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It was easy back in high school. I saw my friends every day; there was no effort required. But as I've grown, things have changed.
Now, I have friends from many different areas of my life. I have friends whom I've known for varying lengths of time. I'm married and many of them are married as well. We work and live in increasingly different areas (and not just geographically speaking). We lead busy lives. Yes, things have changed.
Sometimes I wonder about some of these friendships. I send emails; I phone and leave messages on voice-mail. I wonder how much effort can one side put in while continuing to receive no (or little) in return?
I have different kinds of friendships. I have some friends whom I see a couple times per year. They are good friends. We get together; we catch-up on each other's lives since last we talked; we reminisce about times in the past; we have a good time. I have other friends whom I see on a regular basis; we have a very active and current friendship; we share our thoughts and our day-to-day experiences. I have yet other friends whom I seldom, if ever, see. The basis of these friendships, unlike the two above kinds, is squarely in the past. They are not any less my friends because of this. No, it is just the nature of our friendship.
Friendships are dynamic - they change. It can be a difficult thing to re-evaluate the state of a friendship and begin to consider whether or not it is/has transitioned from a current or active friendship into one which has for its basis the past. At what point does this change have to be recognized? I see them less and less with each passing year; I find myself less eager to make the effort to get together. No, not really less eager; I think it's that I find myself less convinced that they will reciprocate the effort. Should I have to chase friends down? Should I have to always initiate the contact and repeatedly push them to be my friend (in an active sense)? I wonder, is there a time to walk away?
It's not a matter of caring about them any less. I think it is more about making a decision to either be intentional about the friendship or to be passive and let the basis for the relationship reside in the past. But at what point do I walk away? That's the difficult question to answer.
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Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Poverty in the Land of Riches...
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I don't see it on a regular basis. In fact, I really don't see it at all. I live amongst the rich. I suppose I am rich. Poverty often seems like something far removed from my everyday interactions.
When I was working in downtown Vancouver with street youth, I spent time with the poor - poverty was easily seen and nearly impossible to ignore. Now, I live and work in the land of riches and don't see it. Yet how is it that I seem to hear complaints about money on such a regular basis? ...and from those who have money?
The statistics are really incomprehensible to people like me. One in seven Americans lives below the poverty line. With a population of over 310milion, that's more people living in poverty than the whole population of Canada. I've heard it said that America is really comprised of two countries: one a first-world and one a third-world. For the richest country in the world to have so many people living in such conditions is difficult to reconcile.
Lest we North of ther 49th parallel think we are much different, let us remember the impoverished state of many of our aboriginal communities. I hear stories about what some people in these communities are going through and I can't even imagine what it must be like. Let us recognize those in our own cities, perhaps even in our own neighbourhoods, who struggle each day to make ends meet.
I am rich. I have a fridge and cupboards full of food. I have a roof over my head. I wake up every morning in a warm bed in a heated home. My wife and I have steady jobs with enough income to pay all our bills, put some aside for savings, and still go out with friends once in a while. I am rich.
Lord, let me never forget to recognize the riches I have; let me never forget to give you thanks for them; let me never forget to share what has been given me with those in need.
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I don't see it on a regular basis. In fact, I really don't see it at all. I live amongst the rich. I suppose I am rich. Poverty often seems like something far removed from my everyday interactions.
When I was working in downtown Vancouver with street youth, I spent time with the poor - poverty was easily seen and nearly impossible to ignore. Now, I live and work in the land of riches and don't see it. Yet how is it that I seem to hear complaints about money on such a regular basis? ...and from those who have money?
The statistics are really incomprehensible to people like me. One in seven Americans lives below the poverty line. With a population of over 310milion, that's more people living in poverty than the whole population of Canada. I've heard it said that America is really comprised of two countries: one a first-world and one a third-world. For the richest country in the world to have so many people living in such conditions is difficult to reconcile.
Lest we North of ther 49th parallel think we are much different, let us remember the impoverished state of many of our aboriginal communities. I hear stories about what some people in these communities are going through and I can't even imagine what it must be like. Let us recognize those in our own cities, perhaps even in our own neighbourhoods, who struggle each day to make ends meet.
I am rich. I have a fridge and cupboards full of food. I have a roof over my head. I wake up every morning in a warm bed in a heated home. My wife and I have steady jobs with enough income to pay all our bills, put some aside for savings, and still go out with friends once in a while. I am rich.
Lord, let me never forget to recognize the riches I have; let me never forget to give you thanks for them; let me never forget to share what has been given me with those in need.
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Monday, September 13, 2010
Why Blog?
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I haven't been blogging much lately. I've been thinking about blogging, but not doing it. The question has been rolling around in my head, 'why do I blog?'. I don't know exactly. I think it is an important question to ask, to answer. I think whether I will continue to blog and the nature of my blog posts might depend on the answer that I come up with.
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I haven't been blogging much lately. I've been thinking about blogging, but not doing it. The question has been rolling around in my head, 'why do I blog?'. I don't know exactly. I think it is an important question to ask, to answer. I think whether I will continue to blog and the nature of my blog posts might depend on the answer that I come up with.
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Saturday, September 4, 2010
Memories of Labour Day Weekends Past: Who am I?
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September 5th, 2006
I was driving home from my girlfriend's place (who is now my dear wife) and almost home, meters to go...
We were going to go for a hike the next day so I thought that I would stop by the grocery store on the way home and pick-up some supplies with which to make a nice lunch for the hike. There I was driving home with the groceries piled on the seat next to me, the sun had long since set and it was quite dark and quite late, when I saw two figures walking across the road. I was just about home, in fact I was in front of my home when I stopped, but apparently had time for one little adventure before calling it a night. The two gentlemen, for I now saw that they were a pair of late teen boys, had crossed right in front of my car and I was forced to stop for fear of hitting them. Once I had stopped they came around to the passenger side of my car and I rolled the window down an inch thinking that they might need some help. The closest fellow was shirtless and looked somewhat disheveled. No sooner had I rolled the window down but a mere crack when the shirtless fellow somehow, at the speed of lightning, shoved his entire arm through the opening and opened the door from the inside. Having accomplished this feat, he then proceeded to flop himself down on the passenger seat - yes, right on top of my groceries (and my wallet as well) - and demand that I provide him with some drugs. I says, pardon? He says, drugs! I shake my head in disbelief. I asked the fellow if he needs some help, "can I call somebody for you?". He replies by demanding some coke (yes, cocaine). I make a little joke about my poor little run-down hatchback and my socio-economic status and ask if I look like I have any coke. Nick - as I later found out his name to be - didn't think I was all that funny and proceeded to show me his displeasure at my attempted humour by pummeling me about the face and head. After a short flurry of blows, he let off. What a scene: my blood was splattered all over the inside of my little car and all over myself (not to mention poor Nick got plenty on himself). Following this little physical interaction between us - this predominantly one-sided physical interaction- I decided that Nick required some education about how a gentleman ought to conduct himself in civil society. So, I proceeded to tell Nick as much: "this is no way to go through life", "you should get some help", "there are people you can call, services in place for this kind of thing", "let's talk about this", "we can work through this, there are better ways to deal with your problems", etc. Nick didn't want to talk, he didn't seem to want to work through his problems. I appealed to his comrade, who had been standing just outside the passenger door watching the whole thing, James (I asked him his name, and, yes, he told me) to bring some sense into this whole episode. He decided that this was a perfect time to demand some money from me. He would call off Nick from his assault for $20. (Again) I says, Pardon? I told James that I would do all I could to help them out if they needed help, but I would not allow them to rob me. Well, let me tell you, Nick was not pleased by my response (again): more fists, more blood...
Labour Day Weekend - the previous year
I was coming home from work; the sun had long set. It's a long commute to and from work via public transit (walk, bus, skytrain, bus, walk). I was working at a Drop-in-Centre for drug-affected/street-entrenched youth in downtown Vancouver that summer - I was almost done work for the season as school was back in session after the weekend...
I was a mere five minutes from home. Walking along such a long familiar street, in the warmth of the late summer eve, I felt good. Looking around to take in the ambiance, I noticed two cars approaching me. They cruised by slowly the first time. It was during the second pass that they decided to broach a conversation with me. Their leader, or at least I assumed him to be, popped out of the sunroof of the first car and proceeded to strike-up a conversation with me. Unfortunately, the conversation - which was actually not much of a conversation since to be a conversation would require the input of two people - consisted mainly of open threats and abusive insults. Sure, there were questions (such as "what's your f*cking problem asshole?", "you looking to f*cking die?", and "you think you're tough f*ggot?") and suggestions (such as "step up and I'll f*cking kill you" and "come over here so I can kick your f*cking head in") but not much substance to speak of. It's a funny thing how some moments can be so defining. In that moment, in less than a heart beat, I asked myself a question and made a life-long decision. I asked myself, "Who am I?"... "Am I the kind of man who gets into fights?"... "Am I the kind of man who responds with violence?"... "Am I a violent man?". There were certainly many times in the past when I did respond with violence. There were plenty of times when I beat the [you-know-what] out of guys who had threatened me. But the question remains... "Who am I?". In the instant that I asked myself that question, almost before it was even asked, before the thought entered my head, my heart gave me the answer: "You are not a violent man"... "You are a man who suffers insult, who suffers threat, but answers in love or not at all". Yes, that is who I am. I didn't get into a fight that eve. No, I hung my head low. I listened with patience as this young fellow used every taunt, every insult, every threat that he knew. I walked and listened and hung my head as the two cars followed along beside me for half a block before deciding to find their fun elsewhere that eve.
I came to a decision that night - I knew who I was, and what kind of man I wanted to be. I'm glad that I made that decision; I'm glad that I've grown into the man that I am. I'm glad for the sake of broken, hurting, and confused teenagers like Nick and James. They don't need violence in return for their violence. They need love and patience.
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September 5th, 2006
I was driving home from my girlfriend's place (who is now my dear wife) and almost home, meters to go...
We were going to go for a hike the next day so I thought that I would stop by the grocery store on the way home and pick-up some supplies with which to make a nice lunch for the hike. There I was driving home with the groceries piled on the seat next to me, the sun had long since set and it was quite dark and quite late, when I saw two figures walking across the road. I was just about home, in fact I was in front of my home when I stopped, but apparently had time for one little adventure before calling it a night. The two gentlemen, for I now saw that they were a pair of late teen boys, had crossed right in front of my car and I was forced to stop for fear of hitting them. Once I had stopped they came around to the passenger side of my car and I rolled the window down an inch thinking that they might need some help. The closest fellow was shirtless and looked somewhat disheveled. No sooner had I rolled the window down but a mere crack when the shirtless fellow somehow, at the speed of lightning, shoved his entire arm through the opening and opened the door from the inside. Having accomplished this feat, he then proceeded to flop himself down on the passenger seat - yes, right on top of my groceries (and my wallet as well) - and demand that I provide him with some drugs. I says, pardon? He says, drugs! I shake my head in disbelief. I asked the fellow if he needs some help, "can I call somebody for you?". He replies by demanding some coke (yes, cocaine). I make a little joke about my poor little run-down hatchback and my socio-economic status and ask if I look like I have any coke. Nick - as I later found out his name to be - didn't think I was all that funny and proceeded to show me his displeasure at my attempted humour by pummeling me about the face and head. After a short flurry of blows, he let off. What a scene: my blood was splattered all over the inside of my little car and all over myself (not to mention poor Nick got plenty on himself). Following this little physical interaction between us - this predominantly one-sided physical interaction- I decided that Nick required some education about how a gentleman ought to conduct himself in civil society. So, I proceeded to tell Nick as much: "this is no way to go through life", "you should get some help", "there are people you can call, services in place for this kind of thing", "let's talk about this", "we can work through this, there are better ways to deal with your problems", etc. Nick didn't want to talk, he didn't seem to want to work through his problems. I appealed to his comrade, who had been standing just outside the passenger door watching the whole thing, James (I asked him his name, and, yes, he told me) to bring some sense into this whole episode. He decided that this was a perfect time to demand some money from me. He would call off Nick from his assault for $20. (Again) I says, Pardon? I told James that I would do all I could to help them out if they needed help, but I would not allow them to rob me. Well, let me tell you, Nick was not pleased by my response (again): more fists, more blood...
Labour Day Weekend - the previous year
I was coming home from work; the sun had long set. It's a long commute to and from work via public transit (walk, bus, skytrain, bus, walk). I was working at a Drop-in-Centre for drug-affected/street-entrenched youth in downtown Vancouver that summer - I was almost done work for the season as school was back in session after the weekend...
I was a mere five minutes from home. Walking along such a long familiar street, in the warmth of the late summer eve, I felt good. Looking around to take in the ambiance, I noticed two cars approaching me. They cruised by slowly the first time. It was during the second pass that they decided to broach a conversation with me. Their leader, or at least I assumed him to be, popped out of the sunroof of the first car and proceeded to strike-up a conversation with me. Unfortunately, the conversation - which was actually not much of a conversation since to be a conversation would require the input of two people - consisted mainly of open threats and abusive insults. Sure, there were questions (such as "what's your f*cking problem asshole?", "you looking to f*cking die?", and "you think you're tough f*ggot?") and suggestions (such as "step up and I'll f*cking kill you" and "come over here so I can kick your f*cking head in") but not much substance to speak of. It's a funny thing how some moments can be so defining. In that moment, in less than a heart beat, I asked myself a question and made a life-long decision. I asked myself, "Who am I?"... "Am I the kind of man who gets into fights?"... "Am I the kind of man who responds with violence?"... "Am I a violent man?". There were certainly many times in the past when I did respond with violence. There were plenty of times when I beat the [you-know-what] out of guys who had threatened me. But the question remains... "Who am I?". In the instant that I asked myself that question, almost before it was even asked, before the thought entered my head, my heart gave me the answer: "You are not a violent man"... "You are a man who suffers insult, who suffers threat, but answers in love or not at all". Yes, that is who I am. I didn't get into a fight that eve. No, I hung my head low. I listened with patience as this young fellow used every taunt, every insult, every threat that he knew. I walked and listened and hung my head as the two cars followed along beside me for half a block before deciding to find their fun elsewhere that eve.
I came to a decision that night - I knew who I was, and what kind of man I wanted to be. I'm glad that I made that decision; I'm glad that I've grown into the man that I am. I'm glad for the sake of broken, hurting, and confused teenagers like Nick and James. They don't need violence in return for their violence. They need love and patience.
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Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Psalm 118: Another Day...
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I overheard someone today respond to the typical question (more of a greeting I suppose) of 'how are you?' with the reply, "uh... another day". From the tone of his reply I could safely assume that the prospect of 'another day' was not a very exciting one (to put it mildly). His reply, and the attitude behind it, quite troubled me.
Today follows yesterday, tomorrow follows today. There will be a day after tomorrow and another day after that one. This is the way our lives are measured: in days. What a hardship it would be to face each day as if it were the just like the one before - each day like the previous one. This is the underlying premise of the man's response. What drudgery, what toil life would be if each day was like the previous (especially if the previous day was itself simply dreary toil).
The reality, though, is that each day is not simply a copy of the preceding one. Each day is a new creation with a history not yet written. Certainly we can decide to make today in the image of yesterday; we can create this repetitive daily drudgery. But the other option, the one that I advocate, is to recognize the opportunity that each new day provides. Each new day is filled with limitless potential. We have the choice regarding how we are going to respond to each day. Not every day will be a great day - yes, there will indeed be hard days - but thank God that there will be great days.
In Psalm 118 we find the psalmist recounting his hardships, his distress, the violence that threatened his life. We also find a strong proclamation of the aid that Yahweh (aka 'the LORD') has provided. The psalmist cried out to Yahweh for help and rescue came. Reading through this Psalm it is easy to see that the psalmist has indeed been through some hard times. Yesterday was a difficult one, today... today is another story. Today is a day of joy, today Yahweh has done marvelous things. Not surprisingly we read these words:
This is the day which the LORD has made;
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
This is indeed the way in which I try to greet each new day. It seems to me that each day must be approached with a proper recognition of gratitude. I thank God each morning for the gift of waking up. Each breath in my lungs is a gift; the pillow under my head, the morning sun (or morning rain), the food I prepare for breakfast... these are all gifts. My continued life is an immeasurable gift. Each new day is a new chance, a new context for grace, a new opportunity to grow and learn. It is not the day before - it is not yesterday repeated. There will be no other day like today - it is an opportunity not to be missed.
I cringe when I hear people speak as if today is just more drudgery, as if time were a cyclical prison of successively identical days. I reject such lies. I celebrate today as the unique gift that it is.
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I overheard someone today respond to the typical question (more of a greeting I suppose) of 'how are you?' with the reply, "uh... another day". From the tone of his reply I could safely assume that the prospect of 'another day' was not a very exciting one (to put it mildly). His reply, and the attitude behind it, quite troubled me.
Today follows yesterday, tomorrow follows today. There will be a day after tomorrow and another day after that one. This is the way our lives are measured: in days. What a hardship it would be to face each day as if it were the just like the one before - each day like the previous one. This is the underlying premise of the man's response. What drudgery, what toil life would be if each day was like the previous (especially if the previous day was itself simply dreary toil).
The reality, though, is that each day is not simply a copy of the preceding one. Each day is a new creation with a history not yet written. Certainly we can decide to make today in the image of yesterday; we can create this repetitive daily drudgery. But the other option, the one that I advocate, is to recognize the opportunity that each new day provides. Each new day is filled with limitless potential. We have the choice regarding how we are going to respond to each day. Not every day will be a great day - yes, there will indeed be hard days - but thank God that there will be great days.
In Psalm 118 we find the psalmist recounting his hardships, his distress, the violence that threatened his life. We also find a strong proclamation of the aid that Yahweh (aka 'the LORD') has provided. The psalmist cried out to Yahweh for help and rescue came. Reading through this Psalm it is easy to see that the psalmist has indeed been through some hard times. Yesterday was a difficult one, today... today is another story. Today is a day of joy, today Yahweh has done marvelous things. Not surprisingly we read these words:
This is the day which the LORD has made;
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
This is indeed the way in which I try to greet each new day. It seems to me that each day must be approached with a proper recognition of gratitude. I thank God each morning for the gift of waking up. Each breath in my lungs is a gift; the pillow under my head, the morning sun (or morning rain), the food I prepare for breakfast... these are all gifts. My continued life is an immeasurable gift. Each new day is a new chance, a new context for grace, a new opportunity to grow and learn. It is not the day before - it is not yesterday repeated. There will be no other day like today - it is an opportunity not to be missed.
I cringe when I hear people speak as if today is just more drudgery, as if time were a cyclical prison of successively identical days. I reject such lies. I celebrate today as the unique gift that it is.
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