Sunday, March 17, 2024

Sunday Reflection: The days are surely coming

Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Jeremiah 31:31-34.

O God,
You say the days are surely coming...

When you will put 
your law in our hearts.

When you will be our God
and we will be your people.

When we will all know you.

When?

When? 

When?

More days than not lately,
it feels like we are as far from you
as we can possibly get.

But you say the days are surely coming.

Indeed,
they have come 
for some of us
who know you are with us.

But not everyone knows, 
so how do we bring them along?

Help us to show them
your presence in our lives
by our actions --
to inspire all people
to help change our world:

When we heal the hurts we have caused our planet
and encourage everyone
to choose harmony with creation instead.

When we find ways to help the displaced among us
who are looking to belong,
inviting everyone into community together.

When we include those who are excluded because of
race, 
gender, 
sexual preference, 
disability, 
poverty, 
or societal status,
helping all people 
to see each other's common humanity.

When we share about the need for homes and care 
for those who live and die on our streets because of
trauma,
illness,
and misfortune that are no fault of theirs.

When we work beside Indigenous peoples
for the justice they have deserved all along -- 
so that our relationships are truly reciprocal.

When we live in sufficiency
rather than excess
for the sake of future generations.

When we become peacemakers
who demand compassion and non-violence
from our leaders.

The days ARE surely coming,
you say.

O God,
give us the determination
not only to pray for their arrival,
but to create a world that does what it must
until they are HERE.

+Amen

Friday, March 8, 2024

Winter beauty

It's been a very dry western winter this year snowfall-wise. But two Sundays ago the white stuff came down and made the world beautiful. 

Even more so in the Rockies. My husband had a conference in Banff these last two days, and I came along to enjoy winter beauty.

Here's a bit for you to enjoy, too, though these pictures can hardly do it justice!








Monday, March 4, 2024

Monday Music Appreciation #25 -- A walking song

I had the pleasure of hearing James Keelaghan live on Saturday night, playing with the very talented Jez Lowe. It was a great concert, but it made me feel old when I did the math and realized that I've been a fan of James for over 35 years! He's written some great tunes in all that time, and I'm glad to know them. 

James is nominated for another Juno award this year for the album this tune comes from, Second-Hand. I love the positivity in the piece below, especially the chorus, given the times we live in:

Walk on, better days are comin'
Walk on, you don't have to walk alone
Hold on to the things you believe in
Keep on walkin' til we all get home.

You don't have to walk alone... we're all walking together. Enjoy!


Saturday, March 2, 2024

Sharing a friend's writing

As the mom of a transgender person, I've met a few other wonderful trans folks besides my own child. One of them, Elli, had an important op-ed piece published in The Globe and Mail on Tuesday. The world is ever-changing, but as Elli explains so eloquently, we need to put the needs of trans people above our discomfort with change...

Click here to read Elli's article.

I share this because it's a lesson I have learned the hard way.

Tuesday, February 27, 2024

Our new friend

Meet Rocky. As in the Rocky Mountains, taking his name from their often white-capped peaks and summer blue lakes.

Budgies have had homes in my life for all but fifteen (or so) of my human years. I debated whether another one would be a good idea for quite some time, as they can live long lives, and love attention that I might not always be able to give.

But with the anniversary of Shadow dog's death early next month, and so much of concern happening in my world, I decided to welcome some liveliness into our home, especially since, due to many different factors, now is not the time to find another pup.

Today marks one month since Rocky joined our household, and he's slowly getting used to us noisy humans thumping around the kitchen/dining area and trying to teach him to talk. Because his wings were clipped to facilitate training, he ends up on the floor when he tries to fly, and often runs for cover under couch or coffee table. I expect that will change when his wing feathers grow back in and his confidence returns.

For now, the highlights of Rocky's day include a trip to the kitchen window to watch the sparrows at the bird feeder, short conversations (him just listening) while sitting on my finger or shoulder, and the odd millet treat. He also loves the sound of running water when we wash dishes, and certain pieces of music sometimes get him going.

There are many "budgie updates" (click here for one of my favourites) already among my moodlings from feathered friends in the past, which make me laugh as I remember those little birds. This is my way of giving readers fair warning that there may be a few more budgie updates, as I suspect Rocky's current sedateness will change over time, and he'll become a happy and clownish companion who brings us much joy.

Just as the others did!

Sunday, February 25, 2024

Sunday Reflection: Mountaintop hospitality

Fences to keep out the homeless...
Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Mark 9:5.

I've always liked Simon Peter. So many of his responses to the wonder of walking and working with Jesus make sense to me.

Today's Gospel reading (Mark 9: 2-10) is another case in point. Jesus, Peter, James, and John have climbed a mountain where Jesus is shown in dazzling white glory, and they are joined, quite miraculously, by Moses and Elijah. 

I can see Peter, standing in total awe of the moment, mouth open in amazement, thinking, "Wow! This is incredible! And so beautifully unexpected!" So his offer of hospitality for the three holy men he is with makes absolute sense in terms of resting in the moment and enjoying each others' company. Not to mention how he would have loved a chance to kibbitz with the holy men of old. How cool would that be?

But most of the sermons I've heard on this reading have been somewhat unkind to Peter. They don't give him any credit for his willingness to truck back down the mountain and bring back tents for Elijah, Moses, and his Rabbi, not to mention the other trappings required for hospitality -- food, water, wine, and bedding for the night. Peter was willing to go the extra mile for a heavenly camp out.

My own city isn't so hospitable. People living in poverty in downtown Edmonton have been pushed elsewhere, fences have been erected all over the inner-city to prevent camps from reappearing, and our police chief and provincial politicians are congratulating themselves that they no longer have daily reminders of the struggling poor who have no place to live. The officials have done their utmost to soothe their own consciences without lifting a finger to put permanent roofs over anyone's heads.

The provincial government is patting itself on the back for serving 300 people so far at the "reception centre" it opened a month ago for people who have been displaced. That's maybe 10 people per day who have moved into temporary shelters, when we know that there are probably 1500 more people than shelter mats available. Besides, downtown social service agencies were already doing the same work more effectively when they knew exactly where to find the folks in the camps who needed their help. Now it's much harder with folks spread throughout the city.

... and more fences...
What's really terrible is that sheriffs and clean up crews are still working daily to disrupt the lives of those who prefer to live outdoors among friends they trust than in overnight shelters where they are surrounded by strangers who might steal their few possessions. Clearly, shelter mats are not the solution to homelessness. Permanent, supportive, and affordable housing is the only answer (and costs less than the daily wages of so many ruthless sheriffs and cleanup crews!)

So today, I'm inviting St. Peter to pray with me, and you can too, if you like:

Creator,
thank you for this life you have given me.
As Peter said, it is good to be here.

Rabbi Jesus, 
as Peter enthusiastically asked 
to make dwellings for you, Moses, and Elijah,
I ask that you inspire government leaders
to make many dwellings
where people who lack
... and more fences......
the kinds of homes that work for them
may live in safety, warmth, and dignity.

Give your spirit of compassion
to those who are blind 
to all but their own needs,
who try to soothe their consciences
by choosing to hide their faces from
poverty 
in its many forms
rather than heal it.

Inspire those of us who have homes
to do what we can
for those who do not. 

Help us all
to work together to build
beloved community
by ensuring that no one is excluded
and that everyone
is cared for.

Knock down all our fences,
O God.

+Amen


P.S. My friend, Glen, wrote an excellent piece for a national paper this week. You can find it by clicking here.

Monday, February 19, 2024

Monday Music Appreciation #24 -- a small piece of Mozart's Flute and Harp Concerto

I've always been fascinated by the harp. Maybe that's because I can kind of play a 12-string guitar, and can't imagine dealing with forty-seven strings -- and seven pedals besides!

Last week was Education Concert week at the Winspear Centre for music where I work, and over six performances, school teachers and Winspear staff successfully brought nine thousand grade 4-6 students from their field trip buses into the chamber to listen to a show called "Heavenly Mozart," and learn about the instruments of the orchestra. Now that I think about it, it was a pretty amazing feat, logistically speaking! They all came and went without too much trouble (only one child ended up on the wrong bus after a concert, but she was discovered in time!)

Though I sat in the lobby for some of the shows (to direct kids to the washrooms, mostly), if it wasn't too busy, I snuck in for the Flute and Harp Concerto K 299 second movement -- the andantino, which you'll hear below. It is performed by the Croatian Chamber Orchestra (Zagreb), conducted by Igor Tatarević, with Tamara Coha Mandić on flute, and Diana Grubišić Ćiković on harp.

The conversation between the two instruments makes for a really lovely piece of music for a Monday. Enjoy!

Thursday, February 15, 2024

Happy Lent!

The Lent Madness Logo
I wished a neighbour a Happy Lent yesterday, and she said, "Lent isn't supposed to be happy!" I replied that if it's a time designed to get us back on track with God, why can't it be happy?

Yeah, I know. I've had my share of dismal Lenten seasons. But with life as tough as it has been lately (for many reasons -- family illnesses, war, climate change, the local unkindnesses to homeless people, and the anti-trans ideology that threatens my kids and their friends), I need to spend my Lent focusing less on sin and misery -- there's enough of that already! -- and work with the good things that bring us all closer to Creator. 

So for the second year in a row, I'm choosing Lent Madness over penitential pessimism. Lent Madness is a completely different take on the March Madness tournament set up by the NCAA in the United States. Instead of pitting college basketball teams against each other in sudden death games, Lent Madness sets up 32 different holy folks in a so-callled "saintly smackdown" that invites readers to vote for one saint every day during Lent. It culminates with the vote on the final Golden Halo recipient.

Sound goofy? It can be a little silly at times (especially when the writers get into the saintly "kitsch" that can be found in online/souvenir stores), but it's also a way to learn about interesting Christians who have shaped our world through their compassion, conviction and faith. I explored a few of last year's contestants and found some really inspiring stories that motivated me to learn more about their faith and love for Christian community. (And don't worry, I was suitably penitential, too.)

Today's first saintly smackdown is between Thomas Cranmer (an English church reformer) and Thomas the Apostle, and it's never too late to get in on the event, though voting is available one day only -- tomorrow we'll have the opportunity to read, learn, and vote about two more holy folk.

I first heard about Lent Madness from Pastor Jim at ICPM, and couldn't help but participate fully last year. It was actually quite a moving experience, learning about saintly people I had never heard of, praying the daily prayers with some of the communion of saints I hadn't yet met, and discovering new holy friends who struggled with being human like we all do.

If you're looking for some saintly inspiration this Lent and want to join me and many other Christians from across North America, visit https://www.lentmadness.org/ and subscribe to the daily emails. 

And have a Happy Lent!

Monday, February 12, 2024

Monday Music Appreciation #23 -- Some cheerful music

Here's a bright and lively piece of music -- the Rondo from Mozart's Horn Concerto No. 4, K95, in a trio arrangement by someone named Joshua Davis. I think the video must have been made in the middle of pandemic restrictions because the Berlin Chamber Music Hall is empty of patrons. I'm so glad that's no longer the case!!

On the weekend, we heard the Edmonton Symphony's Orchestra's Principal Horn, Allene Hackleman, perform the entire 18-minute concerto just beautifully to a happy crowd, but in the video below, you'll see only the four-minute rondo with Sarah Willis on horn, Tamàz Velenczei on trumpet, and Jesper Busk Sorensen on euphonium. 

Musicians are amazing people, wouldn't you agree?

Sunday, February 11, 2024

Sunday Reflection: "If you choose, you can make me well"

Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Mark 1:40-42.

A Prayer for Brett

The man 
came to you
with his heart in his eyes,
saying,
"If you choose, you can make me clean."

"I do choose," 
you reply --
over and 
over and 
over.

You choose us
no matter how
messed up 
and complicated
our lives get.

You reach out to us
in the love of those 
around us,
in the beauty of the world
with which you surround us,
in the moments 
that fill us with joy and delight
-- and even
in the painful times when we
reach the bottom
and have nowhere to go
but up.

You choose us.

You are with us.

And you wait for us
to choose you, 
too.

Our messed up, 
complicated,
beautiful,
painful lives
need your help.

Help us to choose
you,
to choose
the good road
starting now.

+Amen

* * * * * * *

Pastor Quinn invited Brett to come in off the street for church this morning at the Community of Emmanuel, our ecumenical community in the inner-city. Brett came in and sat by the door, and we ended up chatting as we waited for the service to start. He told me he wasn't sure why he accepted Quinn's invitation because he hadn't been to church in years, so I assured him that ours was a low-key and no-pressure kind of service, and he told me a bit about his life on the streets. 

Once the service began, I spent most of it helping a fellow with very cold hands, and passing coffee out the door to people waiting outside because it was a full-house kind of day. As the service ended, I checked in with Brett. He was very emotional and talked about how much he wants to get off of drugs, and how afraid he is that they've already damaged him beyond healing. 

Today's reading about Jesus choosing to make the leper well aligns with Brett's story. Just as leprosy divided families in Jesus' day, addiction and anger issues have been a wedge between Brett and his family for the past five years, and he's homesick. Quinn's invitation to pray with our community -- and Brett's acceptance of it -- might be a turning point for him, or it might not. 

That puts this young man whom I barely know near the top of my prayer list for the week ahead. I hope and pray that today's service at Inner City Pastoral Ministry can be the moment that Brett realizes that Christ does want to restore him to his community, as he did the leper. I hope that Brett will call Quinn for a meeting in the days ahead that will bring him healing, reconciliation, and reconnection with his family sooner than he expects. 

If you have any spare prayers for healing and hope, Brett can use them.

Thursday, February 8, 2024

It hasn't stopped

Yesterday morning Pastor Quinn and I went downtown to share warm clothes and snacks with inner-city folks waiting to enter the Bissell Centre -- only to find police and clean up crews throwing peoples' tent/tarp homes and possessions into garbage trucks yet again. I can't tell you how disheartened the folks there looked. There are no words. 

The Edmonton Coalition on Housing and Homelessness recently put together an excellent brochure debunking myths being thrown around when it comes to encampments, and it is important enough to take up a few pages in Inner City Pastoral Ministry's February newsletter. 

If you have questions or concerns about encampments and their demolition, please click here to read "Busting the Myths about Campsites" on pages 4 and 5 of the February 2024 issue of Straight from the Street. And if you want to join the crew from ICPM at our Annual General Meeting, there's an invitation in there, too. Would be lovely to see more friends there!

Tuesday, February 6, 2024

Monday Music Appreciation # 22 -- Joni

It happened again, and this time I'm not sure why this Monday moodling didn't go through. I was quite sure I'd hit the publish button. No matter -- here it is, on a Tuesday instead. -- M.K.

She's an amazing woman, really, this Joni Mitchell. A girl born in Fort Macleod AB, who grew up in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, and who has an impressive musical life in folk, pop and jazz worlds. On Friday night, patrons at the Winspear were treated to an evening of her music played by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra and sung by Sarah Slean, who gave an amazing performance. And I discovered that I know every word of Both Sides Now. How or why that is the case, I'm not sure. I do know that our family sing song book has the lyrics in it.

Last night, Joni received another Grammy Award for the recording of this performance (her first after recovering from a brain aneurysm) with another of my favourites, Brandi Carlile. Enjoy!

Thursday, February 1, 2024

The myth of "other"

Yesterday, the premier of my province announced draconian anti-trans legislation in what seems like an effort to win further accolades from her supporters.

At a point in my past, I would have been cheering her on for protecting so-called parental rights. But I've since learned that some parents are so stuck in traditional male/female dichotomies that they don't realize they are endangering their own children -- who know themselves to be different. Not all children fit into those two boxes, nor should they have to.

As a parent of a trans person, I've been crossing the bumpy waters of trying to help my child come to self-acceptance and joy in who they are. It hasn't been easy -- in fact, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. But I know that my child was able to try new pronouns and explore who they were in the safety and acceptance of their school, and that eventually, they shared their discovery of their trans-ness with my husband and me. 

Our youth shelters are filled with kids whose parents prefer to disown them rather than try to understand who they are.

What really scares me is that the premier's declaration yesterday puts in danger my child, other trans kids and adults, and all people who offer life-saving and scientifically-based supports for trans people because they understand that there are more than two genders.

Just like the anti-encampment folks in our city have pushed our homeless people further and further into the woods, where necessary and life-saving help is hard to come by.

Divisive rhetoric like we heard from the premier yesterday, like we've heard from the anti-encampment police chief for weeks, hurts our society by dividing us instead of equipping us to work together for the common good. In refusing to accept differences among our community members, we are turning ourselves into harsh and judgmental human beings who disrespect lifestyles different than our own.

The problem is that it's too easy to jump on the bandwagon of a self-righteousness that leads to hatred. It's much harder to stand up for the marginalized (my body tells me that -- I am shaking as I write this moodling). But mystics and wisdom teachers across the centuries know that our allegiance lies with every human being, no matter how different their journey is from ours. 

So, somehow, my allegiance must be with people who disagree with me, and with people who agree with me. Dialogue leading to understanding and education is critically important, but holding the tension of differences is extremely difficult.

All that I know for certain is that it's never been "us" vs. "them." It's only us, in an interconnected web of life. And we need to get back to walking many miles in each others' shoes, which the Premier and her supporters clearly forget how to do. Only love and acceptance will win the day and better our world.

I've shed many tears this morning for both sides of these divides -- for the people who refuse to understand, and the people who know they have to stand up for who they are against so much opposition. The poem below is what landed in my journal. I think it fits the many situations where we are tempted to "other" each other, rather than ask the deeper questions that help us to understand each other:

I've come far enough 
in my life 
to understand 
that there is no "other" -- 
there is only us.

To judge others
because they are different from me
is really a judgment on myself.

To withhold the rights of others 
-- because we cannot accept 
who they are --
is to impoverish everyone.

The differences between us
enrich us as human beings.

Were we all the same,
would there be laughter and delight
at the surprises we bestow on each other?

Would there be music
with harmonies?

Would there be sumptuous feasts
that fill all our senses?

There is beauty and safety
in seeing that "other" 
is truly gift
to us all.

There is joy and belonging
in knowing that our differences
make us
us.



Tuesday, January 30, 2024

Tai chi and me -- sixteen years on

I've never been a jogger. I'm not much of an athlete, period. And since Shadow-dog died almost a year ago, I don't walk as much as I used to. 

But I'm still doing tai chi sixteen years after I started, and am very grateful for the practice. It's been helpful with balance through years of vertigo, kept up my core strength for gardening tasks, challenged my brain to remember the sequences in order, and helped me through frozen shoulder and recovery from a broken foot. It's gentle and graceful, but still enough that I work up a sweat every morning. There's almost enough room in my living room to do a complete set of 108 moves, but what I really love is doing it outdoors.

Over the last few years, I've discovered that I can almost do it without thinking because it's part of muscle memory. So I've combined it with a morning prayer mantra... which sometimes distracts me enough that I lose my place and have to back up because I forgot to turn and chop with fist, or missed stepping up and raising hands at the right time. But that's okay -- extra exercise is never a bad thing!

I've tried yoga and other kinds of exercise, but this is still my favourite because it's something I can do alone or with a group, anywhere and any time. And after 16 years, I'm still doing it right, or so I discovered when I came across the video below. That's a pretty wonderful thing to know!

Here's a fellow named Kevin moving fairly slowly through the 108 moves. I love to watch him go through the motions now and then because his video reminds me of nuances that I sometimes forget. If you're a tai chi practitioner, you'll know what I mean. Enjoy!

Monday, January 29, 2024

Monday Music Appreciation #22 -- Smile

I've always loved this beautiful melody, sung by Nat King Cole. If I'm not mistaken, my parents had the recording when I was small, and another version sung by The Lettermen.

It wasn't until I worked at a jazz event at the Winspear that I learned that the originator of Smile was none other than Charlie Chaplin, the silent film star of the 1930s. He heard a line from a love duet in Puccini's Tosca that haunted him, and with the help of composer David Raksin, it developed into this piece of music. 

Tosca was the first opera I ever saw, with my best friend, Cathy. I remember hearing the Quale occhio al mondo duet between soprano and tenor and puzzling over why it sounded familiar. I never did figure it out, until today. It's interesting to see Chaplin's tune juxtaposed with images from his 1936 film, Modern Times, in the video below.

Hearing Smile in the Winspear concert hall over a year ago, played by a very talented bunch of jazz musicians, was a moment I'll never forget. And Nat King Cole's version is really beautiful, too. Enjoy!

Sunday, January 28, 2024

Sunday Reflection: Harden not your hearts

Demolitions continue...
Today's reflection is brought to you by 
Psalm 95.

Today the psalmist invites us to 
harden not [our] hearts.

Tall order in a world that says otherwise.

The world's voice encourages hardness.

Compete.
Overcome.
Win. 
Rise to the top.

But if we are to listen 
to Creator's voice within us
our hearts need to be soft,
pliant,
open
to others.

Creator calls us
to live with compassion
instead of judgment,
to walk with
rather than walk over
or around.

The world's advice
is not Creator's voice.

Creator,
help our soft-hearted witness 
to what you want for your world
become so compelling
that the most hardened hearts soften
so that everyone 
and everything
can be made whole.

Please soften the hearts
of all your people.

All of us.

+Amen

Friday, January 26, 2024

Simple pleasures -- Friday, chai day

The first time I ever tasted chai, my friend Mina's mom, Mrudula, made it for me. Who knew how good black pepper, cardamom, ginger, and other spices could be when steeped with Taj Mahal tea and scalded milk? Some years later, Mrudula shared her masala recipe with me, and ever since, whenever I've wanted a more nourishing cup of tea than you can make with just a tea bag, I make MMMMM Chai... Mina's Mom Mrudula's Marvelous Masala Chai. 

A few years back, I did a bit of research into chai and discovered that it has a bit of rebellion in it. When England colonized India, the British decided that the top grade teas grown in the country would be labelled "English Breakfast Tea," and the lower grade, more bitter teas were left to the people of India, at prices that were unfair. 

But the people of India improved their own special ways of turning any tea into chai that rivalled that English Breakfast stuff by making rich, frothy, spicy, and flavourful blends with spices unheard of by the Brits, who pooh-poohed the culinary wizardry of chai wallahs. The colonizers clearly didn't know what they were missing! And their variety of tea has never been as popular on the whole as chai.

My daughter loves chai as much as I do, so we've decided that every Friday is chai day. Of late, she's been taking a course, so I have to pour her sweet and spicy chai into a travel mug to go with her, while I sip mine in peace while sitting in my prayer chair on Friday mornings.

If you're interested in a good chai masala recipe, I have one. All you have to do is ask -- Mrudula doesn't mind if I share it with friends.

Monday, January 22, 2024

Monday Music Appreciation #21 -- Nella Fantasia

Warning: the first time I heard Nella Fantasia from this Sarah Brightman album, it brought me to tears. And I'm pretty sure I've moodled about it before, but it deserves to be appreciated again, in my humble opinion.

Nella Fantasia is a piece of music that was composed for the movie The Mission by Italian composer Ennio Morricone, who died in 2020. It's a stunning piece of music both within the film, and without it. 

I recommend listening with your eyes closed and the volume up just enough that it feels like the melody is flowing through your veins. The lyrics, both the Italian by Chiara Ferraù (readers know how I love Italian!) and an English translation, are below. Enjoy!

 

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto
Li tutti vivono in pace e in onestá
lo sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere
Come le nuvole che volano
Pien' d'umanitá in fondo all'anima

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo chiaro
Li anche la notte è meno oscure
lo sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere
Come le nuvole che volano

Nella fantasia esiste un vento caldo
Che soffia sulle cittá, come amico
lo sogno d'anime che sonon sempre libere
Come le nuvole che volano
Pien' d'umanitá in fondo all' anima


In my imagination I see a just world
Where all live in peace and honesty
I dream of souls that are always free
Like clouds that soar
Full of humanity, deep in spirit

In my imagination I see a bright world
There even night is less dark
I dream of souls that are always free
Like clouds that soar

In my imagination there is a warm wind
That breathes over the cities like a friend
I dream of souls that are always free
Like clouds that soar
Full of humanity, deep in spirit

Sunday, January 21, 2024

Sunday Reflection: A Prayer for Christian Unity

The Icon of Mercy
from the Taizé Community

A lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher”, he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 

He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 


He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.” 

And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live”.  - Luke 10: 25-28


I think I'm doing okay
in the way I love you, Creator.

My heart and soul and strength
are all for you. 

I'm good --
until Jesus says I shall love my neighbour as myself.

How the heck is that supposed to work?

My neighbour and I disagree on so many things.

She dislikes me about as much as I dislike her, so we're even. 

Isn't being united in our dislike enough?

No, you say.

We need to be united in our compassion
for everyone, everything, and each other.

Loving God and loving people are the same thing
when it comes down to it.

Teach me how to really love. 

Unite us in your compassion --
in compassion for each other.

+Amen.

* * * * * * *

Ecumenical Prayer for the Week of Christian Unity
Sunday, January 21
St. Luke's Anglican Church
8424 95 Ave
7 pm
All are Welcome! Bring friends!

Wednesday, January 17, 2024

What a housing emergency means

Yesterday, here in Edmonton, Mayor Sohi declared a housing emergency in an effort to bring all levels of government together to come up with housing solutions. A good step, but there's a long way to go. At this point, it's anybody's guess as to whether other government officials will actually show up to the meetings.

Temperatures here in Canada's northernmost provincial capital are warming up a wee bit (-20 with windchill to -30 as I write), but people are still suffering frostbite and there have been at least 3 deaths from the cold this week that I know of, likely more. A housing emergency means that there aren't enough places for people in my city to stay warm, never mind live in a community of their own choosing. It means more than that, too.

As Canadians, we have been told that our country is high on the list of places where migrants and refugees want to live. For decades, our standard of living has been something many aspire to share. We've been proud of that.

But the fact is that housing prices continue to rise (due to greed in some cases) and because of that, there clearly isn't enough affordable housing for the people already here. If there was, no one would be freezing to death outside. Our governments used to invest in supportive and affordable housing, but lately they haven't put money down to get shovels in the ground and build what is needed right now. 

If that's not a housing emergency, I don't know what is. Clearly, things have to change so that we can ensure that no one has to live outdoors, and so we can welcome new would-be Canadians, especially from places where life is untenable.

I wasn't going to share this interview link from early Sunday morning as it feels embarrassing to do so, but the images (notice the fellow I wrote about last week with his dog, Billy Bob, on the trolley?) and the last minute or so of the interview about contacting elected officials -- are the whole point of what I keep going on about here. 

https://www.cbc.ca/player/play/2299556419635

The thing is, the inability to afford a home that affects even one person has a ripple effect on all of us. We are all connected, whether we realize it or not. No matter where we live, it's possible we don't realize that some of our neighbours may be having to choose between paying the rent or buying groceries/medications. 

Some of us might be safe, warm, and secure for the moment, but if we don't speak up in defense of those who are struggling, their miseries will compound, and might overwhelm the systems that sustain us all. Crime rates, pressures on healthcare and mental health, addictions, and so many other ills only increase when people are up against a wall. That's a future that none of us really want to imagine. 

So it's time to make noise.

Please, if you haven't already, contact your elected officials. Remind them that all of Canada (all of the world, really) is in various states of housing emergency. Give them the Bottom Line: housing is a human right, and government officials MUST work to ensure that everyone has homes that they can afford. And if you want to go the extra mile, suggest that basic income for all would be helpful too.

Both can happen with some effort, creativity and political will. But we have to push our politicians in the right direction, because they get distracted from these life and death situations by the darndest things! 

After reading my last moodling, my mom said, "why don't you post contact information for people who want to write letters?" So here it is. Mom -- you're right, I should have done it sooner! And everyone is welcome to share this moodling/these addresses with their circle of friends!

Sean Fraser, Canada's Minister of Housing, Infrastructure and Communities. Email address -- sean.fraser@parl.gc.ca 

Jason Nixon, Alberta's Minister of Seniors, Community and Social Services. Email address -- scss.minister@gov.ab.ca

And if you're not Albertan or Canadian, please don't doubt that there's a housing emergency where you live. It's world wide. Sending an email or phoning your own elected officials can get the ball rolling for a better and more resilient world. 

Hey, there's my word of the year!

I'll get off my soapbox now and post happier things for the rest of the month, I promise!

Thursday, January 11, 2024

Encampment stories

The start of this year has been brutal for our homeless sisters and brothers in Edmonton. Not that life isn't brutal for them all year round, but for the last few weeks, it's been particularly bad as the Edmonton Police Service and City of Edmonton cleanup crews decided, in the days before Christmas, to demolish larger encampments that homeless folks pulled together so they could stay warm within their communities. 

As soon as the Edmonton Coalition on Housing and Homelessness became aware of the EPS and City plans, ECOHH put out a call for people to stand in solidarity with the folks on the street and to witness the process. A list of the encampments and the dates they would be torn down appeared on the ECOHH website so that concerned citizens could be present to support the communities, and document the process for the public to see. We stood in early morning darkness with people who were losing their only homes, feeling helpless with them, taking pictures, and assisting with moving their valued possessions away before the crews arrived and trashed everything. 

Billy-Bob at church
Pastor Quinn and I helped Gary last week. Gary had a decent tent covered with a couple of triple-layered tarps, two camping cots with pillows and sleeping bags for him and his girlfriend, a dog bed for his 14-year-old dog (Billy-Bob), a cooler, hibachi, and bins full of tinned goods, clothes, and blankets. We did what we could to sort items and get them out of the tent and onto a couple of rolling carts before workers in white hazmat suits came to throw everything into a garbage truck crusher. Billy-Bob, a little black and white pug who sometimes comes to ICPM Sunday services with Gary, burrowed into a pile of sleeping bags while we worked -- and let me know that I was a stranger when I brought him his breakfast kibble. Cute pooch, bad temper! But that's how he's survived this long on the streets. 

As the city trucks moved down the street toward us, the pressure was on. We managed to fold up the tent and pile it onto a cart, but Gary could only move one cart at a time. Running out of time before an appointment, I walked toward the LRT, and ended up following Gary as he pushed his most important cart to the next block, where he started setting up all over again. I don't know if he managed to collect two other carts before the crews tossed all his stuff.

Quinn helps Gary take down his tarp

A block further south on my walk to the train, people from previous encampment demolitions were in the process of rebuilding. See the pallet platform under the tarp in the foreground? Smart folks don't sleep on the ground if they can help it. They probably got the pallets at the bottle depot four blocks away. Imagine the effort just to move them four blocks without a vehicle. Yesterday when I walked past, there were three tents huddled together on those pallets.

These people have no where to go, no matter what you hear Jason Nixon (Minister of Seniors, Community and Social Services for the Alberta Government) saying about investing millions in shelter beds. Shelter beds are not, and never will be the answer. 

Why not? 

Imagine having to leave little Billy-Bob on the street to fend for himself (as I write, it's -31 C with windchill making it feel like -43). Pets are not allowed in shelters...
Imagine having to separate from your partner and sleep in a room with many other noisy people of your gender. There aren't enough spaces for couples...
Imagine having no place to store your possessions so that they aren't stolen as you sleep, and trying to stay awake so you can protect them...
Imagine being kicked out every morning to wander around looking for warm places to wait until you can go back in the evening... 
Imagine saying the wrong thing, as a friend of mine did, and having a mob beat you up...
Imagine being an introvert forced into a room of cots with too many other people, or having a mental health challenge that makes overstimulation overwhelming... 
Imagine being separated from family and friends from your community, people who support and care for each other in ways that shelter staff can't...

Of course, Jason Nixon is clueless about these things. And his government chooses to ignore the true costs of homelessness. They've handed over tax-payer money to employ hundreds of police and cleanup crew people to demolish camps over and over again these last years, not paying attention to the fact that it would cost far less to provide homeless people with proper spaces to live, good healthcare, safe consumption sites that can help them with their addictions, and other necessary services that those of us with homes take for granted because we can afford to care for ourselves.

Government is so stuck in the way they've always done things, they refuse to consider other options. It would be a lot easier and more fiscally responsible if these little encampment communities were offered places where they could not only survive, but thrive together. Like Halifax's ice fishing homes at City Hall. Or Kitchener's Better Tent City. Or better yet, actual affordable housing units with social service providers onsite, like the one Homeward Trust is building just a few blocks from where I live. 

On Tuesday, I spent an hour with some of the folks living in the eight tents at the encampment that was demolished yesterday. We stood around the fire watching Chad chop wood with the dullest hatchet I've ever seen, swapping stories, and enjoying Big Man's attempts to entertain the youngsters with magic tricks (though he kept dropping the loonie because his hands were too cold). He asked, "What do you see when you look around this place?" 

A young mom who brought her teenage daughters to spend the day in solidarity with the campers said simply, "I see people trying to survive together."

The Edmonton Police Service go on and on about weapons and gangs and safety issues to stoke public fear. The media eats that up. But for all I know, my neighbours down the block might have knives and guns and drugs in their basements, and EPS is not sweeping us out of our homes into these freezing temperatures. Imagine the uproar if they did!

Yesterday, Big Man and a few others were arrested. I haven't heard the actual reasons for the arrests, but perhaps it was "obstructing police officers" by refusing to leave their tent homes, perhaps something more. Other than that, we've heard only vague references to fires and unsafe propane tanks (how else do you keep warm without electricity?), gang activity (were there any arrests related to that?), weapons and drugs (did I miss hearing about charges actually being laid?) 

The bottom line is that most people living in encampments are "people trying to survive together" when they can't afford high priced housing in our cities. If they had homes like my friends and I do, these issues would disappear.

To all Edmontonians who are afraid and feel that encampments shouldn't exist, I say, get to know your homeless neighbours. A lot of them are simply people who need us to see them and work with them toward solutions that actually work, one person at a time.

On Tuesday afternoon, my MLA came for coffee to talk about homelessness -- I wrote him a letter and he responded with an in-person visit because he's worried about people freezing, too. I asked him what grassroots folks who care can do when our government keeps ignoring the problem, and he said, "Keep writing letters. Keep making noise. Keep telling your government that we're not doing enough. The more, the better."

Up until 30 years ago, our governments invested in social housing. They have a lot of catching up to do for ignoring the need for the last 30 years. We need to remind them of their responsibility to "people over profit," especially with so many immigrants who need homes coming from around the globe due to climate-related challenges or war in their homelands. Homelessness is an issue across Canada and around the world. And those of us with roofs over our heads can speak up for those who don't.

Yesterday, I stood with Quinn at the table where we pass out winterwear to folks downtown. A woman came to me wearing a jacket with a thin lining. "Do you have a warm coat?" she asked. Quinn said, "Yes, I'll get one." She stood with me, shivering like crazy, tears rolling down her cheeks, until I asked if I could wrap my arms around her to warm her, and she said, "Oh yes." And the moment I did, she began to sob until Quinn returned with the coat five minutes later.

It's so hard out there. Please, friends, write a letter to your elected representatives today. Or even better, phone. 

Simply remind them that housing is a human right and that government needs to ensure that everyone has a home. Even a one-sentence letter/phone call packs a punch. 

Believe it.

Sunday, January 7, 2024

Sunday Reflection: One good word for 2024

Happy New Year, friends!
A symbol of 2024's word of the year

Every year since 2003, I've tried to keep a special Word of the Year in mind, a touchstone of sorts to hold me steady when life becomes challenging. My word for 2023 was Appreciation, and there definitely was lots to appreciate. (Don't worry, though I'm picking a new word, I'll continue with the Monday Music Appreciation posts I started in 2023 just because I love to share music here!)

It's interesting to look back on my words of the year -- moodled here since 2017 -- and other words before that can be found in letters between myself and Cathy, my best friend (we've been keeping each others' letters since we were 10 years old, so there is a record of words in New Year's letters if we go back and look). 

Just for fun, these have been my words for the last seven years:

2023 Appreciation
2022 Light
2021 Unity
2020 Community (which was an interesting choice because Covid-19 meant we all had to isolate!)
2019 Blessing
2018 Me (a year to rediscover my personal way of being after full-time motherhood)
2017 Tenderness

And in years before that, Freedom, Joy, Balance, Trust, Hope, and I don't remember what all!

2023 was a very difficult year in my books. I just deleted a long paragraph about its challenges because I'm sure most of us had enough of our own -- we don't need to read anyone else's!

Of course, there were good things, too. Friendships. My dream job at the Winspear Centre for Music. The garden my family planted for me when I broke my foot, and which really produced. My mom and dad's lovely new condo. A trip to Vancouver Island, and visits with special friends out there. Rafting on the Athabasca River near Jasper with favourite folks from Belgium. Calgary coffee breaks on our trips south to be with Lee's dad. His new apartment, and the fact that he's not spending this winter alone. Time with my sisters and parents. The first trip to Jasper with our kids in 6 years, and pubbing with them (they're all of age now)! 

Like most years, 2023 was a mixed bag. The good thing is that I've become better at handling life's ups and downs thanks to a 14-week online Wisdom School program through the Centre for Action and Contemplation. It helped me to let go of unhealthy expectations (mostly, ever in progress!) and live out of an undivided heart, to be more "grounded" -- though it's going to take the rest of my life to grow into the way of wisdom. 

The Centre for Action and Contemplation and a few recent experiences have helped me to decide on my Word of the Year for 2024. RESILIENCE is also the CAC's focus for 2024, and it's something that I suspect we human beings will need more and more as our world continues to face so many challenges. 

Resilience means not giving up, moving forward with compassion and determination even when things get difficult or seem impossible. Resilience comes from working together to improve creation's situation in whatever ways we can. Resilience arises when we remember that we are not alone.

What's your word of the year? Or your focus for 2024?

I rediscovered a Psalm Prayer from 2016, one that I will be praying as I try to live into the kind of resilience that our planet needs right now. 

A New Year's Psalm

We praise you, 
O Creator,
for new beginnings -- 
fresh footprintless fields with unplanned paths,
clear calendars and unwritten words,
unperceived passages that we will discover in the year ahead.

We thank you for the year that has passed
with its many challenges, 
loves and losses, 
ups and downs.

We offer you our struggles and sorrows 
from the last twelve months
and ask that you bless us and heal us as needed.

We are grateful for the joys
and the moments that set our hearts to singing!

We invite you to become our home
in the twelve months ahead,
our joy and strength.

In all the twists and turns of life 
that we cannot foresee,
be our refuge.
 
In the days to come,
bring your justice and peace into our world through our actions.

Make us mindful of the difference we can make 
as individuals -- and collectively.

Help us to love as you love, without reserve.

Please be gracious to us and bless us
so that we may also bless those you send into our lives,
especially those most in need of blessing.

Align our hearts with yours in the year ahead, 
O Lover of all,
and bless your world 
with the kind of peace that is found in love.

We exult and rejoice in your presence with us
and trust in your goodness to us.

Let your face shine on us 
and on all of your creation in this New Year,
for you are our courage and our resilience.

From the rising of the sun to its setting
and all the moments in between
we praise you,
Creator of life.

+Amen.

Friday, December 29, 2023

Jump on the bandwagon!

Last December... almost the same today.

This morning, the Edmonton Police Service and City cleanup crews took down a homeless encampment (they've been doing it for weeks) in spite of the fact that there is a court injunction in place until January 11th to protect our homeless folks if there aren't enough places where they can go.

And there aren't enough places for them to go. But the dump trucks came, all the same.

So I'm inviting you to jump on the bandwagon and demand solutions for the homeless people in your midst, wherever you live. All you need to do is let your elected officials know that the issue of people having a roof over their head is important to you, and the officials must do what it takes -- in particular, asking those homeless people what would work for them -- until no one is homeless. I should have put that in this letter -- ask the people in need what they need, and work from that! But I was a bit hot under the collar, oops.

Below, I'm posting the email I sent to my elected officials this morning. May it inspire you to send your own. And if you live in Edmonton, or Alberta, feel free to email me, and I can save you the time it takes to look up city council and provincial politicians relevant to this issue by sending you their email addresses. My pleasure! 

* * * * * * *

 Dear city councilors and provincial politicians, 

 You've heard from me recently, but I am writing once again, and I will write many more times, as necessary. I live in the Holyrood neighbourhood in Edmonton, and volunteer with the Inner City Pastoral Ministry as a member of the ministry team. As lunch coordinator, I help volunteers hand out more than 200 lunches a week to people who come to us from downtown encampments for the homeless every Sunday. I know the homeless community, if not by names, by faces. 

 Today I am very angry and more than a little heartbroken that the Edmonton Police Service and city crews are ignoring the injunction preventing encampment evictions when there isn't enough safe housing for the people who have nowhere else to live. The EPS and the City were supposed to wait until more humane solutions could be found. 

 Homelessness costs the city and province far more than ATCO trailers and support personnel do -- think of all the medical, police/fire/EMT and cleanup costs. Encampment evictions mean these people have nowhere to lay their heads, and they have to start over from square one, begging, borrowing and stealing to build more shelters for themselves -- because you are lacking imagination. Something must be done. 

 All councilors and MLAs could have emergency meetings to determine where empty city lots can hold heated trailers so people don't have to build dangerous fires; so people can have doors that lock to protect themselves and their few belongings while they sleep at night. Shelter beds will never be enough. The women's ATCO trailers set up by the Elizabeth Fry Society on the north side were a good start; keep going!! 

 Alberta has a 5.5 billion dollar surplus. Housing is a human right, and it would take only a fraction of that surplus to solve these problems in a humane way. Our province can show the world what it takes to end homelessness. Imagine how great our province and city would become in the eyes of the world!   

 Dear politicians, I look forward to hearing about the solutions you come up with at your emergency meeting on solving the housing crisis.

Maria K

Thursday, December 28, 2023

On the Feast of the Holy Innocents

Warning: this is not a happy Christmas moodling.

Remember the Bible story (a dream version of which I shared yesterday) about King Herod sending soldiers to Bethlehem to kill all the babies two years of age and under so that the promised Messiah could not unseat him as king? Today is the day that story is remembered.

For myself, I am remembering the names of some of the Palestinian children that I added to a long banner of names one afternoon in November. In particular, I am thinking of Lotus, who was only 10, and Rita and Bilal, her little sisters, who were 9 and 7, and their family, cousins with similar surnames, and friends. Wise men did not save them.

So today I am sharing a very powerful Christmas Eve reflection that was offered by a Palestinian Lutheran pastor in Bethlehem instead of the usual Christmas celebrations. An Anglican pastor friend of mine tossed out her Christmas Eve sermon and read his words instead, and truthfully, all our church leaders should be doing the same.

The world's leadership is taking the lazy way out in supporting or ignoring this ongoing war that has led to over 20,000 civilian casualties to date. If we really want to celebrate the season of Christmas, we can do it best by signing petitions, writing our MPs, standing in solidarity at rallies against genocide, demanding complete ceasefire before any more Holy Innocents are lost, and seeking out those among us who are in need to offer them hope through our support... 

I pray that it can be so.

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

A story for Christmas

I wrote this story in 2010. It has appeared in these moodlings a few times, just because I feel like it's one
of the best things I've ever written. It seems to have even more meaning for me this year, with Bethlehem in the midst of war...


Monica’s Epiphany


Christmas was a week away, and Monica was in miserable martyr mode. Hurrying along the mall concourse, she chanted a litany of the things she still needed to find: new Christmas candles, some slivered almonds, two new pillows, and—oh dear, she had forgotten something. What was it? What was it?
Sighing deeply, Monica paused at the food court, racking her brain for the missing item. Seeing an empty table for two, she found her way through a crowd of shoppers having late afternoon snacks. She sat down and slid her bags and parcels onto the table top. There was already more than an armload; how was she going to lug all this and two pillows home on the bus? Frowning, she picked up her purse, and rifled through it for her shopping list.
The search was fruitless, and her mood worsened -- she would never get everything done without that list! Looking at her Christmas purchases, she thought hard about each store she had visited and where the list might be, but there was no way of knowing whether she’d find it if she back-tracked. Besides, she didn’t have time. Her bus home was less than an hour away.
This business of Christmas was highly overrated as far as Monica was concerned. Holding a commercial festival that had nothing to do with anything was ridiculous, really. Not being religious in any sense of the word, Monica couldn’t for the life of her understand why thinking adults would put themselves through the yearly chaos surrounding the birth of a mythological biblical character who was supposed to be God, but she grudgingly went along with it. Her husband and kids seemed to sort of believe in something about it all, and she couldn’t refuse them anything. For her own part, Monica was ready to call it quits entirely.
Furious with herself and the missing Christmas list, Monica scanned the noisy crowd around her until her eyes halted on a group of three elderly men sitting in the midst of the hubbub, grinning at her. Unnerved, she turned and looked behind her, thinking they might be amused by something going on at the Chinese food counter. When she turned back, their eyes were on the playing cards they each held in their hands. The old Asian fellow was laughing at something the white-haired man of African descent was saying. The small, grey-goateed Middle Eastern-looking gent threw his cards on the table with glee, and Monica actually heard a roar of mock disapproval from the other two over the noise of the crowd. They were clearly having a good time, while she was having everything but.
Monica shook her head. It wouldn’t surprise her if the old roosters’ wives were running themselves ragged doing Christmas errands while the men didn’t lift a finger. Husbands were all the same. Wasn’t Al home reading the paper or watching TV? He complained that he hated mall mayhem this time of year. Well, so did she, but someone had to prepare for Christmas.
An hour later, Monica sat on the bus, her parcels taking up the seat beside her, causing frowns among the passengers who were stuck standing in the aisle during rush hour. Avoiding their eyes, she checked her bags one more time. A sweater for Al, gift cards for the grandkids, pine potpourri and the new pillows (suggested in that Better Homes and Gardens article), chocolates (for the boy who shoveled her sidewalk and any extra friends who might show up with a gift that had to be reciprocated), new Christmas towels for the bathroom, slivered almonds for cookies, three extra Christmas cards (for the friends she had crossed off her mailing list because they didn’t send cards last year), and earrings for her friend Teresa.
 Not bad a bad haul, though she hadn’t come up with a gift for her daughter Janie. As Monica closed the last bag, she spotted her Christmas shopping list slipping to its bottom, crossly snatched it out, and didn’t have to read further than the first item. Silver polish! She had forgotten the silver polish! Her head dropped as angry tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back and looked up, right into the face of one of the men she had seen playing cards at the food court.
His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, and he removed his hat to reveal thin, curly white hair that contrasted with his dark skin. “If I held the biggest bag on my lap,” he said in a deep voice with a faint but unmistakeable accent, “would you mind if I sat beside you?”
Surprised, Monica shuffled the smaller bags aside as the man lifted her bag of pillows and slid his lanky legs beneath them. His hands were black against the downy whiteness of the pillows peeking out, and the tender pinkness of his palms and fingernails embarrassed Monica somehow.
“I forgot the silver polish,” she confessed quickly, then wondered why she had said it.
“Silver polish?” the stranger repeated. “Is it important?”
“Well, yes,” Monica replied. “I polish the silver every year for Christmas.”
The man considered that for a moment, then said, “Why?”
“Well, it gets tarnished. It’s a wedding gift, and we’ve always used it for Christmas dinner.”
“What would happen if you didn’t use it?” her seatmate asked, looking her in the eye.
“I don’t know. I suppose that as long as everyone has knives and forks, that’s all that really matters.”
“So who are you polishing the silver for?” he asked, smiling.
Monica’s mouth dropped open. She was about to protest, but surprised herself by saying, “I’ve always hated polishing the silver.”
“So why not make a change?” the stranger said gently. “Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine,” he grinned, wiggling his white bushy eyebrows.
Monica almost rolled her eyes like a teenager faced with Mom’s advice, but smiled instead. “I guess you’re right,” she said.
“Here’s my stop,” said her seatmate. “Thanks for the seat.” Leaving her pillows beside her, he shuffled past others to the front of the bus and disembarked. As the bus pulled away, Monica watched his figure recede in the darkness.
Someone touched her shoulder. “I sit?” said the small Asian man she had also seen at the food court.
“Of—of course,” Monica said, and looked past him to see the third card player, the one with the goatee, holding onto a handrail. The Asian man took her pillows and held them on his lap as he settled beside her. He beamed, nodded, and pulled a folded newspaper from under his arm. “I going to Christmas concert tonight,” he said, pointing to a notice in the paper. Handel’s Messiah. “You go to Christmas concerts?” he asked.
“I used to, when my family was younger,” Monica replied. “But now that they’ve left home I have too much to do to get everything ready for Christmas. Tomorrow, I need to put up the tree and get going on my Christmas cleaning, and after that I have to decorate. Oh, and bake almond cookies.”
“Ah. Why you do so much things? Husband, children no help, or you not like help?” he asked. “Why they don’t help so you can enjoy Christmas, go to concerts?”
Monica was speechless. She had never really asked for help. But now that she thought about it, Al probably wouldn’t mind setting up the tree, and Janie would likely be willing to come over and wash some walls and clean the china cabinet for her. Monica's daughter had always loved that cabinet and its porcelain statues. Come to think of it, Janie should choose one or two of those dust-collecting treasures as her Christmas gift this year. And her twelve-year-old daughter, Sara, would probably love to make almond snow drops for her Girl Guide badge, since she swore they were her favourite cookie.
“I suppose I could ask for help,” Monica murmured.
“Confucius say, “They must often change who would be constant in happiness and wisdom.” Yes, ask for help. Go to concerts,” her seatmate said, pointing again to his newspaper as he tucked it in with her pillows and stood up. “My stop, good bye.”
“Oh. Goodbye,” Monica murmured, too late, as the little man hustled forward and stepped gingerly off the bus. He waved at her as the bus pulled away. When she turned back from the window, the third card player was sitting beside her.
“What is it with you guys?” she said.
The grey-goateed man smiled and shrugged, saying with a thick accent, “We have been friends for many years. But we noticed you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself this afternoon.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Monica admitted. “I misplaced my Christmas shopping list, and couldn’t remember the things I intended to buy. So I forgot the silver polish… and -- oh no! Spicehill Farms gift boxes for my neighbours.” She cursed internally.
The man shrugged again. “Do you like your neighbours?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t buy them presents if I didn’t.”
His eyes twinkled. “So who needs sausages and cheeses? Do something different instead. Our only true security is our ability to change. Why not invite your neighbours over for some Christmas cheer?”
Monica laughed. Years ago, when Christmas was simpler, didn’t she and Al host a neighbourhood Christmas party? And invite the Magnussens, Wongs, Chomiks and Leighs? How had that tradition been forgotten when it was such a good one? Oh yes, Al had pneumonia that one year, she had the flu the next…
“Good idea,” Monica said, smiling. “Why are you and your friends so wise?”
The man smiled, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. “You’ll have to excuse me. This is my stop.” He stood and handed Monica her pillows. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Thank you,” Monica smiled. “And thank your friends, too. You each gave me a good idea.”
When Monica reached home, she was surprised to find Al in the process of putting up a Christmas tree. “TV got boring,” he said, as she gave him a kiss. “I thought you might like some help. And I’m warming last night’s casserole leftovers in the oven. I hope that meets your approval.”
Monica felt like applauding, but settled for giving him an extra kiss. “How would you feel about taking in Handel’s Messiah tonight?” she asked.


After an incredible evening of letting Handel’s glorious music wash over her, Monica had the most vivid dream of her life.
She dreamed she was walking a rugged path in a cool, dark valley, the sky above her sparkling with more stars than she had ever seen, though the edge of the horizon held the palest glow of coming dawn. There was just enough light that Monica could see the path ahead of her for a short distance. Somewhere behind her, there was a gentle jangling of bells.
Suddenly, the bells became louder, and Monica turned to see a large beast come over a rise in the path. A tall man in a turban was silhouetted against the sky where it had begun to lighten. He limped along, leading another man on a camel. A second camel and rider came behind them. Instinctively, Monica stepped off the path into some shrubs to let them pass, but the procession came to a halt.
The elderly black man in the lead looked familiar to Monica, but she couldn’t place him. He began to speak to her, but she didn’t understand a word. He paused, and tried again, a different sounding language, and again, another language she couldn’t begin to recognize. He turned to his friends on the camels, and they each tried to speak with her, but nothing they said resembled English in any way. So the leader reverted to sign language, pointing toward a small village ahead, and to the camel, indicating that he wanted Monica to ride.
“Oh, no, no,” she replied, and then remembered that he probably didn’t understand her. “You’re limping, she said, pointing to his foot and doing an imitation, then gesturing from him to the camel. “You should ride.”
But the goateed man on the camel the dark one was leading had already dismounted, and the two of them pushed Monica toward it, making clucking noises against her protests, helping her into the saddle. The two men linked arms and hobbled slowly down the path toward a sleeping village, the beast below Monica tossing from side to side in an ancient rhythm unfamiliar to her. She turned to the Asian man mounted on the camel behind her, and he shrugged and smiled encouragement. Why did they all look so familiar?
The tiny caravan stopped as it reached the outskirts of the little town, and the men in the lead walked back to the one still seated on his camel so all three could confer in a soft-sounding language. The goateed man drew some instruments out of a sack that was fastened to his belt, and seemed to take a reading from the fading stars. After a short discussion, a point in the direction of the far end of town, and quiet murmurs of assent, the three men resumed their positions.
Somewhere a rooster crowed as the light increased, and a few more joined in chorus. The camel procession passed through the shadows of the dusty town, only the sounds of harness bells and the camels’ footfalls echoing from stone walls. The group was almost at the last home in the village when they stopped. The man behind Monica dismounted, and the other two came to help her down before all three went to the first camel and unpacked some beautifully ornate jars and boxes.
Monica stood alone, not knowing what to do next, but the three men beckoned that she should come with them to the door of a tiny house with a dim light in one of the windows. Curious, she followed them, standing to the side as the goateed man rapped on the door. The light in the window increased, and a moment later, a tousled-haired girl bearing a lamp peeked through the door. Surprise registered on her face as her eyes travelled from face to face. Nodding to Monica, she murmured a moment in the soft-sounding language Monica had heard the men speaking, and disappeared for a few moments. The goateed man made a comment, and all three chuckled as the girl returned to the door, pulling a robe around her slim body.
The girl opened the door and held the lamp aloft, gesturing that the visitors should enter. Monica found herself swept into the tiny home with the rustle of the three strangers’ robes. She was standing in the middle of a single room. A man on a mat in the corner raised himself onto an elbow, and a tiny child peeked out from under the blanket that covered the two. The girl set the lamp on the room’s only table, turned to a shelf on the wall and brought down a pitcher and bowl. She was reaching for a towel when the man with the goatee said something that made her stop mid-reach. He gestured toward the two on the bed. The child had sat up, his dark curly hair standing on end, his eyes reflecting the lamplight, and the man put an arm around him and spoke what seemed a soft challenge to the visitors.
The child looked intently at Monica as the man with the goatee took a step back, waving one hand in dismay, speaking softly. Monica scrunched her eyes at the little one the way she had with her own grandbabies, and he grinned, put a finger in his mouth, and scrunched his whole face as his father and the stranger spoke to one another. The girl put one hand to her mouth and sank to the table’s bench, following the conversation with her eyes. Monica wondered what was being said, but continued to exchange blinks and winks with the little tyke.
Suddenly, he wiggled out from under his protector’s arm and stood up, taking three steps toward the girl. Almost as suddenly, the three men standing in the doorway dropped to their knees, smiling, reaching toward the little one. The child toddled to the girl’s knee, and she lifted him to her lap, smoothing his hair, but he wiggled and slid to the ground again. Then he went to Monica, who had crouched to his level.
Silence filled the room, and the lamplight seemed a little brighter, Monica thought. The child looked into her eyes questioningly, and smiled. “Ah, you’re a charmer,” she murmured, reaching out to tousle his curly hair. She let herself down onto the floor, and he plunked down in front of her, legs akimbo.
“I don’t suppose you know Patty-cake, do you?” she said, and he wrinkled his nose in a quizzical fashion. “Here,” she said, taking his hands and smacking his palms in gentle rhythm, “Patty-cake, patty cake, baker’s man…”
The next thing she knew, the girl was sitting behind the little one, pulling him into her lap, listening intently to the rhyme. Once the cake had been put “in the oven for baby and me,” the child clapped as if to say, “again,” and Monica repeated it. When she finished, the girl smiled shyly, and began to clap her son’s hands in a different rhythm and sing a little melody, pausing for the child to fill in syllables now and then. Monica looked over at the other visitors, and they too were sitting on the floor, eyes shining, watching the clapping game, smiling and nodding at Monica.
The child’s eyes moved to the three strange men, and he clambered off his mother’s lap toward the one who was closest to him. He touched the Asian man’s wrinkled cheek, and the old man touched the child’s cheek and murmured what could only have been appreciation. The little one then moved to the one with the goatee and touched the tip of his rather bulbous nose with one finger. He laughed, and the goateed one laughed, and flattened his nose with his own fingertip, crossing his eyes, making the toddler giggle. Finally, the boy reached the darkest one. The old man closed his eyes, smiling as little fingers traced his bushy white eyebrows. Then he opened his eyes, took the child’s hand, and kissed it gently.
The young man on the mat had tied his thin blanket around his waist and moved to the table. He unwrapped a few crusts of bread in a towel, offering them to the three visitors. They shook their heads, the goateed one responded at length, and then turned to the others in conferral. The three then removed from the folds of their robes the ornate boxes and jars that Monica saw earlier, and held them out to the young couple. The girl shook her head, but the old one with the goatee slowly got to his feet and went to her, pressing his boxes set with stones into her hands before returning to help his fellow travelers to their feet so they could do the same with their jars. The goateed one spoke with some urgency to the young man, and a look of alarm crossed his smooth face. He swallowed hard, making eye contact with the girl. The two nodded almost imperceptibly, and the girl scooped up the child and gave him to Monica.
Confused, Monica and the child watched from their place on the floor as the young couple moved uncertainly about the room, seemingly in a panic. The black stranger grasped the blanket the young man was wearing, and Monica averted her eyes and began playing Pattycake with the little boy while the young man dressed and the old one folded up the bedding. The Asian man picked up the bread that had just been offered him and handed it to the girl as the goateed man took a rough cloth sack from a hook on the wall and gave it to her. The young man brought a hammer and chisel, and a small shirt that he passed to Monica so she could dress the child while the rest hurriedly but carefully packed the few things from the room into the sack, including the gifts the strangers had brought. When the child’s head and arms emerged from his little shirt, he clapped his hands and made grunting noises to the Pattycake rhythm, and Monica repeated it again, smiling in spite of the anxiety she was feeling.
The girl interrupted the game by wrapping a blanket around her son’s shoulders. She spoke softly to him for a few moments, and he raised his arms to her. She picked him up, and he snuggled into her neck as she rummaged in the top of the sack for the bread. She broke off a crust and gave it to him, and he offered it to Monica.
“Ah, no, little one,” she smiled. “It’s your breakfast.” The young woman smiled an anxious smile, and before Monica knew what she was doing, she held both mother and child in a wordless embrace.
            The young man appeared at the girl’s elbow, speaking rapidly as he hefted the bag and gestured toward the door. But the tall black man held up a hand for a moment, opened the door a crack, and looked out. Cautiously pushing the door open, he led the young couple and child out into the slanting early morning light. Monica and the others followed.
The young man made a deep bow toward the three, put his arm around his wife and child, and was about to walk along a path that led into the hills when the Asian man became quite agitated, pointing toward the horizon, where a cloud of dust could be seen advancing toward the village. Waving his hands, he spoke quickly to his companions and grabbed the young man’s sack of belongings. The other two men had hurried to the nearest camel, unloading bedrolls and satchels before tying the young man’s sack and their own canteens to the camel’s saddle and handing the young man the beast’s lead.
The Asian man took the child from his mother and gave him to Monica as the other two visitors helped the girl mount the saddle. Monica kissed the child's curly crown and lifted the little one up to the girl, whose eyes were misty as she spoke words of what seemed to be gratitude to the three visitors and Monica. The men smiled and bowed, and Monica followed their lead, then crinkled her eyes at the child, who responded in kind. The goateed man spoke seriously with the young man for a moment, pointing first one direction, then another. The young man nodded, gripped the older man’s arm, and hugged him tightly for a moment. Then he nodded to the other two, who coaxed the camel to its feet and began shouting and slapping its backside. The young man led the lumbering beast up the path without looking back. The girl and her child, their eyes dark, their smiles bright, turned and waved to the strangers who had come to visit. Then the girl wrapped herself and her child in her cloak, and the two turned to face their seemingly uncertain future.
Monica stood watching until the little family disappeared over a rise. When she turned around, the three old men were standing with their only camel and the things they had unloaded from the beast they had given away. The goateed man threw up his hands in disgust and spoke to the Asian fellow in a rather irritated tone. The black one laughed aloud, said something himself, and a moment later, all three were laughing. Their laughter rang like bells, peal after peal, and Monica suddenly found that she was laughing too, even though the joke was beyond her. As she turned toward the horizon, her laughter caught in her throat and her smile faded. Her companions’ eyes followed hers, and Monica became aware of the sound of marching echoing through the streets.
“You—you saved them, didn’t you?” she said, pointing toward the hill where the young couple had vanished. “You knew they were in danger, and you warned them. Your camel was probably the most important gift you gave them. How will you travel now?”
The goateed one reached for Monica’s arm, lowered it to her side, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. Then he whispered, in a thick accent, “God grant me the serenity to accept the situations I cannot change, the courage to change the ones I can, and the wisdom to do what must be done.” 
Monica woke, and wondered.


Though she never saw her three wise men again, Monica took their words to heart. Her silver was donated to a charity sale, she now involves her family in pre-Christmas preparation (and has discovered that they actually enjoy helping out), and she has stopped worrying about buying her neighbours gifts and has started inviting them over more often.
Since then, every year during the Christmas season, Monica approaches an inner city charity and asks for the name of a needy young refugee couple with a small child. She buys blankets, food, and a Pattycake book, and takes them to the family on Christmas Eve.


Monica is a changed woman.

© 2010 Maria K.