Of Birds and Reptiles

I hung out at Red Deer Reptiles with B for a while today.  Giant (uncaged) macaw hated my guts... screamed and postured at me just because it knew I found it intimidating.  Snakes make me creepy crawly inside.  I'm quite sure that the big boa was large enough to swallow me whole.  And the variety of other assorted reptiles - skinks, bearded dragons, monitors, etc. - were impressive, but still make my chest a little bit tight with anxiety.  But there were two little guys that caught my attention...

I always had pet chameleons in Africa.  I had a theory that they would eat the mosquitoes in my bedroom so I wouldn't get malaria.  Four rounds of malaria later, I now know how wrong I was, but I still loved the little buggers with their beady eyes, speedy tongue, bad balance, and tri-toed slow-motion dance.  Two chameleons, much like the ones I grew up with, were for sale in the shop.  I've been saying recently that I'd like to get a dog and a house... you know - grow roots and stay somewhere.  I might have to edit the dream: a chameleon and a house.  Tell me they aren't the cutest little things on the planet... 

It's a quiet shift, and I'm painting.  I started this one last summer, and decided today that it is time to finish it off.  There's something therapeutic about the act of creating... no matter how amateurish the canvas looks when it's all said and done.  After the palette and paintbrushes are washed and restored to their hide-out in the cabinet, I am left with a wordless expression of my thoughts, emotions, and desires (this time, with the help of a few words).

must study must study must study must study must study must study must study.
and then off for Christmas!  see you in January - unless I feel inspired to blog over the break.  not particularly likely.

Dear Self, (the sequel)

Dear Self,
I need to apologize.  I sounded kind of invalidating when we talked earlier this morning.  You are entitled to your feelings.  I'm glad that you moved past your moody morning though... since we're being honest with one another.
Love,
Me

Dear Self,

Dear Self,
You're being grumpy.  Stop it.  You have no valid reason to be grumpy today.  You are not pms-ing.  You do not have pressing deadlines that you're scrambling to meet, or other overwhelming stressors.  No one peed in your porridge this morning.  You're just being pissy.  Get over yourself and get on with your day.  I promise it will make you much happier.
Love,
Me

Journalling with Jenni....

del griffith on the rumour mill

i keep waiting for the axe to fall... surely M won't sit and take it, and just let this prank slide, will he?  but all i keep hearing are congratulations - from people who are impressed with the flawless execution of our brilliant prank.  case in point... i stepped into one of my classes today, and was informed by the prof (aka also academic dean) that he had been hearing about me in the hallways lately... that for all my apparent innocence, there's a more playful side to me - that no one should turn their back on me.  i think that's a compliment... isn't it?  or was it a subtle warning not to take things too far?  not quite sure.  is M scheming 'disciplinary action' with said prof?  

the axe will fall.  of that i am absolutely certain.  but when and how?  i'm too busy writing to care... a media analysis for my gender sociology class that contains one of the following: piquant, reify, or panophobia.  unless someone has a different suggestion?  bombastic found its way into my last assignment, so i checked that one off the list.

my $3.35 investment

step 5: check facebook.  the best way for a good prank to be ruined is by having M find out via facebook that the whole thing's a farce.  Del is apparently from Regina SK with 300 and some facebook friends, and likes gopher hunting, getting up in the morning, and going to bed at night.  perfect.


step 6: at an appropriate time, confess to having facebook stalked the new roommate, and disclose the above information.  express appropriate sympathy for M throughout the weekend.


step 7: go to the steinbach MCC and buy the largest, dirtiest pair of long underwear on the rack, as well as ratty old socks, a couple well-worn towels, a stinky pair of leather "redneck" mitts, and a really bad country gospel CD (forgot to mention that M isn't a huge fan of Christian music of any sort, and hates country music with a passion.  he also likes dark chocolate).  checkout total: $3.35.  buy a $4 end-table (one of the ones with doors so you can put things inside), and conceal all items inside.  this also functions as a very good excuse for going to MCC if the motive is questioned.  buy dark chocolate at superstore.


step 8: ask M for help in putting the TV (which currently resides on the floor) on the end-table as a TV stand.  smile and look innocent when he comments that all your talk of vengeance for his previous shenanigans is just blowing smoke.  remind him that he's an insightful counselling student... and i'm too nice to do anything really nasty (although i threatened the previous week to talk to the sociology dept and recommend him as the student representative on the panel for the faculty forum... which was on the topic of feminism).


step 9: be nice.  sympathetic.  supportive.  etc.


step 10: place a generous portion of water, the towels, long underwear, socks, and leather gloves inside a garbage bag and seal for the weekend... ensuring they will smell slightly musty.


step 11: while M is in class on monday afternoon, go into the suite.  place socks and long underwear in the sink and fill it with water.  place dripping towel on floor behind the bathroom door.  place another one over the edge of the tub.  stinky mitts are thrown on the floor of the common area.  country gospel album is strategically placed so the edge is sticking out from under the closed (and now locked) bedroom door.


step 12: wait.


step 13: ask M how his day has been.  he expresses frustration.  act sympathetic and a little bit incredulous when he tells his sorry tale.  assure him that if anyone can handle it... he can.  they'll just have to talk through it.  ask to see the bathroom.  he allows this, but reminds me to be quiet "because Del might still be in the bedroom... it's locked."


step 14: act appropriately disgusted by the state of the bathroom.  give M space... he needs to process this before he comes out for supper.


step 15: retrieve dark chocolate from my room.  wait.  make some supper.  load the appropriate clip from planes, trains and automobiles on youtube. hang out with A... wait for M to emerge.

step 16: when M emerges from his room, start watching the youtube clip with A... let M see it.  conceal your surprise when he does not catch on.  confirm that he has seen this movie.  ponder the name of John Candy's character with A... what was it anyways?  A looks it up online... finds a quiz.  Asks M for his help.

step 17: allow M to see the options:

What was the name of John Candy's character in the movie Planes, Trains & Automobiles?

Del Griffin Dale Griffith Del Griffith Del Griffing step 18: wait for M to get it... that time, he got it (though it took a few minutes before he understood how exactly we had pulled it off).  and we all had a laugh.  M is relieved that he does not have a new suite-mate. step 19: clean up the bathroom.  offer dark chocolate as a peace offering.

Procrastinating & Pranking

Procrastinate
not a word i feel the need to define (or use in a paper... profs are equally familiar with this word).
my life defines it.
very effectively.
FH is doing homework with me.... it's supposed to keep me on track.  so this will be short.
actually, i got a lot done this afternoon.  it was a good afternoon.  and now half the library's books about the social dimensions of sex huddle together in my bag (they're much too modest to lie around bare naked all over my bedroom floor), waiting for me to pull them out and write a paper about pimps.

but before i return to my work... the prank (by J &A).

step 1: half of pulling a good prank is knowing your victim and the things they are most sensitive about.  so... things you should know about M... a diligent student.  tidy and clean.  kind and genuinely nice to everyone. very social, but also likes time alone.  design prank scheme...

step 2: contact the housing coordinator and ask for her assistance.  she will send an email to the victim (M) on thursday afternoon, explaining that someone named Del Griffith (aka: John Candy's character from Planes, Trains and Automobiles) will be moving into the empty room next to M's sometime on sunday or monday.  they'll share the bathroom and the common area in the space.


(advantages: M is in class all day that week... he does not have time to check into the validity of the facts until the weekend... when all the offices are closed).


step 3: the housing coordinator places a sign on the door saying "welcome, Del Griffith" (like the signs on all the other doors), and places the room keys inside the unlocked, empty room.

step 4: sit and watch the chaos unfold.

clean, tidy M does not look forward to sharing a bathroom with someone.  his bathroom is always clean. always.  M does not know who this guy is, or why he's moving in halfway through the term.  K (another housemate) believes it's all a big joke that M is making up (he's usually the one making trouble).  this plays to our advantage.  M believes it to be legitimate and spends considerable time convincing the skeptics in the house that he is not making this up, and Del Griffith is really REAL.  he starts mentally preparing himself for a new roommate.


more later...

Promulgate

check check.
complete.

i haven't played the word game with this prof before, and i'm interested to see if he catches it.  pretty seamless integration, so i'm thinking not.

other people have also not caught on.  amanda and i have been plotting/scheming/pranking for the last few days.  the poor victim still feels as though all my threats are empty... mwa ha ha.  i learned well from c-bear many moons ago when i still bore the tongue-in-cheek title 'program slave'.  when retaliating... do so from a sufficient distance that the victim cannot immediately strike back.

The Perfect Protest

"Don't try to win over the haters.  You're not the jackass whisperer" (Scott Stratten).  Best (insert stifled chuckle).  Quote (insert gasping attempts to restrain the inevitable).  Ever (insert explosive, unladylike snort-laugh).  So much truth in twelve good words.  In the moments when I obediently pander to my people-pleasing self, I submit to the temporary insanity of a drab existence wherein the joy of authentically being myself is lost.

I suspect that for most of us, our most vicious 'haters' are the dismal, disembodied ghosts of our own ruminations.  "My greatest creative barriers are the groups of squatters that take up space in my head.  They lay around all day, shouting their bad advice and accusations, they don't work, they don't pay rent, they just talk, talk, talk" (Myriam Joseph).  It's little wonder that each of us is our own toughest critic.  Our culture assures us that nobody's perfect, and then advises us that practice makes perfect, and admires that which is picture perfect.  "Perfectionism is a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from taking flight" (Brene Brown).

The zealous biblical scholars among us might point out that Jesus himself directed, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matthew 5:48)  But the writer of Hebrews reminds us that no one achieves perfection through adherence to moral standards (law) - that is, through self-improvement, self-help, or self-justification (7:19).  Perfectionism is just poorly disguised pride that pouts like a pathetic three year-old's "I can do it myself!"  Quite the opposite is true: "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me" (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I am beloved.  I am complete.  I am not perfect.  And when I live in pursuit of perfection, what I reap is a mind full of chaos - an emotional perfect storm.  "You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you" (Isaiah 26:3).  Perfectionism knows no rest.  The essence of trust is rest.  So cease and desist your jackass whispering, evict your squatters (or at least demand retroactive rent payments), and get on with living.  I am too alive to be perfect.

Quotes from Brene Brown's blog.  For more like this... see www.ordinarycourage.com.

iNormal

I still want an adventure.  But in the absence of adventure, I am learning the joy of being ordinary and doing ordinary-people things.  Like letting the neighbour dog tag along when I go for walks, and going for sushi with friends, and discussing the merits of different varieties of green tea with other tea connoisseurs, and working out at the gym occasionally, and watching movies with my housemates on our new TV on weekends.

PS - Why did no one tell me that Little Miss Sunshine is a MUST WATCH movie?  I'm well aware of my shortcomings in the realm of anything to do with popular culture, music, movies, etc. but I thought you all had my back.  It was your job to sit me down for 'a talk' and break the news to me - very gently - that my entire life is way off track.  I don't understand why you were all holding out on me (insert guilt trip here).  But now I have discovered for myself how much joy can be derived from escaping into the awkwardly dysfunctional misadventures of Olive's family for ninety minutes... *sigh*.  Ninety very satisfying minutes reminding me that normal is just a setting on your dryer.

On another note, I successfully incorporated ebullient into my last paper (thank you KP!) - a discussion of the social origins of borderline personality disorder.  I'm anticipating a "??? what are you THINKING?" beside that sentence.  My fellow students know the word game that I play (A has suggested bombastic... an excellent word), but my professors have not yet been informed.  Half the joy of the game is seeing how long it is before they begin to suspect that my word usage is contrived.  I have another three papers coming up in the next two weeks, so I need you... to find at least three new words for my writing entertainment.  Piquant has found its way onto my list... definitions attached in the comments.

I am now the proud owner of not one, two, or three... but FOUR bags4darfur.

At least until Christmas...

When I give some away...

*sigh*

Joyce (www.bags4darfur.blogspot.com) came out to Prov for the evening this week - as did Alicia Sawatzky and her friend Miriam - to share their hearts with a small group of college students.  And I got to buy bags.  I danced... almost... but I am too over-inhibited to enact my delight so overtly, but I danced inside all the same.  The remainder of the evening was spent chatting with Miriam and Alicia at Sawatzky's place - enjoying a cup of tea and a much-needed night away, a restful sleep, and an early sunrise drive back to Prov for class.  Love sunrises... it made me think fondly (?!!?!) of the quiet hour between five and six in the morning when I worked summertime night shifts and the sun faithfully peeked its face above the horizon to greet me and sweep the cobwebs out of my sleep-deprived mind.


In other news... for those of you who know my penchant for words... I successfully incorporated the word bowdlerized into a paper last week.
def:
bowdlerize |ˈbōdləˌrīz; ˈboud-|verb [ trans. ]remove material that is considered improper or offensive from (a text or account), esp. with the result that it becomes weaker or less effective : [as adj. ] ( bowdlerized) a bowdlerized version of the story.DERIVATIVESbowdlerism |-ˌrizəm| nounbowdlerization |ˌbōdləriˈzā sh ən; ˌboud-| nounORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from the name of Dr. Thomas Bowdler (1754–1825), who published an expurgated edition of Shakespeare in 1818, + -ize .
ie: "Disseminating emotion and truth through masterful use of language, Stumbling Toward Faith liberates those whose confused and angry prayers have been bowdlerized by cliche Christian optimism; it is a referee's whistle to those who dare provide simplistic answers to complex questions; it is an invitation to intimacy with an unfathomable God."


But today is a new day.  Another research paper is calling to me from the chaos of library books scattered across my bedroom floor, whining petulantly because I have neglected him for the past month.  He pours on a guilt-trip... the drivel of an insecure bloodsucker who resents the attention I lavish on riceandpeanutbutter.blogspot.  The chatter of an auctioneer at a fundraiser nearby is blending into the white noise that will help me focus for the next four hours.  Green tea in hand, relaxed after last night spent lounging in the hot tub.  I'm taking word suggestions - this paper is begging for a new word - something that will provide a moment's entertainment for Dennis, who has the dubious privilege of reading it 48 hours from now.
Ideas?

i need an adventure.  i keep thinking to myself, "self... you should write about something exciting, adventurous, or funny on your blog.  you should tell a story about something ridiculous that happened this week instead of all this philosophical mumbo-jumbo."  but then i realized that the only body part i've been exercising this week is my noggin', and my ars is crying out for a trip to the gym or a good hike or a day of climbing.  so i guess my philosophical rambling is all you get until i get my ars out of the library, out of the admissions office, and out of my desk chair to do something exciting.  i need an adventure.

unpack your bags and plant your trees

i think it started early this week

when i made some smart-ass, sarcastic, flippant comment

about mosquitoes 
lack of mountains 
and feeling homeless

about leaving Manitoba in april 

and never looking back.

and a friend's insightful comments

peered into my rootlessness 
and saw me

the backlash another smart-ass, sarcastic, totally uncalled-for dig

a witty "thanks, counselor..."

slamming the door shut

and a moment caught off-guard, stumbling awkwardly

in small-talk around a potluck

at a simple "so where are you from?" inquiry

forced to explain 

my standard "where-are-you-from" answer

rejected by one to whom i had given

one of my other standard stock answers

this week, my Father's mischievous smile 

prompting, prodding me past the shame of my immaturity

daring my adventurer's heart to risk being at home

in the awkward steps of an uncomfortable dance

to be known again, to again know deeply

"Community calls me.  Stronger than therapy, more than medicine - what do I really need?  All human beings, all deities hurt you in the end; I know this.  It's a matter of degree, a matter of choice.  Can I accept the hurt, trade it for the pretend fullness?  Can I fling myself into the void, knowing the bottom is strewn with shards of glass, knowing the bottom might just kill me if I land on it wrong, in an effort to find something meaningful simply in the falling?  I want so much more with my life.  I want to make a difference.  I want to be the kind of person I expect others to be.  I want community..."

 (from Renee Altson's "Stumbling Toward Faith")

They say that home is where the heart is.

I guess I haven't found my home.

And we keep driving round in circles,

Afraid to call this place our home.

And are we there yet?

(from Igrid Michaelson's "Are we there yet?")


"Wherever you go in life, unpack your bags - physically and mentally - and plant your trees.  Too many people never live in the now because they assume the time is too short to settle in.  They don't plant trees because they expect to be gone before the trees bear fruit.  But if you keep thinking about the next move, you'll never live fully where are are.  When it's time to go, then it's time to go, but you won't have missed what this experience was about.  If you never eat from the trees, someone else will." 

(from a father's letter to his daughter in Third Culture Kids)

Soul-restoring

I've wandered through the pages of Mark Buchanan's "The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath" off and on throughout the last few years.  I, like Mark, am learning to "keep Sabbath in the crucible of breaking it."  He says - wisely, I think - that "you will never enter the Sabbath day without a Sabbath heart."  So I am learning a Sabbath heart, that is "restful even in the midst of unrest and upheaval. It is attentive to the presence of God and others even in the welter of much coming and going... It is still and knows God even when mountains fall into the sea."  Thus... Sundays "OFF", which essentially means that nothing is done because I "must" or "ought" or "should" or "need to".  What is done is done because it in some way restores balance and rightness to life, acting to correct the lens through which I experience life.  It is stepping out of the Monday to Friday House of Mirrors, with all their distortions and exaggerations, to a place where my Creator, myself, and my fellow men and women can be seen honestly.  It is an act of faith that proclaims that my work matters less than my being.  Some days it is playing.  Resting.  Listening.  Thinking.  Worshiping.  Community.  Processing.  In Mark Buchanan's words, Sabbath is stopping to hear God, stopping to taste the Kingdom, stopping to pick up the pieces, stopping to glimpse forever, stopping to become whole, stopping just to waste time, stopping legalism, stopping to remove taskmasters, stopping to number our days aright, stopping to see God's bigness, stopping to think anew.  Now that you have the full book review...

Yesterday was full in many ways.  Rest-full.  Community-full.  Hope-full.  Joy-full.  Meaning-full.  Sabbath-full.  Courtney, Freda and I drove to church together at WEFC... rich conversation, moments of quiet, music, and frivolous chit-chat.  Gord Sawatzky... Uncle Gord from our Congo days... was speaking at WEFC - a delightful surprise - but perhaps the best part was getting a "dad hug" and having a few minutes to talk afterwards.  Seeing Alicia (his daughter) - friends who have wandered in and out of my family's life over the past 20+ years, who offer a sense of belonging, of being understood and accepted in a way that I don't think I can communicate here.  Seeing Trevor and Nicky Berg briefly, and Hannah, their daughter (she remembered me?  Apparently I made an impression).  Knowing that I can both give and receive in each of these friendships, that I am not a leech that sucks the other dry, but neither must I be a crutch that must prop up the other.  That we - with all our areas of wholeness and brokenness - can enjoy community together.

Leaves were flying off the trees all afternoon in a warm, wild, and playful wind, but the sun was shining and the thermometer reported at least 20 degrees of warmth.  So I spent the afternoon laying on a blanket in a patch of sunshine.  I catnapped, talked to my family, enjoyed a few pages of reading that really didn't need to get done (I'm one of those keener students that regrets I cannot fully absorb some of the material for lack of time).  Got lost in my own thoughts, and found my way out the other end of them.  Made a few decisions.  Came to terms with a few unknowns.  Looked at the red and yellow leaves - enjoyed each one's uniqueness, holding them up to the gusts of wind and watching them spin away from my fingers.  I basked in a patch of sunlight, comfortable in my alone-ness.

Then spontaneously decided to drive with friends - some new and some well-known - to the Sandilands east of Steinbach to explore some walking/skiing trails.  Walked through pine, oak and poplar forest with the sun setting behind us.  Saw a baby black bear and decided it was time to retrace our steps.  Met a few horseback riders (we neglected to warn them about the bear).  The last rider in line was texting-and-riding.  I pitied her.  We wondered if she would be the one most likely eaten by Baby Bear's Big Mama. We enjoyed the fading sunset by the car, eating pumpkin cupcakes and trail snacks.  We laughed.  Talked.  It was only after another black bear scuttled across the road thirty feet away from us that we decided it was time to trek back to Otterburne.

Sunday was a good Sabbath.  I hope you have a Sabbath-day this week.

I'm back.  Kind of.  Joyce (the ingenius Joyce of the bags4darfur blog) took the summer off and I did too.  Off of blogging at least.  Work is another story - my calendar contained lots of 'ON', and not quite enough 'OFF'.

But now Joyce is back on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays (over which I nearly danced with uninhibited excitement, though my trusty inhibitions saved me from certain humiliation just in time by reminding me that I was sitting in a college library).  And September seems like a good time for re-starts - so maybe I will too.  Given that I'm not entirely rejuvenated, there's no guarantee that I'll blog consistently now that fall is here.  But I shall endeavor to do so once a week.  I have designated Sundays as 'OFF' so hopefully that will function as an effective crutch for my good intentions.

This week, I wrote on a different website.  Here's my blog contribution of the week.  You're welcome to sneak a peek... a site described as:

Life in the Days of Front Line Work
Because Youth Work doesn't pay enough to afford the Therapy we need...

I have a massage in an hour and a half... ah!  Absolutely delightful.
I'm relaxed just thinking about it.

Word of the Day

Some of you may know my delight with new words, like vaguebooking and histrionics.  Here's my newest fave:

Chexting

By Zorianna Kit

Golf superstar Woods and TV celebrity James, who is married to Oscar-winning actress Sandra Bullock, have seen their lives unravel amid revelations of cheating on their spouses, in part by arranging liaisons via text messages.

Their affairs have spawned a new word in pop culture, chexting, and raised the question of whether it really is cheating on a spouse. The experts say, you bet it is.

"It's lipstick on the cellular -- digital proof that becomes evidence you've been unfaithful," says Peter Dedman of Predicto Mobile, the largest paid mobile community in America.

Definitely cheating.  Chexting.

Most of the misery in the world comes from trying to look, instead of trying to be, what one is not.

-George MacDonald

What prevents me from being genuinely true - reflecting the reality of my heart in all its beauty, brokenness, ugliness, joy, anger, meanness, hope, and mystery?  What fearfulness holds me captive?

I flipped the calendar over to April last night, and saw this...

...picture of little princess beside her buck-skin knight in shining armour.
Before I hung it up, I flipped through all the other pages...

...nostalgia.

...a revival of passion.
...a "remembering" of why I'm taking a course overload to finish my degree

...a deep love for each of these kids, and the many not pictured.

I miss my second home.

A weekend's simple joys

Laughing in excess at the seminary games night.
Meeting and laughing with a roomful of people at the sem. games night.
Sleeping in.
Smoothie and granola for breakfast.
My teapot full of licorice tea.
Watching Bones and Criminal Minds online, and doing absolutely nothing.
Warm sunny days.
My seat in the library.
The knowledge that I'll be headed home in just under a month.
It's been a good day.

you know you're a library geek when...

1. You know the working schedule of all library staff, and if they are unsure when they are next scheduled to work, they ask you.

2. The head librarian assumes that you'll walk her out to her car after the library closes on Friday night.

3. A chair/general area is staked out as "yours", and if someone is sitting there when you arrive, they apologize, saying something like, "Oh, I'm sorry - I'm in your chair... but I was just leaving, so you can have it."

4. You hear a thump, bump and "ouch" on the other side of the library, and you know exactly who fell off their chair.

5. A group of students from your classes drops by "your chair" with increasing frequency as the semester progresses to ask for study help and advice on assignments.

6. You spend more time in the library than you do in your bedroom at least six days a week.

7. Your primary social life is with other library geeks in the library.  Your day looks something like this... wake up and prepare for day, go to library, go to class, eat lunch, return to library, go to class, eat supper, go to library until closing, go to gym, go to bed.

8. On Saturdays, you bring a thermos of tea, your go-mug, five or so texts, all your course syllabi and assignments, and plan to settle in for the day.

*I do not meet all the requirements of a library geek.  It's really a good life.  No complaints.

**Thanks for this list in part to Kelsey and Amanda, who DO fulfill all the requirements of a library geek, and began compiling a list last year.

A Picture is Worth...

A picture is worth a thousand words.  Or so they say.

These guys gamble millions of dollars the truth of that statement.  They pay big bucks to own your eyeballs for thirty seconds.  You call them commercial breaks.
A thousand words?  Or a thousand dollars?
Or more?  More on this later...

35031

What is the effect of identifying ourselves numerically?  Social insurance number.  Passport number.  Drivers licence number.  Student ID number.  At the Student Portal that allows me to access all my academic information, I type 35031 into the field as my user identification.  It rankles me every time.  After all, my friends call me Jenni.  Some call me Jennifer.  A few are allowed the honour of calling me J or Bee.  A few kids I've grown to love have taken to calling me G.  One calls me kohkum (grandma in Cree - a term of respect and affection).  The school?  The school calls me 35031.

After signing into the student portal, the welcome page greets me with a whole new set of numbers: 99.00, 98.00, 96.67, 106.00, 98.57, 97.00.  Those are my grades.  Sick, isn't it?

No, that's awesome!  you might say.  The grades are fine.  They don't have many places to go except down (which they most likely will... it's the nature of the beast), but that's not really a problem.  Or is it?  I would argue that we lean heavily on numerical values to interpret the world around us.  What about the number 8.90?  Does it look familiar?  Minimum wage.  What if I attached the number 16.50 to my job?  Or 25.00?  Would that change the way that I see myself?  The way that other people see me?  What if I decided to return to a 8.90 job?  Would you call me lazy?  Unmotivated?  Not a Type A personality?  Without real aspirations?  What then is the difference between a people who are labelled 56.80 or 78.00 or 98.10?  Library nerd?  Average?  Well-balanced?  Smart?  Stupid?  Needs to apply himself?  Needs to get a life?  There are certain assumptions that are made about me (by myself, and by other people), based on a simple set of numerical values.

Not only that, but the reduction of a person to a numerical label like 689 946 384 (not my real SIN number), or 35031 (my real student ID #) strips us of our face, our smile, our personality and character, our hopes and dreams, our lofty aspirations, our deepest fears.  

Or worse yet – do I (or someone else) somehow feel that I have elevated status as a result of my high numerical values, or the organizations that have offered to ascribe me with a numerical label (a Harvard student ID # or a Microsoft employee number)? Or, though I deny that arrogance, do I – deep in my heart – believe that I have more to offer to society as a result of my achievements? Are achievement, intellect, reason, rationality, and logic idols of Western culture? Think of someone who has a very limited intellectual capacity. Do I somehow believe that people are more or less worthy of love, and more or less capable of offering significant contributions to others based on my accomplishments? My intellect? My personality? My skills? My gifts, talents, roles? What will it take to reframe our beliefs about “us” and about “them” until we believe – to the very core of our souls – that we have neither more nor less to offer to the world around us than anyone else. How long until we no longer measure our worthiness on any scale except this one: I am significant and worthy of love – no questions asked, without any doubt – I have inestimable worth just as I am, on the basis of the fingerprints of the Maker of the universe on my very spirit.

Perhaps in a future blog, I will mull over my own insignificance in the context of God's enormity (a discussion that helps me understand the flip side of this coin), but I think I will leave that for another day. You are enough – just as you are – you have inestimable worth just as you are.  This is 35031... signing out.

Sunday morning

Warm spring sunshine streaming through the windows, warm enough to open the windows and let the fresh spring air flow through.

A berry and banana smoothie, filled out with hemp protein and greens powder, acai, pomegranate, and blueberry juice, and rice milk (my mom calls me healthy; my dad calls me "a health food store kind of person"... which he translates to mean "hippie" and "endearingly weird" in equal proportions - I think it's a compliment).

My journal and a Bible.

My grandma's old polyester patchwork picnic blankets layered out on the deck.

15 degrees Celcius (the thermometer reads 35 degrees, but that's because it's basking in the sun like I am).

Podcast  of a sweet sermon series (from Oregon... another place I'd also love to be).

Samgee the golden retriever lounging in the sun beside me, occasionally perking up his ears at the birds that flit about the feeder and land on the barbecue beside us, or bringing his soggy orange ball to be thrown again into the snow that still thickly blankets the back yard.

The remnants of my dad's current renovation strewn about the deck around me, reminding me of his love for restoring, redeeming, renewing things that are old, stagnant, or broken.

A beautiful Sunday morning.

Missing: community.  Missing: the motivation to seek out and sink my roots into a genuine Christian community.  Still hanging on: the longing to be connected.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not ditching church.  It's just that sometimes solitude is more soul-filling than singing.  And sometimes, regardless of my perceived desire for solitude, God desires me to seek to be connected and I choose solitude for the ease and simple pleasure of it.  Anyone brave enough to hold me accountable to that when I return to the place I don't yet feel comfortable calling home in the snowy land east in Manitoba?

Saviour and/or Social Activist?

My sociology instructor assigned to us a critical review of Brian McLaren's book "Everything Must Change", due March 8th (conveniently the first day back after reading week, to ensure that we all use reading week for just such a purpose... if only the instructors of my five other classes had not been using the same logic!) in a sufficiently "scholarly" format that one would not recognize it as a gut-level reiteration of the book's contents.  What follows are my musings, though incomplete and admittedly somewhat argumentative.


Already passionate about social justice, and with (arguably) a level doctrinal head, I object not only to McLaren's vilification of contemporary Christianity as only partially fair, but also to the theological framework upon which he builds his case.  

He writes truly, however, when he says "Far from being an esoteric and speculative distraction, our beliefs about the end toward which things are moving profoundly and practically shape our present behaviour" (p 144).  Too true - though he unfortunately uses it to bring into question doctrines considered biblical and foundational by most Christians.  This makes it ever more urgent that we begin our musings by looking to Jesus, the Son of God, not only a religious leader, nor only a social activist, but much much more - including both but not limited to either.  Let us not, in our pursuit of social justice, reduce the King of kings, the Maker of the universe, the Prince of peace, the Counselor and Comforter, to a mere activist.  Even if we elevate him to the status of All-time Greatest Activist deserving of Albert Nobel's prize, we will still not encompass the unimaginable enormity of his character.  Is He Lion?  Lamb?

McLaren, claiming that the church has "tamed" Jesus (and rightly so... we have), attempts to take Jesus out of the confines of the box, though I feel he simply places Jesus in a new box - albeit a more up-to-date box.  Seeking to become a new kind of Christian, let us not subject Jesus to a new kind of domestication by painting Him to be only a new kind of social activist.  Social activism is, after all, today's most politically correct approach to religion in general, and Christianity in particular.  In the case that all humanity needs is an unprecedented social activist and not a Savior, then take your pick from the multitude who have sacrificed of their lives in the service of humanity - Gandhi, Mother Theresa, or Nelson Mandela will do just fine!  Instead, let us acknowledge the awe and wonder with which we must embrace all of who Christ is, instead of only accepting the puzzle pieces which fit into the simplified-and-easily-understood picture we would sometimes rather accept.  Let us not delude ourselves into believing that simply because we cannot wrap our finite minds around His multifaceted character, we have licence to redefine His character to suit our whims.  Let us trust that in all His mystery, and in spite of the widespread suffering that we so often assume discredits His reputation, He is both good and sovereign.


Let us trust that as we learn to see Him increasingly as who He is instead of who we think He is, we will become like Him, therefore extending the reach of His arms, not because He is incapable of healing all the world's ills with one snap of his fingers, but because He chooses to give you and I the freedom to choose whether we will participate with Him, in the redemptive mission on which His Father sent Him.  Our God is, after all, a Junkyard Artist.  He is a specialist in taking the apparently ruined, the trash of humanity, the heaps of discarded and disregarded garbage left in the wake of rampant consumerism, and transforming it into something new and beautiful, reflective of His awe-and-worship-inspiring character and covered in His unique fingerprints.


McLaren hits the latter nail on the head.  With a working understanding of political economy, and an active imagination capable of envisioning a future characterized by the pursuit of justice, mercy, and compassion, McLaren provides the reader with a creative new lens through which to look at the realities of the world around us.  Only let us - again and again - re-center our lives on the Christ of the Cross, the Tomb, the Resurrection, and Eternity lest we replace Him with a less controversial and more socially palatable, but sadly emasculated figurehead.

I haven't blogged in a long time.  I've written... three big papers, four mid-terms, and six quizzes in the last two weeks... but I haven't blogged.  I miss it when I'm gone.  Reading week has arrived.  I will read.  I will rest.  I will take naps in the afternoon.  I will write.  I will blog.  Looking forward to moments with you in the next ten days.

May we bravely remove the lens through which we see this mid-February season - whether that be the rose-tinted lens of romance, or the bitter lens of loneliness.  May we begin to choose the practice of genuine love daily, for the grocery store cashier, the girl who lives across the hall, the one we've condescended as a misfit instead of initiating real friendship, the friend who betrayed us, the crush that rejected us, the clique that mocked us, the parent we have pushed away to gain our independence, the boss we don't respect, the friend we've always taken for-granted, the stranger we would otherwise walk by... with the people and in the places where we feel least comfortable.  May we learn to see people - ourselves included - the way the Creator of all sees us and rest in the experience of His complete approval.  May we muster the courage to admit how deeply we long for love.  May we relegate romanticized love to its right place as salt and pepper seasonings instead of the means by which we fill our love-hungry appetites.  May we grow to savour relationship instead of romance.  And in time, may your romance grow to reflect the way in which your Saviour romances your soul, knowing deeply and being deeply known, not so that you may bask in the pleasure of rich romance, but that the richness of your relationship spills over to invite others into inclusive community rather than flaunting your exclusivity.  May we learn what it means to say, "I love you", and live it.

PS... if you have a minute, follow the link to Brene Brown's blog - Ordinary Courage - and read her Valentines' Day post from which I obtained this quote... it's pretty great.

Jalike one small kid...

Da peopo wen bring dea small kids by Jesus, cuz dey like fo him put his hands on top dea heads an pray fo dem.  Wen Jesus guys see dat, dey wen scold da peopo cuz dey wen do dat.  But Jesus tell da kids fo come, and he say, "Let da small kids come by me, an no stop dem, cuz da peopo dat get God fo dea King, inside demself dey jalike dese kids.  Dass right!  An I like tell you guys dis too: Whoeva no take God fo be his King jalike one small kid, he no can get God fo his King."

Luke 18:15-17

(Da Jesus Book - Hawaii Pidgin New Testament)

Don't get me wrong... I love school.  I like learning.  I get a thrill out of batting around ideas in class or with my profs.  I delight in the process of drafting and word-smithing until I know my essays communicate my thoughts clearly.  I dread tests, but who doesn't?  Sometimes, however, I feel like I'd learn more if I spent my years contemplating just one or two ideas... internalizing them... learning what it means to live them in practice... soaking up the wisdom of people who have walked this way... resting in the knowledge that there is absolutely nothing of worth that I can offer to my God except a trusting, childlike heart.  And maybe learning to speak Hawaii Pidgin.  Sometimes I'd like to ditch school altogether and head off to Bangladesh to hang out with the kids in this picture.  But in the meantime, I'm enjoying the purpose in this season, and asking God for a renovation/addition to be put into the development plan for my short- and long-term memory that I may better retain (and hopefully apply) excessive quantities of information.  By the way... if you stumbled your way through that paragraph, congrats!  Go back and read it again out loud.  The effect is incredible - if you're good at it - and quality entertainment for bystanders either way.

Vaguebooking

If you, like me, have a memory for useless information, you may recall from my post on January 19th that the average secondary student learns 5000 new words every year, while only 200 new words are taught in the school system.  One has to wonder... where do all these new words come from, and won't we ever run out of words to learn?  Nope.  Never.


As for their origins... I have no idea, but here's one of my newest favourite ridiculous linguistic compositions - 

Vaguebooking An intentionally vague Facebook status update, that prompts friends to ask what's going on, or is possibly a cry for help.

Mary is: "wondering if it is all worth it"
Mark is: "thinking that was a bad idea"
 Example:
"Have you talked to Mark? He's vaguebooking again. I wonder if he's back with Mary..." 

Closely related, and also a favourite....


HistrionicsExaggerated dramatic behavior designed to attract attention.
Example:Discussions around the issue have been based as much in histrionics as in history.

Day 2 Part 3 - The Amazing Race

As you may have noticed, our road trip was eventful in all the right ways, complete with a prank call home regarding the irony of driving through Dyer Straits... until this moment.  The moment when our trip turned into a ridiculous episode of The Amazing Race.  

Team Bartell-Smith find their first Clue!

We were already well into Manitoba when the check engine light came on.  The sound of the engine hadn't changed.  No changes in how it drove, and we were in the middle of nowhere so I decided to keep driving.  

Detour for Team BS! 

Just as we rolled into Headingley, we decided to stop for a bathroom break, and as we slowed to roll into the gas station parking lot... a vibration in the engine so big that it felt a little like we had a flat tire.  Uh oh...  I rolled up to the gas station and turned off the engine, certain that I should not turn it on again.

All of our problem-solving abilities kicked into gear, and we came up with this logical two-stage plan of action:
1. Use the bathroom.
2. Call my dad!

Of course, the most logical plan of action is to call one's father and ask for help.  It was only once I was on the phone with him, and realized that there was very little that he could do (either to diagnose my engine or to fix it), and that I didn't even know what I needed, except a shoulder to cry on and someone to just make the problem go away.  (Aren't dads supposed to be able to do that?)  Dyer Straits began to seem like such a friendly place, and the irony of my little phone call home began to sink in.

Team BS decides to try a different tactic...
It wasn't getting any warmer outside, and Sarah and I were feeling increasingly hungry, and a solution to the problem was becoming ever more pressing.So I did a second mental inventory, and Sarah and I split up the work:
1. We need to know where we are (as at that time, I had no idea what hole-in-the-ground Manitoba town we had landed in).
2. We need to know where to tow the car to... aka - I need a trustworthy mechanic.
3. We need a tow truck to take the car from here to there.
4. We need another vehicle so that I can finish this now-complicated move to Manitoba.
5. We need supper.

Team BS gains momentum... the task is nearly complete!

The cashier at the gas station proved incredibly helpful in providing our exact location, and AMA was cooperative in sending a tow truck that wasn't too far away.  My dad and I decided that the Honda dealership would be the best bet for a mechanic because the engine would require diagnosis.  Sarah found the address for the nearest Honda dealership, and only car rental place left open in Winnipeg at 6 pm on a Saturday night, so that we could make our way to Otterburne.  I recruited my mother's assistance, who recruited Alicia Sawatzky - a friend from waaaaay back in the day who lives in Winnipeg - to pick us up from the Honda dealership once we had dropped the car off and take us across Winnipeg to the Enterprise rental lot.  I spoke with the Honda people to make arrangements to drop the car off.  Sarah made rice cakes and cheese for supper... a light supper, but food in the belly is something to be thankful for.  All in all... a smooth operation!  

Jenni takes on the "Who can beat the cold?" Road-block for Team BS

Not too long thereafter, our friendly tow-truck man, Shawn showed up and we hooked Kezzie up to the truck and limped our way over to 1717 Waverley, where a big bold Honda sign stood at the road to greet us.  We unhooked and said goodbye to our new friend Shawn.  Left a key and a note in the drop-box, and settled in to wait for Alicia.  Considered that Alicia may not know how to find one silver Civic in a sea of silver Civics, and pulled out my new white Helly Hanson down-filled jacket (beeeeautiful!), planted my new muskrat hat on my head, and pulled on another pair of wool socks, as we were, by now freeeeeezing!  (I know you can't really see the muskrat hat on my head... but it's pretty rad.  Sarah hunkered down with her rabbit-fur mittens as slippers (thank you, Indian Head!) for the wait.  

Just as I was pulling my snow pants up so that I could bear the wind and cold and stand out front to wait for her, I saw her drive by, and jumped out of the car to chase her down... without success.  She didn't see me or my marvelous warm jacket.  But hope against hope, I stood out at the road to see if she'd return, and she certainly did, not more than a few minutes later.  I thoroughly enjoyed the unexpected, unbeatable opportunity to spend time with a friend whom I had not anticipated seeing this early in the year.  Not only that, but she offered to feed!!!!! us... something that one can't object to when supper consisted of rice cakes and cheese.  

Sarah takes on the "Who's an arctic road-runner?" Roadblock for Team BS

We dropped into the Enterprise lot just in time to get a little red compact.  There was a little confusion about Kezzie's keys, as I realized that I may have locked my spare set into Kezzie before closing the door... where they, and all my other belongings would be stuck until the Honda dealership opened on  Monday.  But it took only a few minutes for the rational powers that be (aka Alicia and Sarah) to set me straight.  With keys in hand, we headed back toward the Honda dealership, following Alicia so we wouldn't get lost.  But just before we got back to the Honda dealership, we passed her by, Alicia having waited for us as she thought we were further behind.  And Sarah and I sat at the light... not more than a couple blocks from the dealership, and wondered how in the world we were to tell Alicia not to go back and comb the city of Winnipeg trying to find us.  

Sarah made a brilliant suggestion, "I'll just jump out and run back there and you go ahead to the dealership.  I'll meet you there."  Nothing like making a sacrifice for the team.  I objected, though not strongly enough, and Sarah jumped out into -40 weather with just a hoodie and a vest on, just as the light turned green.  So I got to the dealership and started unloading Kezzie the Civic of her burdens to expedite the process once the girls got there.  They did get there... in one piece, though Sarah's lungs were objecting strongly to their little expedition into the cold.  (Please note that Sarah's lungs continue to complain throughout the remainder of this narrative, all the way until January 11th when I dropped her off at the airport.  Let's be really clear about the fact that I feared I may have given my road trip buddy the gift of pneumonia to take back to Alberta with her.)  

Team BS convinces Alicia to join the team and take on the "Load it or Lose it" detour.

We finished the unloading... reloaded it all into Little Red the Enterprise compact, and jumped into the car, and that was when I realized... Uh oh... I don't know where the keys are.  (You'd think I would have learned from the first key-loss incident of the evening).  I remembered seeing big tag on them saying that if you lose this set of keys, you owe Enterprise $250... but I couldn't remember where I had put the key that was attached to that big you-owe-$250-if-you-lose-them tag.  So I revisited my stunning problem-solving skill set and made a plan of action...

1. I checked Kezzie... no keys.

2. I retraced my steps from Kezzie the Civic to Little Red the compact... no keys.

3. I recalled setting it on the back seat.  I looked at the back seat, now buried under my belongings. 

4. I felt foolish.

So... we set about UNloading Little Red.  Alicia ended up hurling herself head-first into the melee with only her feet sticking out the back of the hatchback.  We all bemoaned the fact that no camera crew was sent with our team to document this moment.  But Sarah scored the key discovery, and we RE-loaded Little Red for the next leg of the journey... to supper.

Team BS finally makes the Pit Stop

A long conversation and a lot of food later, warm right down to the bone, Sarah and I set out from Alicia's house for the final leg of the journey down to Providence at Otterburne, where we RE-unloaded Little Red, and landed on the Check-in Mat only a few minutes past midnight.  We slept... and slept... and slept... and then got up and ate apple sauce and granola for breakfast on my new bed (while I wore that ridiculous smile on my face because sometimes you have to choose whether you'll laugh or cry).  I fell off the bed.  Sarah documented the moment.  And so begins a whole new adventure...

...a new adventure that would include a $3500 bill to put a new "used" engine in my car (ouch!), the gift of getting to know a new suite-mate, the challenging adventure of taking new classes at a new school, the sometimes lonely adventure of making new friends in a new place, exploring new church families...

...sometimes I could abandon the new adventure and retreat to the safety and comfort of something more familiar.  But it is then that I am reminded that, like Cortez who, after landing on the sandy beaches of the New World, ordered his men to burn the ships, I am committed to following through.  Finishing well.  So, because I know my fickle heart, I'll burn the ships behind me, and build bridges ahead of me, trusting that they'll lead me full circle and I'll eventually find myself at home.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/46587/burn_the_ships.html