the christ festival

Once again Christmas is upon us. And once again it appears as though Christians have no idea what to do with it. It's as if Christmas is too sacred to touch, too holy to be near and so we act like the rest of the world, becoming completely indistinguishable from others. We're too scared to be different, and too frightened to actually, truly approach God. So the Christ-child is relegated to the side of the room as a miniature, peripherally illuminated by the lights on the tree.

Do we doubt its reality? Or do we simply refuse to allow it any reality? Because I don't believe this remarkable, miraculous, beautiful event is being done any justice, but is instead being trivialised by being melded with what the world is doing. We see it, but from a safe distance so that we can get back to whatever it is we really want to do. We've got to re-claim Christmas for what it is - the celebration of the birth of God as a man. The rest is irrelevant.

Faithful God, we rejoice that You have sent Your promised Christ. And yet, O God, we confess that we are still not ready for Christ's coming; we are reluctant to live as if the whole earth were Your domain. We know the story - the shepherds, the angles, the magi - but we don't fully understand what it means. Awaken us to Your Spirit, let Christ's birth make a difference in our lives.
-Ruth C. Duck

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, pt 5

When one likes a band as much as I like Third Day, it's hard to say a song that is a favourite - for truly they are all favourites. However, sometimes one or two songs leap out - or at least keep being brought up by the subconcious. For me, this song is a frequent one to my head.

Haunting is the word that comes to mind as a descriptor of this track. It immediately resonated within me and stuck upon me, lingering in my mind - even to this day I unexpectedly get it creeping into my consciousness.

This particular song, to me, is a quintessential example of applying a Biblical narrative to our personal lives; the lyrics keep the story poignantly vague in that they remove the story of the Fall from an ancient theo-historical context to a relatable ballad.

We are all idolaters and self-proclaimed gods - even if we do not realise that we've been seeking our own autonomy - and here Third Day simply yet profoundly asks the question of whether we deserve any mercy of the God from whom we are constantly turning away. While the answer is given - it is more than we deserve - the lyrics, like the Biblical story, tell us that it doesn't end with our betrayal: there is in fact hope, despite the reality that we overwhelmingly do not deserve God's grace.

Take these truths, finely craft them into brilliant poetic prose then put them to haunting music and you get one of my favourite songs of all time.


I Deserve? / Third Day // Conspiracy No. 5

well, i tasted the fruit that was forbidden;
i murdered the trust that You had given
and now i'm living in a place
that's not my home.

the pain in Your heart made You regret;
the moment we spoke, did You forget?
will my transgressions bring us all
to our sweet end?

maybe i'm just being too hard
on myself, i don't know.
or is it that Your mercy
is much more than i deserve?

i deserve?

more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)
more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)

betrayed by more than just a kiss,
i did much more, i must admit.
instead of letting it all end,
You bring new hope . . .

more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)
more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)

oh, more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)
oh, more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)

oh, more than i deserve -
more than i deserve -
more than i deserve -

more than i deserve.

i deserve . . ?

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, part 4

While browsing through various new artists, I came across this very peculiar band. Their attitude I found brilliant yet odd, to say the least; their style of music was intriguing yet distasteful; their lyrics provocative yet incomprehensible. And I found myself at a point where I was constantly listening to a handful of their songs; ultimately, however, I could not keep doing so - despite their quite obvious talent, I simply could not continue listening to such pure 'emo.'

But there was one song that spoke to me - a song with lyrics so poetic, so beautiful, so moving that it quickly became one of my favourites (it also helped that it was a slightly different song-type than their others).

Matthias Replaces Judas is, in my opinion, profound. It not only illustrates humanity's position before God, but it also captures the mood of my faith so eloquently. In this song, Showbread brings out the emotional overtones of my spiritual journey - for me to listen to it is to inevitably bring tears to my eyes. Accordingly, to truly do the song any justice, I simply cannot say more.
And so I won't.

Matthias Replaces Judas / Showbread // No Sir, Nihilism Is Not Practical

is it so that my transgressions
have born a withered fruit?
the sun has scorched the rising plans;
alas, they have no root.
the bleached bones of animals,
bound by leather strips,
dance through the air with laughter
as i wield this wicked whip.

as You did warn me, Carpenter,
this world has weakened my heart;
so easily i disparage,
self-seeking the work of my art.
and there You've come to me
at the moment i bathe in my sorrow -
so in love with myself,
saught after avoiding tomorrow.
where do You find the love to offer
he who betrays You?
and offer to wash my feet
as i offer to disobey You?
Your beauty does bereave me,
and how my words do fail;
so faithfully and dutifully
i award You with betrayal.

the weak and the down-trodden
fall on broken legs,
as i walk passed the smile i cast,
fervour in my stead.
my bones like plastic
do buckle backward now.
i lay in this field like Judas
and anticipate the plow.
i cannot be forgiven,
my wages will be paid
for those more lowly and admirable
is least among the saved.
and where would i fit, Jesus?
what place is left for me?
the price of atonement
is more than i've found
to offer as my plea.

Jesus, my heart is all i have to give to You.
so weak and so unworthy,
this simply will not do.
no alabastar jar,
no diamond in the rough;
for Your body that was broken,
how can this be enough?
by me You were abandoned,
by me You were betrayed.
yet, in Your arms
and in Your heart
for ever i have stayed.
Your glory illuminates my life,
no darkness will descend
for You have loved me for ever
and Your love will never end . . .

i'm all that's in the way

The other day, as I was jack-hammering the concrete step to the back door of a customer, a surveyor of some sort came around the corner and asked me, 'Are you the home-owner or just the renovator?'

It took me at least five seconds to answer her.

The process in my head immediately began by acknowledging that I was definitely not the home-owner. But then it hit a tough spot: Am I the renovator or the renovator's assistant? Or merely an employee to the renovator? I knew that to answer I was the renovator's son would be giving an irrelevant designation, but under which other category did I fall?

I drew a blank as I looked around me, mentally clawing for a reply. Even in the moment I was surprised at how difficult it was to answer such a simple question - how strange it was to be at a loss because of one simple enquiry. She gave me two options, why could I not place myself so easily in either one of them?

I eventually stammered out, 'Uh, yah, I'm the renovator,' to which she turned around and left.

Of course I was bothered afterward by my struggle. Was the complicatedness really necessary? Was there a reason for so much confusion in stating my work-position? Was it that I was simply startled out of a focused task by a stranger?

While the element of surprise is valid, I felt it could not be the sole contributor to my strained search.

When I worked at Price Chopper I always had a problem when people asked, 'Where do you keep . . ?,' 'Where are your . . ?,' or 'What are your . . ?' It bothered me that simply because I had a uniform on I was immediately equated with the company - you, your - but I only worked there. I never responded with 'we,' but instead used 'the store' because I didn't want people to make the mistake of thinking I somehow was or belonged to Sobey West's discount supermarket when I was merely an employee.

I wondered whether this same mentality was being brought out here, even as an employee of my own father's company? I concluded that this was true, but where with Price Chopper I hesitated to be interchanged with some mass corporation, with my dad it's that I hesitate to equate my shortcomings, inabilities and lack of knowledge with his work and expertise. Both with Price Chopper and my dad I was reluctant to be recognised as a serious representative for the company - one because I felt it too far removed from myself, the other because I could not allow my inexperience to be expressive of the business.

The fact is, while I am wholly committed I am not entirely devoted. And it was then that I found a direct correlation to that of my faith: Not only do I find that I don't measure up to what a Christian should be, I also do not find that I am utterly dedicated to it. This of course is a bold statement to admit, but it is the honest truth. While in my heart I want to be a Christian man, my actions have borne little if any fruit thereby rendering my best intentions invalid - to consider myself worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven would be blasphemous. I am hesitant to go where I may be lead to go in fear that I will not live up to divine expectations. And so the struggle is to confess my faithfulness when I feel I have become merely a nominal Christian - how could I truly be a citizen of God's Kingdom when I am not by any means an adequate sort of representative, ambassador or example.

Yet, to be a Christian it seems one must simply accept full-heartedly the grace that while we are not and perhaps never can be what we should, we are still accepted, wanted, used and indeed saved. Though I struggle to truly and deeply answer, 'Yes, I am a Christian,' the fact remains that since I have accepted God through His Christ, since I attempt (the key being to attempt, for although I fail I continue the effort) to shape my life around Him and His will, since I try daily to follow God I am of course a Christ-follower.

Even though I know very little in regards to working a renovation job, the truth remains that, in spite of my mistakes and under needed guidance, I am learning, I am trying, and I do in fact get work done; therefore I am a renovator - even as, in spite of my inabilities and under needed grace, I am learning, I am trying, and I do follow; therefore I am a Christian.

Perhaps this is something I will always fight doubt about, but it seems God never fails to somehow show me that I still belong to Him, even if I am a horrible failure - because then I'm simply His horrible failure, His horrible Christian failure - yet somehow He weaves a good from it, even if I can't see it or ever know it, unlike a renovation job where the end result is tangible.

Worthy or not, I am what I am.

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, part 3

Not only is it the title track, but this song also serves as the climax to Dead Poetic's CD, ending the album on a beautiful and raw note. The lyrics are revealing when read carefully as to what Brandon Rike was feeling as he wrote the song - feelings declared in his message on Dead Poetic's MySpace blog (check it out here). Yet, despite this very real basis for these words, I believe on some level we all can relate to it - at least I certainly can.

People tend to form certain expectations as a result of what they hope. We define, we declare and anticipate by our own biases, not realising what is truly going on beyond what we want to see - we blind ourselves to the truth while we watch with hopeful eyes to see our desires fulfilled. Like young children who worship their parents, we look upon others with the expectations that arise from the demands we place upon them - when it is not necessarily the case that these people are as perfect, as holy and as wonderful as we would like them to be.¹ The same of course goes for parents who believe their children are as perfect as they hope - or other family members or even friends who create certain ideas based on notions, traditions and beliefs. But we're all human, and we all have our vices - we all have our faults, inadequacies, and failures.

We may never live up to others' expectations, or even for that matter our own, but there is peace in knowing that we are not alone. In fact, Christ is quite familiar with the struggles we go through and the vices we face; He is not one to blame us for our faults - He redeems us in the midst of them - even when we try to push Him out. In our darkest hours, He is our strength and remains our Lord, our Saviour, our friend.

Vices / Dead Poetic // Vices

feeling cold,
feeling empty.
set the stage
where you want me.
and this crowd
right before me
doesn't care
that i'm dying.

and the audience
stands with their eyes fixed
on a preconceived
version of me.
i'm so betrayed by your hopes,
but i
will not hide myself
for your peace of mind.

oh, but child,
i've got vices like any other man.

raise a boy
to a cynic,
take his love
and then let it
turn into
something passionate,
something sick,
something rabid.

and i vent
to keep myself from caving.
i don't hate you,
i just hate where i'm headed.
i'm left here asking
when did i trade in
my bleeding heart
for a selfish win?

oh, but mother,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that you're not used to;
vices that'll make you think less of me.

leave me numb,
leave me jaded;
she's the dream,
i just play dead.
i've been blessed,
i've been hated;
she's the constant
and i'm her addict.

she's the only peace
in this world uneasy
while i bite my tongue
to keep from breaking
the heart that i
spent my whole life seeking -
the only heart
i've ever needed.

oh, but lover,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that you're not used to;
vices that'll make you think.
oh, but lover,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that you're not used to;
vices that'll make you think less of me.

less of me . . .

feeling cold,
feeling empty;
i am low,
unworthy.
bleed the god,
bleed the blessing -
like a vulture,
feasting.

i'll resist
as if i don't feel conviction
of my ignorance
to my perfect prison;
but i feel the stabs
on my wrists and ankles
every time i try
to forget You.

to forget You . . .

oh, but Jesus,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that You're so used to,
vices that won't make You think less of me . . .




1. This of course is not to say that I don't think my parents are wonderful, amazing parents - I love them so terribly - but they're still only human and have learned, despite many surprises, not to expect anything more than human.

i'm not the sheep

I have an intense love-hate relationship with Lyra, the cat I'm taking care of. And by intense I mean seriously zealous and over-the-top. This cat invokes of me the worst anger, wrath and impatience while simultaneously taunting out a protective, caring, and almost fatherly part of my being. One hour may see me get furious at her for doing something she shouldn't, sending her running to hide in guilt and fear; the next could find me laying down next to her on the floor, scratching everywhere she likes it and making sure she's contented. Indeed, I may pull her by the collar from under my bed in rage, literally throw her in her box and shut it closed; but I also will pick her up and scratch her belly - even nuzzle noses and chins - while cradling her in my arms.

No matter how many times I shove her off of beds and chairs, bat her for being bad, and shout at her how stupid she is Lyra never hesitates to come to my feet begging for attention; or to jump on my lap and nuzzle my face, rubbing my cheek with her paw; or to follow me around the house, whatever it is I may be up to.
It's a strange thing we have going on. It makes me laugh and it makes me annoyed; it makes me wonder why I did this and it makes me want to keep her. I hate her - I do. Yet I'm fairly certain that I quite like her.

A few Sundays ago I heard a sermon which has stuck with me throughout the week - that is, something in particular the pastor said has made some kind of lasting impression. The text for the sermon was John 10 and the focus was on Jesus as the Good Shepherd. In particular, verses 14-15 were central insofar as the relationship between us and Christ is shown to exist. He knows us and we know Him - He speaks and we know His voice. We belong to Him. It was likened to the relationship we may have with a pet.

I laughed that off. Such an analogy certainly couldn't apply to me - if it did, I'd be worried. Sure, Lyra somehow by now knows who I am and perhaps even knows my voice, but I hate her - I merely tolerate her. I chase her in rage, I lock her in boxes, I forcefully bat her away, I throw her, I shout at her. . . I get so furious and annoyed at her that I don't even want her near me sometimes. And that's supposed to be how God is toward me? I certainly hope not - I'd have no chance.

Okay, so maybe it can't apply to me because she isn't really my pet - I'm only taking care of her for the time being. That undoubtedly should break down the analogy. Except for the fact that after over a month she feels as though she is in fact mine. And I haven't quite been able to let this image go. Maybe I don't entirely hate her - I do enjoy playing with her, and when I'm in the mood I don't mind at all nuzzling and scratching her. So there's hope. But does that mean God is moody? Doesn't that then make His love conditional?

Maybe I'm taking it all too seriously; maybe I'm drawing it too close to my heart.

As I lay in bed readying for a nap with Lyra lying on my stomach as close to sleep as me, a thought struck: Perhaps for me it's the other way around; perhaps for me Lyra stands in for God's place in my life, instead of her representing me.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this may be more-or-less the case. Perhaps the way I treat Lyra is in fact at times the way I treat my Lord. I admit, I haven't been so gracious toward Him - and as of late, I think I've acted more negatively toward Him than positively - neglecting, shrugging Him off, ignoring, doubting... As far as a Lyra comparison, God does seem to do things I don't completely understand, things that seem strange and confusing. Sometimes it makes me annoyed, sometimes it makes me angry; but sometimes I'm delighted, and sometimes I'm pleased - even excited on occasion. There are times I push Him away, I'm not in the mood and times I shout at Him; other times I beg for His attention, His affection, His pleasure. Sometimes I don't want Him to get into everything; other times I need Him. And try as I may I can't tell God what to do.

Yet despite my moodiness He always comes back to me with a love I don't understand and a love I question the basis of. He gives me affection and love and His presence, His grace new every day and every moment - as if He's forgotten that I turned my back on Him, neglected Him, been angry at Him. He actually seeks to be with me - He loves me - even though I can sometimes be distant, hostile, grumpy and doubtful. His love doesn't end and it doesn't change - it's always there and unconditional. He may not say it with words, but He acts it out. And He knows me - and He loves me. And I just don't know why.

So, fittingly, I end these musings with a cat on my lap, hugging me and attempting to kiss me with her nose, pawing at my cheek and purring in contentedness - and I like her. Yes, I do like her - even though an hour ago she incredibly annoyed me (and I may have even told her that I hated her). This cat has made Romans 1:20 ring true: For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse (NASB).

I have a strange relationship with Yahweh, the God who takes care of me. And by strange I mean it takes a dive through the valley and it also flies above the clouds. But I do trust Him, and if I look closely I can see that He has been, that He is, and that He always will be faithful to His Word - and I have nothing to worry about. He is the Lord, our God, King of the universe and He has provided more than I deserve - including and especially His favour, His love. I may not always recognise it, but every once in a while I see it and I feel so blessed.

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, pt 2

By virtue of its title, my brother declared this song as my theme. When I bought the CD in 2001 it was at a time when my answer to any question would often be, 'I don't know.' I did this for various reasons, but mostly as a way to avoid something I didn't want to talk about - either because I was still thinking it through or that I simply didn't feel like talking. It was an arbitrary labelling on my brother's part, but upon listening to the song (while of course reading along to the lyrics), I came to relate with what Mac Powell was saying, what he had written in some moment of spiritual doubt.

His words resonate within me now as much as they did then for the issue of salvation is an ever constant struggle. This song raises questions for me which are quite relevant to my faith journey - and I could only imagine with those of the spiritual positions each of us are in.

I Don't Know / Third Day // Come Together

cannot find the words to say i'm sorry;
don't know how to show You i was wrong.
i wasted all that You had given to me
and now i'm left with nothing and noone.

and i find
it's my fault -
i'm the only
one to blame
for the tears
and the pain.

well, i don't know what i can say -
or would it matter anyway -
'cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through,
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.

all my life has lead to this decision,
to return and ask You this one thing:
if i had one chance or if a million,
would it ever be enough for me

to explain
what i've done?
now i know that
i was wrong.
will You hold
me again?

well, I don't know what i can say -
or would it matter anyway -
cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through,
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.
what will it take until You forgive me?
i don't know . . .

i don't know.

and i find
it's my fault -
well, i'm the only
one to blame
for the tears
and the pain.

well, i don't know what i could say -
or would it matter anyway -
'cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.
well, i don't know what i can say -
or would it matter anyway -
'cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.
what will it take until You forgive me?
oh Lord, will i find that You have already?
i don't know . . .

i don't know.
i don't know.
i don't know . . .

mandolin boy and ravioli head, pt 2

It seems that I am itching to write essays - and I believe that comes as a result of not being in any classes this school year. But have no worries, today I feel I should break the seriousness with another comic - just for the fun of it.

This particular one is based on a conversation I had, again, with Daniel (Mandolin Boy). We were at the park playing catch with our football - as we used to do so many times throughout the summer - trying to decide what to have for a snack and then I realised it: if I were edible I would probably have eaten myself a long time ago.

I don't expect anybody to understand our humour. I hope you find some enjoyment out of it regardless!

chapter two

I am now able to walk.

Well, I can hobble, limp and shuffle at least - but I am no longer bound to swing in between two crutches. Yes!, I am free from the cages of the aluminum legs that kept me so confined - free from the hindrance of metal ape-arms that sometimes made me angry. While I do still have to wear the knee brace, the stops have been removed; the time has now come for me to begin reminding the joint how it feels to be used. And it is starting to remember despite the weakness, soreness and my inability to stand for extended periods of time - additionally, the area where the ligament is located does still hurt when bent too many degrees. Still, if all goes well, in one more week I should be able to throw the knee brace into storage along with the crutches. It is a very exciting time.

The day before my appointment with the physiotherapist found me a tad despondent and decidedly disconnected. The previous several days (which were spent in one spot on the sofa) had been swelling up inside me, suffocating my life-ability and draining me of all my worth. Fortunately, it was only for a day - although this side of me did rear its head on occasion throughout the two weeks - for it was not that great of a time for all those involved (right down to Lyra, the cat, whom, to my shame, was treated with a bit of hostility). I was irritable, angry, helpless and annoyed - frustrated beyond words, pent up in various aspects of my being - and I no longer felt like the person I knew myself to be.

As I lay in bed, quietly staring at the ceiling, I found that somehow I had lost my self, my sense of being. Who I was, I realised, was somehow tied to my mobility. Who I was, for some unknown reason, had become dependent upon my ability to not simply move but move my self. Had my legs actually become such an integral ingredient to my identity? Could I truly not be my self if I could not walk?

Am I defined by my capacity to locomote?

These were slightly perturbing enquiries as I had never once thought of myself in such terms, and therefore they caused me to question who I was - and more nebulously what existence is. What is life and what does it mean? Is life sacrifice and tragedy? Is it happiness and peace? Is life sorrow and joy? Love and injury? Is it letting go and receiving? Is life a growing, a becoming? Is it what we make of ourselves? Is life how we move? What we do?

Is it enough to simply be..?

I had no idea how to answer any of these questions - least of all those of existence - but I did have a vague idea where to begin concerning my identity.

While there are many ideas and concepts of which I am comfortable enough to say I understand, the one most pertinent here is that happiness is based on the temporal, the unstable. That is, our state of being happy is birthed from that which is non-eternal, that which comes and goes, that which is limited - and therefore we swing from highs to lows. Our favourite foods make us happy; our favourite songs make us happy; our favourite books make us happy - but none of these are lasting. Thus, happiness is contingent for it depends on moments or objects that are in passing and eventually transitions into another state of being, such as unhappiness or frustration.¹

I was not happy. I was stripped of what seemed to be everything that brought me to that state. Certainly, I did have positive moments - like when my fiancee showed up and we were able to spend time together, or like when my dad would pick me up to take me out for lunch - but then it would be time do something that would remind me of how unable I was, of how imprisoned I was. I was defeated; I was frustrated; I was lost. I kept my mind busy in books, games, and work, but the unhappiness I was feeling blinded me to the pleasures that these things, in other circumstances, would bring. The truth of the situation was that I was stuck in one spot for days, unable to accomplish anything - even the most menial of tasks - by my own power and this utter incapacitation was murderous. I could not do anything - I could not be anything.

I started to wonder whether it was not that I was unable to walk or that I was unable to move my self but perhaps, instead, it was that I quite literally could not do anything and therefore could not assert my being. On some subconscious level, I felt that my cagedness was disallowing me to declare my reality. Sitting there I was silent, barely a blip on the radar; sitting there I could not make a mark on anybody's history; sitting there I was barred from interacting with any world outside the four walls of my house, save for the one of she who was forced to do everything for me.

I had been reduced to nothing - at most a burden.
Or so it was how I felt.

Normally, my first thought upon seeing my reflection is a wonder at how my fiancée - or anyone else - could ever label me attractive. My second thought usually varies, but at the moment, in my post-crutches state, I have been thinking about how I am not merely somebody - not simply anybody - but I am and always have been me. While the consequences of my injury - namely, my immobility - may have removed from me the feeling of humanness, it did not in fact remove from me my humanity. My definition goes beyond two apendages that enable me to move about freely - no matter how masked I was by anger to see that.

Yet, deep within me I feel that what I am is what I do. Said differently, for me to do nothing is to become nothing. For instance, in returning to work I have begun feeling much more 'alive' as a result of being more contributive, not only in bringing home a paycheque but also in helping get something done. This of course is not to say that I don't enjoy relaxing with nothing to do for I have been known to find pleasure in quietness and stillness - but it is something else entirely to be forced into awakened comatose. My problem, however, was not my physical condition - my problem was my spiritual and emotional one. My perspective was too far skewed by my state of unhappiness to see who I was; my anger and frustration had blinded me to the fact that even from the place I sat for two weeks straight I was in reality making a mark.

My meaning is rooted in the fact that there are others insofar as my identity is formed by the absorption of and the interaction with an other - not by my ability to walk. I am a son because my parents had me; I am a brother because my parents had other children; I am a friend because there are guys who welcome me; I am a student because I accept teaching; I am a fiancé because some beautiful girl said Yes.² I am saved because Yahweh has given His grace. I have all this only because He has given it to me and absolutely none of these things that make up who I am were compromised by my injury. My being is far more than merely legs.

I was being made even while I sat there - and in being made I was making; my history was forged even in my static location. My fiancée sat with me, cared for me, chatted with me - took my mind off things with movies, games, her help and quite simply her presence; my family brought me food, took me out, welcomed me to rest in their home. And so I began to see, to remember how my value is not perpetuated by my own actions but that instead my value is given; that is, my character is formed through experiences and these are gifts, not made by our walking but given to us regardless of our ability - after all, experiences happen even when we are not moving. And through each of these experiences was an interaction where I was not only made further into my role, but I fulfilled the purpose of someone else (i.e., I satisfied my brother's role by being a brother) - and in this exchange made a difference. Indeed, while I lacked the capacity to function at my full physical potential, I still meant something to someone - in fact, I meant something to a lot of people - and this was not self-created but allowed and provided; I did not form my meaning, but instead it was made for me by my being given purpose.

My greatest compliment - or at least one of my greatest compliments - came from a grocery manager I had for three weeks (a grocery manager so abrasive and utterly un-personable that I almost quit) who pulled me aside one day and said, 'You must be a Christian - I can tell by the way you speak, act and compose yourself.' That is who I am - that is how I want to be known, to be seen, to be defined. I am His before I am anything else - even as part of a couple, We are His before We are anything else. God makes us and expects us to live up to whom He has formed of us and I was fulfilling my purpose even while I sat there immobile, even while I sat there frustrated and angry. I was filling my God-given role as fiancé, brother, son and friend because they came to me - because God sent them to me; I was fulfilling my purpose because I was made for it and no injury could stop me from being those things.³ Indeed, I was loving and being loved - and loving only because I have been loved.⁴ I was seeking Him, learning Him, praising Him - talking with and to Him - even when I could barely make it to the bathroom. I was trusting Him to provide, trusting Him to heal, and trusting Him to hold me. And He has done all these things despite my impatience and lack of vision - and He has done it through the people He has made which in turn He uses to make me.

Hence, quite literally, I am nothing without the Lord for everything I am and have is because He has given it - I only have being because He is the ground of all being.⁵ It is the passivity that asserts our being; it is the receptivity that declares our reality. I am getting married because He has given me a wife; I am a brother because He has given me siblings; I can eat and have clothes because He gives me a job... I search and He gives; I ask and He answers; I get lost and He finds me; I come to need and He comes to provide; I give up and He gives a way out; I fall and He picks me up; I scream and He listens; I smile and He laughs. There is nothing of which I have been or had that has not come from His hands - not one thing - and my identity is rooted in this, even though I have neglected to acknowledge it for some time. While I regain my mobility, I also, as a result, re-set my footing.

And maybe that's why I was stuck on this couch for two weeks: I needed a reminder. He struck my knee to jar me into remembering who I am. No limb can give or take away my freedom, my salvation - His grace. Who I am is a child of God because He has said so - not because of what I've done, but because of what He has done and no attempt to assert myself will ever grant me merit - I cannot bring about good for it is given to me; I cannot make for myself a life for it is provided for me. I cannot be anything without being made into it. Try as I may, I cannot define myself for my identity belongs in Him, my being is rooted in Him and therefore nothing else can identify me but God. Perhaps this is what it's all about. What we do makes us, but who we are is what we're made into. I am blessed simply because I am - and I am simply because I am His.



1. Joy of course comes from transcending the temporal and holding on through all the ebbs and flows of unpredictability, of existence - through all the waves of life's waters. Joy is not bound by moments in time but is in fact built throughout and between them; joy takes root in the depths of our being and allows us to make it through the hard times to create new good ones. Joy, like true love, is everlasting for it is birthed by that which is eternal, that which is intangible, that which is immutable. Joy is even when we don't feel it - such as in the state of unhappiness.
2. Love, as I have mentioned before, is creative - that is, I am a lover because I am loved.
3. Psalm 16:5
4. 1 John 4:7-12
5. John 1:3; Acts 17:28

the strangest time in my life...

I realise it may be somewhat arbitrary, while in the midst of it, to declare a period of life the oddest of all. However, I feel as though I am at this time experiencing the proper circumstances to make such a claim. That is, the situation I am currently finding myself in decidedly warrants the predicate of the strangest - if not at least one of the strangest - times in my life.

It begins with Thursday evening just before midnight, when two people - whom I have never met in more than simply a passing - drop by my place to deliver a very special package. This couple is an acquaintance to me through my fiancee, who in turn is friends with the husband's sister. While I have seen them both on campus, whether of high school or university, I have never said more than one word to them, if even that much, until this very moment - and now they are entrusting to me an important four month responsibility of which I would be hesitant in the first days that followed.

Friday, the next day, would hold another fateful evening for me that nobody could have predicted - despite a foreshadowing by not one but two of us I would notice afterward - and yet everyone should be prepared for. It was not long after 8PM when four of us sat in the heated shed at The Forks tying up our skates, readying to take the round trip of the River Trail (we may have seemed uncertain to one another, but each of us knew we were going for the full 9.2km trek). 830PM saw the four of us stepping out onto the ice with one readily adjusting to the feel of it while the other two skated ahead like nothing changed - and I was left behind attempting to steady myself as I struggled to recall the movements of this activity.

I sat with my fiancee in the living room after the couple had left, pondering what had gone wrong and reflecting on my reasons for agreeing to do what I had done - a search for justification. This was not something to take lightly - and this is not something I would normally do. Nobody would believe this was happening - not even, at first, myself. But it was happening - it did happen - and I knew that for a fact - it was a reality - because she kept wandering into the living room where we were seated, exploring and becoming familiar with what would be her home for the next four months. It would take some getting used to - and yet not as much as I had anticipated.

A little over an hour had passed and we were a mere two minutes from the half-way point - the point where we would turn around, after taking a rest, and make the return trip down the ice trail. I had made it this far without falling or veering off the path as I had done a number of times on the last skating venture two years ago (one of which would see me lose my four year old necklace). I had stumbled a few times, yes, and nearly fallen; but it would be here that I would take my tumble.

The next morning I would awake to find that the night before was not a dream. In fact, she would remind me of that, somehow knowing that I was no longer asleep. I lay there as she asked for attention, wondering all the while how I, of all people, ended up with a cat.

I began to stagger and my attempts to re-balance myself were in vain - as I started to fall forward the blade of my left skate would catch in the ice and cause my knee to twist under me in a way that it should not. I felt the sudden painful jerk and spun myself to fall onto my side. I called out to those ahead of me and lay there on my back - it didn't hurt yet, but I could definitely feel something was wrong.

For the rest of the day I would adjust myself to living a life with a new roommate - a roommate of a sort that I never once dreamed of having. Sure, I like dogs and wouldn't mind having a dog (okay, so maybe a very specific dog but I'm not saying her name is Dandy) - but a cat? It's not that I don't like animals for I do love birds and have had budgies as pets before in my life - but a cat? I never found a cat as a pet appealing in the least; cats are too independent, too head-strong - unmalleable and moody. And here I was with one of them. It would be easy with a dog - you can train them and teach them and play with them - or a bird - they have no choice but to take what you give them - but a cat does what it wants and seeks your attention when it is convenient for them, with complete disregard for what you may be doing. A dog can become attached to you and remain loyal - a cat will be your 'friend' for as long you feed it and keep it happy when it wants you to provide contentment and entertainment. What good are cats? Why would anybody want one? Why do I have one?

The other three skated back to me, unsure of what had happened. I lay there on my back, laughing, and told them I had twisted my knee. Chris asked if I needed help up - I told him I wanted to wait a second. I sat up and started feeling a bit light-headed, a little like I was about to faint. I was given water and waited until I was ready to stand - Chris offered his hand and helped me upright. My knee felt okay, if a little more loose than it should be. We would make it to the half-way point, rest at the tables for a few minutes and then begin our trek back toward The Forks. Skating was fine - albeit my knee bubbled, popped, and shifted strangely in its place - and I made it back to the heated shed with little to no pain at all. Then it started - I could barely get my shoe on; walking up and back to the car was really more of a limping. And the limping would continue for the entire weekend until I finally gave in and went to a doctor Monday morning.

It took me a day or two but I finally found myself able to call the cat by name - Lyra - as opposed to it or she. It was around this time it became clear to me that I was, dare I say, growing fond of her. Our relationship was transitioning so that it was, at least to me, more than merely 'guardian and captive' but instead was 'master and pet' - in the sense that we sort of like each other. Of course, her fondness may stem from the fact that I actually am her guardian, but she does indeed show some signs of affection. It moves me to reflect on the creative power of love - that is, when love is given it creates a special bond in the process of a becoming where the one loved becomes - is created to be - the beloved. So by loving, the lover shapes another into more than merely an acquaintance - more than simply an other - but in fact makes them into someone loved, someone known - and thereby makes them into someone who is able to give love. This process of course leaves both parties for ever changed not only if it is requited - for even in unanswered love there is creation of a relationship, albeit of a different sort, but a relation is made nonetheless. It is in this sense that Lyra, the cat, has slowly won me over. This is not to say however that I, who have always been indifferent and oft-times hostile toward felines, have now become a 'cat person,' but it is to say that I do in fact like this particular cat. Thus, it goes to show that I can't judge a creature until I get to know them - a few negative experiences cannot preclude any potential positive ones - since there are always exceptions and one or two or even three cats cannot be the standard by which to hold all cats. Hence, it is not that I have been converted, for I still will be indifferent and perhaps oft-times hostile (although likely now a little less so) toward a cat, but it certainly is far different once the cat has become my cat. And so indeed Lyra, the cat - this cat - has slowly won me over.

After waiting all morning (well, three hours) to see the doctor, I was told that I have sprained my medial collateral ligament - and possibly have caused a minor tear. After X-RAYS in awkward and sometimes painful positions - and in an embarrassing manner of having to pull my pants down in front of the nurse - any potential bone damage was ruled out. And so I was fitted for and shown how to use my knew companions - a knee brace and crutches. Life with these has been quite a task. I know that I should be glad it was not anything worse - still I have been finding it frustrating to adjust. I am no longer able to put on mine own shoes (and mine own socks if I want to avoid anger); I am no longer able to help around the house - or carry anything for that matter; I am no longer able to 'walk' for more than a few minutes without experiencing pain; I am no longer able to comfortably go to the bathroom; I am no longer able to playfully chase my fiancee - or even hold her hand when moving; I am no longer able to work; I am no longer able to drive. Indeed, it seems that I have been confined to the passenger seat not only in the car but also in life. It is not that I do not mind sitting around and doing nothing - reading, or snuggling, or watching movies, or chatting - but to be forcibly confined is upsetting, especially when to exist comfortably means having my leg up with a pillow underneath my knee. It feels like I can do virtually nothing and have been experiencing more feelings of uselessness, helplessness and frustration than anything else. It has been difficult to be waited upon as I very much like to do things for myself and also for others but can do neither of these. All I can do is sit and wait for healing. Hence, I have found this injury to be a lesson in humility, patience and dependence.

It seems to be only the peculiar things that happen to me - chronic headaches, heart gurgles, skin infection, passing out for no reason (twice) and now a sprained MCL - not to mention having a pet of which I'd normally loathe... It makes me wonder what could possibly be next. With my very own wedding coming up in a mere four months, I can't help but think of how this has got to be some of the strangest things to ever happen to me. I am stuck hobbling around at home without work, unable to do anything for myself, bent over wedding and various other worries - and with a cat always on my trail. What odd circumstances. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that it could not be any different or even any better than how it is right now. God is good. And really that's all there is to it.

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics

The part of a song I feel the majority - not all but a lot - of people overlook is the lyrics. To me they are a crucial part of any song and are one of the first things I look at or listen to. In fact, upon purchasing a new CD, I sit to listen through it while reading along with the words and if I start to like a song on the radio, I look up the lyrics on the internet. Poetry is beautiful expression - and good poetry can invoke emotional responses. I feel that music - good music - is indeed poetry to a melody and I have been touched and inspired by many words written to music.

That said, I would like to share some of these lyrics which I would go so far as to label my favourite. The first of which I have declared my theme song and did so upon the first listen I had back in 1996 when I bought the CD. It is from the album which is arguably Audio Adrenaline's best, bloOm. The song is called Man of God and I feel as though it were written as the story of my life - even still I can relate.

Man of God / Audio Adrenaline // bloOm,1996

sometimes i'm a liar,
sometimes i'm a fake;
sometimes i'm a hypocrite
that everybody hates.
sometimes i'm a poet,
sometimes i'm a preacher;
sometimes i watch life go by
sitting on the bleachers.

but i've never been left alone
in any problem that i've known -
even though i'm to blame.
there were times when things were dark
and i've been known to miss the mark,
but someone fixed my aim.

sometimes i'm a man of God -
sometimes i'm alright.
sometimes i lay down and close my eyes
and pray to God.

sometimes i don't feel good,
it's hard to start the day,
it's hard to climb the obstacles
that sometimes come my way.
if i make it, i'm a good man -
am i a bad man if i fail?
i know i'm never good enough
so i let grace prevail.

no, i've never been left alone
in any problem that i've known -
even though i'm to blame.
there were times when things were dark
and i've been known to miss the mark,
but someone fixed my aim.

sometimes i'm a man of God -
sometimes i'm alright.
sometimes i lay down and close my eyes
and pray to God,
'i'm ready for the night.'

right now i'm alright.
right now i'm alright.
sometimes i'm alright.
i'm alright.
i'm alright.
thank God -
thank God!

and sometimes i'm a man of God -
and sometimes i'm alright.
yah, and sometimes i lay down and close my eyes
and pray to God.
and sometimes i'm a man of God -
and sometimes i'm alright.
yah, and sometimes i lay down and close my eyes
and pray to God,
'i'm ready for the night.'

the heart of the matter

Being away from home makes you realise a lot of things - and more so when you return.

For one, you never fully recognise how much 'home' has in fact become.. well, home. The walls within which you sleep, eat, dress, rest, and all things such as these that accompany the living of life take root so that those walls become in some ways and in most ways your haven, your fortress, your refuge, your citadel - your place. Therefore, to be absent from home is indeed to be displaced.

Neither are you ever truly conscious of the changes that occur within you until you are put into a situation that recalls a similar happening but with different results. That is, the last time I visited Nicaragua I fell into a sort of solidarity with the country - I felt like I could belong there, that it could become my home. This time I did not share these feelings with my past self.
This is, however, not to say that I did not have a sense of 'home' in Nicaragua for I certainly felt a connection with the country - it is in my blood after all. Still, it was not the same strength or depth as it once was. Yes, this is where half my family is from - in fact, I am the first generation (even the first son!) on my mother's side to be born outside of Nicaragua - and I certainly could fit in. But I no longer could see the country truly becoming home.

Natsukashii is the Japanese term for 'homesickness' and 'longing.' Interestingly, I would learn this in Nicaragua. The book from which I had been taught explained that natsukashii is an existential descriptor for the pining we feel toward something or someplace - that is, it implies more than merely an emotional dissatisfaction and instead denotes a yearning within the being itself.¹ It is not nostalgia in the sense that English generally understands it - as a sentimental and wistful feeling - but is an experience of emptiness, of being without.

To say 'I miss you' in Spanish is to speak the words 'Te me faltas.' Literally translated this means, 'You I lack,' or the more grammatically arranged, 'I lack you.' These Spanish words offer a deeper sense of separation and distance between the subject and object than what the English 'I miss you' is able. To miss is to fail at accomplishing something - to miss someone or something is to not be in possession of them or it. Thus, the Spanish faltar, I believe, better captures and names the meaning and reality of the feelings I experienced: A lacking. It was not merely the regret that someone or something was in absence, but in fact it was that my very being was incomplete - that my person, my identity, my self was lacking a piece of its core.

While in Nicaragua I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was wonderful to see those members of my family whom I essentially never get to see - and it was of course amazing to see the country that shapes a part of my heritage and thereby makes me who I am. During each moment, however, I had a longing within me - an anxious yearning - that left me somewhat disconnected; it was an experience of natsukashii for I was without. It was in these very moments that I truly felt the meaning of being a half. I felt fully for maybe the first time what it meant to have forfeit my individuality, my identity as 'I' for the place of dependence in the part of an intimate whole, the compound 'Us.' 'I' no longer existed in the way it did - 'I' now exists as a dependent half of a joint-entity relationship. The self I once was has now been bound to another self and intricately entwined with it so as to inexorably change the definition of my very being - that is, my center has been shifted from Self, from I to that of Us, of We.²

In the mutual act of volition here known as a love-commitment - the marriage covenant - 'I' becomes more than simply a single individual while at the same time is in fact replaced by a joint 'I' - an 'Us' - where two individuals become one compound individual - two threads entwined into an inseparable braid. As two intertwined threads a web is woven - a web whose design is shaped by the meaning and experiences we are given by divine hands. Thus, there are no longer two webs for, from the very beginning, they have been knitted together until they have now been made into one common fabric. Therefore, a spatial separation is a serious severing for it is the beginning to the physical tearing apart of a braid - the splitting of flesh.³

Hence, to be in Nicaragua was, for the most part, creating a rift in my sense of being for I had left something - that is, someone - behind that is more precious to me. And for that reason I could not find myself at home anywhere other than where she was, for I had found that my home was not within the walls of a house nor could it even be a country. My home, my place is where she is. And so I could not be home in Nicaragua for home was in fact waiting for me.

And all this is to say the fundamental statement which is encompassed by three English words addressed to whom is the other half to my existential web, completing the home we build: Rebekah, I love you.



1. See Elaine McInnes' Zen Contemplation for Christians: A Bridge of Living Water for her brief discussion in the first chapter.
2. See Robert F. Capon's An Offering of Uncles, pp.116-120.
3. Genesis 2:23-35; Mark 10:4-9