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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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Thursday, September 16, 2010
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.
- - - - - - - - - -
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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Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thoughts from the trail: the icon of creation...
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My wife and I recently returned from six days on the trail. We hiked the Cape Scott and North Coast Trails. Thus far, we've only done two multi-day hikes (the West Coast Trail and the North Coast Trail). There is something about being 'out there' and away from the daily routine that tends to draw one's thoughts towards a deeper contemplation. This is not to say that one cannot find time and space within the framework of his/her 'normal life' - indeed one can and must. Instead, this is to say that on the trail, out in the wilds, there is a context which seems easily conducive to contemplation.
It seemed to me, while out on the trail, that nature - that is to say, creation - is itself an icon of the divine. At home I tend to use icons as aids to prayer. The use of icons in prayer is a holy and ancient practice of the Christian church. Icons are understood to act as 'windows' into the divine, as signposts pointing our thoughts to God. Christian teaching has also long held that creation itself is an icon of He who created it. The wonder of creation points to the creator - it sings of his majesty.
As I sat on the beach, or hiked on the trail, I often found my thoughts ascending heavenward. I heard the words of the liturgy sung by creation - the trees, the waves, the clouds, the eagles soaring above - I heard them sing as we sing each Sunday:
Holy, holy, holy Lord
God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory,
Hosanna in the highest.
Out there on the trail I felt the divine call to praise and wonder. In church each Sunday we sing these words; out their I listened as creation sang them.
My favourite of the six days out there began with a hasty packing up of our camp as the rain poured down on us. It was a day of off-and-on-again rain. But after we had reached our destination where we were going to camp for the night, the sun decided to begin to peek out from among the clouds. I strolled out towards the crashing waves and stood on the beach trying to get a glimpse of the sun. Suddenly it broke free from the clouds and a beacon of light burst out and showered me with its brilliant radiance. I couldn't have kept the smile from my face if I had tried. I was overcome with joy and stood there with my arms wide-spread soaking in the rays. It really felt good to be alive. My heart sung a silent song of praise and gratitude for the gift.
Indeed, I hope that my eyes and my heart will be able to look out with each new day towards the icon of creation that God has provided us with as an aid to prayer. I hope my ears will learn to continually hear that divine liturgy, that song of praise, that creation sings out in honour of His majesty.
Gloria In Excelsis Deo!!
- - - - - - - - - -
My wife and I recently returned from six days on the trail. We hiked the Cape Scott and North Coast Trails. Thus far, we've only done two multi-day hikes (the West Coast Trail and the North Coast Trail). There is something about being 'out there' and away from the daily routine that tends to draw one's thoughts towards a deeper contemplation. This is not to say that one cannot find time and space within the framework of his/her 'normal life' - indeed one can and must. Instead, this is to say that on the trail, out in the wilds, there is a context which seems easily conducive to contemplation.
It seemed to me, while out on the trail, that nature - that is to say, creation - is itself an icon of the divine. At home I tend to use icons as aids to prayer. The use of icons in prayer is a holy and ancient practice of the Christian church. Icons are understood to act as 'windows' into the divine, as signposts pointing our thoughts to God. Christian teaching has also long held that creation itself is an icon of He who created it. The wonder of creation points to the creator - it sings of his majesty.
As I sat on the beach, or hiked on the trail, I often found my thoughts ascending heavenward. I heard the words of the liturgy sung by creation - the trees, the waves, the clouds, the eagles soaring above - I heard them sing as we sing each Sunday:
Holy, holy, holy Lord
God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory,
Hosanna in the highest.
Out there on the trail I felt the divine call to praise and wonder. In church each Sunday we sing these words; out their I listened as creation sang them.
My favourite of the six days out there began with a hasty packing up of our camp as the rain poured down on us. It was a day of off-and-on-again rain. But after we had reached our destination where we were going to camp for the night, the sun decided to begin to peek out from among the clouds. I strolled out towards the crashing waves and stood on the beach trying to get a glimpse of the sun. Suddenly it broke free from the clouds and a beacon of light burst out and showered me with its brilliant radiance. I couldn't have kept the smile from my face if I had tried. I was overcome with joy and stood there with my arms wide-spread soaking in the rays. It really felt good to be alive. My heart sung a silent song of praise and gratitude for the gift.
Indeed, I hope that my eyes and my heart will be able to look out with each new day towards the icon of creation that God has provided us with as an aid to prayer. I hope my ears will learn to continually hear that divine liturgy, that song of praise, that creation sings out in honour of His majesty.
Gloria In Excelsis Deo!!
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Sunday, August 15, 2010
Inter-generationality: Enjoying the beauty...
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A couple of days ago my wife and I stopped by my mother's place for a visit. She was babysitting my niece, whom we hadn't seen in several weeks and with whom we were hoping to spend some time. We pulled into the yard and immediately noticed a shaking apple tree with apples being projected outwards. And there was my cute little five-year-old niece running around with a bag gathering all the apples. To my surprise, my sister climbed out of the tree. I guess all the good apples were difficult to get at so she had decided to climb up to them. When they had procured all the apples they could for the moment, my niece ran inside the house with the apples. Once inside she proceeded to show the apples to my mother (her grandmother). It seems they were preparing to make apple sauce and apple pie. I sat down and watched my mother and my little niece interact and I thought to myself, "yes, this is what we were created for". There truly is something beautiful about inter-generational relationships. I sat and smiled, enjoying the moment.
- - - - - - - - - -
A couple of days ago my wife and I stopped by my mother's place for a visit. She was babysitting my niece, whom we hadn't seen in several weeks and with whom we were hoping to spend some time. We pulled into the yard and immediately noticed a shaking apple tree with apples being projected outwards. And there was my cute little five-year-old niece running around with a bag gathering all the apples. To my surprise, my sister climbed out of the tree. I guess all the good apples were difficult to get at so she had decided to climb up to them. When they had procured all the apples they could for the moment, my niece ran inside the house with the apples. Once inside she proceeded to show the apples to my mother (her grandmother). It seems they were preparing to make apple sauce and apple pie. I sat down and watched my mother and my little niece interact and I thought to myself, "yes, this is what we were created for". There truly is something beautiful about inter-generational relationships. I sat and smiled, enjoying the moment.
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Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Wonder and the Healing Power of Awe...
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I've been musing of late over the idea of wonder. It seems to me that it is often not given it's due place in our society. The more I reflect on life, the more I realize how mysterious it really is. Do any of us truly understand it? Sure, on a day-to-day basis we know how to function and we understand in a rudimentary sense how the world around typically operates, but life in its grand sense, in its more full sense, tends to reject any strict definition we try to give to it. This being said: I think wonder is a completely sensible response to the world which we inhabit. Sometimes it seems the only appropriate response.
I don't think science has stolen the magic from the stars (as some claim). I think it's still there if we're willing to recognize it. And I'm beginning to think that it's very important that we learn to recognize it (not just in the stars but in all of life and the world around). When I stand in awe of a sunrise, when the sight and sound of hundreds of bees at work in a field of flowers cause me to marvel, when the radiant beauty of creation lifts my soul to soar amongst the clouds, the effect is that (even if just for a fleeting moment) I am drawn outside of myself. Like love, the awe felt in the presence of something greater than me, which this wide world in all its glory certainly is, re-orients my very being. As a Christian I would argue that this re-orientation is towards the God who created, and is reflected in, this world of ours. But whatever one might think of the divine, this re-orientation is perhaps one of the healthiest things we can do (or have done?) for ourselves. It seems to me that when we are drawn outside of ourselves we are given a reprieve from all that might weigh us down. We are given an opportunity to let go of our fears, to step back from the pain, and to release our burdens. Perhaps awe is the respite given for the struggles of life.
I personally have found the experience of awe to have a healing effect. I have found in those brief but magical moments when I am drawn out of myself, those moments when my soul is lifted from its daily burdens and allowed to sing, I have found in those moments the chance for healing, the much needed rest, and the strength and inspiration to move forward in life.
- - - - - - - - - -
I've been musing of late over the idea of wonder. It seems to me that it is often not given it's due place in our society. The more I reflect on life, the more I realize how mysterious it really is. Do any of us truly understand it? Sure, on a day-to-day basis we know how to function and we understand in a rudimentary sense how the world around typically operates, but life in its grand sense, in its more full sense, tends to reject any strict definition we try to give to it. This being said: I think wonder is a completely sensible response to the world which we inhabit. Sometimes it seems the only appropriate response.
I don't think science has stolen the magic from the stars (as some claim). I think it's still there if we're willing to recognize it. And I'm beginning to think that it's very important that we learn to recognize it (not just in the stars but in all of life and the world around). When I stand in awe of a sunrise, when the sight and sound of hundreds of bees at work in a field of flowers cause me to marvel, when the radiant beauty of creation lifts my soul to soar amongst the clouds, the effect is that (even if just for a fleeting moment) I am drawn outside of myself. Like love, the awe felt in the presence of something greater than me, which this wide world in all its glory certainly is, re-orients my very being. As a Christian I would argue that this re-orientation is towards the God who created, and is reflected in, this world of ours. But whatever one might think of the divine, this re-orientation is perhaps one of the healthiest things we can do (or have done?) for ourselves. It seems to me that when we are drawn outside of ourselves we are given a reprieve from all that might weigh us down. We are given an opportunity to let go of our fears, to step back from the pain, and to release our burdens. Perhaps awe is the respite given for the struggles of life.
I personally have found the experience of awe to have a healing effect. I have found in those brief but magical moments when I am drawn out of myself, those moments when my soul is lifted from its daily burdens and allowed to sing, I have found in those moments the chance for healing, the much needed rest, and the strength and inspiration to move forward in life.
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