Thoughts on Haiti

I know everybody is well aware by now of the massive 7.0 quake which devastated the already desperate nation of Haiti on January 12.

Since then, the Haitian people have not once been far from my mind. Being here, I feel a mixture of guilt and helplessness. It's a bitter concoction of knowing that I want to do more, but not knowing how. I feel guilty because I have a roof over my head and many of these people do not. I feel guilty because my fridge houses an abundance of food and fresh water and so many Haitians are hungry and thirsty right now as I type this. I feel guilty because as I go about my daily business and watch their tragedy unfold on my big-screen TV these people are experiencing hell on earth. I feel guilty for not doing more to give a voice to the people in the world who may not be receiving worldwide media attention, but whose situations are just as bleak. Darfur, Congo, Cambodia. And that's just to name a few.

I mention this only because I don't want us to forget that while Haiti certainly needs us to step up to the plate for them right now, other countries are in turmoil as well. Their stories are just heard less.

In any case, I am extremely proud to be not only Canadian, but North American today. I don't recall ever seeing this level of outpouring on a country that was not our own and it warms my heart to see people so willing to give something of themselves. That includes sending money to a broken nation - maybe doing without a family meal at McDonalds or a couple of runs to Starbucks. Seems like a small price to pay when it's put that way, doesn't it?

The issue is that even those who survived the quake are now faced with this second dilemma of not being able to meet their own basic human needs; the need for food and water. Not to mention the need for shelter and safety.

You all know I've had a tough couple years having lost so many of my closest loved ones. Well, think of those Haitians who have lost their entire families in one shot. It's hard to imagine because it seems so far away. The toll that the aftermath of this natural disaster is having on them, not just physically but emotionally, is incomprehensible. If any of you have lost somebody who means the world to you, you know what I'm talking about. Now think of losing everybody who means the world to you. Plus your house and all your means of survival.

If we are not inclined to help the Haitians, then God help us.

On Tuesday it will be two weeks since the earthquake. Haiti is still all over the news, but I've noticed it petering off somewhat in the past couple of days. That's showbiz. What happens when the novelty of the story completely wears off and other news stories begin to trickle in? Will we mentally remove ourselves from the situation? My hope is that this will not become an out-of-sight-out-of-mind problem as the shocking photos and headlines gradually diminish. To let this fade out of our consciousness would be to take a sad situation and make it more sad. It's going to require more than a little while to rebuild a country from the ground up.

I know not everybody agrees, but personally I feel that not only would it be nice if we did whatever we could to help, we also have a responsibility to help. In turn, if we don't help, we are being irresponsible. Rwanda comes to mind. And well, the holocaust, for that matter. If helping for you means fifty cents, then that's still help. Any help is better than no help, no matter how you spin it. 

There are so many places to donate, but beware of scams. For a list of reputable organizations, click here: DONATE!

Canadians, for an easy way to donate without having to give out credit card information, text "AID" to 45678. Shortly after you do, you will receive a text back. Reply to that text with "YES" to donate $5. That five bucks will be added to your phone bill at the end of the month.

Americans, same deal, except you text "HAITI" to 90999 and donate $10 per text.

Like I said, I am so proud to be North American today. The way everybody is pitching in makes me feel like maybe we really are who we say we are.

A Scholar's Parrot May Talk Greek

I attended a big province-wide youth convention (known to most as YC) a few years back. The main thing I remember about this particular YC is not the flashy lighting or the  popular musical guests, but rather a simple story that a guy named Mike Yankoski shared with us. He, along with his friend Sam, intentionally lived as homeless men for a period of time on the streets of six different American cities. He even wrote a book about it. Anyway, he told us that several weeks into their "experiment" they found themselves in Phoenix, Arizona. One night they were sleeping next to the sanctuary of a large, beautiful church. The next day was Saturday, and the pair were awakened by the unmistakable scent of breakfast. (Yes, breakfast is a scent. This was a few years ago - I can't remember exactly what was cooking).  Of course the scent alone encouraged the onset of intense hunger pangs. By this point the two had been living on the streets long enough to have acquired a fair amount of grease, grime, dirt, and even a few scents of their own. Before they knew it two men from the church approached them and told them sternly: "You need to leave." The men then proceeded to enter the church.

Mike and Sam were hungry. They wanted in on the food. They didn't leave.

Not many minutes later the same two men emerged from the sanctuary and were shocked to find that Mike and Sam had not complied. One of the men said: "what's the deal guys? I told you that you needed to leave and you haven't moved." Mike spoke up and said: "Yes sir, I realize that. We don't understand why, though." The same man piped up, clearly frustrated: "These are church grounds! Church grounds aren't for this. We have people coming soon and you need to leave!" The two men stormed away, and Mike and Sam left.

In fairness to the man who kicked up such a stink over two lowly homeless guys loitering on his beloved church's property, the next day when Mike and Sam returned to the same church for the morning service, he did apologize and acknowledge his mistake.

 I guess the main question I have when I hear stories like this is: what is the purpose of the church if it isn't to love and help others?

I'm guilty too. In fact, an incident from my pre-teen years sticks out pretty well in my mind. A man who was well-known in my community for being regularly strung out on drugs and a bit unpredictable showed up to church one day. I was always afraid of him. He came in, plopped down in a pew by himself wearing dirty, torn up clothes and no boots. He just sat there and before I knew it his socked feet were resting up on the pew in front of him. I have to be real, nothing else that was said or done in that church service mattered to me. I was focused on him, awestruck at his audacity, and watching intently to see who would deal with the situation and how they would deal with it. I don't think anybody kicked him out or anything which is slightly surprising giving that some of the people from my church were very staunchly traditional. I wish I could remember if anybody made an effort to connect with him or not but I really don't. Thinking of it now, though, I wonder what's more important: to rid the uncomfortable congregation of the pink elephant in the room, or to take steps to make this man who for some reason made his way to a place he'd never been feel loved and accepted? I don't have to wonder for long. I know the answer.

Okay. So the story that Mike Yankoski shared is not the only memorable moment I have had at a YC. I'm not sure if this happened in the same year or not, but there was a point in one of the years I attended when the focus really shifted from "us" to "them." It was not about "God bless me with this gift," or "let's just get as close to the band as possible and jump around and have fun." It was an instance where a stadium full of young teenagers to young adults began to sacrifice the money they had been keeping to go to McDonalds after the concert, or money that would inevitably have been spent at "San Francisco" on green hair dye or bells, whistles and other noisy things that would make them stand out amongst the crowd. The moment was pure, and it was right, and it was holy. It was a moment of connection. Not simply because it was emotional - but because hordes of people gave something of themselves in an act of love. In fact, enough was given to build a village for orphans in Malawi. It was named the "Village of Hope." When things like that happen, I really do have faith that there is also hope for the church.

That same year I believe there were a LOT of children matched up with sponsors through Compassion Canada as well. Whatever that year was, it was my favourite.

I suppose the people who believe that Jesus is an actual historical figure who walked on Earth have varying opinions of who He was and what He stood for. It is my own personal belief that He was the ultimate humanitarian. It probably wasn't His intention for churches to spend copious amounts of money on fancy sound systems, state of the art this and top-of-the-line that and then send out a couple of grocery hampers using whatever money is left.

As a culture, we're pretty selfish. It's that: "look out for yourself because nobody else is going to" attitude. Donald Miller talks about this selfish aspect that exists within us in his book, and refers to a poem by C.S. Lewis, which is actually more of a brave admission:

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.

I never had a selfless thought since I was born.

I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;

I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,

I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;

I talk of love-- a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--

But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

I think most humans, at least in part, are selfish. It's part of the human condition. But if we believe in what we say we believe in and don't take strides to combat this disease -- we have failed.

Faith without deeds is dead.

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Blue Like Jazz

RE: My last post. Thanks to those of you who read and were understanding. What this means for my blog is not that I will in any way, shape, or form avoid expressing my thoughts/feelings, but simply that my personal letters will be kept personal. I'm sure there will still be times when I'll feel the need to write about how much the deaths of my loved ones have affected me but the frequency of this may be a little less than it was before.

On another note, for a long time I've really been wanting to write about my issues with "church" and perhaps even "the church," (a bit of a generalization, I know, because there are a wide variety of people who make up "the church")  but I could never figure out how to approach the topic. I don't want to offend anybody and I do realize that some of the people who read this blog - well, they may not necessarily like what I have to say.

I've just recently begun reading the book "Blue Like Jazz" for a second time and surprisingly it's as captivating the second time around as it was about three or four years ago when I first read it. The book resonates with me to the point where oftentimes I feel as if the words Miller has written were taken straight from my heart.

I took a hot bubble bath last night and read the first two chapters. That's when I decided that maybe this book would be a good way to approach what I've been wanting to write about for so long. So I'll give it a shot.

But first a bit of background.

 I grew up a small-town Christian. Went to church regularly and never questioned much. To question, in my mind, would have been weak. In fact, I don't remember ever questioning anything about God until grade twelve, when Uncle Jamie died. At least that's the first time I remember actively questioning God and even being sort of angry. I remember exclaiming at Him: "What is this mustard seed thing all about? Or 'ask and you shall receive?'" Up until the last moments of my uncle's short life I believed with every fiber of my being that his cancer would just disappear. My faith was bigger than a mustard seed, and there were definitely no mountains moved for my uncle. That's when I first began to realize that prayer probably does not work the way I was taught it worked.

Miller talks about how he used to think of God sort of as a slot machine, "a set of spinning images that dolled out rewards based on behavior and, perhaps, chance." I suppose that there were some similarities to that in my own thinking, and I had been on my best behaviour for my entire life - which basically, to me and everyone I knew, meant that I didn't smoke, drink, swear, sleep around, or do drugs.

Something else happened shortly after my uncle passed away that made me question even further. This event didn't make me question God, though, so much as "church" and many of the people in it. Of course I do realize that the majority of people who go to church are well-intentioned, genuine and authentic people who really do have good hearts. But there are many who have been taught to judge. Most of them do it under a different name. "Accountability" or something. Oftentimes, it isn't done out of love or in the context of friendship, either.

So I now realize that during my grade-school years I was truly naive and when it came to God and church and things of that nature, I did not have too many independent thoughts. How could I? My mind was like an endless well filled with all the information I'd been taught since I was old enough to understand language.

Any independent thoughts I did have came from discussions around the table at suppertime. I remember them well, because my parents who also went to the same church I did were much more open-minded and liberal than any of the other people I knew from the church. In fact, sometimes this would scare me because I would worry for their eternity if their beliefs veered even slightly in another direction - off the path of the way we were supposed to believe.

Looking back, I am incredibly grateful to my parents for those discussions about God we would have for hours. They taught me that it's actually okay to not be a lemming, to think for myself while keeping in mind that God is big enough to transcend any silly little variations that exist between denominations. It is because of them that today I am far less "religious", pious, and judgmental than I once was. For that I owe them thanks.

I have a lot of thoughts about a lot of things, and I am going to be discussing  many of them here in the next few weeks as I read through "Blue Like Jazz." There are definitely some topics that I want to avoid getting into, but then, I also thought I would avoid this topic altogether yet here I am.

I'm going to try to be as candid as possible but again, my intention is not to offend anybody or even to "inform." This is my personal journey and I'm sharing some of my own beliefs on my blog. If that is a hard pill for any of you to swallow then it's best to just move along, nothing to see here! :)

-Laura

2010

A new year.

What will 2010 bring? I have hopes for it; hopes for growth, peace, love, and happier times. I am resolving to not make any resolutions, but rather to try and take every opportunity I have to better myself as a person.

I have not been blogging as regularly as I would like in these past few months. There are several reasons for this, some of which include school becoming particularly crazy from November-December, during Christmas I wanted to soak up as much time with those I love as possible, and I have had some other things in the works that have been demanding my time and attention.

I miss writing. And by that I mean writing things that flow from my heart and soul as opposed to gigantic, meaningless research papers that suck the life out of me. It's been a long time since I've been able to sit down at my beloved MacBook and just let some of the thoughts and ideas floating around in my head reveal themselves. With the exception of my monthly letters to Daddy, of course.

Speaking of which, a few weeks ago I decided that my December letter to Daddy would be my last public letter. Even such a small decision as that was extremely difficult for me to make because I do not in any way want people to think I'm "over it" or finished grieving. The untimely death of Daddy continues to impact my life on a daily basis to the point where some days I do not even recognize myself. I don't know that I'll ever completely come to terms with it or that the shock will ever wear off. Of course there has been some sort of progress, but whether or not my progress appropriately follows the textbook example of the "grieving process" is highly debatable at best.

I do not regret writing these letters and making them public because I had a purpose behind doing so right from the beginning. My purpose was to let anybody and everybody who cared to read what I had to say know about this amazing man who happened to be my father. I wanted to honour him by making it public knowledge that although his time with us was relatively short, his was a life well-lived. THAT is why I wrote the article for the Globe & Mail. THAT is why I have continued to make monthly postings in letter-format to him. Of course, I also hope that he is somehow able to get the messages I've been sending...

I think I've accomplished that goal. Daddy's memory is also being kept alive by his friends who formed the "Ray Palmer Legacy Foundation" and all the others who do little things to pay tribute to him.

So why stop? There are several reasons.

1.) As I previously said, I feel my purpose in making these letters public has been accomplished. I still want everyone to know how special he was, but I am currently exploring other avenues for doing this.
2.) I don't have to censor this blog, but I feel the pressure to because I'm aware that there are several people who read this thing but don't comment. My letters to Daddy will continue, but they will be personal and uncensored, i.e., I can express my innermost thoughts and feelings without worrying about who will think what about what.
3.) Death has sort of become a theme for me in the past couple years, and it clearly shows on this blog. I am aware that people probably aren't interested in reading about death constantly. To be frank, my monthly letters were not intended to be for the reading pleasure of anyone. It was something I did in part for myself but mostly for Daddy. I'm sure the theme will arise again in future posts as it has so forcibly pushed its way to the forefront of my life, but as for the letters, I really feel it's time to make them personal and to make room for other topics of discussion on this blog. Especially considering that I never originally intended to share anything about my personal life here but rather discuss issues and topics of interest.

Not to mention that now I also have another grandmother that I'll probably be writing letters to as well...

So 2010 may look a little different around here. In any case, I plan to continue blog-a-ling, and hope that maybe I have some readers who are willing to come along with me for the ride.

Here's to hoping for an eventful (in a good way) 2010.

<3