Good days still to come

Remembrance

Yesterday I had a broken-telephone conversation with a friend from university. She’s moved into a basement unit to be closer to work, but as we spoke, was telling me she had to keep from laughing too hard otherwise she’d lose her position where she had reception! We’ll resume the broken telephone this week.

As we unwillingly gave up the conversation, I went to a tin box that holds old photos of our university years. Most of the photos in the box come from my year abroad (which this friend was also a part of – she hosted a visit to Nantes, France) and thought I’d relish in “the good old days.” There’s one of us jumping on the bridge over the Loire River; here we are picking cheese at a grocery store; this is the giant mechanical elephant we waited an hour in line to see. The funny thing about photographs is that it captures the best of moments. We’re going to smile because we want to remember how great this is.

Thankfulness, not nostalgia

I remember when I printed these pictures off, I purposely abandoned any sort of order and organization. I just shuffled the prints into the box, so that I’d be pleasantly surprised by the next great memory I’d come across. Usually by the time I finish looking at event photographs – a birthday, a vacation, a trip – I get all cocooned inside, wrapped tightly up in nostalgia. Remember when .. those good old days we had? For the first time, though, that feeling never came last night. Not that I thought less of the events that had passed. For the first time, it struck me that I had moved on and didn’t need to dwell in the past.

I was thankful for the amazing time God had granted me on that year abroad – all the people I met, all the places I visited, all the architecture and galleries and food I could explore. But if I were to try to re-create it, would I be able to? Probably not. So rather than insisting that back then were the good ol’ days, with a sigh of loss but satisfaction that it happened, I was moved to thank the Lord for the past gift. Thankful for the Giver more so than the gift .. and if the Giver is still the same good person, then who’s to say that good days are still not to come?

Know that the Lord is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture. Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the Lord is good and his love endures forever, his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Psalm 100: 3-5

What I’ve been learning about thankfulness is that really, God is good. No, seriously – the sovereign God is good and that’s why we are blessed as we are – because He ordained good things for his people, the sheep of his pasture. God as Shepherd means we are his sheep, and the true shepherd always has the best in mind for those in his care. So while nostalgia is nice because of the fuzzy memories evoked, thankfulness is even better because it relies on a Giver that is eternally good. I may only know one generation in this life, but even so, may it be filled with thankful knowing that I belong to the Lord.

Isn’t that beautiful?

The parents from my church put together a little thank-you to us counsellors, who have been helping out in the youth groups this past year.

To be honest, was pleasantly surprised for the appreciation gift and didn’t know what to expect inside. But now that I have opened it, the concept behind the gift is a beautiful one: Shalom.

In Israel, when you greet someone or say good-bye, the word ‘shalom’ is spoken. ‘Shalom’ is much more than a casual social greeting – it is a prayer, a blessing, a deep desire of the heart, and a benediction over someone’s life.

It is a word that is packed with the full blessing of God. In Hebrew the word has many significant meanings throughout the Scriptures. The following blessing is a compilation of those Biblical meanings.

May you be whole in body, soul, and spirit as a result of being in harmony with God’s will and purpose for your life. May His peace be your covering, your heart know His fullness, and by His mighty power may you know victory over every enemy.

May He bring to pass the deepest desires of your heart. May you know the healing power of His presence and the restoration of every broken relationship. Through His sufficiency, may every need that you face be met by His limitless resources. May His covenant promises be fulfilled in your life and in your family. May He bring you the greatest measure of contentment and the deepest satisfaction that your heart can possibly know.

– Roy Lessin

I wasn’t so big about Hallmark-y phrases and poems before, but I find myself appreciating written prayers and blessings more now. Maybe because it’s that I am uncertain or unsure about things, but still want wholeness and truth .. just how to seek it out is not very clear at times. Or, as I was reading this morning in Romans 8, there is tremendous comfort in knowing that God is interceding for us. The God who predestined and chose us; the God who is victorious, who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all – He’s enthroned in heaven, but still praying for us who are on earth.

To have a blessing you concede to – to Amen to it, is like finding what you were looking for. Shalom. I think that’s what I’m looking for these days.

a sparrow’s nesting

Guiding perspectives as I start my first “real” job (re: I have an office and it’s not my bedroom!) in early August. Now that I’m switching to writing as a part-time gig, I’m surprised by how relieved I am to find work that doesn’t depend on a selling story. I’m really excited to work for this company – they’re all about travel and learning it for yourself. Plus, I’ll be downtown. And you know how my heart palpitates at that.

Aware that by getting what I want in this little life of mine, my footing may slip. My treasure may be found elsewhere. On Christ the solid Rock I stand. Guiding perspectives as I start my job real soon.

Psalm 90. I may have posted about this Psalm earlier because I’ve imagined Moses praying this before. At least that makes more than one of us who finds need of a perspective today pointed toward eternity.

LORD, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, FROM EVERLASTING TO EVERLASTING, you are God. You turn people back to dust, saying, ‘Return to dust, you mortals.’  A THOUSAND YEARS IN YOUR SIGHT ARE LIKE A DAY THAT HAS JUST GONE BY, or like a watch in the night. Yet you sweep people away in the sleep of death — they are like the new grass of the morning. In the morning it springs up new, but by evening it is dry and withered.

[…] TEACH US TO NUMBER OUR DAYS, THAT WE MAY GAIN A HEART OF WISDOM.

Decreed

Lamentations 3

²⁷ It is good for a man to bear the yoke while he is young.

²⁸ Let him sit alone in silence, for the LORD has laid it on him. Let him bury his face in the dust— there may yet be hope. Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him, and let him be filled with disgrace.

³¹ For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men. To crush underfoot all prisoners in the land, to deny a man his rights before the Most High,to deprive a man of justice— would not the Lord see such things?

³⁷Who can speak and have it happen if the Lord has not decreed it? Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that both calamities and good things come? Why should any living man complain when punished for his sins?

⁴⁰ Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the LORD.

Portion

Lamentations 3

¹⁹ I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

²² Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.They are new every morning;  great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;  therefore I will wait for him.”

²⁵ The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him;it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD. It is good for a man to bear the yoke while he is young.

good

Pit Band

Originally uploaded by Salomon Salvador

If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.

-David Carradine

Came across this photo in the Torontoist Flickr group. It’s taken at Trinity Bellwoods park, the envy-green grass on which I sat down with a good friend this past weekend. No instruments, though. Just us.

Inherit from the Lord

Fright Flight of the Snow Geese

Originally uploaded by Fort Photo

“The blameless spend their days under the Lord’s care, and their inheritance will endure forever. In times of disaster they will not wither; in days of famine they will enjoy plenty.
But the wicked will perish: Though the Lord’s enemies are like the flowers of the field, they will be consumed, they will go up in soke.
The wicked borrow and do not repay, but the righteous give generously; those the Lord blesses will inherit the land, but those he curses will be destroyed.
The Lord makes first the steps of those who delight in him; though they stumble, they will not fall. for the Lord upholds them with his hand.” (Psalm 37: 18-24 )

Thinking about the Lord’s inheritance in this psalm. The Lord’s provision is not just a matter of receiving a good gift – it is established on the continuous relationship of being His child. To inherit from the Heavenly Father. An inheritance speaks to lifelong care, built through time from the Giver and intended for the long-term supply of the recipient.

And as a result, the recipient can give generously because he has been generously blessed.

More: the good future of the righteous. The reason for which we can hope for it.

“Hope in the Lord and keep his way. He will exalt you to inherit the land; when the wicked are destroyed, you will see it.
I have seen the wicked and ruthless flourishing like a luxuriant native tree, but they soon passed away and were no more; though I looked for them, they could not be found.
Consider the blameless, observe the upright; a future awaits those who seek peace.
But all sinners will be destroyed; there will be no future for the wicked.
The salvation of the righteous comes from the Lord; he is their stronghold in time of trouble.
The Lord helps them and delivers them; he delivers them from the wicked and saves them, because they take refuge in him.” (v 34-40)

His name is Heavenly Father – I remember.

The [waiting] hospital trip

On the last day of our trip to Hawaii, my sister and I were kayaking on the beach. On the second round on the water, we unknowingly paddled into the surfer’s tides and our boat tipped. That’s okay – life jacket = life support (especially for me who can pretend to swim for about .. five minutes.) Head above water, the tides were still coming from behind and I knocked my lip on the back of the kayak. The surfing instructor who saw our overturned boat had a look and recommended I see a nurse. Ice bags and three superficial stitches later, I learned a new word: lip laceration.

The stitches on the side of my bottom lip made me feel like I was wearing a lip ring made out of thread. Would you get a lip ring now? A friend asked during the week. No way, Jose. It’s kinda inconvenient to eat – and I’m never sure if there’s food stuck on it. But I haven’t given up on the wrist tattoo. Well, I flip-flop on that. But I digress.

In the trip I made to remove my stitches, I’ve learned another word: triage. There was a sign in the waiting room informing us that patients are seen according to the urgency of their injury, and not necessarily in the order of arrival. I also learned that triage means getting sorted into other rooms where you wait with other people of equal injury severity. There were about six others in the waiting room, and I think I was one of the last walk-ins admitted. At Branson, I also waited two hours. But compared to North York General, there was audio on the TV in the waiting room, and it was turned onto CityTV on a Thursday night. I have to say although I’ve only seen two episodes, I think I like Parks and Recreation. And although I have no idea what’s been happening for the whole season, I watched Tina Fey sing boldly and badly at someone’s wedding on the season finale of 30 Rock and it was still funny.

Then ten minutes into 30 Rock, we were all lassoed into the second triage room. Or whatever you call the second place the nurse tells you to go to. If Perdition is anything like this (is that how you spell it? My Internet is having problems loading Google so I am cut from the rest of the world including the grammarians) – rounds and rounds of sorting and waiting – I hope at least people are not manifesting physical pain.

It sounds terribly unsympathetic, but I really dislike being in a hospital because you are constantly around people in misery. In our second triage room, I swapped hospital stories with the woman next to me, who had heavy furniture fall onto her toe. The man sitting two seats down was icing a first-degree burn. Then an elderly couple walked in. The injured wife was using a walker to support herself, but was egging the emerg doctor on about when she could be seen. When they asked her to wait in the main area, she insisted to her husband to ask them for her. Her shoulder looked pretty bad, and it was pretty apparent that she was annoyed by the pain and having to wait for so long. But then she accused the nurse of breaking the arm rest on her walker when the nurse tried to steer her into another area of the room where she wouldn’t obstruct the doorway. The injured lady insisted that Branson pay for the damage done to her walker, and commanded her husband to get the nurse’s name. Finally, when she managed to get back to the emerg doc’s desk, he gave a snappy suggestion that she should try to be nice to the staff and her husband because they’re doing the best they can. She sat back, dabbing her forehead with a Kleenex.

Triage. What courage the nurses have to deal with people like us in these rooms. Rooms where Canadian citizens are entitled to health care, but rooms where you have to wait in line first. Wait when you are in pain. And when you’re in pain, you’re not the nicest. Or the most patient.

When you wait, you’re helpless. Otherwise .. can’t you do something about it? But that’s exactly it – a hospital is where all the vulnerable go. Do you notice that there’s no pretense, no mask, no performance, not even make-up and high heels that people wear to put on their best display inside a hospital? There’s not a lot to hide when the thing that brings us to the same room are our health issues. Between patients and staff, no PR needed. Something happens to our behaviour when we’re vulnerable and at the mercy of the person holding our chart.

We can get defensive and insist on our rights – that we be first to be seen, that we receive a better room, that someone change our gauze, that my triage is more urgent than your triage. But we’re really in the same boat, aren’t we. We’re in need of medical attention – from dire to dainty. So how do you make the best of the waiting? It’s not easy when you’re focused on your own pain.

When I was finally seen, I was told that the nurse would look for the spot where the stitch inserted itself into my lip, and pull at the stitch in order to cut at where the thread met my lip. First one’s out, you wanna see it? she asked. No, I just wanna get them out, I replied. Taking three stitches out took no more than six minutes. I looked at the removed stitches when it was all over anyway. Three tiny black knots on a square of tissue. Like the small spiders you find in dry places around your house. Three little nuisances, I half-laughed to the nurse. Nuisances that cause you to the inconvenience of waiting. At least it was a temporary inconvenience that could be cut with very sharp scissors.

Far away suburb

I’ll start with the end: southbound from Queen’s Park.

I hardly notice the people around me with my head bent over Book No. 2 of the Isabel Dalhousie series (yes, Alexander McCall Smith’s got me again.) Until a boy sat down to me. Well, technically it was two boys, and their high-pitch conversation caught my attention.

Standing boy: You know that time we went to Tim Horton’s, guess what Mike got.

Sitting boy unwraps a burger from Harvey’s while nestling a pop bottle in his lap: …What?

Standing boy: A donut, a sandwich – I think it was ham – a hot chocolate .. and Timbits.

Sitting boy is silent because he’s biting into his sandwich. Then: And he ate the whole thing? Mike’s a pig.

Standing boy is also silent as he waits for the full effect of his description of Mike’s gargantuan meal to settle on Sitting Boy. It doesn’t really.

Standing boy: You know, it’s better to eat with restraint. I always think that way when I eat. Especially with snacks.

(At this point I am really tempted to look up and see what Standing Boy looks like, but I think that will make them aware that I am eavesdropping.)

Sitting boy: Did your mom tell you to do that or something?

Standing boy [defensive]: No, I just always do that. I don’t want to turn out like Mike or anything.

Sitting boy is taking that sandwich pretty seriously now, and there’s a long pause.

Standing boy: Is that what you eat for a snack? You know, they give you hot dogs at the concert.

Sitting boy says nothing, continues eating.

Standing boy: I mean, that burger must look pretty gross. A lot of people barf from eating at Harvey’s.

Sitting boy: You know, people choke on hot dogs.

Standing boy: What? Why?

Sitting boy: There is a high incident of choking when people eat hot dogs.

Standing Boy has no further comment on the matter, but goes talking about how Mike only used the white Play-Doh when everyone else made colourful dough things. At this point, the bell dings at Bloor, and I take this chance to look up at Standing Boy who is getting off. Red shirt, backpack, dark slacks and running shoes. I’m dying to see what Sitting Boy looks like as he drains his Root Beer Jones soda, but I’m the one to get off first at Bayview.

———-

A 4 o’clock subway sketch – when Toronto kids are getting off of school, and I wonder what it’d be like to grow up in the city and learn to ride the TTC before you’re twelve.

I came downtown today in search of a certain coffee shop. I got lost trying to find Manning Street because I was distracted by Dufflet on Queen and missed Manning, which was exactly opposite to Dufflet. But I got a chance to see what the housing on Richmond is like, right behind Queen and try that Westbound route again. Do these folks who own stores with names like Alternative Bead, Magic Pony, and Little Tibet actually live near their work? I tried to picture myself here, then realized I’d need a bicycle to fit in, but not call it a bike or make a big deal about it since cycling is a lifestyle in this part of Toronto.

Eventually I did find the cafe I was looking for, and about an hour later, I was wandering the streets again. This time, eastbound on College. Hey, we’re in Little Italy now! The restaurant atmosphere is markedly different than the art-alternative retailers of Queen West, but the names were equally intriguing: The Big Chill, Sidecar Bar and Grill, Manic Coffee, and I wonder what’s inside the colourful window display of Andy Poolhall.

I love exploring, and I love being downtown. I think the two are symbiotic to each other, and walking around here reminds me of impromptu trips to London on my year abroad, or stopping by our favourite coffee joints in Peterborough. Being back in Toronto has its pro’s and con’s, and I have to say that living in the suburbs has always fallen on the latter category.

The suburbs offers a lot of .. cushioning. It’s very removed, very protected, and almost .. sterile. Downtown is variegated, bustling, dense, and it alerts my curiousity like a bird’s reaction to a reflected shiny surface.

Nothing makes the social geography of the burbs and the city more apparent than the subway ride back up. Have you ever noticed the crowd that gets off at Bayview? Or that you’ll find more bicycles on the train south of Bloor than north of the line? The absence and presence of PDA handhelds, the type of magazines people are reading?

I’m sure it’s partly the novelty of downtown Toronto that attracts me, and the luxury I have of exploring at all. For the record, I wasn’t only eavesdropping on the northbound commute. Here’s what Alexander McCall Smith has to say about the luxury of time through the fictional character of Isabel Dalhousie, who is a part-time editor of an ethics journal. Isabel steps in for her friend at the delicatessen she owns because she’s away on holiday:

Then the customers began to drift in. Isabel dispensed small tubs of olives and sun-dried tomatoes. She cut cheese and wrapped bread and reached for tins of mackerel fillets from the shelves. She exchanged views with customers – on the weather, on the contents of that day’s copy of the Scotsman, and, with questionable authority, on a local planning issue. So the morning drifted by, and not once, she reflected, had she the opportunity to think about moral philosophy.

This was cause for thought: most people led their lives this way – doing rather than thinking; they acted, rather than thought about acting. This made philosophy a luxury – the privilege of those who did not have to spend their time cutting cheese and wrapping bread. From the perspective of the cheese counter, Schopenhauer seemed far away.

From my perspective driving my mom’s Mazda 3 through intersection after intersection of high-rise condos and spas, Manic Cafe, Magic Pony, and Dufflet Pastries seem far away.

Scramble, Sleep, Repeat

Good trips have a natural ascent and descent, right?

There’s been a funny relationship between the amount of activity I have and the reaction response.

Activity over Time

In the last few weeks, I’ve been mostly riding the pink line – the day starts on a high, pauses a bit for lunch, then resumes on a fairly high-energy level until I go to bed. As some of you know, I’ve been exploring the world of writing and journalism in the half-year or so, and I can’t help but think that it is a demanding place.

My pink line days go run much like this: wake up, read the newspaper, check emails, work on a writing project or go to my internship, lunch (ah, sweet noon break), continue with the task from the morning or move on to another related task. Check email again. Go home, or have dinner, or both. Check email again. Finish up stuff from days past. Realize I am tired, go to sleep. Impulsive, I know.

Normally I’m not an impulsive person, nor do I like to be rushed. In fact, I take pride in being able to keep my own pace. I know when I’m being stressed. But keeping up with the times – something I’ve been learning to do if I call myself a journalist – is sometimes like chasing with the crowd.

It looks like the blue line. More or less sustained at a high level of energy. I can do that, if I have to. But only for a while.

My devotions, on the other hand, have almost been diametrically opposed to this traffic of everyday life. If I’m riding the pink line, my time with the Lord is about the energy level of the green line. We have 24 hours in a day, and as much as people tout multi-tasking, I really don’t think you can truly multi-task .. to do something well, you’ve gotta concentrate. And how can you concentrate on something if you’re half-attending to another demand? Then again, some are better jugglers than others. I want to say that when my everyday activity is less busy (like the green line – say I am researching at home or waiting for an editor to get back to me), my time is given completely to the Lord, pink soaring high!

But the reality is that as I’ve been getting used to being busy, absence of activity has been seen as dead-air. I can’t sit still as long as I used to. Quietness becomes more of a discipline. I’ve become more impulsive just to reach the idea that busyness will make me productive.

Psalm 131

A song of ascents. Of David.

¹ My heart is not proud, O LORD,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.² But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
like a weaned child with its mother,
like a weaned child is my soul within me.

³ O Israel, put your hope in the LORD
both now and forevermore.

Like a weaned child – what an image. When I have made time to be quiet before the Lord, this image comes to mind. And what is a weaned child? A dependant creature. A young, vulnerable kid. Someone who sleeps a lot. Someone who has limits.

I like to think of myself as a mature adult. The Lord’s been so gracious to give me people who are wise and instruction from His Word to humbly receive, which helps me grow in wisdom as well. But this idea of a weaned child reminds me of my finiteness. Of how silly it can be to be busy for the sake of being busy. Of why I’ve been more impulsive lately, and what.

Of plans and great matters, I was humbled by a friend’s remark that it is better to plan a good response rather than react. In journalism, I think both are needed, depending on the event that is happening (updating the situation on the flight changes because of the Icelandic ash cloud is more immediate, whereas creating a strategy that will help flyers lift off safely and swiftly can probably benefit from discussing and planning.)

So if I look at “life”, and the variables that are immediate or long-term, where does work / career fall? Especially in an entry-level stage? There are days when I have an answer to this .. but then it may shift depending on the supporting activity on I find work. But the Lord.

The Lord.

The Lord is. His name: I AM.

In all things, in every way, I am created. I am .. not.

I am not, but I am His.

Weaned child of God. Regardless of my activity, circumstance, and situations.

~

Lord, let this unshakable identity in You shape the way I use my time. None of my time is lost to You, no matter how swept-away or in-control I feel. All of my activity belongs to You, and You give and take away according to Your sovereign grace. May I rest in that saving knowledge, and respond each day accordingly.