the queue

dark people-shapes might confuse

2006-11-19T16:00:00.000-08:00

Well, folks, here's the skinny. I live in Africa right now. Today it is raining and thundering and lightning...ing and it's "cold" out. There are 2 horses running around outside my cottage. There is a peacock living in the next yard with his harem of guinea hens. There is a lot of wet, red dirt and green grass. The land that the TLC ranch (maybe 20 acres) is on is very flat, but low, uneven hills rise up all around, and at night, city lights glow in at least two directions. When the night is clear, the stars are magnificent, although we don't go far from the cottages at night because dark people-shapes might confuse the enormous gaurd dogs and armed security guard (it's not quite that scary, but it sure sounds impressive).
So that's a picture of where I live. The next logical sentence to follow would be something like "I love it here!" but I don't think I'll use quite that sentence. I AM very glad I'm here. I have an assurance that it is right. You know those situations that are both immensely challenging and immensely rewarding? I think I'm enjoying one of those situations right now. It is SO tough being here sometimes, and sometimes it is so wonderful. I believe God's got me exactly where He wants me; where I HAVE to depend on Him. (An aside - for those of you who may not know, I'm currently working at an orphanage in South Africa)
The children are wonderful. The toddlers are a true challenge, but they are so loving and clever and beautiful. The younger ones are adorable, probably my favourite group to work with. The infants are tiny and fragile, and, honestly, right now I'm a little afraid of them. There is one little one named Nathan who is 5 months old, but he was born 11 weeks premature, so he's absolutely minute. Pretty much whenever I feed him, he vomits and has diarrhea, and we're talking sick diarrhea (Sorry). When I change his diaper, he shrieks at me, and it's so overwhelming. There's NOTHING I can do to quiet him until he's changed, clothed, wrapped up tight, and stuck back in bed with his monitor on and his pacifier in. Nathan is so beautiful, but he's so fragile. I'm slowly getting used to that.
All that being said, life is very good here. I eat well, I get time off, I even jog when I have time. When I get lonely, I clean, because our cottage is pretty much always filthy. I live with 2 guys and 5 girls. I share a room with a 2 German girls, and a bunk bed with a Canadian girl. Apparently out here that's no big deal, but it definitely took me a while to get used to it. In the other room are a guy from Canada, and 2 girls and guy from England. In the other cottages are Hollanders, Danes, an Austrian, more Germans, a couple Canadians and some more Englishwomen. So we got a good mix.
Thus ends this post. I'm on night shift right this week, and it's after 5PM, so I need to get supper and psych myself up for my shift: 7PM to 6AM. I miss you guys and I hope you're well and enjoying the snow I miss so much.
Feel free to email me at simonf@tlc.org.za. I can send and receive email pretty easily.
Also, I've attached a couple pictures that I'm hoping will work out. First is Jamie, my favourite baby. She is pretty much the beautifullest little schnerps around. Next is Rosie, about 3 months old. She is a cutie, but she doesn't like sleeping very much. Finally, a group of the toddlers (which they call "Creepy Crawlies" here). They are a lot of fun and work, all at the same time.
Thanks to those who are reading this - hopefully more will follow soon. Sleep well.

who needs sexy when you've got French radio?

2006-10-19T22:23:00.000-07:00

I don't quite feel like sleeping yet, so, in the words of the late Peter Sellers,
"Now is zee time."
There are no good excuses for why I haven't posted for so long, but, to the present.
In twelve days I'm climbing onto a plane, and two days later I'll land in Johannesburg, South Africa (It sounds even more exotic if you read the "Johann" like "YoHHCHAANN"). That will mark the beginning of a long-awaited six-month adventure taking care of abandoned babies in an orphanage. It's actually true. I bet most of you have heard me dream randomly to you about this over the past 5 or so years, and now, whether you (or I) actually believe it, it's happening....and I'm getting a tad nervous.
I'd love to tell you all about the orphanage, but I really don't know much myself. Oops. Anyone interested, check out or something like it. Also, I'm going to do my best to keep up this weblog a bit better, like one big mass email, only with a black background. The catch is that I apparently won't have direct access to the internet when I'm at the orphanage (TLC). They apparently give you an email address, but you don't access the interweb. I don't really understand it, but I'm beginning to realize that there are several other things in life that I don't understand either, like time zones, for instance.
So that's the skinny. I'll try to get my new email address out once I'm over there, and if I don't, call my parents. Bethany folks, the number's in the yearbook. Everyone else, 411. That is, assuming anyone wanders across this unchanged wasteland anymore.
Having a little writer's block these days (weeks?), so this post is going to be a record shorty probably. But speaking of "shorty," I think a lot of popular, radio-type music is really unhealthy. I've done a lot of traveling in my car over the last 2 weeks, and current radio music seems to have little to offer in the way of edification or even reality, choosing rather to glorify fancy money and empty, ugly sex. I don't know how a woman can stomach being objectified in that fashion song after song, and I'm furious that merely listening to a few of these empty songs actually begins to tickle me into believing that such an attitude towards women could possibly be acceptable. End of rant. I'm just a little sad, I guess. So I'm spending a lot of time tuned in to Radio Canada (read that all frenchy, like Rad-yo CanaDAAAHH - who needs sexy when you've got French radio?).
Now I think I should get some sleep. Everyone, give folk music a try.

the colour and the air and the wave of the world

2006-08-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I know how to do this anymore.
I'm sure you've all had a two week stretch before where you were so busy you forgot which way was up. I have. Busyness can become physically sickening. There have been so many fun and wonderful things during this busy time. Here's one of them, and it's about clouds again, for goodness sakes. I'm killing me, Smalls!

We've been driving an hour and a half each way to our job site for what seems like forever. I leave the house at 6AM and get back to it around 6:30PM. It makes for a long day. Currently we're building a quonset shed in Shellbrook and to get there, we cross the Petrofka bridge each morning. The mornings are so brilliant these days. About two weeks ago I noticed a change in the air, as if summer had baked this pie to the perfect crisp, releasing the texture and aroma of autumn on our senses. The colour and the air and the wave of the world all sing "Fall" to me, and as much as I'll miss summer, it makes me feel cozy and excited for the winter that will happen here, whether I'm around to see it or not.
Wednesday morning was such a morning and I was napping between jolts as the the work truck roared out to the site when we capped the rise above the North Saskatchewan River valley at Petrofka. I came clear quickly when I saw a thick tuck of clouds lying over the river, drifting soft edges onto the farmland above. Almost as if God had spent a child-like night spreading clean white cotton on the prairie like a freckly red-head spreading her first peanut butter sandwich, and then, seeing the sun rolling in for the day, He wiped a hand across the flats, skimming it away with the moon, and tucking the rest in over the river so He could watch it into the morning. Coasting down into the valley and swooping over the bridge, I could have drunk that fog. I would have liked to have oozed it cool into my eyes like a healing balm. I would love to wash my face with God. I would love to be free from the mess I'm in - I am free by creed, by belief and in truth, but to actually ACT FREE. To REMAIN free from sin and pain and darkness. I would love to hide in the gentle quiet light of God.

It is very much time for me to go home. Peace of Christ be with me I hope, and I know it's the best thing anyone could hope for you, too.

everything good drawn from the earth

2006-07-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

It seems every time I finally sit down in front of one of these screens to type a few lines, clouds come to mind. I'm sure I've mentioned before my fascination and true love for all kinds of weather, and I'm beginning to think that clouds are one of my chief passions. The sad thing is, there are only so many ways to describe them without grabbing you all by the hand, pointing up, and saying, "All right, now LOOK!"
If you live anywhere in the Saskatoon area, you probably know about the brief howler that whipped through yesterday afternoon. I was working in Warman when it happened, and feeling very much like the manly construction worker I seem to be (I'm typing that in my best Will Ferrel/Ron Burgundy voice, for those of you who are dry-heaving over that last sentence). We were clearing some brush and trees for a new condo complex, binding up lengths of elm and poplar and stacking them with a big payloader. My colleagues and I worked quickly as we watched the clouds roll in, although "roll" is not the right word for what they did. They seemed to start somewhere just east of North Battleford, and then not move towards us, but swell exponentially from that point instead, like ripe and raging foam from a giant, slow fire extinguisher, towering and leaning out and over us. We exchanged brave phrases like "You guys don't mind workin' in the rain, eh?" and "Let's finish this today!" When the wind hit the ground and exploded across the site, we all looked and sounded less brave. The rain came slowly, 3 and 4 drops, and then thousands in the next breath. I was quite safe in the loader, and so I momentarily kept working, piling some knotty stumps on top of the scrub pile. Nathan, a co-worker, suddenly yelled "Wait!" so I yanked the park brake and looked to see what he wanted. He rushed around the loader to the side sheltered from the storm, and looked up with an innocent smile. "Okay go ahead." I spent about 45 seconds outside the loader before driving it back to the shop, and I was thoroughly soaked.
I didn't truly see the fury of that storm, however, until I arrived home to find our neighbour's GIANT poplar had dropped 15 year old limbs all over our driveway and lawn. I headed right back to the shop and borrowed a chainsaw for the night. Needless to say, my restful evening was "postponed", but I did get to run the chainsaw (making me feel even more manly) and when that broke, I finally had a good reason to use my axe. The fallen limbs fled apart before it - it was almost like they wanted to be separated into 6 foot lengths. My axe is so strong and keen and wonderful, and poplar is so soft and moist and yielding. There is nothing quite like the texture of wood in a broken tree limb. The heart of a tree feels almost as if you could mold and shape it, nearly soft enough to run through your fingers and give you everything good drawn from the earth. The smell is so fresh and new; sweet and thick, bitter and like green water would smell if it smelled good. Once when I was pruning a similar tree, perched high in its boughs with a blunt saw and rope, I was overcome by the smells and textures and actually took a small bite from the bark. It tasted quite similar to the smell, but I was instantly set back by the reality that I was just not built to chew through wood (a truth you'd think I would have learned after the "eat-an-entire-banana-stalk-and-all" incident in Bible college).
All in all, it felt good to cut wood again and enjoy some sweet clouds. But I have work to do. I came to this computer to finish applying at an orphanage I hope to serve in in South Africa this winter, and my time is almost up. So off I go. God go with us.

like brothers who love each other

2006-06-07T19:55:00.000-07:00

Shoot. If you're actually reading this, I commend you. I'll be amazed if anyone still checks this.
My sister got married on May 20, and, as a bridesmaid, my life on and around that date was both delightful and busy. Blogging has not been a priority. I've had all sorts of things to write about, and no time to write any of it down. Here goes.
Hey Saskatoonareans, how about the weather these days? Heat in the day, electricity in the night. On Tuesday morning was the Crackaboom. At 5:30AM my alarm went as usual - sigh - so I turned on my lamp, stumbled out of bed, put on some of my clothes, and then fell back into bed. About 5 seconds had passed by then, and suddenly the lights went out, then back on, and then crrrrackaBOOM. The thunder was so loud and scary I had to scowl and climb under the covers like a little boy. I was freaked out.
Also, I've been watching these horses that live halfway between Dalmeny and the # 16. If ever the weather is changing or the night is deep and dark, they're restless. I was humming home from Kids Cub the other night, and the sky was on the move. The clouds were drifting and towering and tearing from earth to earth, and when I put my elbow out my window to rest my head on my hand, the evening air rushed right into my eyes and nose like ice wine and grey hikes in steep, sparse trees. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open; if you're like me, when you sense something good and true, you shut down as many of the other senses as you can and try to ooze it all in. Anyway, all this was happening, but I took a break to check out those horses, and they were on the move, like brothers who love each other and want nothing more than to tick each other off. They were dancing in short movements, speaking an out of this world cause and effect body language without sound. It was the same as the dark nights, except the brothers were focusing on the fence. And as I flew by, I saw a dirty little fox across the fence from them. If only I had been going slower to catch more then the 110km/hr snapshot I caught. Were they angry? Were they confused? Were they excited? I'll never know because I drive too fast.
This has been a bit of a ramble. I'll get back in the swing soon I hope. My limited internet access has made the swing hard to get into, but I just found a window. Dana and Erica said I can come blog at their apartment anytime. And I am here. What a perfect place; cool air, quiet enough, foreign languages wandering in the open window. Thanks Dana and Erica.
Before the end, I have to say I can't get enough of these kids. I write about them every time, and I'm running out of words, but for me it's like new each time. Each relationship, each deep dark eye, each hug, each tug on my beard, each "You look silly", each shoulder ride, each time a tiny set of butt-cheeks finds a spare 3 inches on my lap. Each ounce of love is so true and alive here. Here's another thing I've said before; it's time to learn about true love.
It's 20 to 10 and I have to get up at 5:30AM to get ready for work. I'm not even home yet. My lunch is unmade and I'm still filthy from the sock tan line up. Peace of Christ go with you.

a riot in brown and black

2006-04-13T19:13:00.000-07:00

Poor Shannon was being attacked and the only thing I could do was let the kids play with my hair, too. There were at least five kids hanging off her head, so I distracted two or three long enough for her to get a break. I was squinting against the pain and steeling myself for a few grueling moments of "hair care," when I heard a harsh snip sound from somewhere behind my head. It didn't register until several of the girls gasped and a little hand appeared in front of my eyes clutching a two-inch tuft of my hair between greasy fingers. I looked at it for a while, and then took it in my hand, and then looked at little 3 year old Ali, a tiny, silent Afghani boy who had no idea he had done anything wrong. His eyes were completely clear; he wasn't lying or joking or even mischevious. Ali simply got caught up in the fun, picked up some scissors, had a thought, and acted on it. I have more than enough hair to go around, so it's actually no big deal.
It's hard to describe what Kids' Club is like these days. Most of the club has moved outside, so it's impossible to distinguish who's there for club, and who's just playing outside. It's like a riot in brown and black; a symphony in screams and ivory smiles. The children are so wonderful. When the evening was over, I slipped into my car, rolled down my window and tuned up Saskatoon's French Jazz station (88.7). Smooth jazz and North African lyrics floated around me and the city lights passed fast and slow as I rolled around corners, light to light, stop to start, smelling the air and watching the people. Then sun was a half inch out of sight, and a big cloud was torn open in the west, dropping long fringes into the gold and orange, and all I could feel was love. This is going to sound sappy but I even said it out loud a few times. "Love, love, love." From within those kids oozes the good in humanity; maybe even the goodness of God. Bright eyes, soft hands, quick simple words, and long hugs and deep touches. The color in the sky was a glimpse of Heaven, a glimmer of peace and simple joy after a long day of concrete and crooked back. In that moment I felt like God was drawing out the final strains of the song before He dropped the lid on the day.
So thank You God for Wednesdays. All the glory and the love and the beauty comes from You. It all belongs to You. Thank You for putting us here. Teach me to love You.

Lighter notes: I accidentally bought a guitar the other day at Underdog Music on 2nd Ave in Saskatoon (check it out; very HEL-esque). It's apparently one of the first Seagull acoustics ever made, 100% cedar, good volume, good action, good vibration. And only $294. Half an hour after I saw it I bought it and left. Once the shock of what I had just done wore off, I began to really love the guitar.
Also ... I was walking one evening about a week ago and I saw a pile of snow sitting against a puddle. The water was still and it threw a reflection that reminded me of the Livingstone Range northwest of Pincher Creek; a long line of tall, snowy mountain crowned with brooding November cloud and a false promise of snow. If anyone from Pincher Creek still checks this, I miss you folks all the time.
Everyone sleep well and may we meet Jesus Christ this weekend and forever.

giggling in the wings

2006-03-26T17:05:00.000-08:00

Once again, it's been a long time - and I doubt this one'll be worth writing home about. I'm sitting at a lethargic old computer in Jimmy Java and I've got maybe 9 minutes left.
I got a job. I work for Janzen Steel Buildings and I am currently helping to build a steel building. I work hard and come home tired. I spend my days out in the weather, and, when the rubber meets the road, I wouldn't have it any other way. Saturday is usually a write-off after a full week, but by Sunday I am usually border-line excited to get back to work.
Today is an especially quiet Sunday. A Vancouver Sunday, complete with thin rain and a warm bookstore. Peppermint tea makes so much sense on a day like today.
I haven't exactly impressed myself today, but I suppose I'll be okay. Whomever wrote the adagde about idle hands being up to no good was right on. Lying around does not bring out the best in me.
Here's a couple good things. My good buddy Matt is back in town. Dana is back from Ethiopia/India. I really like my job. And spring is giggling in the wings, itching to come out and party. I hope you're feelin' wherever you are today. Maybe it's melting, maybe it's mild, maybe it just smells different. I just hope you're feeling some spring today.
I'm going to go watch King Kong now. I hope you'll hear from me again soon. It sure warms a guy up to hear all your comments. Peace of Christ stay with you this week.

the oncoming Israelites

2006-02-23T18:00:00.000-08:00

Who would have thought an unemployed person could find so much to do? It's nice to post again.
I had a tender dream last night that has left me feeling warm all day, and I'm currently debating (even as I rattle away here) whether I should share it so publicly.
I only remember a few select details, and I'm sure as I've thought about it at points throughout the day I've added good smells and misty moments, and subtracted the stumbles and embarassed giggles.

A lovely young lady came up behind me, slipped her hands into the mittens I was wearing, leaned against me ever so slightly, and engaged me in quiet conversation. That's all.

Maybe that's all I want to remember, but I don't really care. And without going into sappy details and drawing attention where attention need not be drawn, I will simply say I had some warm, thoughtful moments today.
Today was a little stressy otherwise. Did a little job hunting - for the first time ever. It went quite well, but of the three places I stopped at, exactly none of the meetings turned out the way I had expected. I'd call it one of those experiences where you need a dad-like figure to slap you on the back and say " 'Builds character," and "Put's hair on your chest."
Here's another warm moment that snuck in behind my job hunt. You know when you're waiting for the walk sign at a busy corner (22nd and 1st ave in Saskatoon), and you're standing in a group of people, waiting quietly, trying to look busy with your own thoughts, and feeling quite solitary in the crowd? I felt a little like that today, and then the walk light lit and spurred the muted charge across the street. As I describe it, I'm reminded of a bunch of self-absorbed Israelites, with no Moses, charging through a parted sea of cars and trucks. The warm part came when I realized the task at hand, namely trying to navigate around and between the oncoming Israelites crossing from the other side. There are several strategies: you can dance around each other, or veer wide until pedestrians take up an imaginary 30-foot-wide cross walk, or charge straight ahead and look as ticked and busy as possible, or shrink your shoulders, make a cow-catcher with your hands, and tiptoe timidly through the crowd. I was just starting to shrink my shoulders when I caught the eye of an oncoming middle aged lady. In an instant - less than an instant - we both understood what was going on and she smiled the sweetest, most beautiful, unrehearsed, high-above-the-fray smile I've seen in a while. She passed three feet to my right, and yet it was like we touched mentally. We shared an inner giggle and slipped away. Without sounding too sappy, I almost feel like I made a new friend today.
One more warm moment, this one from last night at Kids Club. I was "playing" with a little boy from Afghanistan who's name I can't remember. He had one of those Fisher Price tape recorder/microphone jobs, and he was talking to me - into the microphone - and I didn't have a hot clue what he was saying. But he kept saying, "Okay?", so I said "Okay." Once in a while he'd tell me to clap, so I figured we were having a game show, and then he'd say something else and I'd be sure he was a weatherman. Then his little voice sounded even more sing-songish than usual, and I was sure he was a rockstar. I'd ask him what he was, and he'd answer, but I'm not sure he was speaking English, or any language at all. And then he'd count "1,2" and point at any 2 or 3 things within reach. The warm part came when he decided to use my beard. He'd touch one part, under my left ear "1", and then another part on my chin "2", or my moustache, or just anywhere in the big nasty nest, but always so gently, so carefully, his brown eyes intent on his fingers in my beard, his voice quietly counting, making no effort to compete with the literal chaos exploding in the room around us. I'm not sure I can properly explain why moments like that are so fresh and warm in me, and I wasn't sure how to respond to the boy at the time, so I tickled him and he laughed and we played with some blocks.
Let's learn about love. Let's really love each other, and the people we don't even know. And let's tell Hollywood to go lick a phone booth and take their "lust at first sight" malarkey with them. Let's be humble and seek God and find out about real love. I think I'll try, and if you do, let me know how it goes.

burst of a girl

2006-01-19T17:29:00.000-08:00

My mother makes a delicious dessert called peanut butter square and I love it. Imagine you are a hypothetical person who comes upon a piece of peanut butter square. It's a very nice looking piece. You'd like to have it. Then you remember you have a mild to low-major peanut allergy. It basically disqualifies you from partaking, even though it's a refreshingly lovely piece. So, with about 95% of you soul on board, you give up and go about your business. Then a couple of days later, you see someone else tasting that same piece of peanut butter square. You'd 95% given up, but it still feels bad. Sigh.

My sister's getting married. I'm very excited about it, and I get to be a bridesmaid. Thank goodness Stefan is such a good guy - otherwise I might be really sad and protective. Congratulations you guys. God go with you.
And, what a wonderful time at kids' club last night. There are several stories that came out of the evening, but I'll only share one.
If you have to discipline a child, I think it makes a big difference if you take the time to look them in the eye. So, I was reprimanding a young fellow who was ruining some young girls' game, and as I hung desperately on to his fleeing figure, I insisted over and over again "Look in my eyes"; not rudely or cruely, or even loudly, but firmly. He got away, and I turned back to the game, when I suddenly heard a tiny voice next to me.
"Look in my eyes," she nearly sang, in a tiny, laughing voice. It sounded like wit and love and color and "come and get me." Sarah is probably 2 or 3 years old, with thick black hair in messy, braided pigtails and skin brown like tropical earth. I think she must be from somewhere in the Middle East, but I couldn't tell because her English was so good. Over and over again, she grinned viciously at me and repeated "Look in my eyes," and then giggled like she'd told the best joke coffee row had ever heard. So I attacked her, tickling and lifting and spinning her in the air, until she gasped before continuing her taunting and happy laughter.
I really love that little girl. Please God let there be a message and an answer in that moment!
So often I feel I can't understand love, but I felt it in that moment, rich in my heart, for a beautiful little burst of a girl. God love me like I love Sara. Christ show me a piece of Your heart. You know how tired I am of "me this" and "me that," but give me everything You have for me in this moment. Or just open my eyes.
Sleep well.

my considerable elbow grease

2006-01-12T17:38:00.000-08:00

For those of you who still stop in here once in a while, here's an update.
I started a temporary job last Wednesday doing janitorial-type tasks at Bethany College in Hepburn. I really love it. I come home physically tired. I clean A LOT of toilets, specifically in the boys' dorms. If I could say anything to the boys who use those toilets, it would sound a lot like the following: "Get some sleep and EAT MORE RUFFAGE." Sometimes it takes more than acidic toilet cleaner combined with my considerable elbow grease to scrub and chip away at ... what's left behind.
I've been shampooing carpets pretty much non-stop since Monday, and I'm almost done. Needless to say I've had some thinking time. A few posts ago I mentioned that I might start posting some dreams for the future. Here's a first draft of sorts:
By early next year I want to have enough money piled in the corners to go away for a while, maybe even a year. First, an orphanage near Johannesberg (?), South Africa for a few months, then a relaxed meander up to Ethiopia, across to Bombay in India, a packed-out smelly train to New Delhi, and then up into Nepal, maybe even Tibet. Then a little time visiting friends in Thailand, and depending on how well the orphanage works, maybe a stop back in there. I keep hearing about these mysterious one-year "fly-anywhere-in-the-world" tickets ....
So there's a dream in short. I've also been thinking a lot about God, and maybe a little too much about me (surprise, surprise). Had a bit of a revelation the other day: "Just because it doesn't work for me doesn't necessarily mean it's flat-out wrong." For those of you who have known this for centuries, good for you. My pride is inexcusable.
I've missed Pincher Creek a lot the last few days. If anyone from PC is reading this, hello, and I miss you. I miss hiking, and throwing the little kids around, and being involved in the church. I miss playing music with people and tossing frisbee. I miss my little duplex.
I've kind of run up against a wall here, so I'll slip away now. But first, I'm 24 now, and I think it's probably the first birthday I've had where I really don't feel like I'm passing a landmark. It was a good day, though. I cleaned 15 toilets and 9 urinals, went for Chinese with my family, and watched a fascinating movie about the oil business - Syrianna. I'd recommend it, but I think a lot of people might find it boring. However, no matter how you slice it, George Clooney is a suave specimen.

I feel just like the evil man I seem to be

2005-12-22T14:58:00.000-08:00

I feel a little slumpy ... as if I'm in a bit of a slump. Money's tight, no job, not a lot of direction. I'm trying to figure out how to successfully live at home again. I just found out that I've damaged my back and have started a long-term chiropractic journey.
To top it all off, I feel just like the evil man I seem to be. And I'm doing a bad job of talking to God about it. And to top off the top of it all, it's Christmas, and I had hoped to be in a bit more of a genuinely celebratory mood. I'm working on it, and I'm not giving up, and I hope for hope, but my self-discipline is about as strong as my lower back these days. It all feels ugly, and I don't like ugly. I hate being plugged and sluggish.
(I hate not being in control.)
And if you're anything like me you know that brackety part back there is the problem.
So God help me. Christ be with me. As backward and downright silly as it sounds, Jesus help me to give up to you. I truly want to live the way He created me to live, and I'm sure He is the ticket, so God help me. And humble me so I can start moving around and drinking it all in again.
I hope the peace of Christ on you and me and our families and friends. May we be humble enough to ask for the grace to thank Jesus for coming.

40 small kids running and howling

2005-12-08T13:47:00.000-08:00

Wow. It's like being born. I feel like I haven't seen a computer in ... weeks. I miss this weblog.
I only have moments today, but so much has happened. I'm home. I now live in Dalmeny, Saskatchewan. I live in my parents' basement. I eat their food. I drink their milk. My mom offered to buy me deoderant the other day.
I'm not working. I read a lot (currently the "Little House on the Prairie" series by Laura Ingalls Wilder). I do dishes and cook sometimes. I sit and think a lot, especially while I'm driving. I dream a lot. I sleep a lot. And now, a full week after I arrived home, I'm getting tired. Might I just now be letting down?
Anyway, I'm looking forward to putting down some dreams on here soon, but here's a quick story about a recent inspiration for a dream.
Last night I went with my friend Dana and several other people to help with Dana's kids club in an apartment complex in Saskatoon. It's a lower income area of town housing a lot of refugee families from the Middle East and North Africa. We set up Christmas stuff in a dingy, basement apartment, and suddenly it was 7PM and the door opened, and there were 40 small kids running and howling around the apartment, most of them from the Middle East. Through the whirl and swirl it was somehow decided that I would join Colin and Jolene in taking about a dozen of the older kids out Christmas caroling. So we herded them outside and started going between apartment blocks, and up and down stairs singing "Jingle Bells" and "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" wherever the kids knocked on the doors. We had two specific trouble makers who loved to run ahead, bang on a random door, and then hide. Meanwhile, I would be standing there, a very white, hairy, strange man, with 4 or 5 kids running around me, waiting for the rest of the crew to show up. They almost never caught up before the door opened, revealing a confused and border-line angry tenant looking straight at me and wondering what the heck was going on. And in that instant all I could do was look them innocently in the eye and "Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all th..." and so on. Three words into the song the kids would join me, the rest of the crew would show up, and the tenant would melt into a full-body smile. Some of the families even passed out candies to the kids, and 2 apartments later the kids were handing the candy out to other people we were singing to. Wild. Overwhelming. I think I'm going to go home and really write this one down.
As far as the "inspiration for a dream" goes, do you know what it's like when something just feels right? That's how that evening felt. It all just fit for me. I sat down for a moment once and a little girl in ski pants I had never met climbed into my lap and started touching my face and calling me "silly" over and over again. I really like working with kids. It's the kind of thing where I feel like God planned for me to do something like that.
So that's where dreams are coming from for me these days. It's strange to live at home sometimes, but it seems to me that I'm living in a blessed moment these days. It's nice to dream, and know Someone's growing those dreams inside of me, for His glory.

the fog was waiting when we got there

2005-11-24T12:56:00.000-08:00

I'm in Coquitlam, and after 5 days, the fog is finally lifting.
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Before I go any further, my apologies to anyone who has checked this weblog over the past few weeks. I've been rather occupied, but if you're anything like me, you're sick almost to death of that excuse.
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So last Thursday night I met up with dear friends Matt & Cameron at a smoky little establishment in downtown Calgary, and the adventures haven't quit pouring in yet. For one thing, their band - bella - puts on a marvelous show in so many ways. Energy, melody, beauty, exhausted attempts at humour, and rhythmn that just about had me ... dancing? So I followed them to Edmonton, and after 2 life-changing showers and a comparatively early bedtime (2AM, I think), we made a early afternoon start for Vancouver in an "extended" cab truck. It's unethical to associate that shoebox of a back seat with a spacious word like "extended," but a reliable vehicle is a reliable vehicle. The trip was long and challenging, and I really don't want to say much about it. But around 2 or 3 AM BC time the next day, we stumbled into Matt & Cameron's walk-in basement suite. It's really a great place in what I'd consider a great location.
Anyway, I have to move on or this will become lengthy beyond human reason. There has been food, music, silly movies, grocery shopping, and other unmentionable things, all wrapped in an ever present thick-wet-grey-fog. Let me attempt to illustrate. On Tuesday the three of us drove to this little nook in North Vancouver called Deep Cove to do a hike Matt's enjoyed in the past. The fog followed us all the way there, and when we got to the cove, it was so thick, we could have been looking out at a placid Pacific and not known the difference. It was absolutely breath-taking; so silent and wet. The whole world smelled like rain and green, growing things. The hike was an up-and-down stroll through rich, soaked forest; towering moss-laced trees, long broken dead fall, mushrooms, waterfalls, bright green moss and fluorescent orange something that wiggled in the cracks in the bark and felt like that nasty Gak stuff you could buy in the late 90s. Our goal was a sort of look-out point; a mammoth grey rock sloping gently, and then quickly, down to what must have been the water, but I'm only guessing. The fog was waiting when we got there. It made Matt and Cam look like subjects in a painting, sharp and complete against a blank, heavy canvas. It was heart-shaking. The fog was so clean and constant, no shifting or billowing, just a soft, solid blanket, swallowing my most piercing stare as I peered over the edge of the rock.
To make a long story short, while I was scrambling around on the steep, slippery, dangerous parts of the rock (sorry Mom), Matt & Cameron found a old lost deaf dog, so we attached him to my camera bag strap and I stumbled down the mountian after him. We had met his owners so we waited at the bottom for them. When the couple finally showed up, amid darkness and an even deeper fog, they were very happy to be reunited with Yukon. I could tell by all the crying and cursing, and the way they watched Yukon wander out into traffic. We shook hands and went home.
Also, Matt and I went to Victoria yesterday. It was very much an adventure, especially for a boy like me who still finds public transit very exciting. And what a city. It was so mild and beautiful, with the smell of the salt water and the legislature all lit up with white Christmas lights, although I suppose the government would have to call them holiday lights.
But I'm moving on tomorrow. And I believe I will have had my fill of buses after the 20-odd hour trip from Coquitlam to Pincher Creek. There will be a lot of packing, cleaning, moving, paperworking, and good-byeing in the next week. I'll be back in Dalmeny sometime on Thursday the 1st of December. I'm already worrying about work and my future as a human being - silent city bus rides are a bear for leaving a guy with his thoughts. I talked with Matt about it (my, my it's been a pleasure to talk with both of those guys individually again) and it was nice to hear a new perspective, or at least have someone new to bore with my silly concerns.
Saskabushers, I'll see you in a week or so. Also, I want to better than once every 3 weeks on this thing.
In no order, I look forward to: the Bassment, my family, my house at Christmas, friends, working with my hands, having a library in Dalmeny, Saskatoon, prairie, and hopefully taking some moments to sit with God and let Him tell me some hints about the past 21 months of my life, and water some of the seed dreams I hope He's been planting. Joy to you.

watching a battle from high above

2005-10-31T15:36:00.000-08:00

The wind is absolutely charging down from the mountains today. It's so constant in its power, and yet it still manages to surge and gust above the flow, beating on the houses and howling through any gap. The clouds are mile-high walls, towering over the mountains; still, solid and grey, like generals watching a battle from high above. And possibly the most curious thing is the infrequent spray of rain, dropped from clouds over mountains 30 and 50 km away, and blown far out over the foothills to land in the town. It's a beautiful day to walk and watch the weather. I didn't leave my house until 2pm today.
I watched two movies, neither of them very impressive, finished my John Grisham book, and made banana pancakes. They were actually okay. And I drank Roibus, Ro-bis, whatever, tea. I'm convinced that stuff makes a guy live better. It just feels good in your breath, like it opens everything up. Groovy.
So I'm doing my books - interwebanking - and things don't look as grim as I had anticipated. It's almost moving time, so I have to start thinking about transfering my meagre funds, changing address, and car insurance. Oh car insurance. Oh car.
Friday afternoon was the realization of a dream for me, when I really think about it. Cultural Affairs in Pincher Creek put on a concert at our church, feat. David Thiaw, the percussionist who built my djembe, along with the best djembe I have yet played in my life. I finally got to meet the guy, go to a workshop put on by him, and watch him and three other drummers in concert. My, my. David is about 6'8", and black as night with a grey white beard. When I introduced myself, he remembered me, and he singled me out during the workshop. During a break, he came up to me and told me next time I was in Calgary I should look him up and we'd jam and record some stuff. I don't even think I'm lying to you; I'm still a little dazed from it all.
And the guy is so good. I can't begin to describe the evening. All the people who went to the workshop got to go on stage with him and play for awhile. Some people I had been sitting with grabbed my camera and took some photos, so if they turn out, I'll stick them up on here.
As much as I want to describe the evening, I don't think I'll be able to do it the way I'd like to today. Let's just say the concert - and the whole experience - was a good hot cup of tea; fresh, strong, aromatic, leaving me warm and bright as I bob in the wake.
Alright. And one more thing. In his beautiful deep voice, David Thiaw made some compelling allusions to the importance of dreaming. And I'm wondering if I dream enough, or if I allow myself to dream. I'm debating doing some dreaming on this weblog, so things might get a little weird around here in the future. Or weird-er, I guess.
Time to climb back into the wind and go figure out my car insurance.
Christ be with us. Christ be in us. I hope that affects the way I live today.
Okay.

like any action hero

2005-10-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

Friday evening I got home from work and began preparations for supper. I was putting some ground beef in a pot to brown it when I heard some scratching and scurrying somewhere in the kitchen. I hate mice, but I decided to be relaxed about it. The sound seemed to be coming from the cupboard above the stove. All that's up there is a flyswatter and dust, so I threw open the doors, grabbed the swatter and made some bold fencing-like stabs behind the exhaust fan pipe that's housed in that cabinet. Nothing emerged.
So I turned on the light over the stovetop and started browning the meat. Before long there were more sounds of scratching, scurrying, and struggle. The thought crossed my mind that it might be a bird stuck in the pipe, and the very thought of trying to extract a bird from inside my exhaust fan vent would have pretty much floored me if I hadn't immediately put it out of my mind and focused on the task at hand. Cooking is like an action movie for me, and this meal had recently taken a suspenseful twist. As I was browning meat for Hamburger Helper, it suddenly occured to me that I should probably check if I had any. After spinning the lazy susan a couple times I realized I didn't. So, like any action superstar, I shifted into creative mode and tried to think up a plan b. So I cooked some corn, cut up some limp green onions, and threw them into the pot with the beef, some salsa, and curry powder. I put it all on corn chips with some grated cheese. "Taco salad." I would compare the resulting meal to most of the action movies I've seen lately: half-baked and unimpressive.
So after a helping of "taco salad," I decided to tackle the scurrying problem in my exhaust vent. I closed the doors to my bedroom and bathroom, propped open the front door, covered all the food, and approached the problem like any action hero; unprepared, yet grim, focused, and surprisingly handsome.
I took the greasy screen off the fan and was only slightly surprised to pull 6 inch pieces of straw from between the exposed fan blades. My flashlight beam didn't show me much, so once I had pulled out the straw, I gave the fan a little spin with my hands. As the fan slowed to a stop, a tiny sparrow head was followed quickly by two wings and a tail, and suddenly there was a sparrow swooping across the room. He landed briefly on a flimsy IKEA lamp I have standing on a low bookshelf in my living room area, but quickly tired of that perch and crossed the room to rest on the light fixture over my kitchen sink. This routine continued, with some variation, for 15, maybe 20 minutes; back and forth, RIGHT PAST THE OPEN FRONT DOOR! The bird could not find the door. I waved my jacket at him. I coaxed lovingly. I chastised him. I prayed. I grunted. I stopped to watch. I watched him try to hide in each corner of the room. Behind the stereo. Behind my fishing rod. Behind the couch. Once, while he was perched on a cord plugged into the wall, I managed to get a mixing bowl over him. My plan was to move it along the wall until I got him to the door and freedom, but after about 3 seconds I was worried about hurting him, so I scoop-flicked him towards the door, only to have him swerve mid-air and head for the sink light. And suddenly I caught on. Like any action hero, in the moment where I felt out-matched and out-witted by my opponent, I found his fatal flaw. The bird was attracted to light. Immediately I turned off all the lights in the house so that the only light place was the open front door, lit by the porchlight. I found the bird somewhere in the house with my flashlight, and coaxed him towards the light of freedom. And the stupid thing chose to go behind the door, and stick a limb or two into the crack between the door and frame. Closing the door would probably snap the little sucker in two, and I wasn't going to have all this work end badly. Somehow I got him out from there, and in an instant, with no glory, no flourish, no chirp of thanks, he booted it into the twi-lit sky.
My heart was beating so fast I could hardly see straight. I had to woop a little, gasp a few times, and make some manly sounds, before I could even think of eating another helping of "taco salad" and getting back to my show.
As I stare out the window of my office at a balmy autumn afternoon, and let my eyes glaze over - even more than usual - I hope, in my heart, that he's okay; chirping, soaring, swooping, and bashing into picture windows like any good sparrow.

remedy the filthy condition

2005-10-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy week. I wonder if there will ever be a time when the approach of Friday night no longer ignites in me that animal-like urge to hang out with good friends and do something really fun. The urge hasn't really faded much, but the opportunities to satisfy certainly seem to be waning. For instance: my "something really fun" activities for tonight include making hamburger helper, cleaning my filthy house, watching TV, and trying to go to bed early. And "good friends"? The characters of whatever show I'm watching will have to do. Wow. The scary part is I'm actually looking forward to cleaning my house; it's that filthy. I'd say "I must be growing up," except for one thing. I realized the other day that, in my mind, there really aren't many things more hilarious than making fart noises with my mouth whenever I bend over or exert myself in the slightest way. Dang funny.
Speaking of funny and fun, here's a handful of cool things that went down this week.
1. It snowed yesterday, wet and thick and out of nowhere. I love how unpredictable the weather is this close to the mountains. I love walking when it's snowing.
2. Last night I played drums in my final gig with 3oSomething, a ladies sextet I've done percussion, sound and even some guitar work for pretty much since I arrived in Pincher Creek. The venue was the community hall here in Pincher, and the event was a ginormous breast cancer fundraiser attended by over 500 women, a handful of male waiters, and myself. And many of the ladies were drinking. Wow. Nothing like a room full of alcohol and middle-aged women to convince a guy to smile and keep his back to the wall. There were a few serious technical glitches, and the girls tell me they sounded terrible, but I didn't even notice. I played djembe for our first number - a smooth, movin', Latin piece - and when I did my signature and slightly suggestive "swing-the-leg-over-the-djembe" move, I suddenly had 500 ladies in the palm of my hand. What a feeling. The rest is history.
3. This afternoon at the office - not much more than an hour ago - a mule deer doe and fawn walked past the window. For mule deer, they looked pretty good.
4. Finally, and possibly the piece de resistance, I hitch-hiked for the first time last Monday. I had to take my car into Lethbridge to the transmission shop, and I didn't have a ride back, so I dropped my car off, took a bus to the NW corner of the city, jogged a km or so to the highway and stuck out my thumb. It only took about 15 minutes for someone to stop. The first thing I remember seeing is an empty bottle of Corona sitting next to the driver. Once we were going I noticed he had one of those extra-big beer cans between his legs, and he seemed to be very excited about drinking it during our 10 minutes together. I'm pretty sure he was a former Hutterite or old-school Mennonite-type, probably younger than me, and enjoying a wilder life. He was going to a little town just off the highway, but he said he'd drop me off near the highway. Unfortunately he dropped me off near the wrong highway. I got off under an overpass, climbed up, realized the error, and started on a long walk. I even called the kid a jack ass. Out loud. I even meant it. I'm a bad person.
5 km of walking, the small town of Monarch, 2 reformed churches, and a huge river valley later, I was back on the CORRECT highway, just in time to fling my thumb up in the air and catch a ride with some friends from Pincher ... all the way back to Pincher. I thought the whole thing was hilarious, and so did my mom, especially because I only told her about it after I was safe at home.

Time to go remedy the filthy condition of my home. But first, I have to buy cheese and paper towel. You only realize how much you need paper towel when you actually run out of the stuff.

probably KFC

2005-10-14T19:01:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile. It feels like ever since I told the church I was moving in November, I've been flying along at high speed. I get invited out so much now. And people are always doing nice things for me. It actually makes it quite painful to think about leaving.
For instance, last Sunday I finally did one of the things I've wanted to do ever since I moved here. In the the Pincher Creek area there are dozens of giant, white windmills for power generation, and last weekend I got to climb one. The tower is 200 feet of hand-over-hand. I was amazed at how quickly I tired. Thankfully it's all enclosed and I was harnessed in. When we got to the top my buddy Dave showed me around the generators and all the equipment, and then we climbed outside on top. The blades on those things are enormous! Dave described it as three 747 wings spinning on a propeller. It was so calm and sunny; pretty much the perfect day. I'll develop my pictures soon and stick some up on here.
I really don't have a lot to say tonight. The windmill was great. Also, I've probably consumed an entire turkey, if you count the amount of turkey meals I've consumed in the last 7 days. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Alright this is going nowhere. Time to go home, and, in celebration of the fact that Manulife Financial refunded $211 of the $236 I paid a local dentist for a check-up and cleaning, I'm going to eat something other than turkey tonight. Probably KFC. Sigh.

chipmunks are pretty common

2005-10-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

Wow. I'm pooped. Today I woke with a 3 pill headache. Too many headaches these days, and I'm waking up earlier and earlier, which usually means I'm not sleeping properly, or I have too much on my mind. Helped move a family from the town into the country. It took a long time. It was fun, but I'm tired. And, while I'm complaining, I might as well mention that I have to plan a Sunday School lesson for 6 year olds tomorrow. And my car's been in the shop since Thursday morning, and they just started on it 10 minutes ago.
I'm this close to deleting that entire paragraph. How I hate complaining ... so why do I do it so much?
Good things are: the supper I made last night. Pretty much the best meal I have ever made, which, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't mean much. But it was good. Karina, if you're reading this, I used the canned shrimp. I "sauteed" it in olive oil, with yellow peppers, fresh mushrooms, green onions, brocolli, cauliflower, and coined carrots, plus fresh-squeezed lemon juice and garlic powder. I ate it on white rice. Probably the only thing I have ever made entirely from scratch that actually tasted good. The last stir-fry I tried ... all I can say is, the sesame snaps were a very bad idea. So that was a very good thing.
Another good thing is: I went on a beautiful hike on Monday. It's called Goat Lake, and, like most of the hikes I do, it's found in Waterton National Park. It was about 2 hours to the lake, and a little less back. The first hour was basically flatland walking, followed by nearly an hour of aggressive uphill and switchbacks back and forth across the side of a mountain, then 10 minutes through the trees along the creek until I came out at tiny, green, tree-ringed Goat Lake. And I even saw goats. They were at least 300 feet above me up the mountain, but I could still see them well, especially with my binoculars. There were ten of them, and at least three looked no more than a year old. It looked like they were freshly coated for winter, no quite white, but pure and creamy all the same. I just about cried when I saw them. I was so shocked to see them, and it was just what I needed. To me, that type of thing is a gift straight from God; to see a handful of His creation, quietly and deftly maneuvering their way up the mountain. It was one of those situations where you really don't want to leave. It was just me and the goats; no one else for miles. You don't get that very often, and I think I'll treasure it for a long time.
So lots of good things are happening out here. But I can't wait to get home. The last week or so has seemed kind of tough. Somehow I just feel so weak and tired; even condemned, like I'm not finishing well. And oh how I hate sin. I know it sounds like an excuse, but I'm finding self-discipline really difficult these days. Anyway, I feel like I'm rambling out stuff that not many people want or need to read about, so, Christ be with us all.
I finally have time to post a couple pictures from a hike I did about a month ago called the Carthew-Alderson Trail: 21km, 2 hours up, 4 hours down, lakes, trees, red shale, hundreds of butterflies, marmots, chipmunks, ice and snow, berries, and animal poo. Here's a handful of the shots I took that turned out alright. Usually I get 4 out of 24 that are worth showing a few people, so here they come ... I hope ....

I know chipmunks are pretty common, but he posed so nicely I couldn't resist. In the first picture you can see the trail as it descends from the top left corner, and then heads to the right across the slope, and down to Carthew Lake, just right of the large snowpatch. There's a small waterfall that flows under that snow patch. There's also a small cluster of trees below that snow patch. That's about where I jumped into the lake; twice, and quickly. I included the second picture because I did it with the timer and mini-tripod, and it all lined up so well. Plus, if there was a way I'd want to be remembered, that would be the way. Unfortunately you can't see the blood all over my shirt from when I slit my wrist open when I slipped in some sharp shale. That was cool; I had to do a pretty quick recovery to hide my fall from the people hiking in front of me.
A very good memory. But now it's time to figure out what I'm going to do for a Sunday School lesson tomorrow. At this point, coloring sounds really good. Sleep well.

[exhale]

2005-09-22T21:56:00.000-07:00

Last night I resigned my position as associate pastor here at Foothills Community Church. Finally, I can talk about it. I've been pretty sure about my decision for weeks, and it's been psycho-hard for me not to talk about it here on my weblog, which is pretty much my favourite place to express myself. But last night was the first night it worked for the church to get together and talk. So it's out. I'm planning to move home to Dalmeny sometime around the end of November.
Wow. I have to be careful or this will turn into a really long post. This weblog has taught me how long-winded I truly am. I used to marvel at the thought of preaching for half an hour, and now I pare down my sermons from 45 and 50 minutes. So I won't go into too many details. While I was on holidays this summer, the church had decided, through a somewhat confusing voting process, to discontinue the position of associate pastor in our church (which makes sense, practically, because there are only about 60 people in the church; we only really need one pastor). There was some sort of an offer floating out there for me to be a children's minister to the community, and I truly considered that. I prayed a lot and tried to hear God, and this is what I came up with. Time to move on.
It'll be weird to live at home. It'll be weird to look for a job. And I want to go to university, but I don't know what I want to study. This is all very humbling and disconcerting for me - not knowing what's happening next.
Anyway, I could write about this for reams and reams, but I'm going to stop. I'm sure it will come up again in the future.
Right now I'm listening to Steve Bell sing Bruce Cockburn's "All the Diamonds", from Steve's album Simple Songs. One of my favorite songs in all of the world. It carries you away. Makes you wish you were by the ocean; wind and salt and weeds and spray, all at about 6 on a cool autumn evening.
I've started walking to and from work, partly because all the things I own with wheels seem to be falling apart, but mostly because it feels so good to walk. It takes me almost 20 minutes one way, and it gives me a lot of time to just absorb the world. I can't call it thinking, or really figuring stuff out, because that sounds too much like work. My walk is my time to take in the world. On my way home for supper today, I realized that I had pretty much forgotten autumn existed. I've lived so much in the moment and in my mind the last six weeks that autumn has really seemed to "fall" all around me this year, settling into my line of sight; not especially quickly, but fast enough to make the realization sudden, and a little breath-taking. The leaves were beautiful today. The air was so crisp and flavourful, a little moist, and not as dusty as the prairie air. The air really tasted like snow today, if air can taste like snow. And everything feels grey, even with all the waking yellows, sleepy greens and the dreamy yellow green that seems to be yawning somewhere in between. It really is beautiful here, and it's going to hurt to leave. I'm afraid the pain of leaving will be a popular topic for the weeks to come.
So that's the news, friends. I'm trying to do my best to hear the LORD and take the path He has for me. I'm trying hard to be open and just keep living with God. I don't seem to have a lot to offer, but He's sure taking good care of me.
Time to walk home again. Sleep well.

a few light slams

2005-09-19T00:32:00.000-07:00

I love mondays - not your average bumper sticker material, but for me, at this stage, it's true. I really enjoy my weekly day off.
The sad part is I have to spend a lot of this day in Lethbridge, and I'm getting a little tired of Mondays in Lethbridge. Strangely, I've been spending more than my fair share of Mondays in this small city, just over an hour away from my home in Pincher Creek, and I'm running out of things to do there. The main reason I'm going is to pick up my grandma-type-friend from the airport. I stayed with Tina for almost a year when I first moved here, so we still help each other out when we can.
I do have one rather ominous errand to run in Lethbridge. You know how it feels when you kind of dread some bad news, but at the same time you're looking forward to finally hearing it and getting it out in the open? (That's been the story of my August, but that story comes out after Wednesday night) I've had transmission troubles with my car for most of the year now, but it's been really up and down, so I haven't done anything about it. And the time has come. Today I will coast into the parking lot at ATR in Lethbridge and take the highly recommended Pete for a drive in my ailing vehicle. I really hope, and really pray, that Pete will know what's going on in my silly green car and will be able to fix it so that I can wipe it off my mind. I get the feeling life would be a little smoother if I actually trusted God with little stuff like this, instead of just preaching about it all the time.
It's probably going to cost me $1800. Which is my savings, plus a little more. I had really grown attached to those savings. It was nice knowing they were sitting comfortably in the bank in Dalmeny, making basically no interest, sleeping peacefully, and hoping I wouldn't disturb their slumber. Looks like it's time to wake up guys.
What a downer. Time to think of some good things. I got a neat shirt at VV last Monday I was in Lethbridge. It's navy blue with the silhouette of a 3 mast ship stamped in aqua green on the front, along with the words "fregatten jylland ebeltoft." If anyone has guesses on the language, let alone the meaning, let me know.
Also, I almost dropped a kid yesterday after church when we were horsing around. I always throw them up in the air and catch them, but one of the kids grew a lot over the summer, and I think he was trying to do some moves while he was up in the air. Needless to say, it's hard to catch a big, flailing seven year old. So instead of really catching him, I just slowed his return to earth considerably. Too bad his mom was watching. I guess that's not a great example of a good thing. But it's kind of funny when you think about it. At least when I think about it.
Apparently I dropped Caitlin, my sister, on the floor when she was an infant. I'd seen my parents gently drop her onto the bed, singing "Ploomps" (German origin?). The carpet was obviously more accessible to me than the bed, me being only as tall as the average 3 or 4 year old. Normally, I'd say something now, like "That explains why she's so weird", but I don't think I can take the credit for how crazy my sister is. It would have taken more than "a few light slams" for her to end up the lovely, yet pretty much psycho kid that she is.
Okay time to go to Lethbridge again.

popping out the grey beard

2005-09-16T19:53:00.000-07:00

So this weblogging business has turned out to be quite enjoyable. I've discovered people from the past I forgot even existed. My friends Matt & Patti have a four month old beauty named Hannah. What the heck.
I'm not very technological, so every time I edit something on this beast a grizzly grey hair pops into my beard. I've been trying desperately to post a picture in my profile because I live in probably one of the most beautiful places in the world and I've captured a few memorable scenes on film. Unfortunately, the whole "profile" thing has really been popping out the greybeard, so to speak, and with no results. So I'm going to shoot for a closer star and post a shot within a normal post.

The picture I hope you're looking at documents one of my best trips to Waterton Lakes National Park, a rolling 45km from my current home in Pincher Creek, AB. I took this picture (as I was very much alone) from the top of what's called the Bear's Hump hike, overlooking the Waterton townsite. I think I took that hike in November, and you must believe me when I say how cold it was. It was really cold. And you haven't experienced wind until you've hiked in Waterton in November. It truly attacks you; and not in gusts, but with a mighty, gut-wrenching roar. It's quite cleansing, really. A cold wind always inspires me to face it straight on. There's something about cold air that, for as long as I want to remember, has moved me.

Hopefully you also see a frigid view of the same snowscape, minus my face. That was a really good day. Time to head down the homestretch of this one; hamburger helper, some media, maybe a walk, and my bed. I always know it's time to wash my blanket when it starts smelling like corn chips. Truth to live by.

say nothing

2005-09-14T17:14:00.000-07:00

I made brownies on Monday night. I learned an important lesson on Monday night. Size matters when it comes to cake pans. The directions on the box (yes, the brownies came from a box, but it's a start) gave me a specific cooking time for a specific pan size. My pan was larger, meaning the batter was spread a lot thinner, meaning I shouldn't have baked it for so long. Bottom line: crispy like a dead frog - not quite tooth-shattering crispy, but you definitely get your exercise eating them. And yet they taste alright; some of the ones closer to the middle of the pan could even be called "chewy" instead of "crispy." So I'm not entirely unimpressed. I had fun doing it. I generally laugh at myself a lot whenever I try to cook something. For example, I still manage to screw up greasing a pan; only about a third of the Pam I spray towards a cooking surface actually ends up on that surface. The rest is abandoned to the wind, as well as the floor. I really need to wash my floor.
I'm really tired today. We had a council meeting last night that basically felt like a mini marathon: 7:30-10:30. As usual, I went home tired and wired. A little TV, a shower, and a couple chapters of "The Time Machine" left me looking at 11:45 and the knowledge that I'd be up at 6:30 to be ready for prayer meeting. It's been a long day. Sometimes on days like today I just want to go home and have Christmas; be with my family, play my mom's classical guitar, light a fire, light candles, light anything, turn on our house's year-round Christmas lights, walk around Dalmeny at night and look in lighted windows, eat my mom's food and tell her everything, tease Hailey about boys, laugh at Caitlin because she's psycho, talk about work and Bruce Cockburn with my dad, and just sit in the living room with someone I love and say nothing. I've found it's rare to meet someone with whom you're comfortable talking about anything or just saying nothing. Rare and so valuable. I miss my home today, but once I'm done this, I'll be sufficiently distracted until I hit the pillow: a lawn to be mowed, a prayer meeting to be .. prayed?, music to be practiced, calls to be phoned, and dishes .... the brownie-baking remnant is leering at me through brown, brown water in my kitchen sink. You think I'm scared, dirty bowl? Let's see what you think after I drown you, beat you with a dishcloth, and leave you on the rack for the night. Take that, fart-head.

the fears

2005-09-11T18:25:00.000-07:00

Just got back into town after a rainy weekend at Camp Evergreen. Nearly four inches of rain fell while we were there, and here in Pincher, apparently, fell six inches of snow. But I'll never really know that for sure, because, as usual, it's melted already.
The rain didn't keep us from having fun, however. In the course of one day, I did a high and low ropes course, wall-climbed, bouldered, went on a trail ride, a hay-ride, went hot-tubbing, built a wicked fort in the dining room, and played some savage dodgeball hybrids with senior citizens. Not exactly your average weekend, and yet last night pretty much broke the mould beyond repair.
After a nice hot shower (not to mention a long overdue one), I headed for my own personal cabin, got into my Grandma-made pajama shorts, and climbed into my bunk. I enjoyed a chapter of the Epistle to Titus, and was wandering through "The Time Machine" (H.G. Wells, I think), when my eyelids began threatening to close up shop for the night. Unfortunately, it was at a really good part of the book, but fortunately, I was weary enough that I didn't care. Book closed, lights out, good night. Even the fact that the bunk was about six inches too short couldn't keep me awake.
A digression: I've been watching a show called Stargate recently - my first journey into the horrors of prime time sci-fi addiction - and there's an alien on the show named Teil'k who said the flat-out funniest thing a few episodes ago: "Undomesticated equines couldn't remove me." I laughed, aloud and alone. If you know Tiel'k they way I do, then you're probably laughing right now just thinking about it. Wild horses couldn't drag Tiel'k away. A short bunk couldn't keep me awake. End digression.
So I fall asleep, and start moving through the various stages of sleep I learned about in Intro to Psych (I only remember the R.E.M. stage, and that only because of the band responsible for timeless classics like "Nightswimming" and "Strange Currencies"). Somewhere inamongst those seasons of sleep, my night adventure began. Out of nowhere, a coyote howled, and from the sound and volume of it "nowhere" was right on my front porch. I don't think I actually woke up at all, and that's the problem. When that mournful call shot through the night, I only had enough energy to stay concious until it was over, after which I slipped back into my sub-concious, just in time to be assaulted by the first volley of irrational fears. Before I could calm these fears with truths like "coyotes won't hurt you," and "their call is actually quite beautiful," even "You're ripped like a bad dog, Simon. You can take them," the fears took over and launched me into a dream-version of what these coyotes could do to me. Suddenly I emerged into a dark, dark world, not unlike Camp Evergreen at night, where coyotes were no longer the small, mangy scavengers I know from Saskatchewan winters. Suddenly, they were transformed into snarling, surreal wolves, not unlike the animated monsters from the winter chase scene in Beauty and the Beast (I'm pretty sure the dream coyotes were even animated). And, like most scary dreams, these monsters were after me, and some blurry, poorly defined people in my company. The "hoard of blurries" and I just barely got into the cabin, and, though I was trying with every subconcious ounce of energy I had, I just about let the coyotes in after us. But I shut the door in time. And the dream ended. Unfortunately, I didn't have the energy to wake and comfort myself with the knowledge that it was only a dream. So, the fears took over again, lowering me spluttering into a sea of doubt (read these next lines in a nasty voice like that grey, pig-nosed lackey from Care Bears) "Are you sure they can't still get in, Simon? Are you positive they're not already in here? Sssshhhaaa, sha, sha, sha, sha, sha!" This continued on through the wee hours of the morning, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was too tired to resist. I think I even stooped so low in my subconcious weakened state as to shine my flashlight under each bunk (from the safety of my own, of course), to make sure there were no mutant coyotes in my cabin. It actually got that bad. Hours later the sunrise awoke a soft glow of hope in the ugly orange curtains on the windows. I was sure the fears were gone. I relaxed, ready for a couple hours of much-needed peaceful sleep. And I'm sure it was good sleep, but all good things come to an end. This good thing ended with an earth-shattering explosion about 18 inches from my sweet, sleepy head. My wake up call. No angelic morning song like the day before. No caring words from my buddy Russ. It was Jim's turn this morning. I can just see him, complete with evil grin and steel-toed bright orange "gum" boots, rearing back and delivering a vicious kick to the undeserving cedar siding of my cabin wall, 18 inches from my sleeping body. I woke up. And thanked him as best as I could. I really do love that guy.
Weird night. I'm glad I had the chance to process it. I'm glad it's over. I'm glad Jim won't be waking me up tomorrow morning. I'm thinking of nasty ways to wake him up without suffering the wrath of his good wife. Suggestions welcome.
Thinking about renting "Sahara" tonight. For a guy, that Matthew McWhateverthecrap is fan-handsome. And sand is quite pretty. Happy weekend.

in the words of king solomon

2005-09-08T17:44:00.000-07:00

I'm going to camp tomorrow. It's our church camp-out/retreat at Camp Evergreen in Sundre, AB this weekend, and I'm going. It's going to rain and maybe even snow, so I'm bringing my gum boots. That's Albertan for "rubber boots." I guess it's all in the way you look at a name; does an object derive it's name from it's own physical characteristics, or from other physical objects it interacts with? Here's what I think.
Albertans, or at least many of them, work too hard and live too fast. I lived near Brooks for three summers, and from what I saw, work was life. That's why Albertans call rubber boots gum boots; they're focusing on the function of the boots, ie: toiling through thick, gummy mud, while irrigating a field, pumping mud on an oil well site, or mucking out corrals. People from Saskatchewan are a little more relaxed. They stop to smell the roses; to consider the essence of things. That's why they call rubber boots rubber boots; the boots are made of rubber. Saskatchewaners value those boots not for what they can do, but for what they are, what they're made of, valuing identity over purpose.
But remember, above all, the words of King Solomon in Eccelsiasties 1:2 ....
"Meaningless, meaningless ... Utterly meaningless!"
I get my own cabin at Camp Evergreen. I think I'm going to try out my new self-inflating matress because the mattresses are pretty much like vinyl-coated granite.
And here's a thought. If people ate rocks, vinyl-coated granite would sound like a sweet chocolate bar; "thick, crunchy granite, coated in rich, creamy vinyl; this bar will rock you."
One time my buddy Matt ate some small rocks to impress girls at camp.
It's safe to say this is going nowhere. Have a good weekend; I know I'm going to try.

doing a number on me

2005-09-06T18:25:00.000-07:00

I just balanced my record book to the nicest ambient music I've enjoyed in a long time. I doubt it's for everyone, but if you're into trying new things, check out Broken Social Scene on newmusiccanada.com. I honestly believe it made the realization that my "savings" are dwindling a lot less painful.
It really feels like fall. I may have mentioned this last post, but the air has changed. Ever since the last cold rainy snap we had a few weeks ago the air has had an edge to it. It still gets hot and the sun still shines, but everything just feels a little different; sharper, more distinct, even cleaner in a strange way. And you'd think the move into autumn would feel like a decline, but somehow I sense a tone of anticipation in the atmosphere. Not many people seem to look forward to winter, but that's what the Earth feels like to me these days; looking forward to winter. It truly feels like the Earth has a secret she's not going to tell, but she'll definitely drop a few hints - a leaf here, a clumsy bumble bee there, the dust off a freshly-swathed field, the snap and scrape of a quick breath on a cold night - and then autumn will fall on the land one evening, like a fog. The world will get darker longer and candles will start to make sense again.
Today I finally did some of the tasks I've been dreading for days, even weeks. As usual, they weren't nearly as tough as I'd imagined they'd be.
All this talk about autumn, seasoned by ambient music has made me sleepy.
But I've just remembered something important that wandered through my mind last night while I was running under the streetlights; I don't think I celebrate enough. I have so much to be thankful for - I preached a whole sermon on gratitude yesterday morning, and yet I only realized about 10PM how "un-thankful" I've become. I live like a king, for goodness sake! I have everything I need, and a busload stuff I just want and don't remotely need. I crave the joy that I'm sure would be added to my life if I actively celebrated even half the things God has given me; the beautiful, complete gifts He's created into my life. For instance, my sisters. I am so proud of them. They are two young women I would love to celebrate. It's hard because they are so far away; Hailey in Saskatchewan and Caitlin freshly relocated to Winnipeg. And I really miss them. Hailey's 17 and in grade 12 for crying out loud! And Caitlin's starting her second degree in a new city at a new university. And they're both running after God, living the deeper life. I can't brag enough. My girls, if you could read this; it calls for a soft white wine, three glasses raised to you both.
So today I celebrate my sisters. If anyone reads this, you're welcome to join me. Or find someone, or something, that's on your heart, and party about it.
So. This music is really doing a number. I could almost go home and write music. But 10 to 1 I'd hate it by tomorrow morning. Sleep well.

rest + guilt

2005-09-05T17:18:00.000-07:00

This morning I slept until 10:30am, and I didn't leave the house until 3:00pm. It felt so lovely to wake up naturally, watch a stupid movie, and then another one, and then fry bacon. Here's something that I'm apparently not good at: choosing bacon that actually has a high percentage of bacon in it. The package I bought yesterday turned out to be about 70% fat and 30% bacon. Did I learn nothing from my mother? Anyway, I made the best of it, and scrambled eggs with marble cheese in the still greasy pan for an ugly yet tasty finish. Then I defrosted a couple of the cornmeal muffins that I made last week (out of a box) and had a spot-on breakfast .... at 2:00 in the afternoon .... while watching Drumline. Man I wish I could play like those guys. But I don't think I could endure the uniforms. Then I walked to the office and sat down in front of the computer. That was about two hours ago.
The bottom line is, I have relaxed to the max today, and yet I feel a little guilty. The sun is out today, the clouds are scattery, and it feels hot, with a splash of autumn - the PERFECT weather for hiking. And my bum has hardly left the earth today. But I just couldn't do it. I even looked through my Hiker's Bible in a weak effort to choose a hike in nearby Waterton Lakes National Park, but I just couldn't do it. I have needed this day for so long; I just have to convince myself that it's okay to take a break once in a while.
I preached yesterday for the fifth Sunday in a row. I guess for seasoned pastors (read those last two words from the perspective of a predatorial carnivore for a different feel) five Sundays is small potatoes, but for me it's a big deal. And I'm pooped. And I'm glad it's over. Now I have at least one Sunday off, and most of the church is going up to Camp Evergreen for a retreat thing. Should be a blast, at least on a subdued level.
So I guess it's okay that I did nothing today. I even had plans to do some interweb banking at the office, until I realized I'd left my chequebook at home. The expletive was not necessary, but it happened anyway.
Last night was poker night and a friend was picking random words and challenging me to sing a song with the word in it. I was doing pretty good until "subdued." If anyone knows a song with the word "subdued" in it, I'd appreciate a tip. Pretty much my whole life is on the line.
So I think I'll go home now, maybe take the long way, hopefully spend a little time opening my thoughts to God (that usually helps put a little peace into my perspective).
Maybe I'll convince myself to blow the wad on a little gas-o-line and lead my limping car out to Waterton for a quiet evening by a lake.
I hope your Labour Day has been no more labourious than mine, and that September isn't too much of a race against time.

alright

2005-09-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

Alright. I guess some people found me. Quite exciting, actually.
I suppose I should post the odd thing now, once in a while. Unfortunately, it's lunch time, and I need to go eat. There is SO MUCH to write about, so many decisions, so many opportunities, but for now I want to post a beautiful promise I read this morning in the book of Psalms, chapter 16 verse 11:

"You will show me the way of life, granting me the joy of Your presence and the pleasures of living with You forever."

Ahh, bright hope for tomorrow ....

long wind

2005-08-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

I think it's really funny how much I enjoy having this little outlet, especially acknowledging the fact that no one on Earth know about it but me! And I love that fact!
I have quite a busy day coming up today, and I need to get into it, so this can't take long. I'll get to the point ... I'm a little nervous about the next step. Is my time in this corner of the world at an end? Is it time to move home? If I leave now, do I have a good reason, the right reason? Would I be leaving in the right spirit? Am I angry, or is it just a little confusion? How many of these questions are really important? Am I too hard on myself? What does God truly expect of me?
It's hard to work when I'm alone in the office with boring tasks ahead of me, and so many difficult questions rotting away in my mind. I feel like they've been there so long I can almost smell them deteriorating. Maybe if I ignore them a bit longer they'll decompse completely and be gone. Probably they'll just fester and start a new infection, instead. And I do know the answer ... surrender them to God. I wish it was as easy as it seems.
Right. Time for work.

try, try, try

2005-08-02T20:19:00.000-07:00

Okay here's a try at weblogging. Lot's of stuff to think about these days, and writing it out seems to help me process. Here's to hoping.
This'll probably be a bit rough for a while ... possibly forever ... but I'll give it a shot, and maybe some of you will check in to see what my little world is like. Maybe some of you will even have some input into my little world. Lot's of maybes, lots of possibilities.