A true Sun-day

Sundays may very well be my favorite day of the week.  The scrappy hairstyles, the casual clothes, the brunch and the clear schedule.  Everything is slower, like a long exhale before the big gulp of Monday.  

Today was such a day, full of sun and long strides.  First I had a Barney's brunch with my favorite person.  Either side of said brunch was filled with a quick walk and repeated, "I can't believe how beautiful it is outside."  I then watched a lame chick flick because, well, do I need a reason?

A gigantic intelligentsia americano accompanied my Elizabeth Gilbert was required because staying awake to all hours talking to my favorite person is apparently my new hobby.  A gorgeous perusal in my favorite store down the road then made me happy more than anything material likely should.  

Most of my Sundays are then capped off with phone calls to, well, everyone close to me, and a simple dinner that usually involves a bagel or soup.  Today is just the same.

And you think I didn't go to church.

Stuck?

I wish that God's truth stuck, that lessons from God only had to be learned once.  I feel so often like I start from scratch in my Christian walk every day.  One day my identity is solid, sealed and complete.  The next I am a baby, clinging to compliments and external affirmation.  What exactly triggers this regression, I wonder?

I suppose our lives change externally so quickly that it would be silly to think that we don't have to relearn for a new reality each step of the way.  What I do know is that God knows what he is doing, and he won't stop working until I am a finished, a new creation.  The great part is that he is faithful and he will do it.  

A different kind of trip...

This is our third full day in Bulembu.  It's been quite an experience so far, almost completely different than we expected.  The cultural barriers are more strong than I would have thought.  My interviews have been sufficient, but disappointing.  I've actually been quite emotional about it, wanting so badly to connect on a personal level with the people.  Unfortunately I don't feel like I've developed any kind of connection with them.  A lot of it is the language barriers and the lack of ability by the Swazi people to communicate emotion in English.   A sample:

"What was life like when the mine left?"

"hard."

"Tell me about that.  What made it hard?"

"difficult"

"what was different after the mine left compared to before?"

"we had no jobs"

Duhhh....I could have told you that.  So I ask you to pray for more descriptive interviews.  

Trevor's photos have also posed challenges.  Swazi people, for some reason, are very stoic when they know their photo is being taken.  They don't understand the concept of acting normally and going about their business while Trevor does his thing.  They are always stiff, conscious of us because they aren't used to having cameras around.  

Transport has also been a problem.  Every shot opportunity is quite far from the other, requiring more coordination than we would have thought.  Unfortunately candid shots are therefore harder to come by.  Of course Trevor's photos are amazing regardless and the calendar is going to be great.

On Tuesday we went to see the Chief of Malanda, the region Bulembu sits within.  We scheduled an appointment with him and, when we arrived to his house on the hill, he told us he only had twenty minutes.  The man has 26 children and numerous wives.  He is chief because his father and grandfather were both chiefs.  He called the King of Swaziland when Bulembu was in trouble and got them food in 2001.  Most days are spent listening to people's grievances.  A community judge of sorts.

Today I am interviewing a teacher, a plumber and a housekeeper.  We are going to take a wee midday break at some point to rest.  We are quite tired today and I am sunburnt to a crisp.  Hopefully some time at the school with the cute kids will raise my spirits :)

Travel is a drug.  And I'm addicted.  This is humorous to me since, as of four months ago, I had never left the continent.  I mean, come on, I'm one of those people that used to pray that I wouldn't be called into missions work.  

I returned from Scotland and was surprised at the post-travel mood that I've only just shook off two weeks after returning home.  Scotland was euphoric, Swaziland mystical and Vancouver...suddenly too known.

The only thing that's kept me going suddenly is the fact that I'm going to Swaziland again in a week.  I fear that this new discovery--a love for foreign lands--has irreversibly changed me.  Now days home must be intermingled with the hope of an approaching trip.  

I grew up moving every few years.  Texas, New York, Boston, Winnipeg, Calgary, California and Vancouver.  I remember leaving university, looking forward to having 100% control over where I lived.  A few years ago I realized I crossed the mark where Vancouver is the place I've lived the longest.  That used to be a dream.

Now, I find myself constantly looking at photos of recent adventures, dreaming of how different life could be.  I used to be addicted to routine, now I get depressed at the thought.

The hopeful lesson that has come from this is that we can change.  A belief I have to cling to: that people can change, that anything  can change.  

So, what's next?

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

Emotions are fickle. Without much logic, I find that they control most things. Strip off the layers of logic—psueudo or real—and you will find nothing but emotional drivers.

My "I am woman, hear me roar/I can do anything boys can do, I can do it better" pride and shit-filled mantra from my childhood is usurped every day by my emotions, female emotions at that. I once said to my boss, "Give it to me straight. Leave the suger-coating off and give it to me raw." I cried the very next day in front of that same boss. Emotions are ran from and hidden, but they always play a starring role, whether it is in the conclusion or in the sequel.

All you males out there know, however, that emotions—though possibly different in flavour—are just as powerful. Whether it be ego, anger or envy, male emotions are equally as powerful drivers at the boardroom table and the kitchen table. Often masked more often with logic, the emotions are still just as powerful. Lucky for you, your emotions are actually socially acceptable in the workforce. If I have my way, however, emotional leadership is the next cultural wave.

Ironically emotions are fickle and forming all at the same time. While always a result of something real, and often logic free, they are filled with a power to form everything. They form our mood, our priorities, our work, our health and our relationships.

So the question is: how atuned are you to your emotions? Are you listening to them? Are they a priority? Do you sit in them, like one savours a cup of morning coffee, and feel them to the end?

Everything Must Change

Brian McLaren has a new book called "Everything Must Change".  I have not read it yet, though the title intrigues me.  The title presupposes that there is a goal to be met, a standard that, once reached, all is well.

I remember the day I realized I was living for a standard that didn't exist.  Still in my striving days, I remember talking out loud about why I had never experienced freedom, realizing that it was because I was striving towards a personal perfection that didn't exist.  

Though linked to personal standards, McLaren's title tips me towards thinking he is suggesting that there is a communal standard.  I don't think such a standard exists.  A stasis that makes one act worthy and the other not.  A goal that, to be Christian, one must know and constantly work towards.

This is all somehow linked to absolute truth.  Ironically, I believe in absolute truth.  I also absolutely believe that we can't know absolute truth here on earth.  Because sometimes a lie is okay, swearing necessary and stealing just.  Not to mention that none of us can prove anything exists, that we are here right now, that here exists as we know it.  

Fortunately, or unfortunately, I think that striving, while not the point, is still required.  That we all must still strive for ultimate goals that don't exist.  That there are problems that have to be solved.  That the work isn't done.  I suppose that makes all of it about the means, not the end.  Since the end doesn't, in essence, exist.

I still don't know what to do when we realize that there is no standard here on earth. Or how exactly to have hope if any kind of preconceived fake standard isn't possible.   

I guess I should just read the book.

Pirates Who Don't Do Anything

Today I took my wee friend Jared (a.k.a. my friend Meg's son) to see some vegetable pirates. Auntie Kelly just wouldn't have lived up to her rep as the cool urban aunt if she hadn't brought pirate eye-patches for the show!