Thoughts on Boston

In the aftermath of the bombing of the Boston Marathon, we have read and heard stories of countless people offering aid and prayers to the victims and families. In the wake of tragedy, we find hope and compassion in humanity.  But while a nation grieves, while we in North America are shaken by an attack so close to home, there is something I feel we are forgetting.

You see, what happened yesterday in Boston is an everyday occurrence for countless lives in other parts of the world.

Don’t get me wrong – I am not in any way trying to downplay the terrible events in Boston. My heart goes out to everyone affected and I have certainly been praying.  But it remains to be said that there are a lot of people in the world who are all too familiar with this sort of suffering.

Take Syria for example. This is a broken nation where, averaged out, there have been 6 children killed per day for over 2 years. That number is staggering and it only gets worse. With a climbing death toll of over 70 000 (10 per cent of which are women and children), the horror to which our eyes have only just been opened is a never-ending reality for over 2 million children in Syria. These are the stories that aren’t widely circulated: of torture and stolen education and rape that also deserve our attention. The first-hand accounts are heart-rending.

Yesterday, Twitter and other social networks were abuzz with posts about praying for Boston. It’s heartening to know that we are willing to rally behind victims and stand against hatred. I would only ask that we do not leave out the rest of humanity’s sufferers. It would only take a little more of our time to offer up a prayer to the rest of the world too.

To finish, I would like to make a comment on the picture at the top of this post. It is a photograph of a young Syrian boy in a refugee camp in Jordan; but it could be a picture of a boy anywhere in the world.

You see, fear and pain are universal. Peace isn’t.

But it’s something that we take for granted.

More info:

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/04/pictures/130413-syria-lost-generation-war-pictures-children/#/children-conflict-syria-food_66188_600x450.jpg

http://www.savethechildren.org/site/c.8rKLIXMGIpI4E/b.7998857/k.D075/Syria.htm?msource=weolpsrc4v12

http://www.savethechildren.org/atf/cf/%7B9def2ebe-10ae-432c-9bd0-df91d2eba74a%7D/SYRIA-CHILDHOOD-UNDER-FIRE-REPORT-2013.PDF

From “Womb Mates” to Roommates

- A Tale of Two Twins

It was the perfect set-up for a sit-com straight off the Family Channel: Inseparable (and shall I say rather sheltered?) twin sisters find themselves experiencing the fun and mishaps of university life together as roommates. Close your eyes and imagine it for a minute. I know what you’re probably thinking: Bring out the drama and cat-fights; this is going to be one heck of a year.

Cue the screeching halt.

Well, I wish I had something that interesting to write about.  The truth is, Room 317 saw about as much action as a documentary on the art of crochet… minus the hooking. If you want to talk about “fun”, does blasting gospel music while studying on Friday nights count? Or how about the mishaps? Those amounted to running out of our daily fix of pretzels and (dare I even mention it?) running out of hot chocolate on a Saturday night. Probably the most adventurous we ever got was eating cereal with a fork – and we were pretty proud to be so hard-core.

---

So maybe Johanna and I didn’t experience the typical life of most university students living in residence. Actually, I feel quite confident about that statement. For instance, while my little sister will never hold a record for the most shots in one night, she has pulled all-nighters without coffee (and went to all her classes the next day no less). As for me, I’ve done Johanna’s laundry every week without complaining – not even once! (That’s just one of the perks of living with your sister.)

I think the most difficult thing Johanna and I discovered this year was how not to be stereotypical twins. I’m pretty sure we creeped out a few people at meal hall by always choosing the exact same meals… and eating them in the exact same way. We tried to make sure we didn’t accidently wear the same clothes or go to the washroom at the same time… because that’s just downright awkward. On the other hand, the reactions of everyone else when these incidents did occur were always amusing.

This is really all I have to write about LBR’s rather reclusive twins and their quaint ways. I’d have more to say about Johanna but, then again, it’s not as if we’ll part ways once summer begins. I’d rather avoid the possibility of revenge if I can. I will tell you this though: her dirty socks stink.

Cue the drama and cat-fights.

In Storm

When I was a kid, I was told that life can give you sunny days and rainy days.

I thought they were talking about the weather.

I thought that by carrying an umbrella, I could shield myself from any pain that would ever come my way.

I was wrong.

What I didn’t know was that a lot of life can be like a hurricane.

There are times when the rushing currents sweep up and overwhelm you.

There are days when the waves leave you battered and bruised

coughing up water

on a sand bar

twenty miles from shore.

Don’t tell me there’s an umbrella strong enough to shield me from that blast.

I know better.

And I know that sometimes life is like a race.

Where you find yourself prepared to sprint to the finish line.

Except sometimes it’s not until the starting gun sounds that you realize you’ve tied your shoelaces together

And you’re running into a nose dive.

Well, I’ve learned something from that too.

You see, when else but when your arms are outstretched to catch a fall are you able to fully embrace life?

Bruises and all.

And I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to take a minute and breathe in the moment.

Because how do you know how much air you will need to breathe to take the plunge into that icy sea called life?

When I was a kid, I was told that it took both rain and sunlight to make a rainbow.

And while I know they were talking about the weather,

True beauty is born of both as well.

Mom, I Forgot My Life Jacket

Mom, I forgot my life jacket.

I know you were probably waving it out the door, calling after me in my haste to leave.

I’m sorry. I probably ignored you.

Now I’m up to my neck in my own troubles, adrift in a life I thought I could control.

Remember it raining when I was three? I held out my hands to catch the raindrops, only to watch them slip through my fingers. My tears soon followed.

That was the day you took a red bucket and scooped up the rain. You gave it to me and told me not to spill it.

But of course I did.

When I was five and fell off my bicycle, I thought the world was going to end.

But that was when I was five and Band-Aids and kisses could make everything better.

The world never ended of course. It just kept going.

Remember when I was eight and you tried to explain the multiplication table to me? You said it was easy.

Well, I didn’t know it then but things do multiply easily. They tend to get out of control.

But Mom, I’ve never forgotten that five times six equals thirty. And as I’m quietly repeating those lessons to myself, I’m thanking God that you are never more than a phone number away.

How can I forget twelve? I thought I was so grown up then. You always seemed so quick to tell me otherwise. I suppose, now, that you were right. Thanks for always cleaning up my messes anyway.

Skip a few years and I’m fifteen. That was when I thought a kiss would make everything better. So I followed what I thought was love. And still it was you who were always ready to patch a wounded heart.

But now I’m eighteen.

I’m trying to navigate things by myself now. And I keep knocking over that red bucket as I try to get away from the messes I’ve left behind so that the floor is flooded with more than my tears and I feel like I’m drowning.

And I’m thinking about that life jacket.

I’m wondering now if I should pick up the phone and tell you this myself.

But if I do I’ll probably just say everything is fine and that will be that.

So I’m writing this instead.

See Mom, what I’m trying to say is this:

Because now I’m trying to catch the sunlight.

I’m bottling up the smiles and love you’ve always had for me.

Love,

Your little girl 

Masquerade

She’s walking down the town’s main street. Not on the side walk, but in  the middle of the street, hands out, balancing on the solid white line that keeps opposing traffic in its proper place.

Alone in her own world.

The sound of her feet skipping as she progresses down the road is made louder by the emptiness of the usually bustling town centre.  In fact, it echoes to me still as I gaze at the photograph taken of myself when I was all but ten years of age. Carefree is what it whispers to me, but I no longer know the meaning of that word.

I’ve been told that discovery is all about the journey. So maybe that’s why I find myself back at my childhood home, trying to recreate the portrait of my then care-free existence.  At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. The more truthful reason, whether I like to admit it or not, is that I am escaping from the looks of forced sympathy and words of advice from people who think they have wisdom about my “situation.”

And to be honest, there wasn’t anything altogether wise about telling my boss I would be leaving my job “indefinitely”, taking all my savings and packing off to a place to which I have not been in decades. Though even then, despite all my efforts to stop caring and forcing myself to take things a day at a time, peace still eludes me.

I guess in a way I am once more alone in my own world. I choose solitude now, prize it above rubies. Memories of the looks I have received from friends and co-workers over the past few months follow me still. Their eyes were like fish-hooks, willing the tears from my eyes, each one wanting for themselves the pride of being the shoulder I would cry on. But I never gave anyone that satisfaction.

Today I find myself on the very same street of the distant photograph. It is once again unnaturally still – most of the town’s inhabitants having taken off as I had so many years ago.  I see the street differently now, I realise. The stores that line it no longer hold for me the alluring sense of mystery that delighted my childhood eyes. Each one stands tall and proud, their brightly-painted faces give off a false sense of self-righteousness. For behind their painted facades hang dusty shelves of material desires – insubstantial objects that feed the whims and careless fancies of passing times – filling up the shells of each edifice.  

By now my thoughts have carried me to the end of the street. For some weird reason I can’t quite explain, I find I am not able to face the stores any longer. I decide to end my stroll early, so I turn my back on the empty street and start trudging uphill. It only takes a few moments before I find myself blinking.

Maybe it’s just the wind, but there are tears in my eyes. 

When Idols Crumble

For a society that is increasingly turning to the practice of scorning Faith, we are very adept at constructing pedestals. The problem begins when we base our ideals on those who are as flawed as ourselves. Actors, athletes and the many others who may be grouped in the celebrity class are worshipped and adored by millions of frantic fans who hold them at lofty positions. In fact, when it comes down to it, Hollywood and the various sports industries have surely garnered a cult-like following.

But there is nothing solid about these idols. Though we flock from all over just for the chance to shake their hands and express admiration, they will inevitably let us down. Like us, they are vulnerable to poor choices and immoral desires. Fame does not shield a person from the path of erring. Praise will not keep one from falling.

As long as we consider fellow humans as the standard for which to strive, we will never cease to be disappointed. Instead we must ask ourselves this: Is it better to look to someone placed upon a pedestal of our own creation or to turn our eyes elsewhere and stand upon the firm foundation we had no hand in building?

“

Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing can ever be made.

”

                                                                                                ~ Immanuel Kant

The Simple Act of Giving

“To give” is often seen in a negative light. We’re told not to “give up,” that to “give in” is to show weakness and when something finally “gives out” it’s done for. It’s actually slightly depressing. How different these meanings seem from the simple act of giving that is at the heart of compassion.

This Christmas, I want to redefine the terms I have so often held to be faults. Instead maybe it’s best to alter our outlook and “give up” our worries to the One whose vision is ever far-seeing. To “give in” to the joy that surrounded that first Christmas and to “give out’’ to others the love and offer the hope that this season is all about.

Some might disagree and tell me that to do this IS weakness. But, in all its simplicity, I have found strength in it.

November Sky

Scene outside the window:

Sweeping winds of desolate daydreams,

Rattle knobbly branches;

Care-worn leaves limply lie.

It’s here that:

Memories of rosy summer,

Like rows of toppling toy soldiers,

Can’t stand against late-autumn’s breath.

Canvas of grey on grey:

Rolling cloud’s face revealed

Brings rain upon the windowpane,

Drops of November sky.

Memory's Forgotten Burden

The blue-grey of the overcast sky provides an appropriate backdrop for the somber ceremony. Everywhere people are flocking to the town cenotaph, bundled up in winter coats to shield against the late-autumn chill. Children are laughing and bounding through leaves as their parents hurry after them, keeping track of dropped hats and mittens while trying to prevent dog leashes from becoming tangled in the crowd, not wanting to lose sight of their children in the crush of individuals. The morning air rings with laughter, shouting and barking. It is the 11^th of November and the eleventh hour is quickly approaching.

As I’m standing still, trying to take it all in, my eyes fall upon an assembly of veterans gathering for the service. It’s a patch-work group; some are leaning on canes and walkers, others holding tightly to the arms of younger companions. Across the street from them, another group is forming. This time however, it is many rows of young men and women in uniform, and they are marching straight and tall. While to most both groups could not be more different, I am quick to note that each individual was similar in one way; they were all walking with their heads held high and determination in their gait. It was a pride of sorts for their country and as I looked on from my inconspicuous place in the crowd, I think I can feel it too.

The ceremony begins as it does every year, with speeches and readings and prayers. Everyone dutifully inclines their heads and remains still for the moment of silence, but whether this was out of respect or habit is difficult to discern. After the last wistful note of the bagpipe echoes over the river, the service proceeds with the laying of the wreaths.  By this time, restlessness in setting in and I can see people in front of me shifting their feet and looking around. Names are read aloud and as each wreath is placed around the centre monument, a cannon is fired.

At the first crack of the cannon, everyone jumps. I hear gasps, nervous laughter and hushed whispers, a child behind me utters an excited “Cool!”.  As the next name is read, I prepare myself for the next thundering boom, thinking to myself what hell it must have been for the soldiers to endure the sound everyday never mind running towards the bombardment. More names are called, more wreaths are laid and it is made evident that many around me do not share in my ponderings. In fact, some are downright disrespectful. People are chatting about the weather, the elections that had just ended in the States and the price of gas. It seems they care about everything except what is right in front of them.

Another cannon shatters the hushed murmurings and I look upward. A skein of Canada geese is flying overhead, their V formation never wavering despite the cannon’s resounding clap. I follow them with my eyes as they fly diligently on, freedom and stalwart dedication encompassed in their very presence. The ceremony begins to draw to a close and the crowd starts to disperse, hoping to make their escape before the heavy traffic develops.

My eyes turn once more to the gathering of veterans. They remain still, watching what is taking place in front of them, for all the world oblivious to the restlessness that surrounds them. To them, this day is something completely different. And though it’s beyond my ability to comprehend, I remain standing, with my feet apart and eyes ahead, trying to remember.

Courage on the Line

They marched; side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

Pride in their eyes, this generation called to order.

Heads held high, readied to face the foe.

Soldiers all, standing row on row.

They fought; side by side, hand meets hand.

Hell reflected in their eyes, but the soul must withstand.

Advancing through horror, guns’ blazing, constant roar

Brothers all, fighting someone else’s war.

They died; side by side, one thought shared by all.

Eyes full of pain, the cries before the fall.

When it comes to the end, it’s not the power or the might,

But as humans all, small stars in war’s night.

Today we stand; side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

What do we see in our eyes as the years grow older?

We need to know it is not is vain that they fight.

Remembrance: our key to hope and dawn’s light.

Fragments

I think everyone has this deep-seeded fear of falling to pieces, as if by letting go we lose control of everything we have worked for. I also believe that many of the things we clench so tightly only hinder our abilities to move on in life. This terror of tumbling apart can be paralyzing at times. But what we must do is drop these pieces. For it is only through letting go of the shards of a past life that the mold into which we have tried to fit will shatter and we can be reformed. In fact, you may find that the pieces will “fall” together as if they were guided by unseen hands.

I've discovered it to be like this: If you've never experienced the process of picking up the pieces, you’ll never know the joy of being found. 

Never Alone

I think we often trap ourselves into believing that we are alone. We want to solve our problems by ourselves because we think it will make us “strong” and “independent”.  Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but it can get pretty lonely in this mindset. It’s as if we’re trying to leave our pit of despair by constructing a staircase out of wayward pebbles while waving away the rope someone is dangling in front of our faces. Needless to say, this has the potential to become a futile effort.

Look at it this way, it takes real strength to grab onto that rope and hold on for the whole climb. And true freedom comes in knowing we are never alone.

Diving Deep

Have you ever felt like you are trying to keep everyone else afloat while you yourself are drowning but nobody notices? How often are we paralyzed by the  fear of the next overwhelming wave that is coming, believing that it will be the one that finally consumes us? I know that I have found myself in this mindset at times and it shames me to admit it; for such thoughts only impede us and make things as simple as breathing an impossibility. But struggling on the surface isn't truly living.

Sometimes in order to stop drowning in life, you need to let go and dive deep within it.

Following Your Senses

What gets you further in life: common sense or a sense of adventure?

This is the type of question that sends me running around in circles within my mind. (Actually, I’m usually pacing a room muttering to myself, but that’s just weird.) Some may say that common sense only holds you back and prevents you from trying new and exciting things; that only with a sense of adventure will one stumble upon discovery. So while a sense of adventure might compel you to BASE jump off a cliff, common sense may keep your feet from going over the edge. But what discoveries lie in wait on an alternate route down? Maybe the real fear we need to overcome is that of turning back.

A sense of adventure will take you to all ends of the Earth, but common sense will keep you alive throughout the journey, and possibly even slow you down just enough to enjoy the sights along the way. So perhaps it is not one or the other: In order to live life to the fullest, maybe you need a little of both.

Learning to Sing

Sometimes I wonder why I think that waking up at 5:30 in the morning will somehow help me be more prepared for the day. As if any amount of worrying I can fit into the hour before I get up will benefit me in any way. Today, as I’m about to embark on something new, I'm asking myself similar questions. But I believe that it’s moments like these where it’s normal to stop and ask myself what I’m getting into. Or at least that’s where I found myself a few minutes ago.

“Oh my gosh, Emma. What are you doing?”

And I looked back on all the times that thought had crossed my mind. Some of those answers I’m not really proud of, other instances I wish I’d stopped a second to question further. But I’ve already lived those regrets.

So I ask myself another question. If that last part of my life, with all its mistakes, regrets, memories, and accomplishments, was finding my voice; where am I now? Where do I find myself at this start of something new, with the million little thoughts running through my mind, hands shaking, eyes looking ahead, brain always questioning, ears always listening? As I take this all in, I think I feel more than hear the answer: In this moment of doubt and worry and weakness, that’s where the next part begins. And that is where I am at this moment: quavering and uncertain, but learning to sing.