A few years ago, some pollster called me and asked me if I thought the Canadian government should apologize to the Native Peoples for taking their children away and putting them in government-run schools. This happened before I was born. A second question was whether or not I thought the Roman Catholic Church should apologize for the actions of a few of it's priests who sexually abused altar boys. In both instances, I had a hard time accepting that any instution could or should apologize for the actions of a few of its members, especially when these actions took place in the distant past.
Today, I was listening to the news and I heard that the Prime Minister of Britian is going to apologize to the "Home Children" (children sent to Canada and other British colonies during the Second World War who were basically made into indentured servants by having to work for the families that "bought" them until they were 18).
And I have to say, my attitude has changed completely. I thought about young King Josiah, who was himself a righteous man, but when he discovered the truth about his people's sinful ways he was filled with remorse and lead his people to repentance. (You can read about King Josiah in the Book of 2Kings, chapter 22 - in the Bible).
So, when I hear what Prime Minister Brown is going to do, my heart rejoices. I know what an incredibly healing thing this is going to be. And I think it is a very powerful thing that our Canadian Prime Minister has formally apologized to the Native Peoples for all the atrocities done unto them by us. How can we have unity in this land without such healing? And again, what a powerful healing and restoration for the Pope to apologize for the sins of the Catholic Church.
I would like to state now that for any and all sins of my forefathers, I am sorry. I repent of all injustices, all slanders, all untruths, all unrighteous acts that my ancestors have committed. I declare that from this day forward, as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. We will follow His ways, and walk in His precepts. Amen and amen.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
My Love/Hate Relationship with Change
I hate change. Hate, hate, hate. I want to keep everything exactly the same as it was, as it is. No new coke. Bring back Wendy's Big Bacon - don't call it something else and ask me if I want to make it a double or a triple. Just keep it the same. And please, stop changing my city. All these brand new sub-divisions spring up overnight and then my friends have the gall to move there and now I have to find them. Didn't there used to be a farm here? And don't change my TV. Why is it that the shows I love are always the ones to get cancelled? Whatever happened to Manimal? or Beauty and the Beast? I really hate change. I want my world to continue on in the manner I've grown comfortable with.
I love change! The new; the exciting; the fresh! I love exploring - whether it be the mall or the countryside. I love travelling and seeing different places and people. I get so excited when I have the opportunity to go somewhere new (come back and read about my trip to South Carolina in a couple of weeks!). And I love to learn new things: sign language, tying knots, cross stitch, archery, driving standard. These are wonderful things to experience. And I love spring! It's full of change - and rapid change at that.
I love how change fosters growth and development and maturity.
I hate goodbyes. Friendships are so rare nowadays; and it's so easy to lose touch with loved ones. Friends move away, and you have to say goodbye. I hate this kind of change. And I hate feeling old. Kids I knew "way back when" are adults now, and some of them have kids of their own. When did that happen? How is it possible that that much time has gone by?
I love seeing personal changes. Like when your new baby takes their first steps. And before you know it, it's their first day of school. You see your kids grow up before your eyes and you rejoice in their achievements. With friends, and even with yourself, you look back and remember the way they (or you) were. And you see how far they've come. More responsible. Less prone to anger. More patient. Less self-focused. These are the changes we seek and hope for.
Someone once said that the true definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I don't want to be insane, so I must want change!
(Sigh) I love change.
I love change! The new; the exciting; the fresh! I love exploring - whether it be the mall or the countryside. I love travelling and seeing different places and people. I get so excited when I have the opportunity to go somewhere new (come back and read about my trip to South Carolina in a couple of weeks!). And I love to learn new things: sign language, tying knots, cross stitch, archery, driving standard. These are wonderful things to experience. And I love spring! It's full of change - and rapid change at that.
I love how change fosters growth and development and maturity.
I hate goodbyes. Friendships are so rare nowadays; and it's so easy to lose touch with loved ones. Friends move away, and you have to say goodbye. I hate this kind of change. And I hate feeling old. Kids I knew "way back when" are adults now, and some of them have kids of their own. When did that happen? How is it possible that that much time has gone by?
I love seeing personal changes. Like when your new baby takes their first steps. And before you know it, it's their first day of school. You see your kids grow up before your eyes and you rejoice in their achievements. With friends, and even with yourself, you look back and remember the way they (or you) were. And you see how far they've come. More responsible. Less prone to anger. More patient. Less self-focused. These are the changes we seek and hope for.
Someone once said that the true definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I don't want to be insane, so I must want change!
(Sigh) I love change.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Joys of Camping
It's a cold and dreary February day and my thoughts are turning towards camping. Why? Because I got "won" a new tent from Ebay and it just showed up with the very handsome UPS driver. It's a great tent! Perfect for Algonquin, where less is definitely more. I've tried several times to express just what camping in Algonquin Park means to me, and I don't think I've ever quite succeeded.
First of all, camping in Algonquin is wilderness camping. No cars, no tent trailers, no picnic tables or electricity or running water or "real" toilets. It's a completely different experience from your local conservation area (or even provincial park). Which I still do, and enjoy very much; but wilderness camping is something I do almost because I have to. It's necessary for my soul, or something profound like that. It's the untouched nature. It's the solitude. It's the hard work!
These are the highlights of my trips into Algonquin Park (which for anybody who doesn't know, is a huge Provincial Park run by the Ontario Gov't and designated as "wilderness" so there are very strict rules about building, construction, roads, and even air traffic within the park boundaries):
Get up in the wee hours of the morning; finish loading the car; drive for appx 6 hours to the Park Office in Kearney, ON (which is about half-an-hour north of Huntsville); register; drive for another hour or so down a gravel and dirt road as the sun slowly rises above the mist; stop and allow a family of deer to cross the road.
Finally get to the end of the road and drive up to the water's edge; untie the canoe; load everything into it; go park & lock up the car; get in the canoe and paddle across the lake (um, about 3 hours?); get out; take everything out of the canoe; pick up the canoe and carry it down the path to the next lake (maybe a half-hour's walk; maybe more if the canoe is really heavy); go back and get the rest of my gear. How many trips back and forth will this take? (Never just 2).
Load up the canoe and paddle across the next river; do the portage thing again. (Some trips involve one portage; some 2 or 3 or even 4 - I've never done more than that, though others have.) At some point, finally arrive at a campsite. You can tell where the sites are because they all have red signs posted. (As do the portages, so you don't get lost.) Anyway, check out the campsite - how far away is the "treasure box" (that's the toilet!) - too far isn't good and neither is too close! Some campsites are better situated than others. Too many trees, not enough trees, too rocky, too uneven, too small, etc. Some are great, but you have to climb an embankment to get to them, which is hard carrying a huge, heavy backpack. And some have nowhere to "park" your canoe. It's not good to just let it bang against the shore - there needs to be space to drag it up and preferably flip it over. So if this one won't do, paddle down to the next and look again.
Finally find a decent site; by now it's mid-afternoon and I've been on the go for at least 12 hours. I still need to set up the tent, and then I need to gather dry wood for the fire, and then I need to filter some water from the lake, and then I need to take some Tylenol and lie down for a while! I'm usually too exhausted to eat much the first night - maybe cup o' soup or some cheese and crackers. Before it gets dark, I'll need to whittle some wood shavings for the morning fire and possibly go in the canoe to hunt down a fallen tree or something. Old beaver dams make for great wood foraging. It's usually dry and it's usually hardwood, so it burns longer. I go to bed shortly after it gets dark and I'm too tired to notice the strange rustling sounds in the woods.
Days are spent gathering wood for the fire, and cutting it up. I bring a saw and a hatchet and a knife for this purpose. I also filter all my water - even if it looks clean, I don't want to risk "Beaver Fever". I try to do most of my cooking on the camp stove, but nothing beats a real fire for s'mores! I also read and fish and swim and take a nap in my hammock.
On the second night, if the sky is clear, I'll stay up late - until 11 or 12 o'clock, and then I'll head out in the canoe. This is why I came here. This is why I travelled 12 hours. The canoe, on the lake, in the night. I look up. In fact, I lie down in the bottom of the canoe and just let my gaze try to take it all in. The sky hangs above me. It is the opposite of a featureless void. It is solid. It has dimension. The stars move within it, some seem to be beyond the sky, some are much closer; some even streak across it and then vanish within Earth's atmosphere. It is very light up there, in the dark. I cannot describe how this makes me feel. Big and little at the same time. Both significant and insignificant. I remember in the Bible where it says that God knows each of the stars by name. What does that mean for me? Am I bigger than a star to God? More important? The Bible also says He had counted all the hairs on my head. I'm getting dizzy with this huge expanse of sky above me, and with all this contemplation about God.
At some point during my stay, I will find myself at the end of my strength, or at the end of my abilities, or at the end of something. Maybe I'll get hurt. Maybe I'll get scared by those killer chipmunks that scamper around my tent at night. Maybe I won't be strong enough to hoist the food barrel or climb the embankment with the canoe on my shoulders. Maybe it will rain so much that my tent starts to leak. But eventually, something will happen - it always does; and that's when the other thing happens. The second reason I come here - travelling 12 hours and working so hard. Because when I come to the end of me, that's when I come to beginning of God. When I finally realize that He is God, and I am not. That Someone Else is master of this universe, and I'm not it! It's a relief! Trying to be God is terribly exhausting and mentally draining. The worry. The striving. The controlling (or trying to control, rather!). I really need to be reminded that God (the very real and very present God) is here, and He is in control. In my everyday life, this is so easy to forget; after all, I'm the one that brings home the paycheque, I'm the one that schedules my time, I'm the one that deals with Laura's (my daughter) 16-year-old angst. I'm the one. But out here, in the wild, I am definitely not the one. I don't control the wind, the waves, the rain. Everything I'm not in control of is right here in my face, reminding me. So "thank You, God" for this pain, this fear, this weakness, this lack of control. And "thank You, God" for that amazing expanse of sky that speaks to me of You (even if I don't understand exactly what it's speaking - it still speaks!) You are real, and You love me. That's all I really need to hear, to know.
The last day. Time to head out. I pack everything up- all the food is gone so I have more space. One last check of the campsite to make sure I've left it in pristine condition, then into the canoe and off I go. Paddle, paddle, paddle. Do the portage. Only 3 trips this time - everything is lighter. Paddle, paddle, paddle. Repeat until finally the car park comes into sight. Do I have my car keys?!! Whew! Okay, load up and drive off. No need to stop in Kearney (they don't care if you don't make it out - that's for the folks back home to worry about!), but I usually do anyway - it's the first bathroom with hot running water! A 6 hour drive back to Brantford - sometimes more if it's rush hour near Toronto. And then home at last.
And for the next couple of weeks, reason number 3 (for doing this wilderness camping thing) will be with me. Gratitude for what I have. Gratitude for all the everyday blessings in my life. A real bed to sleep in. Hot baths. A stove and a fridge and a sink with running water. Toilets that flush. Clean water to drink. It will all become common-place soon enough, and I'll be back to taking it all for granted; but for awhile, I will be filled with gratitude for these simple things. And mindful that these are blessings - gifts to be appreciated and not to be wasted or neglected. When God put Adam and Eve in the Garden, He didn't tell them to chop all the trees down and pollute the water and destroy the natural habitat. He told them to care for it all, to be caretakers. I think we are supposed to still be working at that original job. So "thank You, God" for reminding me to do my part. To support causes that protect the environment. To "go green". To not take all this for granted.
And that is what I'm looking forward to on this cold and dreary February day.
First of all, camping in Algonquin is wilderness camping. No cars, no tent trailers, no picnic tables or electricity or running water or "real" toilets. It's a completely different experience from your local conservation area (or even provincial park). Which I still do, and enjoy very much; but wilderness camping is something I do almost because I have to. It's necessary for my soul, or something profound like that. It's the untouched nature. It's the solitude. It's the hard work!
These are the highlights of my trips into Algonquin Park (which for anybody who doesn't know, is a huge Provincial Park run by the Ontario Gov't and designated as "wilderness" so there are very strict rules about building, construction, roads, and even air traffic within the park boundaries):
Get up in the wee hours of the morning; finish loading the car; drive for appx 6 hours to the Park Office in Kearney, ON (which is about half-an-hour north of Huntsville); register; drive for another hour or so down a gravel and dirt road as the sun slowly rises above the mist; stop and allow a family of deer to cross the road.
Finally get to the end of the road and drive up to the water's edge; untie the canoe; load everything into it; go park & lock up the car; get in the canoe and paddle across the lake (um, about 3 hours?); get out; take everything out of the canoe; pick up the canoe and carry it down the path to the next lake (maybe a half-hour's walk; maybe more if the canoe is really heavy); go back and get the rest of my gear. How many trips back and forth will this take? (Never just 2).
Load up the canoe and paddle across the next river; do the portage thing again. (Some trips involve one portage; some 2 or 3 or even 4 - I've never done more than that, though others have.) At some point, finally arrive at a campsite. You can tell where the sites are because they all have red signs posted. (As do the portages, so you don't get lost.) Anyway, check out the campsite - how far away is the "treasure box" (that's the toilet!) - too far isn't good and neither is too close! Some campsites are better situated than others. Too many trees, not enough trees, too rocky, too uneven, too small, etc. Some are great, but you have to climb an embankment to get to them, which is hard carrying a huge, heavy backpack. And some have nowhere to "park" your canoe. It's not good to just let it bang against the shore - there needs to be space to drag it up and preferably flip it over. So if this one won't do, paddle down to the next and look again.
Finally find a decent site; by now it's mid-afternoon and I've been on the go for at least 12 hours. I still need to set up the tent, and then I need to gather dry wood for the fire, and then I need to filter some water from the lake, and then I need to take some Tylenol and lie down for a while! I'm usually too exhausted to eat much the first night - maybe cup o' soup or some cheese and crackers. Before it gets dark, I'll need to whittle some wood shavings for the morning fire and possibly go in the canoe to hunt down a fallen tree or something. Old beaver dams make for great wood foraging. It's usually dry and it's usually hardwood, so it burns longer. I go to bed shortly after it gets dark and I'm too tired to notice the strange rustling sounds in the woods.
Days are spent gathering wood for the fire, and cutting it up. I bring a saw and a hatchet and a knife for this purpose. I also filter all my water - even if it looks clean, I don't want to risk "Beaver Fever". I try to do most of my cooking on the camp stove, but nothing beats a real fire for s'mores! I also read and fish and swim and take a nap in my hammock.
On the second night, if the sky is clear, I'll stay up late - until 11 or 12 o'clock, and then I'll head out in the canoe. This is why I came here. This is why I travelled 12 hours. The canoe, on the lake, in the night. I look up. In fact, I lie down in the bottom of the canoe and just let my gaze try to take it all in. The sky hangs above me. It is the opposite of a featureless void. It is solid. It has dimension. The stars move within it, some seem to be beyond the sky, some are much closer; some even streak across it and then vanish within Earth's atmosphere. It is very light up there, in the dark. I cannot describe how this makes me feel. Big and little at the same time. Both significant and insignificant. I remember in the Bible where it says that God knows each of the stars by name. What does that mean for me? Am I bigger than a star to God? More important? The Bible also says He had counted all the hairs on my head. I'm getting dizzy with this huge expanse of sky above me, and with all this contemplation about God.
At some point during my stay, I will find myself at the end of my strength, or at the end of my abilities, or at the end of something. Maybe I'll get hurt. Maybe I'll get scared by those killer chipmunks that scamper around my tent at night. Maybe I won't be strong enough to hoist the food barrel or climb the embankment with the canoe on my shoulders. Maybe it will rain so much that my tent starts to leak. But eventually, something will happen - it always does; and that's when the other thing happens. The second reason I come here - travelling 12 hours and working so hard. Because when I come to the end of me, that's when I come to beginning of God. When I finally realize that He is God, and I am not. That Someone Else is master of this universe, and I'm not it! It's a relief! Trying to be God is terribly exhausting and mentally draining. The worry. The striving. The controlling (or trying to control, rather!). I really need to be reminded that God (the very real and very present God) is here, and He is in control. In my everyday life, this is so easy to forget; after all, I'm the one that brings home the paycheque, I'm the one that schedules my time, I'm the one that deals with Laura's (my daughter) 16-year-old angst. I'm the one. But out here, in the wild, I am definitely not the one. I don't control the wind, the waves, the rain. Everything I'm not in control of is right here in my face, reminding me. So "thank You, God" for this pain, this fear, this weakness, this lack of control. And "thank You, God" for that amazing expanse of sky that speaks to me of You (even if I don't understand exactly what it's speaking - it still speaks!) You are real, and You love me. That's all I really need to hear, to know.
The last day. Time to head out. I pack everything up- all the food is gone so I have more space. One last check of the campsite to make sure I've left it in pristine condition, then into the canoe and off I go. Paddle, paddle, paddle. Do the portage. Only 3 trips this time - everything is lighter. Paddle, paddle, paddle. Repeat until finally the car park comes into sight. Do I have my car keys?!! Whew! Okay, load up and drive off. No need to stop in Kearney (they don't care if you don't make it out - that's for the folks back home to worry about!), but I usually do anyway - it's the first bathroom with hot running water! A 6 hour drive back to Brantford - sometimes more if it's rush hour near Toronto. And then home at last.
And for the next couple of weeks, reason number 3 (for doing this wilderness camping thing) will be with me. Gratitude for what I have. Gratitude for all the everyday blessings in my life. A real bed to sleep in. Hot baths. A stove and a fridge and a sink with running water. Toilets that flush. Clean water to drink. It will all become common-place soon enough, and I'll be back to taking it all for granted; but for awhile, I will be filled with gratitude for these simple things. And mindful that these are blessings - gifts to be appreciated and not to be wasted or neglected. When God put Adam and Eve in the Garden, He didn't tell them to chop all the trees down and pollute the water and destroy the natural habitat. He told them to care for it all, to be caretakers. I think we are supposed to still be working at that original job. So "thank You, God" for reminding me to do my part. To support causes that protect the environment. To "go green". To not take all this for granted.
And that is what I'm looking forward to on this cold and dreary February day.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
rant against swearing
I was channel-surfing last night and I came across ___________(fill in the name of the show that I never watch so I can't tell you what it's called, but I've seen previews for it and one of the main characters has really thick bottle glasses and everybody swears like crazy on this show).
It was a court-room scene, and the one guy had been told that he wasn't allowed to use profanity in the courtroom, and so he was trying to defend himself without swearing. In the end, he started to speak in his usual, customary way, and asked the judge to allow him to swear because he couldn't properly express himself without it - and therefore he would be denied his constitutional right of "freedom of expression".
It got me thinking. I am so old-fashioned that I've missed out on some huge cultural shift, where f-shots are an integral part of speech? When I was growing up, I did my fair share of swearing, but..., I knew when and where it was appropriate and when and where it wasn't. You never swore around Grandma! You never swore in public places. You swore when you were with your friends and you swore in front of your parents when you wanted to shock them or express your independence.
How did swearing become a socially-acceptable practise? I can't be the only one who wishes it were not! I just watched a few YouTube videos of a comedienne named Joanne Robertson, and she is hilarious - without once being rude, crude, or offensive in any way! Other people who have watched these clips have left comments, and I was pleased to see how many people were appreciative of the lack of swearing.
Now, this blog is called "good news", and to be honest, this rant doesn't seem to contain any good news at all. I've raised an issue and I've asked a question. Now it's up to you (to all of us) to do something about it, or not. Maybe the good news is that we have this freedom. No one forces us to watch that TV show or others like it. No one forces us to listen to our co-workers and give them our unspoken approval when they use profanity. We have the freedom to protest. We have the freedom to speak up, to speak out.
I'm leaving this one with you.
It was a court-room scene, and the one guy had been told that he wasn't allowed to use profanity in the courtroom, and so he was trying to defend himself without swearing. In the end, he started to speak in his usual, customary way, and asked the judge to allow him to swear because he couldn't properly express himself without it - and therefore he would be denied his constitutional right of "freedom of expression".
It got me thinking. I am so old-fashioned that I've missed out on some huge cultural shift, where f-shots are an integral part of speech? When I was growing up, I did my fair share of swearing, but..., I knew when and where it was appropriate and when and where it wasn't. You never swore around Grandma! You never swore in public places. You swore when you were with your friends and you swore in front of your parents when you wanted to shock them or express your independence.
How did swearing become a socially-acceptable practise? I can't be the only one who wishes it were not! I just watched a few YouTube videos of a comedienne named Joanne Robertson, and she is hilarious - without once being rude, crude, or offensive in any way! Other people who have watched these clips have left comments, and I was pleased to see how many people were appreciative of the lack of swearing.
Now, this blog is called "good news", and to be honest, this rant doesn't seem to contain any good news at all. I've raised an issue and I've asked a question. Now it's up to you (to all of us) to do something about it, or not. Maybe the good news is that we have this freedom. No one forces us to watch that TV show or others like it. No one forces us to listen to our co-workers and give them our unspoken approval when they use profanity. We have the freedom to protest. We have the freedom to speak up, to speak out.
I'm leaving this one with you.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thanks, Mel
February 1, 2010
This is my very first blog and I want to thank my friend Melanie for doing it first and proving that even those of us who are "techno challenged" as she put it, can do this!
Getting set up was very easy with this site, the hardest part was choosing a name for it. So, eventually, I came up with Good News - and I guess that means that I will only publish good stuff. No bad days. No depressing stories. No world tragedies. Hmm.... yes, I can do that!
So, who reads these things anyway? I guess I'll just put my thoughts out there and see what happens....
This is my very first blog and I want to thank my friend Melanie for doing it first and proving that even those of us who are "techno challenged" as she put it, can do this!
Getting set up was very easy with this site, the hardest part was choosing a name for it. So, eventually, I came up with Good News - and I guess that means that I will only publish good stuff. No bad days. No depressing stories. No world tragedies. Hmm.... yes, I can do that!
So, who reads these things anyway? I guess I'll just put my thoughts out there and see what happens....
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