Pride

Today was a beautiful day for Pride.  The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and according to local media, there were record numbers of people out to show their support and celebrate the LGBTQ community in Manitoba.

The first Pride parade in Winnipeg was held in 1987.  There were 250 people in attendance.  Today, over 10,000 people came out.  What a story numbers can sometimes tell.

After last year's fight for anti-bullying legistlation which included the provision for each publically funded educational institution to have the right to have a Gay-Straight Alliance, it was rewarding to see the numbers of high school students proudly walking behind their banners.

I love the fact that the Pride parade brings out the best in people.   People are free to express themselves exactly as they want to.  They are free to express their affection for their partners and their friends in the way that they choose.  There is music and dancing, and young and old.

I was thrilled to see faith represented in a few different expressions in this year's parade.  There were several denominations marching proudly behind banners...

.... including my Alma matter - the Mennonites.  It was a proud moment!

This might have been my favorite slogan of the parade.

There was a large contingent of CBC staff out in the parade, including a big crew from DNTO.

People sometimes ask me why this is important to me.  Why we'd bring our girls out to an event like this.  Ellie and Sasha would tell you they go because it's fun.  I'd tell you that it's because there are still countries in the world in which being gay can result in a jail sentence, a beating, or death.  It's because in Canada, over half of homeless youth identify as LGBTQ, and likely found themselves in that position because they were afraid, conflicted, and unaccepted.  It's because my own personal research this year led me to discover that suicide rates among those in the church who identify as LGBTQ are substantially higher than those who do not.

I'd tell you that I support people to love who they choose, and I value them exactly as they are.

For the record, I think God does too.

Today was a great reason to celebrate.

Pioneer

I grew up in a small prairie town.  I was surrounded by familiarity, Mennonites, and tradition.  Each year of school began with most of the same people I finished with the year before.  The same faces and names, with most of the those faces and names having a similar story to my own.

So imagine the buzz in my grade three class when a new student was to join us who was from a place very far away.  His name was Peter, and his family had just settled into town from South Africa!  Imagine!  My curiosity was brewing, and my mind wandering, at just the thought of meeting someone from someplace so exotic.   Soon we met.  In walked a small in stature, beautiful (to my mind now) boy who spoke with the most amazing South African accent.  He seemed to be from another world, and was full of stories of a life that seemed like a dream.  Although I was intrigued by him then, I can't say I was all that fond of him.  He seemed to steal the show.  He was very bright.  He gave me a run for my money, and he even tripped me on my way to the chalkboard one morning which resulted in a nasty bump on my head.

Soon, the whole town knew of the Hargraves family.  They had arrived with three girls and Peter in tow, and were settling down in the middle of the prairies to begin again.  Their arrival brought questions and queries.  Their accent made their words sound like poetry, and their family always looked  and seemed as though they knew what adventure really was.

Their family stayed.  When they settled in that prairie town they made it their own.  As the years went on, the girls and Peter began to lose their accents and became, what appeared to be, regular prairie kids.  They played sports, made music, and were part of the fabric of the community.  Peter truly became my friend.  He still is.

Today we gathered in a church in that same prairie town to say goodbye to Peter's dad, David.  The afternoon was full of stories of his courage, his brave pioneering spirit, and his unwavering convictions.   I always knew Mr. Hargraves as Pete's dad.  Today I saw him as something else all together.  Maybe it's because I'm a parent now, and my girls aren't that different in age as his four children when he and his faithful companion Judy left their beloved South Africa to begin again.  They had to leave.  It was not longer safe, and his couldn't raise his children in a country where apartheid existed.   There have been times, over the years, when I wondered what it must have been like for them.  Today I tasted just a morsel of it.  I saw that young family in their train car leaving their home and was filled with incredible awe at the journey this family took.

I like to think a life is well-lived if there is something another person can take from it to make themself better. I took many things with me today.  I heard of how David adored his beloved wife Judy, and never let a chance go in conversation to remind his company of how amazing a woman she was.  When I see the strong, capable, creative, compassionate women his daughters have become, it is so clear that he held women in high regard and expected the very best.  When I see the way Pete operates in partnership with his wife and parents his own three daughters, I see that same thread running through another generation.

There were stories of his faith, his adventures, and his passions.  But what struck me most today was the way he could not tolerate injustice.  He simply couldn't bear it.  When he knew something was wrong, he spoke up and out, even when it cost him his home, and meant leaving his family and the only life he'd known.

I felt like I feasted today;  on stories, words, music, and memories of a life well-lived.  I get to continually feast on my friendship with Pete that was made possible for me, way back in grade three, by a brave man who started over with his family in a little prairie town.

There is so much goodness in lives filled with story.

Bring Back Our Girls

Nearly three weeks ago, 300 school girls were abducted at gun point from a boarding school dorm in Nigeria.  Amazingly, it has taken the media weeks to make this a lead story and for the world to get interested enough to make something happen. 

The Nigerian community knows what this kind of abduction can cost them.  They know that if you take a group of  educated girls, the size of a village, and force them to disappear, the consequences go on forever.  This crime isn't just about those 250 girls still missing.  It's about the chain of events down the line, and the culture of fear it will breed.  It's about sending a message to young Nigerian women that getting an education is a "crime" worthy of abduction at gun-point, being sold into marriage, and possibly never being returned to your family and home again.  

We still live in a world where there are people who think educating women is dangerous enough to warrant this kind of punishment.   

Today we gathered with the Winnipeg Nigerian community to stand with them and show our support and commitment to bringing "our" girls home.  They really are our girls, aren't they?  Unless we believe that, it won't matter enough for us to do something.

There was so much color and vibrancy at the Legislature this afternoon.  We gathered and sang and were rallied on the steps...

... then began a walk around the grounds to mark the start of the call for action.

There was a sea of red.  You almost felt as though you were crashing a family gathering of a family that wasn't yours - only this family invited you in and gave you a seat at the table.

Our girls were recruited to carry some letter signs and stand together with a host of other kids to spell out #Bring Back Our Girls.

The rally began with two prayers - one from the Nigerian Christian community and one from the Nigerian Muslin community.  Two men stood side by side and prayed to God and Allah for the country they love and the safe return of the girls.  They want the same things.  

Side by side is a powerful place to be.

There were impassioned words from leaders of the Winnipeg Nigerian community.  Most powerful were the words spoken by the women.  Women who know first-hand what education means to a young woman in Nigeria.  And when the passion took over, the resounding cry from those who were gathered echoed through the crowd.

There were the most beautiful sights and colors.  

Profound images that demonstrated strength and resilience.

 The colors, the drumming, the music, the words drifting over the crowd calling everyone to care about our girls coming home...
...that's what I want my three girls to remember and take with them.

My three girls who have the right to be educated with no fear.
My three girls who truly can choose to become as smart and informed as they want to be.
My three girls who know that the sky is the limit to see through their passions and dreams.

They are not "their" girls.

They are our girls.

Bring them back.

Catching Up. Always Catching Up

What I want to do:

-answer the phone when it rings
-return emails in good stead with thoughtful responses
-invite people I love over for good food and long visits
-remember important things and honor the changes that are happening in the lives of people I love
-spend time with my girls one-on-one and engage them in weighty conversations and belly laughs
-always be up on the girl's homework, school projects, and correspondence
-meet people I love for long and rambling dialogue, tears, and laughter over hot tea, or good gin
-offer to look after the toddlers of my friends so that they can have a break
-plan and shop for healthy and delicious meals for my family
-read to my hearts content
-write a blog post for every time I am stopped in my tracks by something that hurts or delights me


What I actually do:

-never answer the phone
-occasionally return emails, rarely with the immediacy their senders deserve
-think of people I want to spend time cooking for and sharing a meal with
-feel guilty about not inviting them over
-wallow in a bit of shame for not being able to
-forget milestones, events and changes my friends are experiencing
-become frozen at responding to my failures because I feel I've let them down
-lay awake in my bed at night thinking of all of the things I want to talk to my girls about
-forget piano lessons, deadlines, and forms
-lament how much I miss the most significant people in my life
-wish I could give my friends in the toddler trenches a break, but know I have no break to give
-fly by the seat of my pants and spread peanut butter and jam on bread more often than I used to
-stare at the stack of amazing books on my bedside table and dream of longer days to read them
-say the words I'd write about what hurts or delights me, in my head at night - in lieu of the page


What I need to do:

-become more organized and intentional about guarding the things that are most important
-get up earlier to make more of my day
-say "no" without guilt or excuses


What I want to do:

-forgive myself for not measuring up
-create a way to press "pause" on life and catch up, once and for all

Breathe.

We sit in a circle, listening to stories, singing songs, and reciting the words of the liturgy.  It's the last gathering of our weekend at the spring retreat for our church community.

At my feet and to my right sits a young man with eyes that sparkle and a half-smile on his face.  At his feet lays a black lab named Charlie, who brings a calming and soothing presence to his companion who happens to be profoundly autistic.

His hands are busy, brushing over and over his i-pad; zooming in and out and changing color.  Deliberate motions and changes that are done with intention and purpose.  He is leaning back on his mom's legs.  Every so often she leans down to reassuringly rub his shoulders or kiss the top of his head.  He is over 6 feet, but he needs his mom to be close.   Every so often, his low voice, sounding more and more like that of a man, repeats the same word, over  and over, while using his fingers to tap his chest in tandem....

"Breathe.  Breathe.   Breathe."

He looks up at his mom and she says, "yes, breathe", and so he does.

In a few minutes, he repeats the word and the tapping again, and then again.  On it goes as the morning goes, and his voice saying the word, together with the sound of his fingers tapping his chest take up residence in my memory.  I can hear him now, as I sit at my keyboard, in the quiet of a house that sleeps.

When the bread comes around, I break off a piece and place it in his hands, and he takes it.
"The body of Christ, broken for you."

The wine comes next, and I help tip it back for him as he takes a generous gulp.
"The blood of Christ, shed for you."

His eyes hardly leave his i-pad as his images zoom in and out, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on his chest begin again as he repeats the word.   "Breathe.  Breathe.   Breathe."

It's like a soundtrack that doesn't stop, and as it's repeated over and over again, most people don't even hear it.

And in the midst of all of the words of the weekend, spoken, shared, and sung, it's that one word from his mouth that stays with me.  I can't shake it, because it has gone to my core.

"Breathe".

When his anxiety rises, he tells himself to breathe.  He taps his chest to remind him, to make a physical action to connect the dots and get his body to fall into step with the word his voice knows so well.

When my anxiety rises,  I don't usually breathe.  My fists clench, my shoulders rise, my chest tightens.  How much better would it be to just breathe?  To connect with the rising tension, inhale, and exhale the tightness and discomfort that wants to take up space where it doesn't belong...

So this week I will remember the word, and the voice that spoke it.
The tap, tap tap of fingers on a chest that has learned to breathe.

Who Ellie Is, Now That She's Eleven

She is getting longer and taller with legs that seem to go on forever.
She still has scrumptious squishy cheeks that she lets me sink my whole face into when I kiss her goodnight.
She still wants to sit on my lap and lets me wrap my arms all around her and squeeze her tight.
She actually craves moments like that.
The space around her is never quiet.
She is always singing.  Her mantra seems to be, "If you're going to sing, sing so the whole world can hear you".
She still doesn't really like reading very much... except books that involve people dying.  I don't get it, but as long as a book is open on her lap, I don't ask too many questions.
She dances three times a week and loves every minute of it.
Her heart is still so very soft.  A word with even a hint of harshness will disolve her.
She does amazing accents.  She spent 2 straight hours on Sunday working with Mike on her Science Fair project, talking like a southern belle.  She's convincing too.
There are moments I catch a glimpse of teenager in her and I want to hold it back.
She loves guacamole, samosas with tamarind sauce, and pad thai.
Most days, she'd rather stay home than go to school.  She's been this way since Kindergarten.
There is nothing she likes more than a Saturday morning snuggled up with Sasha watching bad TV.
I wish she could see how captivating she is.
She is the comic relief in a household full of high-strung and somewhat tightly tightly wound females.
She really wanted a onesie for her birthday.
When she put on the fleece one she got, and I hugged her, she felt like a great big stuffie.
She is learning how she fits in between two sisters who are so different from her.
She fills a space in our family that was made just for her.

Nine

She's nine today, that baby of mine.

Sasha loves to hear the story of when she came to be.  How we were only at the hospital for a very short time when she arrived - all pink and beautiful,  with a perfectly round face and lips like tiny rosebuds.

Sasha is the baby and she always will be.  She is growing up with her older sisters going ahead of her to navigate some of the twists and turns to make things a little easier for her.  But so much of her life is far from what her sisters have choosen for themselves.   While they have loved dance and a little bit of bling, Sasha throws a mean spiral and loves her Jets jersey.  They have wanted long hair to braid and curl and Sasha wants hers short to stay out of her way when she's on the basketball court.  They don't tend to enjoy "constructive criticism" while Sasha spends hours taking guidance from Mike and perfecting her throw or her shot, without even a hint of frustration.

She might be a mean competitor on the court or the field, but there is nothing she likes more than a warm arm around her snuggled right around her body as she falls asleep.  After we've chatted and prayed, and the last kiss is planted, she almost always says, "stay with me a little longer", and I almost always do, because requests like that don't last forever.

She is serious and deliberate.
Disciplined and stubborn.
Always the baby.

And today she is nine.