Sadly God didn't grace all of us with sainthood, for those of us who do aspire to it we won't reach it, yet that doesn't deter us from being in complete and utter awe of those that are canonized. For they have devoted every morsel of their being to God, now that in itself brings a humble hear, a bended knee, an eyes facing skyward to our Father that has never seize to bless us again and again.
Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given opportunities to work in larger portions of God's grace ." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then with waving arms flung from one side to the other, he bellowed, Well have you?" Silenced reigned the cathedral....momentarily then he told...
An endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints were created, and the boy energetically raised his hands and said, "Light goes through them." This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities were endless. The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chatter this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.
Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.
I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized my theory of why God allows us to marry. Many a person has asked us how we have a strong marriage, and without a flint, an inch or a nudge, I say God. By bringing ourselves closer to him, we begin to comprehend the deep complexities of our spouses, and at the same time, it dawns that regardless if they espouse to use all their darkest emotions, we are far from ever understanding who they truly are. Another reason to rely heavily on Christ. We humans are multifaceted, a labyrinths of hard and soft wiring.
Sunday, 18 September 2016
How to become a Saint, marry one
Sadly God didn't grace all of us with Sainthood, or perhaps for those of us who do aspire to it, won't reach it, yet that doesn't deter us from being in complete and utter awe of those that are canonized. For they have devoted every morsel of their being to his cause, now that in itself bring a humility, a bended knee eyes facing skyward to our Father that has never seize to bless us again and again.
Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls his being, God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given a larger portion for which to handle by God." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then his waving arms flung from one side to the other, asking, well have you."
He told an endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints are created, and the boy raised his hands energetically, light goes through them. This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities are endless. The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chat this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.
Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.
I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized...to be continued
Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls his being, God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given a larger portion for which to handle by God." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then his waving arms flung from one side to the other, asking, well have you."
He told an endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints are created, and the boy raised his hands energetically, light goes through them. This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities are endless. The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chat this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.
Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.
I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized...to be continued
Thursday, 18 August 2016
Slip sliding away
Wiping the last vestiges of cacao from my lips as the car pulls into our home. Heaving the bags of laundry carrying memories of spaghetti stains, dubonie, corn chips, and too few cloths worn for a week out, indicates success. Thoughts of crusty colleagues, and endless work projects creep into my mind during prayer while away, pleading with Christ this summer for a break, what I have learned is his intent of teaching me to discipline my mind. Life's been so good for so long I've become lazy, real lazy, in spirit, mind and soul. Forgot how to memorize scripture, no wonder vagaries reside in my head, tossing it this way and that like my mother sizes up cabbage at the grocery store. Away from idleness life begins, first in your brain, then the body follow.
Vast valley of greenery disguises the anxiety breaking the surface of my heart, as my head pounds against the waves needing to relieve, what, years of conformity to someone I never was. They say it's too late to rejig in your 5th decade, it can't be too late to be honest. Out in the wilderness is where I feel sane, at peace, out of touch with society and in touch with me. Me, what a concept, I plead my students to reveal, create, imagine, what the best of themselves is, and I face them desperate to get out, but my good conscious, duty, obligation and patronage, and responsibility to my mortgage, inanimate objects keep me from "loafing" - defined beautifully in The Razor's Edge, by Maugham, a character named Larry, 20 years of age, born at the turn of the 1900 century, that yearns to 'loaf', read 10 hours a day to become learned in his realm, to breath British history, taste its literature, feel the curves of Renaissance, and conquer the Greek God's, instead of being indoctrinated by a courses that contorts, and asphyxiate the last vestiges of our creativity at University.
Lying on a beach towel absorbed by the Somerset Maugham, I recall the first time I read, truly read 14 novels in a row, Jeffery Archer, dodging work, my parents, boyfriend and rowing commitments. My first addiction, words, 26 letters necking, pecking, massaging one another, bringing tears, screams, revolts, a satisfaction like no other.....and don't say sex...regrets have weights.
Quiet nights, listening to squires drop bombshells, pine cones, hunting and gathering for winter feasts as the National Camping Parks close, leaving an even further peace without the intrusion of late night profane neighbors that didn't get passed the "F" section of Webster's dictionary and under the influence of bad beer, as Hal would say, they played with fire, the earliest invention to keep man warm, entertained with a stick, and drawing one's name in the sand, over and over again.
Sun lathered our bodies with warmth, caressing the endless nerves soothing years of under sleep, overwork, adrenaline junky, and the need to please all, feed all emotionally, psychologically, etc.
Each dip in the lake took layers of undealt with bullying releasing it into the waters, feeling lighter by the day. While others frolicked watching clouds crest the mountains forming shapes of animals, fairy tales, and fantasies kept me occupied.
With my parents reading, sleeping, beating me at cards, and wondering about further vacations, it was lovely to be in their presence, listen to their lives, over and over again, I never tire of it. Delicate movements, motions, once tight and precise, take time to form, yet sharp minds catch us watching them, caring to much. Don't do this, be care about that, "Stop pestering me, I'm not dead."
Vast valley of greenery disguises the anxiety breaking the surface of my heart, as my head pounds against the waves needing to relieve, what, years of conformity to someone I never was. They say it's too late to rejig in your 5th decade, it can't be too late to be honest. Out in the wilderness is where I feel sane, at peace, out of touch with society and in touch with me. Me, what a concept, I plead my students to reveal, create, imagine, what the best of themselves is, and I face them desperate to get out, but my good conscious, duty, obligation and patronage, and responsibility to my mortgage, inanimate objects keep me from "loafing" - defined beautifully in The Razor's Edge, by Maugham, a character named Larry, 20 years of age, born at the turn of the 1900 century, that yearns to 'loaf', read 10 hours a day to become learned in his realm, to breath British history, taste its literature, feel the curves of Renaissance, and conquer the Greek God's, instead of being indoctrinated by a courses that contorts, and asphyxiate the last vestiges of our creativity at University.
Lying on a beach towel absorbed by the Somerset Maugham, I recall the first time I read, truly read 14 novels in a row, Jeffery Archer, dodging work, my parents, boyfriend and rowing commitments. My first addiction, words, 26 letters necking, pecking, massaging one another, bringing tears, screams, revolts, a satisfaction like no other.....and don't say sex...regrets have weights.
Quiet nights, listening to squires drop bombshells, pine cones, hunting and gathering for winter feasts as the National Camping Parks close, leaving an even further peace without the intrusion of late night profane neighbors that didn't get passed the "F" section of Webster's dictionary and under the influence of bad beer, as Hal would say, they played with fire, the earliest invention to keep man warm, entertained with a stick, and drawing one's name in the sand, over and over again.
Sun lathered our bodies with warmth, caressing the endless nerves soothing years of under sleep, overwork, adrenaline junky, and the need to please all, feed all emotionally, psychologically, etc.
Each dip in the lake took layers of undealt with bullying releasing it into the waters, feeling lighter by the day. While others frolicked watching clouds crest the mountains forming shapes of animals, fairy tales, and fantasies kept me occupied.
With my parents reading, sleeping, beating me at cards, and wondering about further vacations, it was lovely to be in their presence, listen to their lives, over and over again, I never tire of it. Delicate movements, motions, once tight and precise, take time to form, yet sharp minds catch us watching them, caring to much. Don't do this, be care about that, "Stop pestering me, I'm not dead."
Tuesday, 9 August 2016
July 1st. Learning Patriotism
July 1st comes and goes and do we as Canadians' truly honour our country, well think again. We ventured down to Bowness Park and found the UN of Calgary. Large gatherings of Islam's, Jews, Nigerians, Somalians, Filipino's to name a few of the clans gathered to celebrate this day. Throughout our walk some were singing O'Canada amongst themselves while others quietly displayed our countries flags while others still others had face painting with maple leafs, and all enthralled to be in a beautiful park with extended family. You know what we didn't see, my family, with my extended family, that was so common when we were younger. Aunts, uncles, cousins, playing an assortment of games, eating cake first our course, then watermelon, spitting the seeds as far as we could, skipping my aunts tomato aspic, moving right into egg, cucumber and ham and cheese sandwiches, hot dogs cooked over open flames, and smores. No the absence of those of us that immigrated one to two generation ago was gone.
The question begs to be asked, are the new immigrants teaching us old timers how to live again. I think so.
My step son is dating a Filipino and twice a year they gather in large numbers to celebrate life, participate in the play egg toss, dress and run games, walk like an Egyptians four to a board, and dance the Zumba. I've never laughed so much, had so much joy and seen so much inclusion.
We decided right there and then to meet as our extended family, as we used to.
I thank the new immigrants who rekindled our family values, beliefs, and how to gather with our kin.
Saturday, 23 July 2016
Finding Truth
Torlive and Allen, Danish police officers, got a hold of several of the boys who had returned from ISIS and simply asked them in for coffee. Coffee? No arrests, no questions, simply coffee. When their trust had been established within months more and more boys intending on going overseas began showing up on their doorsteps. It was a 24 hours shift.
I call it the Complementary Shift. Instead of inundating teens and young adults with queries, they decided to allow the boys to fill in the gaps, regardless if they believed them, they took them at face valued and their community started to rebound.
The crime against Muslim's decreased, the bombardments of comments in schools about Islamic cultures declined. Did they save everyone ones, was their no hate, no, but they had found in the face of adversity that Care, Love, Understanding and admitting wrong brought humans of all races together.
Here is my challenge. Watching the hate crime against the blacks in the U.S. rise daily. Wouldn't it be past time that American police precincts begin to train their officers to do the same. Approach every pulled over vehicle with questions, instead of accusations. Form bonds between police officers and the communities they work in, opportunities for people to have coffee together. To begin to comprehend what each one is fearful of, dreading when they drive home, yearning in their lives, assisting one another instead of alienating one another.
Trump has an opportunity to speak about how they yearn for All American's to be Great, and truly include All American's. When I head the divisive advertisements coming out of the Trump Campaign, I am angered that All American's aren't demanding that he begin to see that if he truly yearns for a leadership role he can't alienate the Hispanics, the Blacks, the Women, and live in a world where he doesn't have to face poverty, homelessness, drug issues. A true leader is able to walk with his people when they are at their lowest, lead from the front and be able to nudge those that need support from the back.
All I hear is a campaign of bigotry, defamation of character, slander and biases, that divide a nation. It allows the worst of all of us to come out, and it will. He will be left with a 330 million people hurting on such a level he has no means to support them.
How about a campaign where both candidates truly dedicate the next 4 months proving how they are going to make America Great by placing policies into place and were the money is going to come from. Not lofty empty promises and cartwheel out of control, simple health care, education, and social services that all American can attain. Offering opportunities for All American's to be heard, have open mics, at all levels of government, set up websites where citizens can make constructive contributions to their community. And make all civil servants accountable to the citizens we serve.
There isn't time for hatred, we have lives to change, minds to mold, body to heal, and soul to hold. American's deserve to Campaign that outlines goals, at all levels and a congress that is truly for the people, no American left behind.
Sunday, 27 March 2016
Sunshine Coast Wonderlust
Majestic blues penetrate our souls on our first moment of arrival. The district smell of the ocean pierces our nostrils as we turn away yearning to see the vista but escape its odors. The lapping of the waves eases the driving aches out of my neck and shoulder that have been stabbing for hours. With my parents riding side saddle their comments come as wafts in the wind, "Kathryn, your driving too fast and too close to the next car." I take pride in my driving expertise and believe the smoothness of the trip wasn't appreciated. We arrived in Hope, just in time for me to order some oatmeal, as 2 slices of cantaloupe wasn't going to satiate the simplest of souls. My father was always honest with his wishes and ordered a Big Mac as if it was the last one he'd ever order. My mother was a guessing game, she never liked what my father would order, but hesitated getting what she really wanted, this was her curse.
We'd planned on taking highway 7 but then decided against it when the tourist guide in Abbotsford was greatly suggested that it would be "way....too....long... in her 20 year old wisdom...and besides she said, what for?" as if we'd lost our minds.
We were to meander along the coastal route of Vancouver oohing and awing at all the homes architectural marvels yet that turn came and went along with the light house that never made itself present.
Roberts Creek was truly a stones throw from the port up a lovely deeply forested road that appears on the map to be secluded, that is except for the hundreds of people that live here and are never seen. Each house is nestled into densely forested woods, shrew over in vast amounts of black berry bushes, holly and thistle. No home the same for in God's time their was choice, diversity and no universal paint that was on sale for home exteriors at the same time.
With mom and dad nestled into the Adirondack chairs overlooking the ocean a few meters away Hal and I busied ourselves with unpacking. A stroll along the beach in high tide revealed tens of aqua,violet and mauve clam shells colors no canvas could duplicate, flowers hung from branches begging to be photographed and fifteen shades of green canopied the foliage. Nature had arrived, with contrasts to take us to the moon and back.
We feasted on local fish, vegetables, and home bought cookies, our first of 40 days. I don't like to say that Hal and I gave up anything for Lent, for it is truly nothing in compared to what the Lord gave us, but perhaps to mention that we withheld from cookies, chocolate and cake and thus to indulge in a cookie was delightful, flavours burst forth that otherwise might have seemed mundane. Life was grand as we watched the sunset for hours from the upper balcony. The lapsing of the ocean gently caressing us to sleep at night, all was right in the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)