My hatred of MSN and facebook, and other such tools of the devil, is growing these days. (I don’t even use facebook, and have promised myself I never will, merely because it takes so much time, and I’d rather be doing other things. Plus, it intimidates me.:)

But this is not the point.

I was sitting in my Third World History class today and we had a guest speaker who worked in Darfur, Sudan for the past seven months with Doctor’s Without Borders. It was really interesting, and I realize not everyone is a huge nerd, but the guy beside me was making my soul die.

He was on his laptop listening to music and messing around with facebook and MSN through the whole lecture. I’m not a particularly violent person, but I had to muster all my self control in order to not slap him. Not only was he making stupid little comments on facebook while this woman is teaching the class, but he was a big enough idiot to snicker to himself the whole time, while this woman described the slaughter and displacement of thousands of people.

This is unrelated to my general hatred of MSN and facebook, but it really got me angry enough to sit down and write a blog. I don’t like MSN, and its slowly getting the cut from my life.

Obviously, it’s good for some things, but as a tool for conversation and relationship, its sucks and I hate it. Not only does it take one hundred times longer to talk to someone on MSN, but its much less meaningful and cheapened compared a face to face conversation.

I want to spend my days doing things that are meaningful and enriching.

If I realize that I am responsible for what I do with every day and also remember everything that is important to me, I would want to use my time differently.

It has occurred to me that my professors may, in fact, be out to kill me.
My hope lies in the fact that, soon, and very soon, this will be over.
Soon I will have written every essay and exam that right now feels like an impossiblity.
It’ll be Christmas. I’ll be in Sarnia, in the living room of my parent’s house, laying on the floor, looking up into the clear white lights in the branches of our Christmas tree.
I’ll be going to Ohio where I’ll get to see “The Aunties” (pictured below) and enjoy one of my favorite things in the entire world: Detweiler Christmas.
I just have to survive for a little bit longer.

Embassy hosted International Justice Mission on campus last night. IGM is a Christian organization whose goal is to represent the poor and oppressed throughout the world, working on a legal and grassroots level. They focus on injustice in slavery, abuse and sexual exploitation, among other things.

There was one thing that really stuck out to me. The speaker said, “you are some of the richest, most privileged and powerful people on the planet. You have the power to stand up for those who have none.” Or something like that. He was talking to a group of university students.

This seemed crazy to me at first. This guy just told me, an unemployed university student, whose money is running out as of next year’s tuition, that I am both rich and powerful. This seems absurd, but when I thought about it, its so true. The fact that I live in Canada, am upper-middle class, and am receiving a university education puts me above most people on the planet.

The speaker pointed out that it is our buying power that the richest and most powerful corporations on the planet are targeting. We hold such an incredible power to demand change, but what are we doing with it? Its probably easiest to tell ourselves that there is nothing we can do, then we don’t have to change anything. Change hurts.

The speaker told heartbreaking story after shocking detail and it was frustrating. What do we do? This was the question that I wanted the speaker to address. Tell me what to do! But he gave no easy answers. Maybe there is none. I think our culture demands a fast food solution. Tell me how to solve the world’s injustice! Can I give $30 a month? Stop shopping at Wal-Mart? Go on a short-term missions’ trip? Just let me know.

It occurred to me that mindset is probably what has stunted any real change. Real action will change our lives, it can’t not. I don’t think any of us are willing for that to happen. Maybe the only solution to these problems is to go and dedicate your life to these causes, to forget about the suburban paradise, the two car garage. Maybe the only solution for others is to go and get the post-graduate job they’ve always wanted, but sacrifice the lifestyle it could provide and live in a small house in the bad side of town, and give most of their earnings to those who are working for justice.

I don’t know, but I don’t think its going to be as easy as we’d hoped. How bad do we want it?

Hello there.

I wrote my second short story for Creative Writing this week. I had already decided that I was going to revise and resubmit my first short story for the grade, so I found it hard to motivate myself to break through that terrible wall of writer’s block that I always experience.

I had a bit of a rough week too, so I found myself sitting in the Dana Porter library at about 2 p.m. Thursday with nothing, no story, only pages of sentences that only a schizophrenic could piece together. And yet, there I sat, watching the hours count down til my night class when I had to give my story to the class. “And now I have four hours.”…”And now I have three hours.”

Eventually the perfectionist in me was laid to rest (the eulogy being some profanity that I knew should not be coming out of my mouth) and what I wrote was more fun then fantastic. It’s actually somewhat embarrassing, but anyways. I’m posting it for several reasons: to prove to you that I am a very terrible writer at times, and that I am overcoming the need to be perfect all the time. Despite all of this, I’m not going to make excuses, this was also very fun to write, so maybe someone out there will enjoy it like I do.

It is without doubt dedicated to my mother, who put the idea in my head about a year ago.

Disclaimer: If you are offended by anything (the ending?!). I’m sorry, but not too sorry.

What Rapunzel Said to Her Therapist

Lettuce! That’s what Rapunzel is, right? And people question my decision to go to a therapist. Sure, I may have been born once upon a time, but I sure didn’t get the happily ever after I was promised.

Start at the beginning you say? Well, I’d say my problems began—as most problems do—with my parents. I mean, I’m sure they loved me and wanted a baby more than anything in the world, but I have a hard time accepting this. As soon as my mother got pregnant, the thing she wanted most in the world was, in fact, lettuce.

She looked out the window one day and saw it growing in the neighbour’s backyard, and she went into absolute hysterics. “I will die if you don’t get me some rapunzel!” She’d scream. Honestly? Die? I don’t think my father believed her at first either, but she grew weaker and paler by the day, talk about obsessive.

I don’t know if it was because he wanted her to shut up, or because he was a doormat, but Dad agreed to sneak into the neighbour’s backyard and take the lettuce. Now our neighbour was a witch, who prohibited anyone from coming into her garden, so Dad resorted to a life of crime and risked his life to get my mother a salad. (I’m sure you’d say he leaves something to be desired in a father figure.)

So he stole the lettuce and made Mom a salad, and sure enough, she loved it, but that wasn’t good enough. The next day she insisted she would absolutely die if she did not have more, and so my father went back. This time he was caught. He begged and pleaded with the witch to let him have the lettuce, because, well, his wife would absolutely die if she didn’t have it.

The witch, who wasn’t a completely heartless person, told my father that he could have the salad if he gave her me. I have yet to come to terms with this, but Dad must have thought, “sounds good to me; the wife needs a salad”, because he agreed. I know most people would call her a witch for making such a request, but I’m sure she thought she was doing me a favour, rescuing me from such nit wit parents. However, this all opens up a ton of insecurities, with issues of abandonment and such. Anyways, sure enough, I was born and the witch came to take me away, and although I cannot remember, it does not appear that my parents put up much of a fuss.
Childhood with the witch wasn’t all bad; I didn’t have the same questions I do today. However, with the onslaught of puberty and the fact that everyone thought I was beautiful, I think the witch began to get a little nervous, maybe she had bad experiences with men in the past, but she definitely completely overacted to the situation. I really feel that she passed on a lot of her baggage onto me, and well, when I turned twelve she locked me in a tower away from every man in the entire world.

I think in the long run her idea of protection sort of backfired. One day a Prince rode past the tower and happened to hear my voice and became curious. He watched the tower for awhile and realized that when the witch called, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!” I’d let down my long blonde braid which she would use to climb up into the tower. (I know! It really hurt! But I think you get used to the pain.) Anyways, so after the witch left he calls out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair.”

At first I was quite terrified to see someone other than the witch, but he seemed nice enough and told me how much he had fallen in love with me, although we had never met. This, in hindsight, seems ridiculous, but what did I know? I was living in a tower for most of my life. Before the conversation had ended he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. Yes ok, so I married a complete stranger, but he was hot and I probably would have done anything at that point to get away from the possessive witch. Besides wasn’t I trying to fulfill the emptiness left by an absent father figure? You could put me in a textbook.

Although he did not offer to rescue me, only to marry me, I did point out that if we were to marry I’d like to get out of the tower. He agreed to bring me a little bit of silk, and I mean a little bit, every night he came to visit, and eventually I could make a silk ladder to escape. Part of me has come to realize that he probably didn’t mind having me in that tower, it kept me away from other men, and I mean, he could do whatever he wanted essentially, and visit me when it was convenient. I have come to resent this because soon I was several months pregnant, and still without enough silk to make a ladder.

One can only hide these things for so long, and when the witch finally realized she was absolutely furious. She grabbed me and cut off my braid and tied it to the windowsill. (As she was doing this, I was secretly killing myself for not thinking of that idea years ago.) She brought me to the desert, pregnant and alone, and banished me forever. This, of course, only compounded my struggles with abandonment.

Then, she waited for the Prince. When he came and called out for me the witch lowered my severed braid and trapped the Prince in the tower. She told him that he had been caught and I was lost forever. In his despair and pain he leapt from the tower. Now this I can barely handle. I mean, ok darling, I know you love me, but do you have to be completely useless? The only thing he could think of was to throw himself out of the tower? Please. Who would that help? What is with all the weak men in my life!

Luckily he did not die, but instead was blinded by the thorns he had thrown himself onto. He wandered alone in misery for several years, surviving in the wilderness. Eventually he stumbled into the desert where I had been living with the twins I had given birth to. We were reunited and his sight was restored. Now he would probably disagree with me, but, I think the time apart really did us good. I mean, I had to go live in the desert, give birth to children and look after them all on my own. This was no easy task, but I really felt I rose to the occasion and by the time we met again I was no longer the innocent and somewhat idiotic person I was before. Besides, several years wandering in the desert alone in misery really gave him some time to think.

And I mean, sure, I may not have had it as easy as the other fairy tale princesses, but shit, at least I’m dealing with these issues. I’m not the only one and I think Cinderella and Snow White have no idea what they are in for.

The issue of God speaking to people is pretty touchy. Its a classic excuse for behaviour when we’re too afraid to figure out what’s really happening in our heads. You’ve all heard or used the classic, “God told me to break up with you.” What of course is really meant is, I don’t want to date you anymore. To abuse such a statement is the closest thing I can think of to, ‘taking God’s name in vain.’

I know, I may sound really cynical here, but as I rule if someone attaches the words, “God told me…” to any statement my instant reaction is to run, very fast, in the opposite direction. This is for several reasons. First of all, you can’t reason with that person. If they say, God told me this, the dialogue ends. They are not interested in what you have to say. Second of all, very often “God” tells us exactly what we want to hear.

Given this attitude about such things, it came as quite a surprise to me this week when I felt that God was really trying to tell me something.

I had the strongest impression that something that I had written was very significant, I couldn’t shake it for a moment, even when I really wanted to. (For example, I had a copy-editing test the next hour that I had yet to study for!) I had no idea why it was important, or what was important, but I knew something was. I told people, God is teaching me something so insane today, I don’t even know what it is.

Later in the day, events fell into place that absolutely blew me away. Searching for some thoughts that were not my own, I started reading some articles by professionals on this subject that I was struggling with. I opened one article and the first sentence I read made me stop breathing. It was a very obscure sentence, an obscure analogy. But it was the same sentence I’d written earlier in the day, in the middle of three pages I had written, this sentence stood alone, it wasn’t part of a paragraph, or even a coherent thought. It was just an image that I could not get out of my mind, so I wrote it down. Beside it I had written, “I don’t know why I’m writing this.” And now, hours later, after writing a blog about how strongly I felt that I had written something important, I was reading it again, in this article.

I can hardly remember a moment when I have been more excited. I felt like God had just tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘hey, remember me.’

(I went onto to read an article that expressed everything I had been feeling, but was unable to articulate.)

So do I think I’m hypocritical to think that God was speaking to me that day? I don’t think so. I don’t think God tells us to do things as much as He teaches us things. What I learned that day was so impressed upon my heart, that no number of coincidences or strange occurrences would have made it more true for me. The only reaction that such a strange experience brought me was a deeper understanding that I am on a journey. It was a reminder that as I struggle with thoughts that are so overwhelming, God is with me.

It had less to do with confirming a truth in my mind, as it had to do with reminding me that my own wisdom does not get me anywhere, and that I rely on God.

I believe what I learned that day is true, but this conclusion has nothing to do with strange occurrences. It is based on the journey I have been on up to that point, based on what I believe the Bible teaches me, based on what people around me, who I greatly respect, have told me, and yes, even based on my feelings. I believe the role God plays is to bring all of those together for me, in a way that I could not have imagined.

This doesn’t scare me like I thought it would. As long as I’m open to what else I am going to learn, and can be open to realizing things I think today may be wrong, then I do not think there is harm in feeling that these things are from God.

After all, what role does the Holy Spirit play in our lives?

I have lived for twenty years. I have only seen peace in my country.

If I had been born in the Congo, in my lifetime, I would have witnessed the death of over four million people around me.

If I lived in Rwanda, I would have lived through a genocide that killed over 800,000 people.

If I had been born in Palestine I would have never seen peace in my country.

If I had been born in Iraq, I would have lived with war most of my life.

If I had been born in Sudan, I would be witnessing the death of thousands of people around me.

I am completely unworthy of the gift that I have been given.
Pray for Peace.

“thank you my angel
for the clutter of my life
for dragging me
to the edge of the wilderness
to lie here by myself
just outside the land of promise.”

-over the rhine

I wrote something today that I never thought I had inside of me.

“Write what you know.” Its a common enough expression. But we can also write to discover.

Maybe its just me, but putting words down on paper brings clarity that I did not think was possible. It’s a common practice in therapy actually, to start with a question and just start writing. And often, if you’re open to everything that is going on in that little torture chamber we call our mind, something really remarkable can happen. We’ll end up in a place that we could never have imagined our thoughts taking us to.

I think this is especially true as a Christian. Maybe you think I’m crazy, but I am absolutely sure that if we are broken and honest, God brings thoughts to our mind that are truly not our own. A question. A memory. An idea. Simple, but it becomes a step that leads to another that ultimately brings us closer to him, and to the sanity we were praying for.

I wrote something today that I know was not inside of me.

I’m sure most people by now have heard about Ted Haggard, the prominent right-wing pastor of a mega-church who has resigned his position after being accused of having a relationship with a male prostitute. To be completely honest, I have very little interest in this. I know nothing about him, the church or the situation. I’m also well aware that the media, who has jumped all over this, is a corporation, the goal being: to make money. It makes me sad, but it doesn’t really effect me in a major way. A Christian has sinned, messed up in a big way, sorry that’s not really a big surprise.

But, this scandal in particular is not what I’m thinking about today anyways. I’m thinking about the role that judgment plays in our lives. Nobody is going to miss the hypocrisy in the leader of a large church, that has a very political and vocal condemnation of homosexuality, being caught in a homosexual relationship. In a lot of ways, it baffles me how he functioned day after day without going crazy. But, maybe he’s not all the different from me.

Honestly, if we can judge others so easily, we are kidding ourselves. How can you show such swift judgment of someone if you have a healthy understanding of yourself, that being, you, like everyone, are deeply and perversely messed up?

I’m not endorsing an atmosphere where sin is acceptable or overlooked.

But, I look back and catch myself saying things like, “Who does that?” “Do they have no integrity at all?” Its all too easy to sweep someone’s character with a single brush stroke.

Perhaps we are quickest to judge the things that are actually part of our own lives. Like someone who is struggling with homosexuality being the leader of an organziation that condemns homosexuality. Are we so terrified of what is inside of us? We exhaust ourselves trying so hard to reassure ourselves, and others around us, that we, unlike those people, are in fact perfect.

I just thought this was such a blatant example of what we all do. I couldn’t let it slip by.