom

2010-06-29T19:42:00.018-04:00

I hated school. I wasn't an academic. There wasn't a lack of ability, I just think I was the kind of kid who learned things differently. I seemed to always run into those teachers who thought the way I learned was wrong. Why didn't I understand long division in my primary school days? Why couldn't I grasp physics in my highschool career? Let me be honest with you...it's because I didn't care. I still don't care. The math that makes sense to me today, as an adult, is the math that's applicable to my life...to my job, the rest is swirling down the drain of my frustrated schoolgirl days.

But if I was to think about the things I did learn in school...I would tell you that Life has been my most valuable teacher. When Life stands at the front of the class, and requires an assignment from me, I know it is often just as frustrating and lengthy as trying to learn the periodic table in grade 11.

I know Life requires things of me that I don't want to do. I know Life holds me accountable, and grades my contribution. I know Life doesn't allow me to skip anything...it all must be learned. And when I am being that smart ass at the back of the class, acting like I know it all, and not paying attention...that is when Life detains me. That is when Life pushes back, and makes me aware of the consequences of my actions. And in a twisted way...Life can hold a grudge...it can be that teacher who will find you down the road, and remind you that you are where you are, because you made costly decisions way back when.

I had some great teachers, who reflect back how I hope Life to be taught. They gave when they didn't have to...they explained what they understood on the repeat button..knowing that the answer evaded me. They were patient, and considerate...firm, but clear on what their expectations were. They knew I could do better...and they told me so.

I hope I can look at my Life teacher, and be acutely aware of the person she hopes to shape me into being. I know that help will always be available, if I am humble enough to ask for it. I know I will never be without that which I need...because even Life has a boss...and that boss controls my income, my health and my destiny...right down to my final breath...at which point, I will graduate into a place where the value of my lessons learned, and my contribution will be weighed.

So maybe I did learn things in school. I don't remember much about the academics..but I do remember the hopes I had for Life...many of which, Life has brought to fruition. I know I learned how to stand up for what I believe...and for those who can't do it for themselves. I did that for 2 reasons...partially because I knew it was right in my heart...and maybe moreso because I detest the illusion of popularity.

So Life..I am glad I don't have to learn about you in a classroom. I am glad you teach me how I learn. I am glad you are patient with me...because you know sometimes I think I know better. I am glad you have taught me lessons with humour and have allowed people to walk alongside me, and show me how to do it right.

Life..I am glad you're in front of me...I'm up for the challenge. But please....if you want to teach me another math lesson, could it come by way of winning the lottery?

Gold Rush

2010-06-21T20:59:00.047-04:00

Have you ever noticed priceless artifacts considered most valuable in this world, are things marked with fragility? Priceless art is one unexpected spark, or a merciless flood away from being lost forever...Faberge eggs would shatter with a brief slip of the fingers...Ming vases would topple to a marble floor, and be reduced to shards...regrettably, ceasing to exist, if they weren't preserved and protected.

Or would they? Something interesting about how the Japanese look at damage...they carefully examine those things that seem irrepairable to the average person...and choose a new identity for the item.

"When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful". ~Barbara Bloom

The loss of something valuable to you is always a catalyst for emotion. It can bring to the surface uncontrollable feelings of anger, frustration, sadness and grief. The losing changes how you foolishly expected your life would end up...if you actually believed you were the one to control the compass. The loss leaves you with choice...even when it's the last thing you want to face.

It can be as trivial as the black sunglasses I lost...I didn't replace them for weeks, knowing in my heart I would somehow find them. They have never turned up...and I have replaced them. It can be the unspeakable, unbearable, gut wrenching grief of losing a kindred soul you're doing life with...the canyon is vast, no replacement is possible. The value dangling on the pricetag of that relationship reads, "IRREPLACEABLE".

It's astonishing...absolutely confounding to me, the sparkling, white hot rush of gold that has filled the edges of my grief since February 13th, when my sidekick Michael went home, in the warmth and glowing sunlight of dawn. The gash in my heart...the near fatal wound to my soul, has been infiltrated with the most mindblowing, brilliant, priceless gifts. Beauty has arrived to repair the broken...that which remains has it's own special trademark of magic.

Someone said to me early on in this grief journey, that I would be amazed at the gifts grief can bring. I was much too numb and bewildered in that moment, to absorb the statement. The loss is inexplicable..I thought. Rather, I still think it even now, at this very moment. How can anything ever be right again? How can I possibly do life without him? This isn't what we planned...this isn't how it's supposed to be.

But then...as I chose to make small moves towards connection...to those he knew and loved...the strangest thing happened. There he was. He was in our midst, all over again. He was in the brave laughter and actions of his friends...he was echoed in the mischievious giggles of his sweet nephews. He is in his amazingly insightful sister...right down to her crazy driving, and love of adventure and ice cream. He is in his Mother...and her authentic journey to figure this life out...to understand, and be understood. He is in his Father..right down to the afternoons watching Nascar and the devotion to the Detroit Redwings.

And he is in me...he is around me...and he is with me, all the time. His laughter echoes in my mind...his insight challenges me still, to be a better person...just one day, one encounter at a time. Those glistening gifts he gave to me, filled the fractures I was trying to mend on my own, and I am blessed to have called him my friend. Losing him has resulted in a goldrush if you will...a flood that doesn't damage the treasure, but fills it to perfection, maximising it's beauty, strength and value.

So, I am branded..I am trademarked...I am forever changed..I am a friend of MB.

It's Okay That

2010-06-14T22:48:00.018-04:00

Sometimes I feel like I am trying to fit the pieces of a puzzle together, in order to allow life to unfold as it's expected. I know the edges are often assembled first, in order to create a border...a boundary of the internal contents.

The older I get, the more I realise...I have been trying to assemble this puzzle with Monopoly money...perhaps the tweezers from Operation...pie triangles from Trivial Pursuit.

Who knew? Life isn't a puzzle...there aren't boundaries, and there isn't a blueprint or a roadmap. Pieces don't need to be placed delicately with tweezers..they can be jammed in, pushed, twisted...manipulated..even turned over. The money doesn't make the puzzle any easier to complete. The pie pieces from Trivial Pursuit appear to be irrelevant.

So in my game, these are some of the rules...

It's OK That:

*I love deeply, completely, and eternally...and sometimes, frivilously, recklessly, and spontaneously.
*I will always follow my heart...even to my detriment sometimes.
*Music moves me to my core, and consumes me entirely at times.
*I have a crazy, sick, twisted sense of humour..and find it hard to tame at times..and when I find someone who understands it, I feel like a child all over again.
*I'm never going to be conventional...and that makes some people uncomfortable...but as long as I work at being authentic, I am fulfilling my destiny.
*I love shock value...like, I LOVE it.
*Being me is sometimes exhausting...and I wish I had someone to take on the world with.
*I love big hair..secretly...I want big ass country music hair.
*I love animals too much...so much that I don't want to have them..because I know I will have to be without them one day, and it's just too sad.
*I hold secrets to the grave...because they are between me, and one other person.
*I still cry for my childhood best friend, who has been gone longer than she was ever here.
*I hate mornings..a lot.
*I'd drive anywhere..for anything, as long as the company was good. So call me, and ask me to meet you for the worlds best: ice cream, coffee, cheese pizza, chocolate cake..conversation...I am so there.
*I am restless.
*I eat peanut butter out of the jar.
*I'm honouring the grief of losing my Michael everyday...but have no regrets about who we were, and how we ended things...it was all said while he was here.
*I say "I love you" to everyone...because I would rather come up feeling awkward, than regretful.

A glimpse. Some insight. A flash. All of those things have created a miniscule visual of who I am. My life puzzle is in the garbage, I am not doing anything delicately with the Operation tweezers... Monopoly money isn't my purpose or goal...

And the pie, well...let me tell you something about pie...if you tell me you know the location of the worlds greatest slice..you might persuade me to get in my Jeep at 2am, and come and experience it with you....why? Because the pursuit may be trivial to some...but it's one of my favorite parts of playing this wild game called Life.

The House

2010-06-03T20:36:00.034-04:00

Comparing my life to a house? It might look like this:

When I became old enough, I knew it was time to set off into the mystery and promise of my adult life. I knew I had to set up a house.

Upon moving in, I found myself overwhelmed with the weight of my life. I had bulky, heavy boxes of the past...things that I wanted to store in the dark, musty attic and forget about, but instead, dumped in the front hallway, obstructing the door. I had the clutter of the present, shoved haphazzardly into cupboards and kitchen drawers, causing me to feel like those things of importance, that need to be attended to today...are just beyond grasp in the unattainable... and not readily available or easily retrievable. And finally...those bright velvet, jewelled little boxes...full of gleaming hopes and soul defining dreams...for some reason, these were the belongings I decided to stow away in the darkness of the rooftop rafters.

I chose to look at the walls as a burden to paint, instead of a canvas to be created. I often knew that I would sleep much more peacefully, if I would just climb the stairs...but was sometimes too lazy to move upwards to find relief. The couch was ok...but it wasn't where I was meant to sleep.

And those boxes..in the front hallway, that inhibited my easy access to the life outside of the house? I chose to step over them...day after day...and to be reminded of their contents with every glance, to be hurt all over again by the broken things inside when I would catch a sharp corner with a bare knee, or a baby toe. I chose to let them obscure the direct path of possibility, just on the other side of the door. Only I could open the door from the inside, to allow myself a formal introduction to a world that I can wrap my arms around, and identify as my own unique place.

The clean up began one morning...my house was well lived in by now, and nothing shocked me, until a storm blew open that front door. A violent, unforgiving gust blew through my home...and upturned the familiar. The boxes at the front door were obliterated, and the contents were spilled and strewn. The cupboards and closets were blown open..and the chaos of the present was tossed about into random corners and doorways.

As I threw up my hands in disbelief....I felt a strange release of my identity. Those things that had stood in my way, were exposed and identified for what they were... the useless, fatally damaged debris of a life freckled with sadness and misfortune. Those possessions of the present, that should have been put away properly from the start, would now require a place in my home where they work FOR me, not in opposition.

And just as the sweeping was almost complete...the remnants and rubble placed outside the door...the items of the present finding their new lot in my world, a shockingly beautiful thing happened.

Another surge of wind whipped around my house...and took the roof clear off. As I stood in confounded disbelief, and bewildering frustration, I saw things begin to fall. I saw those bright velvet, jewelled little boxes... as they fell in a circle around me. They did not break or shatter, or lose their precious contents...but they did reveal to me, that which I had long forgotten about in the dusty, ignored attic up above. They landed with lids open, and treasure exposed...and I realised this: my gleaming hopes, and soul defining dreams are always surrounding me...above, in front of and behind me, and are infinitely more accessible if I keep my house in order, and let the irrepairable, broken things stay where they happen... outside my front door.

The Letter

2010-05-16T18:15:00.034-04:00

I drove past a group of children playing this afternoon. They were lost in the sunshine of this glorious Sunday...laughing, chasing each other...living in the blink of their innocence. For some reason, in that moment, I felt like I was looking upon myself at that age...I was connected to the pure expression of their childhood. It was like driving past a filmstrip projecting my memories, and finding myself reflective on their boundless expectatations of life, love, and destiny.

What are the things I would tell my 11 yr. old self? Would that insecure little girl ever believe that this is who she became? Would I tell her that it all works out in the end...and that she is a remarkable, one of a kind, exceptional child of God? I would tell her so many things...

Dear Jenny~

Keep this letter...you will fall back on it for peace in moments of feeling lost. Sweetheart, you sure are special, there are some things you should know about the future.

There will be people who will come and go in your life...don't ever hold a grudge for the way someone will treat you in your youth...they could very well leave an indellible mark on your life in the future.

Love your parents...they have done everything to the best of their ability, hon. They have never maliciously tried to hurt you. Be kind to them, they are going to fiercely love you for all of their days...and that's what they are hoping you will pass onto your children. You will love them differently as you grow up...they will frustrate you, disappoint you...anger you....but know this: one day you will be a grown up, and you will see them as people, flawed, but committed to you as unto their last breath. They will teach you lessons on how to be compassionate and engaged in this life. They will teach you to choose responsibility for those who have less in this life..."to whom much is given...much is expected".

Love your sisters..and be thankful everyday for them. You're doing life together, because God ordained it...he constructed the fairytale of the 3 sisters. Sometime in the future, you will have close friends who lose a sibling...and you will choose to walk alongside them. Never end a conversation without telling them you love them, they need to hear it the most.

Don't let other people impact how you feel about yourself..I know that seems impossible, but God has put you where you are...and every person who crosses your path will teach you something. Even when they are cruel to you, and tease you, and try to make you feel less than...hold in your heart that this life is big...this world holds moments of magic that are for you, and you alone. Learn how to be a good friend by demonstrating protective loyalty towards those you love. Stand for those who can't stand on their own, not out of obligation, or in a search for praise...do it, because it is right.

Live in your moments. Look at the world, and realise it's all for you. Don't be afraid to feel overwhelming emotions....joy, exhileration, peace... anger, frustration, grief. These emotions all add to the complexity of your human journey...and no feeling coming from your heart is wrong. Don't doubt, or downplay how you feel....it matters...it matters very much, sweetie.

Remember the kindred moments you have with Keri. She shapes your childhood...she is in the brilliance of your glowing girlhood. She won't be around past your 15th yr....so be present in every giggle over a boy, stamp the memory of her smile in your soul...recall her glittering laugh and spirit when you want to mourn the loss of what seemed to be a flash of youth.

Remember how I said to not hold a grudge? Guess what? Mike Baskett will be one of your best friends. I KNOW...I sometimes don't believe it either. He will come into your life when you desperately need an ally...you will find each other at a time when you think the world needs to be figured out...and you will take that on together over many Tim Horton's triple/triples. He will save you in a way Jenn, he will see you for who you are, and you will see him. You will realize that 2 souls can find peace in each other...you will discover the peace in silent moments with a soulmate. You will feel safe with him...and that will restore things stolen from your little girl self. The night you both fall asleep on the couch at his apartment in Toronto in May of 2007....remember that...hold it close. Remember what it was to be with a man who had nothing but faith in you, and wanted nothing more than to be your close friend. This relationship will teach you so much Jenn. And in December of 2009, when you see his back turn to shut the door after a morning spent in church together...don't regret for one second that you told him you loved him....DON'T second guess that choice...it's the last thing you will ever say to him.

To sum it up sweetheart, strive for these things. Love God in your own way...don't ever try to fit the mould. Be real, it's what will bring you overwhelming peace. Love the people you are doing life with...and tell them often...even if you feel like it doesn't always land. "I love you" is NEVER regrettable. Be kind to yourself. Don't try to be someone else...and if someone doesn't like you, then they have afforded themselves a huge loss. Take on challenges with abandon...be fearless. Stand up for those who can't do it for themselves...legacy begins early.

I love you girl...your incredible passion for life is going to impact those around you...for all of the insecurities you feel now, mark my words, this world will never be the same because YOU were here.

Love,

Jenn with two n's....(Mike Baskett gives you that nickname...I know! He's so cute!!)

xoxo

Brave New Legacy

2010-05-09T23:03:00.029-04:00

There is a legacy of untold expanse within each of us. Our small, minute, seemingly routine actions can impact this world...and momentous decisions about the trajectory of our lives will affect untold, uncountable generations.

I remember hearing about generational curses when I was a child. The concept frightened my childlike perceptions of the things I can't outrun in life. It set in my mind that there are things that are fated...and are unavoidable. What I failed to understand as a little one, is that it takes ONE person in a family to stand up and shout..."No more"! It takes one person in a family to declare with absolute conviction..."I will choose to change my history...and in turn, I will change the future,for my children, and for generation upon generation".

The impact of one person defiant enough to face a crippling addiction...the bravery of one who faces past or present abuse...the heroism of one who puts themselves on the line for someone else, these are actions that crash head on into what seemed to be an inescapable future. The weight of these decisions mirrors a future where teenagers are worried about grades and the school dance...not where to get their next high...the weight of these decisions sets a parent into being mindful, conscious and aware of their childs innocence at every moment... the weight of these actions inspires someone to pay it forward to a stranger, in remembrance and honour of the one who did it for them prior.

Once upon a time...a man made a decision. He was a close confidante and sidekick to a famous mobster, and took on the name, "Easy Eddie". While he spent many years making money illegally, and was responsible for many crimes, both noted and suspected, Easy Eddie found himself at a crossroads when he realised just what kind of example he was providing for his young son. He calculated a decision to help the police compile evidence against the Boss...and was instrumental in his conviction for tax evasion in 1931. The mobster was Al Capone.

Easy Eddie was shot and killed one week before Capone's release from prison in 1939. This might be where you ask me how his hard decision altered the future. The son he chose to change for, the son he knew he could give everything to...except a good name, and a promising future, was Edward Joseph O'Hare. Edward Joseph O'Hare was a an exceptionally gifted Navy Fighter Pilot. In 1942, O'Hare saved countless hundreds of lives while defending the Lexington, an aircraft carrier stationed in Pearl Harbour. For this he received the Medal of Honour from President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The medal validated the past decision of a father who wanted more for his son. A father who wanted his son to save lives, and to trademark bravery into their family history, instead of the shame of crime and dishonesty.

And if you should ever fly into Chicago, perhaps you will remember this story. Not for the memory of the mobster, but because the airport you will arrive at will be O'Hare International Airport.

One man changed history by making a conscious choice about his legacy. One step towards what is right, impacted the future.

A decision was made...faith was flung into the universe...and the future changed. The next time you know you need to make what seems to be an impossible decision, think of the glorious extension your legacy...I am confident that clarity will lead you to the right decision...not just the one that's easiest.

Change For That?

2010-05-05T23:33:00.003-04:00

When you buy a large triple/triple at Tim Hortons, and pay with a $20.00 bill, what do you always get back?

Change.

You have a choice on how the remainder will be spent.That change brings things into your life. Sometimes, it's the things you want..the things you have saved for. Other times, it is spent on ordinary, predictable necessities you need to live...toothpaste, kleenex, dishsoap. Occassionally, it is spent on something you later regret..and buyers remorse is recalled everytime you lay eyes on the article. While that is unfortunate, I know the lesson lies in being mindful the next time on how to spend more wisely and less impulsively.

Sometimes, when paying with a large bill...change cannot be made immediately. The resistance is due to the inadequacy of the cash register...and while a purchase is desired, the parametres of how to attain the item are complicated. There needs to be a compromise...a solution.

Change in our lives is very similar. It comes in and out of our lives...it brings us the things we want...the things we need...and seldomly, the things we regret for a lifetime. Change is forever linked with choice. As in spending money, you choose what you will buy, and where you will purchase. The same can be said for our lives.

When we are forced to deal with change, there is great pressure to make the right decision...or, to spend wisely. It is a turning point. While the change burns a hole in our pocket...we know it must be faced, and spent. To leave that surplus in a pocket or a wallet, serves no purpose to the person who owns it, or to the economy of their life. How often do we spend our chances frivilously? I believe chance and change may be separated by merely one letter for a divine reason.

Resistance to change is like not spending what is in your wallet...but continuously going to the bank machine of life, to get more money. There are adequate funds already with you, if you would choose to make a decision and face the wealth you are avoiding..right there in your own back pocket. Would you consistently drain your bank account, and pay bank fees in blatant avoidance of the funds in your wallet? Then why elude the inevitable chances and changes in your life that may be spent on a winning lottery ticket of untold fortune?

Perhaps there is a theoretical leap of faith...or a tipping point where everything becomes clear. Perhaps that change almost gets stolen...and you are forced to spend.

"When the pain of staying the same surpasses the pain of changing, one will change."

Fearlessly face your lifes changes... spend them with faith, unfailing certainty and an expectant heart.

Energy in Motion

2010-04-25T18:55:00.003-04:00

While I am considerably fascinated with the stars, the skies, and all things above, my actual book knowledge is minimal. However, upon hearing the word 'Supernova' repeatedly in the last week, I felt I might be drawn to how it relates to my life right now. The definition spoke to me...on many levels.

Supernova: "The supernova is bounded by an expanding shock wave, and consists of ejected energy expanding from the explosion. This energy sweeps up and shocks along the way. Perhaps the most famous and best-observed young Supernova was formed by SN 1987A, a supernova that appeared in 1987 (and exploded approximately 168,000 years ago)".

The supernova activates enormous waves of motion. It flings energy into the universe...and takes unexpecting, unsuspecting matter with it. This is not an anticipated event...there is no preparing. The event results in absolute change..there is no choice.

The other side of the supernova is it's longevity. We aren't even aware of it when it actually occurs. If a supernova happened right this very minute...we would never see the burst in our lifetime. Astonomers see the glory of it...the beauty and the triumph of the blast long after the first shock wave. They weren't even born when it began....nor were their parents, or their grandparents....not even ten times their great grandparents. It created absolute motion in history...absolute change for generation upon generation...it affected the universe then, now and continues outward.

However...the matter caught in the incredible velocity of the bang...is forever flung forward and outward. It spirals out, at great force...affecting that which it touches, because it, itself was forced to leave a familiar, comfortable orbit.

I might not be happy with the supernova events in my life...but they MUST propel me forward, and outward from mundane expectancy. The shock wave whisks me into being a catalyst for change. The awareness begins with an unchangable event...and causes me to affect MY universe, like that which pushed me out of my comfort zone. And just like that supernova originates with a single blast... that which has unmeasurable impact...so does each action I choose to affect my world with.

May each extension of kindness, compassion and awareness honour the original detonator...the spark to the dynamite....the match to the wick...the Mikey B. to the Jenny G...xo

The Grey Sweater

2010-04-19T16:16:00.003-04:00

Have you ever loved something that you have purchased? Have you waited...saved for..and hoped for that garment, hoping to make it a part of your world?

There was once a man, who saw a comfy, warm, grey sweater in a store. He immediately loved it. He held it against his torso, to see if it would fit....he felt that texture of the fibres...soft, nubby...comfortable. When he checked his wallet...he realised, that he was short of the asking price. With a small amount of disappointment...he put down the sweater, and left the store.

He thought of it all week...and knew when he was paid next, that would be the first place he would go. The day finally arrived..and with expectation and excitement, he purchased the grey sweater. As he was leaving the store, he ran into a friend, and even then...his pride overtook him, and he showed his friend his new purchase. He couldn't wait to get home and put it on.

The first time he wore the sweater...he felt like a million bucks. He got compliments on how great it made him look, how it fit like a glove. This feeling continued...everytime he wore it, he loved it more.

As the sweater began to take on a life of it's own....it became the standby...the go to article that made the man feel good. Through the years, it may have gotten frayed around the elbows...it may have had some pulls in the yarn....but he always loved and adored it...it was a part of him. He took it with him when he travelled...and left it in the car as a "just incase".

One blustery Fall afternoon...he came out of work, to find his car had been broken into....his phone was gone..the change in his coffee reserve jar was gone...right down to the penny. But the most heartbreaking item to be stolen...was the grey sweater. His heart sank....his palms got sweaty....he felt angry and intent all at the same time...." I MUST find my sweater....I love it...it's a part of me".

For weeks...he looked intently at every stranger passing, he checked second hand shops..he even looked more closely at garbage bins...hoping for a miracle. And just as he had given up all hope...and thought his pursuit may never bring back that which was lost...there it was....the item he had been yearning for. The thief had a moment of clarity...the thief had no need for this item...the thief left it beside the car, with a note saying..." I know you must have loved this sweater...it smells like you, and it is your fit....I can't use it..it belongs to you".

He immediately put it on, right there in the parking lot. That which had cost him much...that which had become a part of his entity...that which DID NOT belong to the thief. The rightful ownership was to the man who loved it from the first moment he laid eyes on it...the man who purchased it at great cost... and tirelessly searched for it to bring it back home.

The Weight of a Soul

2010-04-14T22:40:00.027-04:00

21 grams. The medical community has long concluded...the weight of a soul escaping a body results in a loss of 21 grams. This is equivalent to 0.05 lbs. Barely measurable...easily overlooked...an infinitesimal weight...unless you knew the soul.

How interesting that something so minute represents the complete essence of a human. That piece of existence...that passes from time into eternity, contributes so very little to the physical body...but without it, the gift would be empty on the inside...no matter the beauty of the wrapping.

Something interesting about the number 21....a parallel port if you wish....Pier 21 in Halifax was, from 1928 to 1971, the place where immigrants entered Canada. It was called the "Gateway of Hope." It was where people ending an exhausting journey were ushered into a new land...a new adventure. Their past reality was of no importance...and their new world was in front of them. All they had to do, was leave a little something behind....the weight of their past life.

I am amazed that there is any weight associated at all with the soul. For all of those skeptics out there who believe that this life ends when the last breath is drawn..I am sure this information is unsettling. But I know, that as I grow older...and still feel like my 18 yr old self...it is my body that is changing and aging..and not my soul...my soul belongs to eternity, my body is bound to earth.

So what to do with my 21 grams while it has an earthly postal code? Before it abandons a familiar existence for an unfamiliar horizon?

Make it work hard. Measure its weight daily in acts of hope. Let it be amplified and stretched to expected limitations...and pushed beyond what is merely acceptable, to that which is extraordinary.

C.S.Lewis summed it up impeccably for me..." You don't have a soul. You HAVE a body. You ARE a soul". May your 21 grams find a unique and singular purpose in this brief human life. May they strive to serve this world, while being mindful of the tug towards an exhilarating port of call...one step off the ship of humanity. May your 21 grams be missed not for their lack of weight...but for their irreplacable imprint on your world.

Counting Backwards

2010-04-07T22:18:00.035-04:00

The stopwatch. The snooze button. The countdown on my microwave as I wait for something cooking...what makes these items all condusive to my life? They measure time.

Everytime I stand in wait for something in my microwave...as I watch those numbers count backward...29..28...27.......4..3...2...1...I think everytime...those were seconds of my life. I don't get them back. I stood for 30 seconds, and watched time slip in front of a stainless steel microwave. I think about how much of my life is on cruise control. How I can get to the end of a day, and not remember much about the activities, or interactions that brought me to another sunset. Was I truly on autopilot all day?

When I think about all of the things that are beating along in perfect time without interuption, I am wildly astounded at the complexity of Gods measuring tools. That which is not tangible, but is certainly contributing to our very existence...our life force. Your heart beats in time...your blinks are not a spontaneous rhythm...the music you listen to has a precise time signature. It wouldn't be considered music if it consisted of chaotic, random notes, and no specific beat. Seasons have their natural ebb and flow, without any of our contribution at all. They arrive and depart in compliance with a divine agenda from the heavenlies.

I know so many who live life in the meantime. WHEN I get that job...WHEN I move there...WHEN I have kids...I will be complete. I don't believe life is about feeling totally at rest. That's not to say that we should be unsettled and restless...but what it does mean, is we should continually race towards a new personal best, once the last marker of personal best was surpassed. I believe the most authentic appraisal of personal greatness, is how you are affecting your world...how you spend your time with those who need YOU most.

If our steps are ordered by the Lord,and the completion of our breaths are counted
before our birth, then I believe each millisecond of time should be lived as a symphony of service. Service isn't necessarily the act...it is having the heart of a servant. It's saying..."All things flow freely to me, and from me...my hands are open...nothing truly belongs to me..not even my next breath." I believe that going through life with this sobering acknowledgement, surely changes the way you see the world.

"Give freely and spontaneously. Don't have a stingy heart. The way you handle matters like this triggers God, your God's, blessing in everything you do, all your work and ventures. There are always going to be poor and needy people among you. So I command you: Always be generous, open purse and hands, give to your neighbors in trouble, your poor and hurting neighbors." ~the Bible

May we live life with open hands...so all that life has to offer comes and goes freely to and from us. May our hands reach beyond our fingertips, and rise to the great challenge of service. And when we meet our Creator someday...may He look contemplatively at our hands, and exclaim with pride..." you understood the lesson my beloved, and your hands touched the world as mine did...your time on earth was well spent...not a second was wasted".

Where You Are

2010-04-03T23:47:00.025-04:00

All of heaven celebrated on February 13th, 2010, when my friend came back home. That guy in the American Eagle t-shirt and baggy jeans, who had an infectious laugh was ushered into the heavenlies that morning. I believe without a moments pause or a second thought, he was instantly there... to be seperate from the body, means to be present with the Lord. I know there wasn't even a blink of time where he was in between. He merely flashed from time, into eternity.

Life has been considerably different since he went back home...I am certainly not the same woman. My faith is restored, not only in my God, but also in the people I am doing life with. My small circle of eclectic, incredible friends has increased immensely since he went beyond the veil. I am continually blessed...I am daily receiving gifts from this sometimes heavy grief.

Michael's life demonstrated to me, the very character of Jesus. He didn't conform, he called it like he saw it, and he was a fierce defender of those in society who are helpless and defenseless. He was an incredible friend...a friend worth talking about with pride and honour. He confirmed that NO ONE is outside of the love of God. He proved to me, that God will pursue us, and make us believers in His unfailing passion for us...no matter the years of resistance, or denial about his grace, or His very existence. He also proved to me, that you don't have to fit the mould...I don't think he did anything in a traditional sense! But I know he loved God and believed in the blinding power or redemption...even if he said F**K more than anyone I have ever known!

I have been thinking this weekend...Michael is spending this Easter in heaven. Michael gets to wrap his arms around Jesus, and express his gratitude face to face. And Jesus undoubtedly, will look into Michael's sweet brown eyes and say with conviction..." Michael...my friend...my beloved friend, if it had been ONLY you...I still would have chosen the nails". I expect Michael will grab the scarred hands of his Saviour...look down at them with humility, and whisper the only words to be found...."Thank You".

He now has the priviledge of knowing the long term affect his life is going to have on all of us. He can see the beginning from the end, because he is outside of the confines of time. He can see the generations that are going to be altered because of his legacy. I know he didn't think he was that powerful....(his words, not mine!) but I think he forgot about who God had called him to be. I remember saying to him, "Mike, God doesn't call the qualified...He qualifies the called".

This night...as I prepare to go to sleep, I know I will wake tomorrow with the knowledge in my heart that Easter is being celebrated in heaven with my friend. I am picturing my entrance into heaven someday...and the man who will be there waiting for me, arms ready to welcome me...and a radiant smirk, like only he had. I know he will embrace me like he did the last time I saw him, only this will be a welcome...and there will never be anymore seperation or grief. I know, he will look me in the eye, and say, "I've missed you hon..I need to introduce you formally to someone...I think you might already know Him ;)" He will take me to my Saviour, where I will wrap my arms around Him, and get to express my gratitude...face to face. And Jesus will look into my blue eyes, and say with ultimate conviction.."Jenn...my friend, my beloved friend...if it had been ONLY you...I still would have chosen the nails".

Towards Daylight

2010-04-01T22:04:00.026-04:00

As I ponder spring, I see the world wake again from it's wintery slumber. I am feeling that biting wind become a lazy, fragrant breeze. It doesn't sting as it did not long ago, rather, it brushed past me with a delicate whisper of renewal.

I saw hopeful green buds on a tree today. I saw crocuses on my front lawn last night. Random little violet blossoms that studded the pathway to my front door. They weren't planted there...but they somehow found their way to my corner of the world, and laid dormant until the symphony of spring commenced, and called them into life.

They were there before my knowing. Their destiny road mapped long before the snow receeded, and they were summoned to grow.

What about the seeds inside each of us? What about the winter of dormancy that causes us to lose hope in the beauty of the future bloom? The growing is hard...it is under the soil, it is in the darkness of the earth that the real work is being accomplished. And at the moment of fruition... where the struggle to make it out of the seed, and to journey toward fresh air and the warmth of the sunlight is realised...the proof is concrete...the result is definite....it ALL makes perfect sense in that instant.

In essence...if you are looking for an analogy, those things that are the most beautiful in life, often come out of the mire of our hopelessness. In nature, seeds need to go into the earth, in order to develop into their authentic, exquisite, predestined brilliance. They have no other choice, but to listen to the gentle awakening...and to begin the journey towards daylight. And when the breakthrough has been made, and the vibrancy of the flower is demonstrated, it is for the world to see...it is a declaration of the journey...it was WORTH it.

And this weekend, as I ponder my Saviours death, I reflect back on the parallel nature of these visuals. Jesus died...and was put into the earth. His death was the acceptable ransom, that allows ME to live under the umbrella of God's unfailing grace and mercy. And just as the world would believe, that the story surely ends once a body lays in the tomb...I am resolute in confirming...death doesn't win when the earth swallows the body.. and the grave doesn't complete the story. My friend, the story merely laid dormant for 3 days...and on that glorious Sunday, death lost its sting as Jesus burst from the earth, VICTORIOUS over the grave.

On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again. At the same moment and in the same way, we'll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: mortal will be replaced by the immortal. Then the saying will come true:

Death swallowed by triumphant Life!
Who got the last word, oh, Death?
Oh, Death, who's afraid of you now?
It was sin that made death so frightening and guilt that gave sin its leverage and destructive power. But now in a single victorious stroke of Life, all three — sin, guilt, death — are gone, the gift of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Thank God!
~1 Corinthians 15:55-58

The Circumscribed Life

2010-03-30T22:55:00.017-04:00

Stones thrown in a pond....a puddle...a wishing well. What is the inevitable result? Ripples...circles radiating out from the source of the disturbance. And while the ripples fade, and the concentration dwindles the further it is from the source...there was still an initial point of contact that threw the dormant into motion.

Now, what if our lives were the stone...or the penny if you might, that caused this world to be shaken? What if we realised our strongest point of difference, is the first ripple that emanates? After all, it is closest to the source.

Your affect on this world will be most dramatic on the people you do life with. You will support those people more than you might a stranger, because you understand them...you are invested. You will likely be scarred more deeply by someone who has known you a lifetime...a parent, a sibling...a friend. But I tend to think, those are the people we are most inclined to forgive without a moments reservation, because we know their heart...and we don't quit on the people we love.

You matter in your world. And, you are where you are supposed to be, and doing life with those closest to you for an exact, divine purpose. While making a donation to a charity...or taking a soul searching missions trip is an excellent way to keep perspective in life...you are the pebble my friend....in YOUR world...right this very second.

So what to do with this? What to consider when you want to be a better human being? I say, first and foremost...don't wait. I remember telling a dear friend of mine, that the greatest extravagance in life, is the way people waste their chances. He was sobered by this revelation...because he had spent many years throwing it away. I know he was bound to make up for lost time... and I believe he did...rather, I KNOW he did. How do I know? Because he is now on the other side of the veil....and the ripples that have radiated in such a short time since his departure, are truly circumscribed to the source....his much cherished family, his fiercely loyal friends...his incredible coworkers...and the people he selflessly served everyday.

So, if I am to action this provocation...this is the soul of the endeavor.

"Circumscribe: to draw (a figure) around another figure so as to touch as many points as possible. "

Don't Wake the Baby

2010-03-27T10:52:00.017-04:00

I have a blaze burning inside me this sunny Saturday morning after reading a thought provoking quote. I am pondering two things about life...the bereavement of innocence lost...and the phoenix of a resolute heart rising from the smouldering embers of its grief.

"The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core of strength within you that survives all hurt." ~Max Lerner, The Unfinished Country, 1950

I slept last night with a crib at the foot of my bed. My sweet cherub faced niece was inside. I heard her stir during the night...I heard the rhythm of baby breath. I checked her throughout the night, and saw her pink angel cheeks... her warm and snuggled deep in slumber. I was moved by these moment of innocence. I was moved knowing I will do anything to defend this blanket of protection over her. There isn't any battle I wouldn't fight, if it meant this brief time in her life was in jeopardy. The whisper of innocence in life is so very brief...it's preservation paramount to me. Perhaps, because I don't remember a lot of innocence in my childhood. The need to defend it in the lives of the little ones in my life is non negotioable. I am the warrior...I walk ahead, or alongside to stand in protection of those who can't...I choose to be the shelter.

As for the grief of my tarnished, distant innocence, and possibly yours as well, I extend this charge to you. Don't stand by and do nothing. If a child is in harms way, then be the brave guardian of their innocence. If a friend confronts loss...be their shelter. If you see a need in society, then be the agent of change...not the apathetic.

Protect the sleeping babies as long as you can, and choose to journey alongside those who may need your courage as a refuge.

Hatchet Free

2010-03-25T16:54:00.006-04:00

I was curious as to where the term, "Bury the Hatchet" came from today. While I can quite easily guess at the meaning, reading the origin sent my mind revolving to a lateral reflection on life.

Hatchets were buried by the chiefs of tribes when they came to a peace agreement.

"Proclaim that they wish to unite all the nations of the earth and to hurl the hatchet so far into the depths of the earth that it shall never again be seen in the future." Jesuit Relations, 1644

There are two hatchets that need to be buried in this life. Obviously, the ones we wish to swing in retaliation against those who have wounded us...but what about the hatchets we slay ourselves with everyday? What about the old mental messages we retain and become slave to when it comes to the the things we wish were in our realm of possibility? We all believe past lies about ourselves. We believe the broken record of our precarious youth...telling us at some point, we weren't enough.

What would life be like, if all we had heard in our lives was praise and approval? Would we believe our boundaries were non existent? Would we see that hatchet as a way of blazing a trail towards our goals and dreams, instead of cutting ourselves off at the knees, and amputating our possibilities? Because in reality, the hatchet that has been used against us, is not OUR weapon of self distruction...it has been used by a cowardly, weak, cruel human being, who doesn't weigh their actions against the future. Words are powerful...and when administered with intent, they can either edify or crucify an innocent soul.

So today I choose. To bury the hatchet of past wrongs. To detach from those things that have paralysed me through my life, and caused me to believe I am not capable or worthy of an extraordinary, unbelievable human experience. I choose to forgive...I do it for my own health and future, and realise I am the sum total of ALL my experiences. I choose to look at this life, like I have heard only acclaim and esteem..and have no repeat button pushed on the harmful ipod messages in my soul.

Hatchets be destroyed...life...be consumed!

A Penny for your thoughts?

2010-03-23T21:36:00.002-04:00

Did you ever think you would learn a lesson from something as seemingly worthless as a penny? The lesson was waiting for me...patiently...until I was ready to absorb its immeasurable value.

My friend Michael...joker...character...had this funny quirk. On one visit to see him in Toronto..he picked up every penny he saw...and believe me...there wasn't a lack of random pennies in downtown Toronto. I thought it was funny....endearing...ridiculous...but classic "Mike". Finally, I asked him about it....why pick up something so worthless? So heavy in the pocket? And the response resonates so much deeper now...

"Jenn, they aren't worthless...you know...that's MONEY...even if it's not much... And let me tell ya...I see a lot of them..and 135 of them will buy me a coffee at Tims..."

So we carried on our evening...he picked up pennies...I laughed everytime...and didn't think much more about it.

As I now reflect on those pennies...and the man who saw their infinite value and potential...I am beginning to understand the levels of that experience. This man who picked up the pennies...has taught me this from that memory. We create value in things we see potential in. We can make something out of nothing if we work to grow....nurture...and collect towards a common goal. Shame on us for discarding those things that have a small amount of value...and have the potential to be part of a bigger whole. Because my dear friend...he didn't just apply this to pennies...he applied it to those people who society has thrown away...ignored and written off. He poured his heart and soul into making those wayward souls KNOW that they are valuable....that someone sees them...and that their potential is immeasurable, if they apply themselves..one day at a time.

In the light of my friends new position...(love you rascal...xo) I, like so many...have been looking for signs of him around me...I am trying to justify the sleepless nights...the moments of overwhelming emotion...the seemingly unspeakable grief. I woke up this morning...and had the very clear direction..to look out the window...and I expected to see a sign outside...the eagle some have spoken of...or something abundantly clear telling me my dear friend is ok. I opened the curtains..and before I could even look outside...there it was.....that which took my breath away...made me smile...and brought me to tears....a penny on the window sill.

I was reminded..."Jenn with 2 n's....do the right thing. love the undesirables...give because you have much...listen because you have the ability..and honour me by seeing potential in the one cent..."

MB...I will make you proud.

A Hopeful Message

2010-03-23T21:30:00.005-04:00

I went to church on December 13th, 2009 at 11:00 am. I picked up my friend on the way...we did a quick drive thru at Tim's...he got a large triple/triple...

The irony of this whole scenario is this. The message that day was entitled, " A Hopeful Message".

I remember being moved by the message at the time...yes, because it was applicable to my life...but it was an uncanny declaration of my friends life to that point. There were points in the message that we both laughed out loud, because clearly the message that God seemed to be pointing at my friend was..."buddy, you're on the right path..." .

I remembered a few moments of the service afterwards, but honestly, just went on with my day once we left. I drove my friend home. He got out of my Jeep...and for some reason...I was compelled to say something we had only ever written to each other. I saw his back...his feet hit the ground...him turn to shut the door...and I said..."Hey...I love you, you know." He thought for a moment...smiled, and said.." I love you too, girl...I'll be seeing ya.."

Here are a few of the things we were amazed at in that church service, on December 13th, 2009. This was Michael's CLEAR message from God...and I am blessed to have witnessed it. I am so glad that I have a copy of that message that I can listen to, and share if you would like..for comfort..for insight...and as a reminder that there is an urgent call to action.

"There is a light you alone can share....you are someone this world DESPERATELY needs. Our opportunities to be light are endless...It's time for fearless faith..." Do you think this was a coincidence? Do you think this message was meant for only Michael? It's for all of us, friends. We are ALL desperately needed in this world.
" You may not go everywhere..but if you go to the countries of the world, but not to YOUR world...you will miss the big picture." This is a heavy responsibility. It requires intention, forsight and compassion..and eyes to see a world that needs exactly who we are, right now..not in 5 yrs when we have time..RIGHT NOW.
Not a single one of us knew Michael by mistake. I challenge you to look at your world...and find a place where you can contribute. It may not be full time service at a Food Bank...that was his path...but I know we each have the opportunity everyday to make a difference...to someone.

If you are looking for perspective on a seemingly impossible task, I will share one last quote that made me smile at the time...and even more so now, when thinking about the grandeur of this mission..." You may not be able to help everybody...but you can help SOMEBODY".

May that somebody come to you, may you serve with humility...and may you make our friend proud.

Just the Beginning

2010-03-23T21:28:00.001-04:00

I have a confession. This scenario isn't entirely new to me. I can identify with this kind of loss, and outpouring of incredible love...because I have seen it before.

There was this guy...he was my age. He was 33 when he died. He had a very diverse group of friends, similar to our Michael. This group was tight...they went through thick and thin together. Some of them were tradespeople....others were working in government...a few were independently wealthy. But what they did have in common, was the love of their friend....and a fierce loyalty to his causes, and his inextinguishable memory. I think part of the reason they loved him so much, was because he was the glue in this group...and he accepted each of them for who they were no matter what.

When he died quite abruptly...there was a profound, unexplainable loss. Some acted out in anger...some retreated to their thoughts...and others were called from the core of their being to rise up, and carry on with the torch. They banded together to share the story of their friend...they tried to wrap their minds around being without him. What could be done with this tragedy to make it hold some small amount of sense?

They carried on his work. He too worked with and inspired those shunned by society. He was a great man...and his friends were compelled to not let the fire die... and to carry on his mission. They felt at the centre of it all..that this man needed to be forever honoured with acts of compassion towards a society that is deperately needing an open hand of kindness, and a passionate drive to bring dignity back to those who have lost their way.

This man was Jesus.

I have never understood the full weight of the disciples until this very moment. They were friends...loyal, committed...and accepting of each other. They banded together when the loss was too great to bear on just one set of shoulders. They vowed to continue...to not let their friend be forgotten...and to fiercely defend the things he tried so hard to accomplish.

I know Mike would be laughing at this reference right now....LOL...I don't think in his wildest dreams he would have ever expected to be compared to Jesus Christ! ( Don't get a big head there Baskett...it's an analogy.,.;) love you...xo) But I am compelled to draw the parallel to inspire you with this.

Look at what was accomplished...look at the impact this one man had on society..and has all of these many years later. Look at what something as simple as a fierce love for your friend, can represent to your world. We tell his story because we love him...we carry on his work, so what he did up to the point of leaving us, isn't in vain. We open our eyes to the hurting, the lost, and those who may lose hope if we don't step in.

I am compelled to tell you my friends...this is just the beginning.

What Remains

2010-03-23T21:27:00.003-04:00

I am finding meaning, and parallel thinking in the most unusual things since February 13th. I find that nothing has one dimension...that all of those hum drum daily activities or routine behaviours are jumping out at me with a new perspective.

I was undecided on what to wear this morning. At the last minute, I decided to delve into the closet, and find something I haven't worn in a while. I pulled out a blouse I had forgotten about. I remembered for a second how much I loved it when I bought it. I put it on. To my surprise...it still smelled like my perfume. Even after all this time...that which I had forgotten about, left an impression of me.

I was then compelled to think....what will remain of me? What will be that instant reminder of who Jenn was? Even if I am not thought about for a little while...when someone who loves me and knows me speaks of me...what will they want to share about the essence of who I was?

I have been reading some old emails from my dear friend...his confessions were candid, raw and real..I am blessed to have a record of those things. I have learned something new from one in particular. He said..."I was always the kind of person who wished that God had given me a roadmap for life...because I don't want to mess it up". But instead of letting this statement be an excuse for not doing anything...he took it as a charge to do much...to be much...to leave behind a path of hope, redemption and fearless living. He, in essence, blazed a trail...making change seem possible to those of us who have been living life on autopilot, looking for things to begin, or looking for someone to place blame on for the way our lives didn't turn out.

I am guilty...of apathy. I am guilty...of being selfish.

I am INSPIRED to change...I am MOTIVATED to be present in my life...everyday. Why? Because my nephew is 3 this week..and I am astounded at the fact that I blinked..and he is no longer the infant I rocked to sleep. Why? Because someone I cared for deeply left this earth in the wee small hours of the morning on February 13th...and left a legacy that speaks of nothing but pride, love and admiration. Why? Beacause everyday I wake up in a world where there is need....my job isn't done...and I LOVE a challenge.

When I think back to that blouse hanging in my closet...I have a clear picture of the parallels. It was there all along....even when I wasn't using it. It has an unmistakeable "Jenn with two n's" imprint on it..that lingering heir of my identity that those who know me would identify and hold solace in. It has left an impression....

What will remain for you, my friends?

A Line in the Sand

2010-03-23T21:24:00.001-04:00

"I am drawing a line in the sand". Have you heard that saying? About different points in your life, where you make a conscious, fervent choice to change. To call out the demons, to put a face on the hurt...and to tell it with a piercing scream..."NO MORE".

My line in the sand these days is towards apathy. It is a straight shooting arrow aimed at injustices that I have every ability to remedy, if I choose to give a damn. It is the gauntlet of swinging indifference. Or worse, the care and concern for things that don't matter in this life. How is it that I feel so much more alive, for having experienced such a profound loss?

Because I know I follow in incredible footsteps. My dear friend chose to not only draw the line..but to set a fire between the past of shame, and the future of promise. He chose knowing separation from the familiar, in order to be happy...fullfilled...inspired...ALIVE. I know in his heart..there was never going to be the opportunity to go back. As Cortez said..."Burn the ships! We're here to stay!"

I am curious to find new things that will be non negotiable for me. I vow from this point forward, that there will never be a time in my life where I won't be committed to some kind of service. (You have my word MB..love you) There will NEVER be a day that goes by that I don't tell someone I love them. If I tell you I love you...I mean it. I promise to share my story...good, bad and ugly...for the benefit of others. If it means I can somehow change someones path from peril to victory and freedom... then my story will become my own personal anthem.

I feel these days like there isn't a line in the sand, as much as a crack in the earth of my old existence...I may be able to see across the great divide to what the old world looked like, but there is certainly no possibility of return...it is irrepairable...it is finite.

And for all of the pain..and for all of the tears, do I relish in the old life? Wonder what it would be like if things were the same? Not for a minute...the ship has burned...the embers glow...and the future on a new plain is SO breathtakingly full of possibilities.

The Spilling of Passion

2010-03-23T21:22:00.001-04:00

Did you know that the Greeks didn't write obituaries? They didn't make a list of family and friends left behind, what job filled their 9-5, or hint at what caused the persons life to end. They asked one question...to sum up a life...

Did they have PASSION?

When I hear the word passion...I am stirred. I am awakened...I am ignited. I am caused to think of the impossible becoming possible. The hurricane to become a motionless night sky. I am lead to thoughts of incredible emotion....inexplicable joy, undefinable grief...flammable love. I think immediately upon how much I love my friend...I actually love him more everyday now that I can't call him up for a laugh, or send a cheeky text message...and expect a cheekier one back! (How do you like this MB...I am getting the last word! love you..xo)

My passion now is to share his story. I won't stop...I can't stop.

I stood at the foot of my friends grave today. I was immediately taken aback by the 20 or so pennies on his marker. I was inconsolable in the moment. I was solitary with the grief...I was alone with the memories of unbelievable conversations...soul bursting revelations..and the hopes and dreams we wished for ourselves..and for each other. I saw the pennies..and realised, that the work will go on. The passion does not extinguish because the flame has flickered. The passion does not drown, because Mike is on a bigger planning committee now....(you got there Michael..to a place where you can see the beginning from the end..you can see what the completed picture is going to look like...I am in awe at this! You now have all the answers laid out in front of you, and it all makes perfect sense...that which was unclear, is incandescent...totally astounding)

“Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.” ~ Joss Whedon

When this life ends..let it be said of me, that I lived passionately.

Will it be said of you, my dear friends?