not sure

Hey.

There are lots of things I'm not sure about.

I'm not sure how my family works, and how I fit into it sometimes. There is a fracture, with dad on one side and my mom and my sisters on the other, and I love them all, and I'm not on either side, even though there's people who aren't my dad or my mom and my sisters who seem to have a really good idea of where I should be. And the Bible doesn't really address this issue at all, so most of the cliche's that Christians throw my way (and that I ultimately hate anyway) are meaningless.

I'm not sure what to do when there is something that seems good to me, that I want, that I think God wants for me, that is denied on a fairly consistent basis.

I'm not sure what to do when it feels (emphasis on feels) like I am a convenient shoulder to cry on, but once the tears are done, there is no more use for me, and I can be discarded. I'm not sure what to do when I have tears of my own and wouldn't mind a shoulder and there isn't one around.

I'm not sure if it's okay to claim to follow Jesus, claim to have this hope that all things will be made right, and yet to have days when all you really long for is for that hope to be realized, not because you've been hoping for so long and it would be nice, but because you no longer are satisfied with simply hoping and believing and you just want to know.

I'm not sure if I make any sense when I speak about things I think about.

I'm not sure if it's always a good idea to continue to turn the other cheek, to always go the extra mile, to always love your neighbour as yourself, because your cheeks start to hurt after a while, there always seems to be just one more mile, and your neighbour can sometimes be a douchebag who will take advantage of your love.

I'm not sure if douchebag is an appropos word to use given the context.

I AM pretty sure that this blog, in itself, does not encapsulate my thoughts on everything,

But I'm not sure how to navigate the things in life I'm not sure about.

reflection

soooooooooooooooooooooooooo

christmas makes me reflective, nostalgic for who knows what, and seeing as how it's all year end and everything, I figure I would kinda take stock of this year . . .


First off, let's get these caps back where they belong. That's better . . .



The two-oh-one-oh has been a pretty sweet year for me. Oh, sure, there are a ton of things that I meant to do and haven't, some things I never dreamed I do that I did, and some refining of my outlook on life that, fingers crossed, is more in line with what this human experience known as life was meant to be.

I'm an uncle :) It probably won't stop being cool for me until just after the rocking party that will be my funeral ends. And probably for a little bit after that.

Usually I get mopey around Christmas for whatever reason, but screw that. Life is so good . . . a co worker of mine, after a rather lengthy two player bitch-fest lasted all day, suggested we think of ten things we're both thankful for.

I'm still coming up with things. And it's not that it was an incredibly revolutionary idea, or one that no one has thought of . . . just something I seem to forget to do on an annual basis around this time, choosing instead to focus on hurts, real or imagined, like some self-damning Grinch.

I'm not sure if Grinch is supposed to be capitalized. Is it a name, a species, a title?

Anyway . . . prolly not gonna blog a whole lot over the holidays - in ontario for 10 days, preaching tomorrow, christmas play coming up, and all that jazz - but guaranteed I'll have a lot to write in the new year.


Merry Christmas all


Greg

the end . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .LOST SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!!

please

only scroll down and read if you either have finished lost in its entirety, or you are never likely to watch a single episode. If you are still working on it, I will not be offended if you do not read this post.


I have warned you. Do not be angry at me for finding out something you wished to find out on the show.



Proceed . . .














































































































































everything that has a beginning has an end . . .


the oracle - from the matrix trilogy

I have recently finished Lost. Also, I have apparently rediscovered my appreciation for grammar. Nice.


I love the final episode. If you're a) a Christian and b) someone who has watched Lost, let me tell you why . . . in fact, even if a) doesn't apply, I'm sure you'll find something worthwhile here . . .


There are two phrases that I am absolutely captivated by . . .

this too shall be made right

and

God was, in Christ, reconciling ALL things to Himself

now


watch Lost, watch the final episode, and I dare you not to see a glimpse of this. Please, my Christian brothers and sisters, I'm not interested in a theological debate of the reality of a limbo state or the apparent universalism of the message. The show was not meant to be a platform for a Christocentric world view . . . but it doesn't mean that someone with one can't see hints of what is to come in it.

I cried watching this - because I miss my Oma, I miss Denise Scharringa, I miss Ernesto, and Mr. Fintelman, and scores of other people I have said final good byes too. But that's the beauty, isn't it?


What if good bye is not the end, but a means to a new beginning?

tension

what good would any story be without tension? who wants to read about a protagonist that triumphed over . . . nothing? I mean, I get the existentialism and absurdity of Waiting for Godot, but please - it's not that entertaining. and it certainly isn't life . . .


sidenote - i'm feeling a little e e cummings - ish today, though I still like capitalized first person pronouns and titles. anyway . . .


here is a little bit of tension in my life - having come through a period of time in which I've gone from looking at myself as something of a failure, something worthless, to seeing that I am a work in progress, to seeing that, well, I'm made in the image of an infinite being and bear that image well, and in my own unique way (as do you, whoever you may be), and after coming through the same period in which I swore I would never even consider dating again (a shortsighted vow, to be sure),

I find that there is this tug at this little heart of mine. there is this tension.

i can continue to explore the depths of this romance i find myself in with the One who alone offers that which I really want by myself, moving in silence like a chess piece, watching as my whole world revolves around the position of my King. I can dance my heart out for this One, and only this One, who doesn't care if I stumble, only that I get back up. I can be safe in this divine harmony, this instant as thought connection, where no explanation is needed by either party for anything, and there is no second guessing motives. I am never not loved, never not respected, never seen as anything other than what I really am . . . never misunderstood. Never unknown.

I am also never snuggled with, never hugged, never embraced by this One - it is tough to do those things when you lack a physical body . . . we will never have sex, which I'm not sure how that would work anyway, and I realize seems borderline blasphemous, but the truth is if you are going to embark on a journey where you choose to embrace this Romance and only this Romance, then a vow of chastity is a must.

I'm not okay with that. that is as delicately as I think I can put it.


and so, the tension - because that aspect, that expression I lack requires that one who will care if I stumble, one who may not always respect me, one who may grow weary of me, second guess and be second guessed by me, one who will misunderstand and be misunderstood by me, be invited into the dance. and this doesn't inspire fear, just caution. see, i want to dance with her.

i'm just not sure who she is. yet.

okay, i'm a little afraid. it is a healthy fear, i hope. no one wants to be hurt, and i for one do not wish to hurt. but it seems like that's par for the course in this dance . . . and again, it's not the pain that I fear, but the response to it.

because this is the kind of dance you want to dance for the rest of your life with her, and you want to know and she wants to know if you're in it for real, or just dancing because you're bored . . .


oh, tension

seasons

"Change can be so constant that you don"t even feel the difference till there is one - it can be so slow that you don't know your life is better or worse until it is, or it can just blow you away, make you something different in an instant . . . it happened to me."

So I love life as a house. Wonderful movie. Haven't seen it for a while, but whatever - it's still the same movie, right? I like that movies are like that - unchanging . . . you can know them for all that they are; once you know the plot, it doesn't change. I find comfort in this sometimes - one of my favorite things to do when I'm feeling a bit down or whatever is to watch The Office or Lost on DVD. I like it because it is familiar, and if home does not equal a fixed geographical location, or if that location doesn't match the location of your heart (where, apparently, home is), then it's nice to have something that feels like home to you.

Back to LaaH. The quote above is what the father says to his son, and it's one of the most poignant moments in a movie full of them. I think we sometimes view life change as these big moments that are dramatic and full and if there was an orchestra nearby they would be playing a very heart moving piece. You know, like the climax of most movies. I think we yearn for these moments because they are easily discernible, and in the area of life where we are most led astray - romance - we think that love equals something big, that real displays of affection are otherwordly lavish.


Well

because we think this, we have a holiday dedicated to doing just that, where if you bring chocolates and roses and a card, you're a good boyfriend, even if you were a shit for the past 364 days.

because we think this, we have unreal expectations of those we love and hope to be loved by.

and because we think this, we miss a lot of very lovely moments.



Sorry - this was written in October, but I'm publishing it here on November 23rd . . .

blue like jazz

hey

reading blue like jazz currently. love it. i haven't got too far yet, but there is something that has already caught my imagination.

donald miller talks about how jazz doesn't resolve, and so he found it hard to like jazz until he watched someone play the saxophone on the street for 15 minutes without opening his eyes. and then he says that he never really loved god because god doesn't resolve . . . .

there are things in my life that have no resolution, and these things drive me crazy at times. i find it hard to let them be. now, it's not that i find it hard to let everything be, just that there are some things that have no real ending in my life, but they also aren't still ongoing . . . know what i mean? there is no resolution, more of a fading away, gradual and subtle.

it's the messiness of life that really messes us up, eh? if things were more black and white, we'd have a better time understanding our place in the story. we would know when doors are closed, when chapters are finished . . . instead life seems more like the passing of the seasons - things happen around the time they should (unless your in calgary - snow in july? 20 degree weather in january? wtf?), and you don't really know how to tell when spring begins and summer ends, for instance.

hmmmm. maybe that's part of what i's supposed to be learning here. life is more like calgary's weather - no resolution, and though there is an underlying pattern, it's futile to try and decipher it sometimes :)

anyway, the moral of the story is that i'm learning to be okay with a resolutionless existence . . . i'm okay if things kinda hang with no clear end or answer.

all you can't leave behind . . .

This is, perhaps, a depressing thought, but everything in life is going to end, including life itself.

Boo-urns, eh? I mean, who thinks of this on a Saturday morning? To be fair, I thought of this a few weeks ago, and I think it was a Monday - which should explain the depressing quality of the thought.


But


Where others see a morbid, pessimistic outlook on life, I see the freedom to just simply let things BE and not make them define us . . . you see, if I define my life based on something external to me, then the worth of my life depends on that thing. My life only has worth if my _________ is in it. It gets really messy when that thing is a person, because love can FEEL a lot like this, except of course love is never a feeling and always an action, a choice, that happens to usually accompany feelings that we tend to think of as positive. That's a different topic altogether, though.


So, if everything ends, including our lives here on this rock, and I'm willing to treat everything as such WHILE still enjoying it for what it is, I think that I'd be on my way to a pretty healthy approach to life - free from neediness, free to not smother others in an attempt to keep them around (when really, everyone leaves at some point - until we die, which is when we leave others), free to bask in the glory of today, because today is all we have for now.

Fahrenheit 451 . . .

which, as we all know, is the temperature that the books are burned at in the self same novel.

And yes, this is another blog about the (now aborted) idea by one Terry Jones to burn Korans this Saturday.

I'm a Christian. The God that Terry Jones and I worship is probably the same God. If you read the Old Testament, he strikes you as a very intolerant God (of course, intolerance itself isn't bad - I'm not tolerant of rape or murder. See, it's all in the object people, not the act). I purposely say these things because it's so easy to distance ourselves from those who appear crazy. If people want to lump me and Terry together, well, okay then. He can be like the stereotypical crazy uncle or something.

But back to book burning for a second, because that's really what I want to talk about. What is a book? What is literature? It is the communication of ideas from the mind of one person to, potentially, the minds of millions, with the intent of sharing knowledge, perspective, opinion, humour, life . . . it is a big part of what makes us humans. No other creature communicates so prolifically every single day. Now, of course, there are going to be conflicting views - not everyone sees everything the same way, nor should they. That would be boring.

Perhaps a better alternative (though perhaps one he will never take, considering that he wrote a book called Islam is From the Devil) is to allow God (who Terry and I would agree, I hope, is the source of all truth) to show him the truth that permeates not just Islam, but all religions. I know this sounds quite universalist (and to my Christian friends, I assure you, I am nothing of the sort), but I AM a guy who has had his understanding of who God is enhanced by the works of a Muslim poet . . .

whose works I am thankful were never burned.

profound for profundity's sake . . .

. . . which I hope this isn't, and I hope I never have been. I know I kinda go in circles with my thoughts; that is, that I often repeat similar trains of thought at a later date, but I hope that in so doing I don't come across as trying to just "be deep". It's more a process of working things out by getting them out there so others can see what it is and possibly comment on it then an attention grab. I mean, really, who looks for attention through a blog?

Today finds me content enough to enjoy the present but far too restless to stay here. I get these urges to move every so often, to chase some grand dream somewhere, regardless of the destination or the cost, and while it sounds reckless, it is the very recklessness of it all that makes me come alive. Impractical, perhaps, and possibly smacking of a bit of licentiousness ( I can do it no matter what it is provided it gives me that rush of living) . . . except the grand dreams I have involve radical ways to make the world a better place, not cocaine fueled sex binges of orgiastic proportions. For example.

If there are any absurdists out there, I think sometimes I can relate. I would only add the caveat that a search for meaning in life is SEEMINGLY pointless at times, not actually pointless. Deep down, I think it is essentially to the act of living to discover why one exists, and, in finding it, to live it out as dangerously as possible.

I think if they handed out safety gear for life, I wouldn't wear it. You know? Like a bike helmet for biking, a seat belt for driving . . . if there is a safe way to live, I don't want to do it. Reckless.

Manomi

I told my friend Naomi that my next post would have a picture, and without bothering to explain it in any detail (because I also promised her it would be short and not deep at all), Desmond Hume is a perfect picture of our friendship as it is right now, with her leaving to go to New Zealand and Australia.

See you in another life.

daddy . . .

I'm tired . . .

I'm tired of the way sitcoms portray fathers.

I'm tired of the way father's day is the butt end of jokes, and mother's day is about respecting the one who brought you into this world . . .

Don't get me wrong - I'm not advocating a denigration of women. Far from it. If anything, this is a call out to men to grow a set and change the way we're perceived. There is a reason the bumbling idiot father resonates - it's because we've HAD bumbling idiot fathers. Maybe not all of us, but they HAVE been there. And while I would be the last person to devalue the role a mother plays in her child's life, can I call out the absentee fathers out there?

Where are you? What was so important that you missed her first words, his first steps, their first day of school, her first date, the first time he asked someone out on a date, all those times your kids needed you?

I sound angry, but I'm too tired to be angry. I feel a bit like in those dreams where you run and you run, but you move slower the harder you try. I think that by constantly showing fathers and fatherhood in a negative light, we send messages to dads that, ultimately, it doesn't matter. You're a non factor whose input isn't needed, because as long as mom does a good job, the kids'll be fine.

Now, I'm the man I am today largely because of my mom. And I get Jennifer Aniston's take on single motherhood, and I just want to say that I'm not speaking about the absence of fathers as being always negative . . . but fathers who are physically present but may as well be absent? That kills a kid.

Because I know I can't change the world on my own, I figure for now, I'ma learn how to be a good dad, so when the time comes, I won't have to fake it. But any little one who comes to call me "daddy" will know they are loved, will know that I think they are the best at anything they do, and will know that I'll always be there for them.

saturday mornings . . . . .

Mooch is curled up on my lap right now, as I listen to some Explosions in the sky ( Snow and lights be the track currently) and contemplate the day ahead . . . .

I'm house sitting for friends o mine right now, and am thoroughly enjoying the relative peacefulness of a place to myself . . . mooch seems to like to pounce on things that are trying to sleep, however.

Today feels like its gonna be one of those days that you just wake up feeling like life is such a gift, and you wanna run out and find someone else who you think will delight in this present as much as you . . . and it doesn't matter WHAT you do, just that you do SOMETHING to honour the fact that today, you are alive and full of love.

I think I will have an omelette for breakfast, and then maybe try ot convince mooch to not sit in front of the screen batting at the words that magically appear. I'm not sure how much of it is just what life has in store for us on a particular day, and how much of it is our response to the accumulation of days that constitutes our life so far, but for my part, I choose to have a splendiforous day today.

phoenix . . .

I've always kinda liked mythology, ever since I first learned how to read. There is something so awe-inspiring and timeless about the themes present in most mythology, and there are characters and creatures we encounter that serve as these great metaphors for life . . .

One of my favorites is the phoenix. It's the bird that sets itself on fire every 500 years and dies, only to resurrect from the ashes and live again . . .

There are other pictures of this life and death interplay, some a bit more subtle but no less profound. The cycle of summer - fall - winter - spring is a beautiful example of how life can spring from death. You know what? I feel like it goes beyond that - like, somehow, without death, there cannot be new life . . .

At any right, I'm currently experiencing a death of sorts, but am amazed at the new life I see springing up all around . . . . beauty is everywhere . . . .

beauty is everywhere

I'll have pictures up soon, but someone (God bless 'em) decided to spray paint this on at least two Canada Post mail receptacles here in Calgary. It is absolutely the best part of my pre work morning ritual, passing by this and getting that little reminder that, yes, life is kinda shitty at times . . .

but


you usually see what it is you are looking for, and for those able to see it, there is beauty everywhere.

free

This may seem a bit cryptic at first, but I just want to say it anyway, and I want to say it in universal enough terms that everyone who reads it may find it applicable, because I think we will all hit a point in our lives where this is true of us. Hopefully it won't, but you never know . . .

Finding out that you are the one who has been holding yourself back from something good is humbling, and maybe a but unnerving. To discover that the prison you find yourself in is one of your own making, and you hold the key, is uncomfortable at first, and I think our tendency is to resist that implication. In my particular case, it was hanging onto something that didn't work out (and for very good reasons), and I let my own guilt about the whys and hows of its seeming failure plague me for most of the past three years, with intermittent times when it seemed like I might be able to salvage it.

Death is a natural part of life, though, and shouldn't instill fear. Sometimes things need to die so that new life can spring forth. And though we don't always know the nature of that new life, as surely as spring follows winter, we can trust that there can and will be life out of death.

And when spring comes, it does no good to stay inside like it was winter, pining for the warmth of the previous summer . . . there is new life all around. Time to free yourself of what once was and embrace what now is . . .

dream

All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.
T. E. Lawrence

I find I daydream a lot - never when I have something pressing to do - I'm not lazy or slothful. Nor are my dreams a means of escape - life is grand, and real. It's got that going for it. But I can't help but find myself daydreaming of the kind of things I would hope to see happen in my life, the lives of the people I know, the world around me.

I know it doesn't seem practical to be a dreamer, and at times it may look a little ungrounded. Why can't those crazy dreamers just exist in the here and now? The answer is quite simple really - the here and now will never suffice. We're made for more than what we have right now, and though this smacks of deep-seated discontent, it is really the longings of a heart that feels out of place where it is.

And so I dream. I dream of a place and a time when "slavery" is an archaic term. I dream of a time and a place where you can't buy kids for sex, where no one cares how much a particular stock is worth, when we stop texting and start actually talking, when all life everywhere is deemed precious, regardless of where it is from or even whether or not it is human . . . I dream of childhoods unmarred by war or abuse, of random acts of kindness becoming everyday life, and of an entire populace captivated by the beauty they see everywhere everyday.

Sure, it's a dangerous dream. If you have any investment in a company that makes millions on the backs of others, this dream is your nightmare. If you grow genetically modified animals, caring little for that which God cares much for, you take comfort that this is just a dream. And if your income depends on how many customers your stable of pre-pubescent kids can service in one night, then your wish is that I and others like me stop daring to not only dream that this world is possible, but make it happen . . .

dance

"A warrior who cannot

dance? Clumsy in both war and peace he is."

―Yoda

I love this quote. I love that the rigidity (rigidness?) we think has to come with efficiency or productivity or whatever is called into question by it.

You have to be able to dance in life. You have to be able to feel life's flow and dance with it, to bend without breaking, to sway to the music of life. Since this sounds a little vague, allow me to give an example.

Let's say you had some kind of rigid expectations about life and love and relationships and how things should work, but you didn't take into account that each person moves at their own pace and in their own way, to their own music (as it were). You would not only set yourself up for disappointment in having your expectations crushed, but you would undoubtedly earn a bit of a reputation amongst any friends as someone who, well, they don't really want to be with.

Contrast that with taking each day one at a time, embracing the moments as they happen, and learning to live THEN, in the present, instead of in the future (where all our expectations ultimately lie). You can't put too much stock in one person - one person cannot be held responsible for making you happy. The ability to create and experience joy in the moment seems a bit of a lost art - at least, it was lost on me for a bit. And so I stumbled, clumsily, through life, having much the effect there that I had at other dances - I made some people trip, caused others to want to stop dancing, and ultimately gave up.

Sure, learnign to dance isn't easy, and you make mistakes at times. But much like my spelling mistake in the previous sentence, they are rarely catastrophic, provided you are intent on learning, on dancing, on respecting other dancers' freedom to move to the music at their own speed . . .

And when you find yourself dancing with someone else, well, THEN you dance together and match your steps. But trying to dance with someone without them knowing? Creepy.

loverly . . . that's right, i said loverly . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0o8JCxjjpM


big fan o the EITS. Also a big fan of not capitalizing the first letter in a sentence and acronyming band names (not to mention parentheses and verbing nouns).

Explosions in the Sky. Love 'em.


Sometimes I need those times where I don't want to sing along to a song, but I want music to fill the silence - other times I prefer to bask in silence. But for times when I feel the former, there isn't a lot that beats these guys, or this song in particular. The staccato guitar bits about 3 minutes in feel like something of the climax of the story this song tells . . . .

Love it.

I don't know :) Maybe it makes me feel like things that aren't okay will be, or that they aren't as bad as they seem. To me, this song just feels like hope . . . and again, hope is not the belief that everything will turn out well, but the conviction that all things will one day make sense regardless of how they turn out . . . hope says that there is something at work here greater than you and I, and says that whatever that is, one day we will see that whole story in all its majesty . . .

i know that I am nothing new
there's so much more than me and you
but brother how we must atone
before we turn to stone

Some random Ingrid Michaelson I just thought of / was reminded of. Apparently today's blog is a quotefest. I'm kinda enjoying writing it though - I had no idea I was even gonna blog today when I woke up, whereas normally I kinda work myself up to it for a bit first. So you, whoever you may be, get to experience the closest thing to stream of consciousness writing that I can produce - I'm limited by my huge fingers though.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYOsD8W-G7A

What a difference a day makes sometimes . . . .

chess

It's hard to drive through a section of this earth like East Hastings and leave unaffected.

It's hard to see pain and be able to turn away and not do anything.

It's hard to justify a life of relative luxury and ease, when so many have so little.

It's hard to want to be used to make a difference and be content with feeling like you aren't.

It's hard to want to share your life with someone, but knowing what kind of life you want to lead, to invite someone who knows nothing of living for Someone Else into it.

It's hard to finally grasp that independence is a myth, a lie - that, in truth, we are all so very dependent on one another.

Rumi's words stick with me here - I want to move like a chess piece, my whole life centred around the position of my King. And there are places, physical, emotional, spiritual and mental, where His presence is not easily seen or felt . . . and I feel like making His presence known.

I realize how cryptic this all may sound, but trust me when I say I don't mean to come off like TC in that regrettable youtube video of his Scientology beliefs. I don't think I have all the answers, and I don't think the path I'm currently on is necessarily the best way. It's the best that I know of, and I want to share that bit with others - be a source of good and light in a all too often dark world.

********************************************************************


Vancouver is a beautiful city, and I think I could move there and be happy . . . in fact, all of BC echoes beauty and majesty - I've said it before, and I'll say it again, it has everything I love about Ontario, plus the ocean, plus mountains. I feel a pretty strong pull back there . . .

rumi :)

Now I will move in silence, Like a chess piece, Watching as my whole life revolves around the position of my King.

Not gonna be a long one tonight - in the BC interior / lower mainland for vacay. Penticton is BEAUTIFUL, and though the ubiquitous rain kinda dampened (haha) the excitement of the drive to PoCo, here I am / we are.

Though it's not likely to happen anytime soon, I would LOVE to move out here . . . .

Anyway, the quote above has been kinda stuck in my head since I read it. I wanted to get it out on here before I forgot, and hopefully when I get back to Calgary I'll be able to expand on it . . .

g'nite

be

This is my life, Dad, this is it. I spent 26 years waiting for something else to start, so, no, I don't think it's too much to take on, because it's everything there is. I see now it's all of it. You and I are gonna be OK, you know that, right? We may not be as happy as you always dreamed we would be, but for the first time let's just allow ourselves to be whatever it is we are and that will be better. OK? I think that will be better.

Garden state is a great movie. Go watch it now.

I like movies that make me think about things, things I either already now and accept as true, or things I've never really thought about but always kinda felt, or things I never thought about and wouldn't have unless I watched that film or was otherwise exposed to that thinking.

I think it's better to allow yourself to feel and experience a wide range of emotions than to try to bottle them up inside, or to medicate yourself so you can never be really happy but at least not be sad.

If you happen to be one of those stable people who doesn't have a wide range of emotions, then by all means, celebrate who you are ( it will be a tame celebration, but at least there won't be drama). But if you are like me, and a sunrise can light up your soul, and the sound of rain brings unspeakable joy, and the pain of another is too much to just sit and observe . . . if you are moved deeply by deep things, please don't try to pretend you're not. I don't think there is a better way about this at all ( I used to be condescending and think that EVERYONE should be as emotive as I thought I was - which was funny, as it came on the heels of stuffing all my shit down for most of my life), or at least not a better way that we can prescribe for humanity based on how we react to situations.

I can't get this to un-italicize, so I've stopped trying. Boo :(

Maybe the best way to be fully alive, to have abundant life, is to be fully yourself, whatever that self looks like. Some people can see an image of a starving child and sleep fine that night. Some people want to give the world a hug every time they draw a breath. Most of us exist somewhere in the middle, I imagine, and all of us should strive (and encourage others to strive) to be all we are created to be . . .

For my part, I didn't cry in Garden State. And I'm okay with that - it still touched me deeply.

Also, I will never start off a blog in italics again.

. . . you've got yourself stuck in a moment, and you can't get out of it . . .

At different points over the past year and change or so, I've blogged about feeling restless . . . this feeling of a storm inside me, pulling me in every direction without any indication of where I should go. At times like these, I just get an urge to GO, somewhere, anywhere . . .

For the time being, though, all my transportation plans hinge on someone else. I can, of course, still walk, but there are few places that I can walk to that I feel like going to when I am restless.

I like how Bono sums this up - the idea of being stuck in a moment - because it isn't just physically that I feel stuck. There is this urge to . . . hmmm . . . grow? I'm not quite sure how to phrase it. Progress might be a better way - an urge to progress in life, to get closer to where I'm going.

Yet there have been a lot of signs indicating that staying is the best option, letting roots grow deep where I am.

If you think about a tree, we only see the growth on the outside, above ground, and it is there that our awe and, dare I say respect for trees is found - in what we can see of its leaves and branches and trunk. When was the last time you marvelled at the beauty of a sequoia's roots? Or of the root system of a maple?

Yet where would these trees be without deep roots?


And consider also what roots are for. They provide nutrients from the soil, yes, but also are an anchor for the tree. A tree survives storms because its roots are strong.


So while I'm finding it hard to enjoy this particular aspect of this season of life, I understand the significance and merit of it. Without a deep rooted sense of who I am and what I am made for, the same storms that took me out before will keep having a say on what course my life takes, instead of being mere annoyances to push on through.

And the pull I feel in many directions? Well, I feel a bit of a pull back to Ontario, where I will be an uncle sometime around the middle of October. I feel a pull to the wild, to just eke out a living in a cabin somewhere and feel freer than I have before. I feel a pull to Holland and Scotland, where my family is from. I feel a strong pull to my friends here, who I love so very much. There is a pull to Uganda, to rescue child soldiers, and a pull to Thailand, to free little boys and girls from the perverse indulgences of men who are not worthy to be called that. And there is a pull to see the person in the world I miss the most . . .

I'd love to say there is no rush, but in all reality life is forever slipping away, and the days we have left to do that which is worth doing will not wait for us to decide what to do. And, yet, reckless action just for the sake of doing SOMETHING is ill-advised as well.

If you're getting frustrated reading this at all, then maybe you can empathize with where I'm at right now.

Butterfly Effect

That's right Sara - it's E-ffect. But only in this case. I think yours (you'res? jk) was affect. Meh.


I used to regret a lot of things. I used to regret how I ruined my relationship with Tamara, how I didn't go to Guelph for English, how I didn't go to Kenya to work in an orphanage right after school, how I did a ton of things in my first six months in Calgary that I never should have, and how I've done a better job of falling down than walking.

It's slowly (and painfully) starting to dawn on me, though, that not one of those things could be absent and still result in the complex kaleidoscopic picture of who I am. I can't change any of the things I used to regret and still get who I am today - and I friggin love who I am today.

While that may sound vain to some, it's great to hear from a guy who used to have such low self esteem that he would let himself be manipulated, be told what he needed, be told that this here or that there would make him happy.

To be happy with yourself, to love yourself and enjoy your own company - that is something good and holy.

So if you find yourself stuck in a moment, worrying about things in the past that you can no longer change, take a good hard look at yourself. Do you like what you see? If so, then there is no need to regret anything - because all of it, the good and the bad, the things you could control and the things you couldn't, all had a hand in making you that oh so very unique expression of humanity that you are. And if you DON'T like what you see ( and keep in mind, we're going beyond the cosmetic here - look yourself in the eye ) then let's talk about why. I'm serious. Hit me up at gregorythomasfrench@gmail.com . I'll never promise answers, but I can promise that I'll care and I'll listen.

"It's fourth and fifteen and you're looking at a full-court press. "

Today I am sick.

I'm blogging right now because I didn't go into work, and if I don't have something quantitative that I can hold up and say "Here! I did something today!" then I'll never be able to sleep tonight. It's weird, eh, the things that make us who we are - I'm learning that I am particularly driven to get things done each day, and if it's on my list to do and it doesn't get accomplished, then that day may as well not have happened.

Also, the achievements of yesterday - they are in the past, forgotten, as if they never existed. Now, this applies more to my life at work then my personal life, but the two are intertwined at points. But really, it fleshes out like this - let's say I did something so far above and beyond the expectations of what I would do that I get a raise or something, just completely blow someone away. I'd go home, have supper, go to bed, wake up, and then treat that day as if I was starting all over again. Yesterday was nice, but right now we have today, and ONLY today.

Sometimes, though, there are laurels you DO wish to rest on, and in the reverse of what I said earlier, I find they happen more in my personal life then at work. But the two are intertwined at points.

Heart Mountain, in the Alberta Rockies near Canmore, has an elevation of just over 7,000 feet. And this past weekend, I was part of a group of co-workers who made it up at least 6,500 of those feet (rough estimate).

I wish I could write what it feels like to me to scale a mountain - small though Heart Mountain be - and sit at the top (or close to it), looking out over matchless beauty. Rarely do I feel so alive. One of my greatest dreams is to fly, and when looking down at the rest of creation so far below, I get a sense of what makes eagles want to keep soaring. It touches deep down inside me somewhere, resonates with a kind of primal intensity.

I feel like a man.

Please don't dismiss this as empty machismo. I'm sure if I was a woman, I'd be writing about how this experience makes me feel like a woman as well. Maybe that's just the point - that we've so cut ourselves off from our "outer selves" (props to Moosehead) that going BACK to the wild like this is going back to something that makes us who we are, both as individuals and collectively.

In any event, I'm quite proud of this feat. I'm going back to get to the top. And I've already got my next "big thing" to achieve planned - running a 10 k in September. If you knew me at all a few seconds ago even, this would seem out of character for Greg. I don't know what to say other than that it's a physical manifestation of a spiritual happening - that in my deepest personal life, there have been victories I thought I'd never see, and now I want to DO things I thought I'd never do.

Maybe this is the sinus congestion talking, maybe it's the cocktail of cough syrup / vitamin c / echinacea / advil that I've ingested over the last little bit, but I love life, love MY life, more than I ever have before.

Or, I will once I'm healthy. Boo for being sick in June.

PS - I think I may be done with the Frank Drebin thing for now. The header makes a TON of sense to me for this blog, but I don't think I can explain it. And I fear that once my head clears, I'll come back and have no clue why I wrote it in . . . oh well.

The truth hurts, doesn't it, Hapsburg? Oh sure, maybe not as much as landing on a bicycle with the seat missing, but it hurts!

That it does.

Having someone call you on behavior that you didn't see in yourself kinda sucks. I'm realizing how needed it is, sure, but today it hit me as to why. Kinda like a puzzle coming together, I had all the pieces but wasn't seeing the picture. Let me explain.

In the front of my Bible, along with several other sayings I've treasured over the years, is this gem - It's our behaviour towards people, what we do and don't do, that fosters credibility - NOT our good intentions.

I imagine that I am like most people in that I am consistently putting my actions in the best light possible - I mean, if I thought I was doing wrong, I just wouldn't do it. Today something happened that spoke a message to my friend about how I was disposed that certainly didn't reflect what was actually going on inside me. I was losing in a video game, and I was getting more and more quiet as the game dragged on. All I said at the end was "Good game" as I left.

Now, I knew she wasn't impressed. And for honesty's sake, I'm gonna give as much detail as I can here about what was going on in me. I spent a good amount of time thinking about how she should learn to let things go if my silence was bothering her that much (which I've had people say to me before), and I spent an even better chunk of time thinking about how I'M the one who needs to learn to let things go sometimes (in all honesty, being overly competitive isn't normally a problem for me anymore. And it is kinda bugging me that it seems to be again). And in the end, I resolved to apologize, because the truth hurt.

See, I was sensing that I had been a bit of a jerk. And what I'm learning is that when you get that sensation, just stop rationalizing, stop defending yourself, stop trying to come out on top, and accept the harshness of the truth - despite your best intentions, this is what you were communicating. This is what you were saying (whatever the this may be in your situation - in mine, though I don't know precisely what it was, it did a whole lot to kill the fun in what should have been an enjoyable time with two friends).

Now, though I apologize far more frequently than I would ever thought I could (time was I was never wrong, in my own eyes), it's never gotten any easier for me. Mostly I just kinda suck it up and do it, like putting hydrogen peroxide on a cut - it hurts, and you don't enjoy it, but you'll be better for it.

And I was. Or am. Better for it. As a bonus, I got to see just how much of a jerk I had been (a big one, apparently). And though things aren't perfect, I feel as though they are better, on the right track.

So why am I sharing all this?

I think we've all been there - when our actions say something we aren't aware of. And I think we've all had the first thought that I had - but that's not what I MEANT!

Audiences negotiate meaning, though, if MacLuhan is to be believed. So sure, the truth was that I wasn't nearly as pissed off as I was showing, but the truth in this case is even bigger than that - my actions were causing a rift. So rather than defend "my side of the story", I wanted to affirm that someone else's side has merit.

It is our actions that foster credibility after all, NOT our intentions. I don't know about you, but methinks I shall pay closer attention to my actions - because really, most days I wake up, and what's going on inside of me is something like this :

I LOVE LIFE! I WANNA GIVE THE WORLD A HUG AND HAVE EVERYONE BREAK OUT IN SONG AND DANCE LIKE THE SOUND OF MUSIC OR SOMETHING AND THEN HAVE A BIG PICNIC IN THE PARK WHERE EVERYONE IS WELCOME, ESPECIALLY THOSE TWO HOMELESS GUYS WHO ARE JUST WAKING UP WHEN I WALK INTO WORK!

I'd apologize for the run on, but it's early when I think this thought. But anyway, this is what is usually going on in me for most of my waking hours. And I feel like there is something good in me that I want to share with everyone, everywhere.


And all that can be derailed by acting like a little child when I lose a simple little game of hockey. Boo.


Truth hurts, eh?

"It's a topsy-turvy world, and maybe the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans. But this is our hill. And these are our beans! "

FD, once again, my thanks.

Sara and I usually have good chats. Sometimes she'll do a lot of talking, and I'll do a lot of listening, and other times I'll talk and she'll listen, offering more insights than I think she gives herself credit for.


But I found myself thinking as I went to bed last night, that there are people living not 30 seconds from our door who couldn't care less about the things that we deemed necessary to talk about that night, or any other time for that matter. And half a world away, there are people who I'll never meet, who will never meet me, who aren't affected at all by the things that keep me up at night. They have their own worries and fears.

And that's just it, isn't it. We all have things that seem to consume our thoughts, we all have problems, we all have issues with SOMETHING in life. And maybe it doesn't amount to much in the grand scope of things, in the macrocosm of life here on earth. But in the microcosm of OUR lives here in OUR little corner of earth, these beanhills are enough to engulf us.

This is our hill, and these are our beans.

And over there, that is their hill, and those are their beans.

And all these little beanhills, tiny in the big picture, are enough to be devastating to one person.

Here is where I make a point that ties this whole thing together : If you agree with me that this is true, how about being intentional with me about not adding to anyone's beanhill anymore? People got enough problems on their own - why add to it. I mean, it'll happen anyway, because we're all humans and no one's perfect, but I think we can do a better job collectively about finding ways to voice our praise as quickly as we voice our criticisms, of being as free with our love as we are with our scorn, of being as comfortable to be around as we want others to be. What's that? Be the change you wish to see in the world? Sounds good to me.

Sidenote - I've taken it upon myself (and w Sara's encouragement) to use as many FD quotes as I can as subject headers in this bloggy thingy AND still make it pertinent to my thoughts du jour, as it were. Should be fun.


G

You take a chance getting up in the morning, crossing the street or sticking your face in a fan. . .

Frank Drebin, human quote machine, and the source of the today's titular musings.


I've probably talked about this before, but you ever notice how much of our life is spent minimizing risk? I'm not talking about needless things like seatbelts (not that needless, actually) and school zone speed limits (honestly, just stay off the damn road. That's what I was told growing up. Look both ways and stay where you are.) But we have hand sanitizers at every building entrance, we have Lysol that can kill 99.9 % of germs ( yes, ALL germs are deadly and will probably eat your flesh at the first chance), we have insurance for EVERYTHING (apparently in Alberta your car has to be insured to operate it on the road. Go figure.)

All kidding aside, it bugs me that we are such safety freaks as a society. Maybe it's the only way for a large number of people to be living in such close quarters, but then maybe that's the issue right there. Regardless of whether or not you take the Genesis account of man's early history to be literal or figurative, or if you believe that some half ape descendant of a mammal fish reptile hybrid is your ancestor, it seems to me that cities (and the seeming safety they provide) are not necessary for humans to live, to really live.

If so, why the fascination with nature? Is there anyone who detests a garden? Anyone who despises the sun, the sky? Even good city planning allows for plenty of green spaces, because we all know how much we love them. And it's like we can handle nature provided we can tame it, maybe because we are trying so desperately to tame ourselves. We applaud people who are level headed, who are self controlled, and well we should. But that doesn't mean tame, docile, borderline narcoleptic.

I want to applaud more people who took a chance and failed. And I know how cliche this may sound, but the only real failure is not trying. So go ahead - dream big, take a chance, and if you fall flat on your face, well, I've been there, and it's a great place to start planning again.

There is nothing in my life that I (or others) would consider a failure that I would want to do over, because everything has made me who I am today. On the flip side, there ARE things I have yet to do that, should I fail to do them, I may always wonder "What if . . . ?"

Valentine's Day . . .

Yes, thank you. I realize it is not February 14th.

The V Day I allude to in the header is the film, one in which everyone ever appears in, and one which made me cry a little ( big surprise there). It also made me want to get to know this cat called Rumi a little better . . .

If you want what visible reality

can give, you're an employee.

If you want the unseen world,

you're not living your truth.

Both wishes are foolish,

but you'll be forgiven for forgetting

that what you really want is

love's confusing joy.

- Rumi

I like that - "love's confusing joy". Is anything more confusing than the joy love brings? Hear me out - we get told to excel, to do our best. So far so good. But perhaps less directly if not more importantly, we are told to carve out our own little kingdoms, our own little empires. We're told to find what is ours and hang on to it for dear life. The message behind most ads (and really, the only way the ad industry continues to exist) is that I DESERVE THIS. I NEED THIS. THIS SHOULD BE MINE.

We are so fond of this thing called independence (and the ownership of stuff that accompanies it) that we have even mistakenly associated it with freedom.

I know, right? Freedom and independence NOT being one and the same? Yeah, it had me for a bit too. I think we'd all agree that no man is an island, right? That our actions are significant, have meaning, carry weight. And that those actions affect those around us, be it for better or worse. And then THEIR actions affect us and others, and so on and so forth. Well, we are so dependent on each other, and more significantly, on our Maker, for life to have any meaning at all.

Come up with something worthwhile that does not affect people. And please, if you find it, let me know. Because anything worth doing is going to affect someone other than us - there's no escaping it. And I'd go even further, and say that anything worth doing and devoting time to is going to better the lives of people around us ( and those who seek to argue that bettering the lives of flora and fauna around the planet miss my point - I'm not saying we're just dependent on people. No, we depend on everything living here.)

So in short, anything worth doing is going to stem from love.

And the things not worth doing? Well, they stem from something that is not love. I'm not sure exactly how to define it, but selfishness, greed - these come close. So living JUST for your own pleasure, living JUST for you, living JUST for that raise or promotion or self improvement or self confidence or self worth or self assurance or self love or self awareness or anything else is going to be devoid of joy.

So really, the things that seem to be so important? Trivial. Empty.

What we really want is love's confusing joy, this deep sense of everything being alright in the world that stems from living in a way that seeks to better those around us, and seeks to allow them to better us as well. It's confusing because it goes against our nature. It is joy because it is a positivity that does not depend on emotions. And it is love because it embraces the need for others and celebrates this interdependency in a non exploitative way.

Inglis Falls & the Beauty of Rain

Going back to the theology of place . . . I'm so blessed to have lived in Owen Sound. If you know anything about the OS, allow that to sink in for a second, because most people I went to school with there couldn't wait to leave it.

When we first moved up there, I was 18, and we lived near a little gem of a place called Inglis Falls.

Here's the catch though - I don't think of any of the houses we've lived in in OS as home.

Nope. It's the woods surrounding the falls that feels the most like home to me. In thinking about places that have deep meaning to me, the trails in the 200 plus acres of woodland around the falls is so familiar to me, even after all these years ( I went for a hike there in 2008, so maybe it's changed a little . . . ). The way the wind talks through the trees, the markings left by deer, the way the air feels minutes before a storm.

It started to rain a little today, and I got homesick (keep in mind I consider these woods to be home). One of my favorite memories of home is walking through the woods as a storm was brewing, and if you've ever experienced a Southern Ontario thunderstorm, you know how you can just TASTE that creation is about to explode in some kind of primordial symphony. I love how very small and very ALIVE it made me feel to be walking through the trees ( walking? I'd CLIMB them - not intelligent, perhaps, but that was more a heart decision than a head one) and tasting the rain and FEELING the thunder deep within me and being dazzled by the lightning . . .

I hope there is a thunderstorm tonight. Calgary's air doesn't feel the same to me, so I can't tell as well, but I'd love to feel a good thunderstorm soon . . . to say nothing of the rain.

Rain just makes everything feel clean to me. And the fact that it rains most in the spring, a time of rebirth and renewal, is just perfect . . .

Sky Diving and Theology of Place . . .

You ever have the wind whip through your hair as you stick your head out of a moving car? Ever CLIMB out of a moving car and perch on the window sill (not quite sure what else to call it; also, don't try this while driving. It doesn't work. Also, maybe just don't try this and take my word for how awesome it is.)

It's awesome.

And, since you can't discern tone when reading a blog, it's less a surfer dude and more a little boy with eyes wide open at the world around him . . . intelligent, but awestruck.

Or . . . what about these :

• watching the sunset over Lake Erie / Ontario / Superior / Huron, the calm breeze wrapping its arms around you, the dying embers of the day reflecting in the mirror of the water . . .
  
• reaching the summit of the biggest hill / rock / mountain you've ever been on, and turning to look at seemingly familiar terrain with new eyes from a new vantage point . . .
  
• plunging into the depths of a cave / crevasse, the fear of the unknown and the fear of the dark no match for the rush of adventure . . .
  
• the way time stands still as you ponder your decision to jump from a perfectly good plane, all the while coming face to face with your own mortality . . . the wind taking your breath, and the view take away whatever breath you might have left . . .

It's that last one that has stuck with me for a long time. Skydiving feels like the perfect analogy for my relationship with God - jumping from what seems to be safe, into what seems to want to take my life, trusting in what I cannot see yet to do what has been promised. The instructor promised me, profusely, that my chute would open. And that there was a reserve chute, should anything happen. And that all I had to do was jump properly from the plane.

Which I didn't.

That also feels a lot like me and God . . . like, all he asks of me is this one little thing, and he's doing all the real work, I just have to do what he says. And I can't even do that.

Now, normally, my need/want to excel and achieve would kick into overdrive, and I'd ramp up the effort to try and prove myself when it feels like I'm failing, but sky diving taught me something else . . .

Absent the chute, no amount of effort can stop your fall. Skydiving is NOT about your ability to stop your fall, it's about your ability to jump and trust.

Since then, the sky has been a holy place for me. I've wanted to go back. And I get physically sick (actually) if I go too long without basking in wide open expanses. I think we all have places that are significant in our lives for whatever reason, and going near them, being reminded of them, it brings us somewhere, be it good or bad . . .

I think maybe the list of places I wanna go that I've been working on? Perhaps for now it'll be less exotic, and more familiar. Maybe I need to following this ridiculous urging to jump and trust that I won't fall . . . more on that later though.

G

I ended up sleeping last night instead - go figure. Now I'm nursing a bit of a shoulder owie from squash today. I'll get it here this week sometime.

Amazing Race

So.

I usually don't get into reality TV too much - my idea of Survivor being to have 16 constentants start on a deserted island with nothing but a bell or something on the beach that you ring / whatever to indicate you want off (c'mon, Jeff Probst, it'd be KILLER TV) - but since moving, my friend Sara has kinda got me into the Amazing Race.

Side note - perhaps it's that something is made enjoyable to watch due to the company you watch it with . . . hmmmm.

At any rate, the show concluded it's 15th race tonight.

And now I want to travel.

I actually can't sleep right now - the thought of gallavanting across the globe is in the forefront of my mind . . . . so, tonight, I'll be dreaming / falling asleep thinking of me doing my best Phileas Fogg . . . and tomorrow, I'll let you know what the trip would look like.

Places defo on the short list - and all of them have a reason - include Iceland, Israel, New Zealand, Australia, Irelan and all of the UK, and Easter Island, just for shits and giggles.

AND - I'll be looking for a Passpourtout (spelling?)

Open Book . . .

Hey



Part of me questions the wisdom of what I'm about to do, and most of me realizes that we are all of us broken, and the more we embrace that and the upside down beauty of it, and the more we share from our own brokeness and hear of others', the more we open ourselves up to the remaking process. Honesty is the key, and it is frightening. It means allowing someone else to see who you really are - you know, that person that exists in that time and space when no one else is around, that person whose irrational fears feel more real when they are alone in the dark, the person whose heart sings at the wierdest thing, the person who can't sleep at night sometimes for reasons that no one would understand even if articulation would be achieved.



But I really believe it is the best way. Maybe not the only way, but certainly the best way to be fully human and live an abundant life. It can get really confusing if you try to be open and honest with those who don't also embrace honesty - hence the warning about the pearls and the swine - but if Jesus life teaches us anything, it is that those things that are most precious are the most costly, and there is no room for seeking to be comfortable above all else.



So as uncomfortable as this is (rendered more comfortable by the fact that I am typing and not talking to someone), allow me to finally begin. I'm going to name names and all, because I want you to know that this is my life, through my eyes, as best as I can describe it, and not some mere musings on how things might be.



If you are familiar with my story at all (or have been in contact with me regularly since I stepped down as a youth pastor 2 and a half years ago), then allow me to express a measure of sympathy. I know the cycles seem endless, the wounds seem self inflicted, and if I could "just get over it", I would move on with my life and feel much better. I'm smiling a little as I write this, because I find humour in odd places, but odds are good you've heard me express a sentiment along these lines:



*People's lives are better when I am not in their lives

*I am a burden to those that know me

*No one knows me

*Everyone will leave me



Again, I know it can be a little tiring hearing this. No one is more tired of it than I am. The thing is, there is a pattern that emerges . . .



I was re-reading my journal from the past two years, and noticing that periods of time where there was relative peace - mentally, emotionally, spiritually - were followed with periods of intense . . . for lack of a better word, attacks, on the things I was at peace about.



Somewhere along the way, my sense of identity became a weak spot for me, as I assume it either can be or IS for all of us in some way. Though I rarely worry about my looks (though I DO worry at times), and I hardly ever worry about my ability to entertain people, make friends, have meaningful conversations, BE a good friend, I find the attacks come in the form of a little voice that tells me I cannot trust what is going on - it is all a lie. No one REALLY wants to genuinely know me - no one REALLY wants to develop a mutually beneficial relationship with me.



For some of you (and I feel I know this from previous conversations) this line of attack would be useless. You have been blessed with a sense of stability in life, where without even thinking about it too much, you have been the recepient of an atmosphere that fostered trust.



For the first 19 years of my life, the one man I thought was my best friend in the world, the man I looked up and respected and wanted to BE like, was someone else. I don't know what it's like to have that friend who has been by your side when the shit hits the fan, because at the time of my most epic failures, I was alone, without people I felt I could be honest with. I have seen power struggles in a community of people that is supposed to be the expression of Christ's presence in the world that have left the participants scarred for life. I have been on the receiving end of judgmental attitudes from people that I opened up the dark places of my life to, hoping for guidance and mercy.



In short, there hasn't been a whole lot up until the fall of 08 that cultivated trust in my life. The overwhelming messages I grew up with were - be someone people will appreciate. Sacrifice for the good of others. Combine those two, and you have a very confused young man who has a performance based view of love - I have worth dependant on how well I do, and the moment I do something wrong, my worth is gone.



I know, right? :) Sounds so stupid when I read it, and it is. But, be honest - have you ever been there? Thinking that asking God for one more chance means you've asked for one more chance too many? That you've reached the limit of grace? That, just like how it FEELS (emphasis on feels) like everyone has abandoned you, God is about to abandon you?



Well, God is nothing if not constantly at work to redeem all things, restore all things, make all things new.



And in the fall of 08, this former youth pastor (honestly, that feels like several lifetimes ago instead of merely 2 years) was blessed with the opportunity to teach a Bible study. And he loved it. He missed it. He missed the fight - missed being used to shed light on dark areas, missed how exciting it was to feel like God was right beside you, so close you could reach out and take the had that was undoubtedly offered to you, missed laughing - REALLY laughing, that kind of deep, soul shaking laugh.



And then it was gone. It felt sudden, but really, I think all of us in ALC knew something big was going down. From my viewpoint, it sucked, because it meant at least two people who I had opened myself up to in ways I had never done before would be leaving my life in some way, shape or form. Dale and DeeDee Balce are still two of the most incredible people I've ever met, and I'll always treasure our Tuesday night group. Brad was moving back to Vancouver, taking with him his sense of humour and rock like faith. Ernesto . . . well, Ernesto is home now. I miss him. I haven't spoken to John since then.



See, these people matter to me because PEOPLE matter - and if my wounds (and all of ours, probably) are relational in origin, does it not follow that God uses relationships to heal our wounds? He's something else though, this God of ours - though this healing work depends on people, it does not depend on one particular person . . .



I've said it before, and I'll say it again - I love Asher and Dayna Cubid. I've met Jesus because I've hung out with them. And around the time that my previous hope for salvation was disintegrating (just like my other previous plans - being a youth pastor, marrying Tamara, ), we started hanging out. And I will always be thankful that they invited me out to wings that one night :)



Mike and Trish Swalm - whose names you've undoubtedly seen mentioned here before - have been incredibly patient with me over the past few years. I think more than anyone else, Mike has seen the stupid cycles I seem doomed to repeat, and the fact that he still lets me talk about some of the same things over and over again is a testament to God's existence and his working through people.





Somewhere around this time, it started hitting me that a) I need to be more willing to let people go, let them be what they are meant to be and not expect them to be Who only God can be . . . and b) that the mask of lies I had worn for years, where I always tried to present mtyself in the best light possible, had to go.



And it's funny, because these are things Tamara had seen in me long ago, and had begged me to change, told me our future depended on it, that she couldn't marry someone who wanted her to be what only God could be, someone who couldn't look her in the eye and tell her the truth. Fear overcame love and logic then . . .



But no more.



Side note - while I'm talking about cycles, and how I often seem to repeat things / hang on to them, to the chagrin of those who love me . . . when I say I miss Tamara, it's not that I want things to be the way they were. I don't ever want to go back to what our relationship looked like again. It's that I've seen what has transpired in my life, and I know she saw things in me that weren't that evident back then . . . and I guess I want to let her know that they were true. I realize I don't have to - that I'm going to have a pretty stellar life no matter what. I just know that the same God who has done a lot of healing in my life has been busy in hers as well, and I think that more than any other people we both know, we'd have a better sense of joy over seeing how far we've come because we've seen each other at pretty low points. And as ridiculous as it sounds, (not to mention unlikely), how kick ass would it be if God showed how mighty he is by restorign us from our mess? Not that it HAS to happen.

There. Glad I said that. And should it seem foolish for us to even converse again, well, grace looks wierd from the outside looking in I suppose.



So while I'm coming to realize that here, in Calgary, a place where I was a stranger not 2 years ago, I have found deep friendships with people I would take a bullet for, no questions asked, with people who know things about I wanted to keep secret for years but love me anyway, and while I am learning to let God be God and people be people and celebrate our own wonderful finiteness, and while I am learning that I don't need to be pleasing everyone all the time in order to have worth . . .



I am taking back ground that was held by someone else for far too long, and power and control are things he does not relinquish without a fight.



So



My weaknesses? My wounds? The things God is healing? They're still the easiest way to take me out. And they are still targeted, and probably will be for most of my life. God doesn't take them away, but works through them, cuz He can. I'll probably spend most of the rest of my life fighting this internal battle - and though it make take different shapes, it will always rage. Peace is promised at the end, and we are not there yet.



In the meantime, I am mature enough to know I haven't a chance in hell of standing on my own. So Asher, Dayna, Mike, Trish, Sara, Trevor, Rachel, Mom, Annalies, Kara, Erika, Dad ( and I need you all to know this - no one is beyond redemption), Rick, Coach, Mary, Carla, Micah, Jay, Brian, Brad, Dale, Deedee, George, Marah, Melena, Peggy, Andrew, Josh, Dave, Nikayla, Mike, Krista, Christine, and anyone else I've ever let into my life in a significant way . . .

I need you. Where once I loathed any seeming dependence on other people for anything (and still pride myself on quite a measure of independence), I embrace that I need you.


G

PS Feel quite a sense of relief at getting that all out. Odds are good that it's only coherent to me (and even that isn't a given), but as always, I hope you find something in here beneficial for your life - it's why I share.

Bros

Behold, how good and most excellent it is for bros to chillax together, united

Ps. 133:1, GFV


Loved this past weekend. Start on Friday - Josh and I found ourselves enjoying an impromptu Korean lunch ( I heart bulgogi burgers for life), and as natural as breathing, we opened up our lives to each other. It's not easy being in your mid 20s, single, and trying to do your best to live a life that looks something like Jesus - especially as a guy. Not trying to take anything away from the women out there, but none of you in the double x chromosone crew have that added pressure that not only are you NOT supposed to talk about the shit in your life, you're supposed to do it all on your own - that someone THIS makes you who you are.

Sidenote - I am bitter at Rambo for keeping this myth alive.

Anyway, good time w Josh - a lot of good stuff about identity.

Saturday. Asher. Green Street Hooligans. Top contender for favorite movie ever (Slumdog and Life is Beautiful are tough to beat in my eyes though . . . ), and DEFINITELY my new favorite bro movie. Led to a perhaps brief but definitely heartfelt affirmation that no matter what in life, we got each other's back. And more than I could ever thank him for, he's had my back since I've known him.

Trevor also had my back - more on that later . . .

Sunday morning. Playing w Mike and Jay. I love music, I love drumming, and I love the energy that was there on Sunday. I love that we had communion. I love that we celebrated Daniel's birthday. I love that while my pastiness seems to indicate the opposite, I'm a brother to these boys ( Mike can be pasty sometimes too . . . ).

I love that I still get to hang out w one of the guys who first introduced me to the value of bros. I love that neither of us flinched last night, and I love that it would be ridiculous to explain why going shot for shot with towels constitutes bonding. It'd be like trying to explain the premise of GSH - you either get it or you don't. I love that despite age, Trev and I can still be boys. And for the record, he stopped, not me ;) (though I'm not complaining)

Asher, Trevor, Mike, Jay, Josh, Dan - I love you guys.

And to bros far and wide, from Jay and Micah to Brian and Sean - no matter how much time passes between when we talk, I love you guys.


G

. . .

It's funny to me, a little, how people who were once perfect strangers can become closer to you than blood.

It is sad, too, that familial connections aren't what they could be.

I realize that a quick read through my blog might seem to indicate that I have no problem in talking from my heart, but the truth is that any ease that one can surmise is made possible only because of the nature of blogging - I find it easy to talk about myself, my hopes and dreams and fears, because it is just me and a screen, with words magically appearing here and being read over there, wherever you are.

After growing up around a group of people for awhile, or spending time with anyone over a lengthy period, you start to assume that you know a thing or two about them. But we are fluid beings, humans. We change so much over time . . . years have a way of eroding certain parts of us, exposing things that perhaps were hinted at but never fully seen before. And you may not notice the change as you live out your life, or notice the change in those around you, but just as the ocean rocks gradually lose their battle with the water, we find ourselves changing, growing. The rocks are still rocks, and I am still Greg, and you are still you, but a different rock, a different Greg, a different you, emerges.

Normally I try to have a point when I write. Perhaps today's point is to give voice to some kind of restless churning inside me. Perhaps it is about trying to avoid, well, today.

Maybe my mom was right, and I was running away when I moved out to Calgary.

Maybe the lack of connection I feel to my extended family (both sides) is because I just haven't tried hard enough.

Maybe it's too late. Maybe a person can be so insulated behind some self made walls, that the walls become them, and in their endeavors to escape the past, there are places they should not return. Maybe , instead of running away, I was running towards something. Maybe I wake up every morning wishing I could take those I love from THERE and bring them HERE, where life just feels better.

I wonder - do rocks ever question the whys of erosion? Do they long for the way things once were, though knowing there is no going back?

And what if what once was is more illusion that reality?

. . .


Hey. If you've stuck with me for this long on this post, then thanks for hanging in. I don't expect you'll gather much meaning from it unless you know me very, VERY well, but I still felt like writing it. I'd normally journal shit like this, but I have yet to procure a new journal. Sometimes it's just about getting what is in, out, and if anything I wrote is beneficial, then cheers.

Why I Cry In Movies

The other night, I threw in Slumdog Millionaire. Didn't watch the whole thing. Didn't want to.


Skip to the final scenes of the movie.

"I don't know where they've taken her . . . "

"I went on the show because I thought she might be watching . . . "

Tear.

Phone a friend . . .

Cue Latika

"Hello?"

Camera on Jamal - that look on his face, hearing her voice again, the impossible becoming possible set against the backdrop of his impossible run on the show.

Salim's sacrifice - redemption is available to all.

The rendez-vous at the train station - her shame at her scar, his tender kissing of it.

Roll credits. Jai Ho.


K, I took maybe 30 seconds to type that (then correcting some spelling and what not) . . . but I think that that is a good encapsulation of what it is that makes me cry in SM.

And now, the why of it all . . .

I wasn't made for good byes. I wasn't made for the mundane, for mediocrity. I see beauty in the ordinary, hope in despair - the way I see the world is just different. If you know me at all, then you know enough to know that I should be bitter, should hold a grudge. I just can't though. There is so much that happens everyday, all these little miracles, that seeing something truly good happen when there is no reason to think that it should is enough to touch me deeply and elicit tears as a response.

Latika is scarred - her beauty is marred, at least in her own eyes. Yet Jamal still wants no one but her, still sees her when no one else really does. That scar? Nothing a kiss can't fix . . .

Mike and I were talking recently about what resurrection life is like, how Jesus' body was still scarred even after he came back to life. And he said something I found intriguing. Help me out here if I get it wrong, k Mike? But I believe you said that our wounds don't go away, but their message does - that everything is redeemed, even the meaning of our scars.

The story of Latika's scar, for instance, begins with abuse at the hands of a man who knows not what love is, but ends at the hands of her one true love.

I have been scarred by abandonments in life, of people who needed to be there at key times being absent. The most significant one is that of my father, and though our relationship is better now then either of us may have dreamed possible, the damage is real. The message of THAT wound, though, is that there IS a Father, One Who doesn't leave. There IS unconditional love to be found. And it is in the times that I feel the wound most acutely that I draw most closely to that love.



I've been there before, too, countless times. Doing something just because maybe, just maybe, she'd be watching. The "she" changes with time, but the desire to make desire known doesn't. Or hasn't yet. And as I grow more aware of the Sacred Romance that breathes life into every day, I more eagerly anticipate my part in an image of that romance . . .

Until then, and hopefully long afterwards, I will cry in movies, not necessarily for what occurs on the screen so much as what occurs in me while watching it.

Long Time Coming . . .

I recounted my life's story, or at least the parts I figure most people would never know or guess, to Peter and Mary, my good friend Sara's parents, and the people with whom I am boarding (whom I am boarding with? Whatever. I live in their house.)

And it hit me as I told my tale - the horrible parts, the parts that no one was allowed to know ever, the things that brought me shame - they don't have that power anymore. Now, there is still a lot that I DIDN'T say . . . really, it was quite a bit tamer than all I could have said. But there are details of things that have happened to me that no one needs to know about outside of God and me and Peggy . . . either way, nothing from my past has any kind of hold or say on my present.

I blame Mike for helping me think this way :) (Thanks Mike). If it wasn't for his sermon on Sunday, I might not have started down this path of thought. I have a friend who recently blogged on her thoughts on Easter, and she is to blame as well . . .

Resurrection life, the life available to us in a post-Easter world, is a life where who we were doesn't have to be who we are, and who we were meant to be is who we can become. There is life out of death, beauty in the broken, and peace where once there was war. For most of my life, I have had a sense of restlessness inside, like who I was wasn't in line with who I appeared to be. I don't know how else to put it other than that - like I didn't really recognize that guy looking back at me in the mirror. There were things I would do and BE that didn't line up with what I felt to be true on a very deep level . . .

That war is abating now. Again, I'm not sure how to say it other than that I feel more in line with myself. It's been a very humbling process, and I've had to learn some hard lessons over and over and over again. And I'm sure there are more to follow . . . but for now, there is a peace, a contentedness, and if I am restless at all, it is only to dive even further into this adventure of life in due time.

There is no formula for life
No math can explain a soul on a journey
Grace rarely makes sense from the outside looking in
And there is no one I will not forgive
For I have been forgiven of all


If you are reading this, I want to hug you. And I really don't care if that seems "unmanly" or whatever - I know who I am . . .

Finally :)

715 5th Avenue

For 8 or so hours Monday to Friday (and 5 or so hours every second Saturday), it's where I work.

It is the 15th tallest building in Calgary.

And at 5:40 am, it is where a man whose name I didn't catch woke up.

I had two mandarin oranges in my pocket - my breakfast for the morning - and they became his breakfast. I didn't stay to chat - he was picking up his things to move, and seemed to be in quite a hurry - but I've been thinking about him all day.

Who is he?

Whose son is he?

Was he ever in love?

How did he end up here, smelling of booze and urine and shit, angry at everyone, including a rather ordinary man just wanting to share with him ?

Where was he going in such a hurry?

Does anyone miss him?

And some other, more heart wrenching thoughts . . .

When was the last time he was hugged? When was the last time someone took his hand in theirs, stared deep into his eyes, and told him he was loved for who he was? When was his last kiss? His last happy thought?

And, you know, you don't have to be homeless to be miserable - for all I know, he loves life deeply and was just bitchy that I woke him up. But what about those who live in these houses all around me, those whose laundry I do at work, who have never lacked for anything yet find themselves always wanting more . . . who are ever eating but never full, always drinking but always thirsty, who deny themselves nothing yet have nothing to show for it . . .

Sometimes I just want to give the world a hug.


My friend Ernesto died recently. When you're 27, you shouldn't have to worry about cancer, but there he was, coming to our little meetings every Tuesday night, with the kind of hard questions most Christians are too timid too ask. To be a part of his journey is one of the greatest blessings of my life, and I look forward to seeing him again soon. One of the last times I saw him, he gave me a sword, both because I had recently shared that it was something I wanted to have more than anything else (more on that later), and because he was letting go of things that he had treasured too much for too long. He got it, I think, and I'm trying to realize it more every day - the fullness of a life isn't measured by how much we can keep, how tightly we hold onto things. Rather, it's about how freely we let things go, how liberally we share.

And so, if tomorrow should find me with two mandarin oranges - my breakfast for the morning - in an alley near 715 5th Avenue, and I see my friend, then those oranges become his.

Oh, the things I think about at work . . .

T-Swizzle

Yeah, I know.

Taylor Swift.

This is not going to be one of those creepy "she's the cutest thing ever" kinda things, or a rant against her Grammy's duet w Stevie Nicks (which was pretty bad) . . .

I blame Poreotics.

Go ahead - youtube "poreotics love story" and watch any of the videos w/o the judges comments (or with, if you're into that). Catchy, no? Got the song stuck in my head. And I like it now.

While some of the more cynical in this world may have written off fairy tales as wishful thinking at best and downright harmful at worst, I tend to think they reflect deep seated desires in both men and women. This kind of thinking doesn't originate with me, but that doesn't make it not true. It takes far too much energy for me to remain coldly detached and distant from my heart, and it's a slow kind of death. It is a Miss Havisham execution of a wounded heart.

So while it would perhaps be less risky to give up on romance altogether, that thought has never really crossed my mind. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all. Understanding romance in a healthier way? No brainer. Saying a proverbial good bye to love? Never.

Granted, I may seem foolish for thinking that I am / will be / have been involved in an epic love story that unfolds a little more each day, but oh well.

Oh, and the title? While you're at youtube ( I will be hurt if you do not go), check out her collaboration with T Pain.

papa

I want to be a dad, a father, a husband - not in a desperate, my life is over if it never happens kind of way. But I know it's in me to be one - it's a very real part of who I am. I would still live a full and contented life if I never marry, never have children, never start a family - there would just be less people that I spend those precious moments every day with . . .

Now, perhaps you ARE married, and HAVE kids, and you're reading this thinking - you know what, Greg, single life is lookign kinda good right now : you get all that time to yourself, you don't have to worry about feeding other mouths, you don't wake up in the middle of the night because your kids are crying, you don't have to be a peacekeeper / referee / judge and jury / chef / lover / confidant / locked-in-a-death-grip-for-blanket-supremacy every night.

And while it's true that there are things I enjoy a lot about being single (the eating schedule is nice and flexible, and I don't wait for the shower at all), I also blog a lot more. Right now, in my little basement suite, there's just me.

Now, despite how lonely that sounds, (and pathetic . . . yeesh), I'm not really lonely. Just anticipating, looking forward to with expectancy. I can't wait to be a dad - I'm going to, no worries.

Sometimes something as simple as an Office episode can unleash something from deep within us.