Songs for a Tuesday

Don't be afraid to move a little like Jian.

Mending

I could see the day fraying at some of its edges today.

Three times this afternoon I heard the kind of yelling in the neighborhood that rattles safety. I was not afraid for my safety, but I was surely afraid for someone's.

Twice I caught sight of a man hauling his belongings down the ally: dumbbells and plastic containers. His walk was heavy. His packing poorly planned, hurried, and spilling out.

Once today I took some time to stare at some of the things in my life that hurt.

And then . . .

I ran.
I had good coffee with a friend.
I washed dishes.
I watched The National.
I got good-chills about Obama.
I did my laundry.
I read a wordy text book.
I read John Milton.
I listened to Over the Rhine.
I reminded myself to breathe more deeply.
I gave some clothes away.
I boiled a free-range, organic egg and put it on my salad.
I drank peppermint tea with honey from this weekend's Vancouver winter market.
I said hello to my mom.

Fake Friends of the Truest Kind

Today I came home and put all my Patty Griffin albums on shuffle. Her music settles anxiety, she sings my ache, and her lyrics put wings on wishes.

Who are your friends in music?

Tables and Chairs

This weekend I got my listening ears swerving around an older Andrew Bird album (Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs - yep, it's delightfully odd). The song 'Tables and Chairs' has this built-up section in the middle where A. Bird paints a don't-you-worry picture of the end of the world.



Besides loving the hospitable images of tables and chairs, calling friends who aren't too busy to talk, and drinking roses from a can together, there is this brilliant end to one of the verse. A. Bird declares that the apex of such a vision is that among the dancing bears, the band, and the part where we throw away our survival kits THERE WILL BE SNACKS THERE WILL, THERE WILL BE SNACKS, THERE WILL BE SNACKS.

This pleases me. Food for all. And not just any sort of spread: SNACKS!

This year I am trying to weave back into my life the gentle moment of bowing my head to give thanks for a meal. My good friend Lisa brought a beautiful book back from Iona for me: Blessed Be Our Table. I've been inspired by real prayers like this one:

Prayer
O God,
you have made us creatures of this earth,
hungry and thirsty and needy,
that you might satisfy all our longings with your abundant love.

Satisfy the hunger of our bodies
for food and shelter, health and human touch.
Satisfy the hunger of our spirits
for dignity and freedom
in giving and receiving.
Satisfy the hunger of our minds
to understand our world,
the reasons for its pain,
the ways we are connected to each other.

Satisfy the hunger of our hearts
that all who share this loving earth with us
shall share our satisfaction.
And satisfy the hunger of our hands
to help you make it so

Through Jesus Christ,
Amen.
- Christian Aid

And this one:

Cornflake grace
O Lord, grant that we may not be like cornflakes: lightweight, empty and cold; but like porridge - warm and comforting and full of natural goodness.
- From Scottish Churches House

Yes and amen. There will be snacks.

Limping Out of 2008

Today was the second day in a row that someone asked me why I was walking with a limp. It seems that my usual uneven stride is a bit more pronounced because I fell marvelously on some ice just four days ago. The fall left a bruise on my hip that is a breathtaking piece of purple artwork. I wish I could show it off, but it might be a strike against my virtue to whip off my pants for any old Joe.

Something that makes this bruise so peculiar is that it is sharing skin with a scar. When I was just a little baby Bobbi Jae I had surgery to correct a congenital condition called hip dysplacia. The orthopedic surgeon's work of temporarily placing a pin in the troubled hip left me with a scar that has stretched as I grew and walk that is a bit out of step.

This year, 2008, has left me limping a bit as well. There has been loss, there have been mistakes, there has been failure. I have had some unexpected falls.

But there has been life, and that life has placed its warm hand on my bruised scars. I have known healing, I have had adventure, I have worked to take care of myself, I have risked, I have welcomed, I have asked questions, I have stood for justice, and I have eaten well. I have begun to roll around in the love of God again and I wonder if, in this new year, that love might take my breath away.

On the Shore of Lake Ontario

The second Canadian Youth Workers Conference took place last weekend in Toronto. This was my second trip to this great Canadian city.

I was invited to host the "women in youth ministry" section of the weekend: a dinner out one night and an affinity group one afternoon. There was a patchwork of women who attended, and I was grateful to take a peek into some of their stories. I was reminded, though, that in the world of youth ministry in the church across Canada things don't yet look as diverse as they should.

In order to combat some of this discouragement I did some fun things.

I made a pilgrimage to the CBC Building; the CN Tower stretches up behind it.


I got as close to Jian as I could.


I stood in awe of the real Mr. Dressup tickletrunk.


I enjoyed the beauty of a great meal with women in youth ministry.


I lived in up in my swanky hotel room.


I visited the newly opened Art Gallery of Ontario one cold, snowy night.

Midrash

I wrote a poem this summer for a Regent class. I got it back a couple of weeks ago with an excitable "Yes!" written in its margin by the brilliant poet Scott Cairns.

It has been graded; I am now offering it to you. It grew from an experience I had riding the "8 DOWNTOWN" bus on my way to do some gardening with Jacob's Well on a Wednesday afternoon in July.

THIS, THEN, IS HOW YOU SHOULD PRAY
Matthew 6:11

And there it is, sandwiched right in between
the kingdom, God’s will on earth
and the confusion of forgivenesses.
I pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.”
Jammed in between a student
and a steel worker on this city bus.
It snakes from the south suburban slope
into the downtown.

Riders on their way to office towers,
holding tight to hand bags and brief cases.
Riders on their way to their next fix,
money stuffed into their dirty socks.
We all sit side-by-side
or we stand
shoulder-to-shoulder, almost.
Try not to touch each other.

Caught up in keeping my well pressed pants
clean, the dirt and crumbs
have found their way into the aisle
where I stand, a shiny gadget in the palm of my hand.
A woman got on the bus just two stops after
mine. Distracted from my virtual business,
to see her. Her buzz draws my stare, then
locks it.

She digs deep into her stuffed purse.
Rhinestone charm clashes with
grimy sweat shirt. She is wasted,
skin cracked with addiction. Finding make-up,
she kneads it into her cheeks,
never really looking up.
Her chatter finds it’s way to the bus driver.
He doesn’t seem to mind. He just
listens to her. She’s been here before.

She is churning out stories of bad friends and a man with
(can you believe it?) ten thousand dollars in his pocket!
She chases a dime under the seat,
finds a sweater left behind, tries it on, she likes it.
She is ragged. I am well tailored, put together
with red accessories and rings.
Prayers somersault in my mind.
Remembering the words of my priest, “The duty of every Christian
is to share.”

Maybe if I could super-power see beyond this time
this place: Would I find a banquet?
Help set the table? Invite her to take a seat (near me)?
Here, I don’t even have lunch to share.
Arriving downtown, I leave out the back door of the bus.
Her need is daily bread, now!
Passed around a table. I pause
mid prayer. It is a wonder I even pray at all.

Camp Rant

I don't rant a lot. I'm quite amiable and the things that piss me off pass pretty fast. But this weekend my morality was compromised: I had to eat camp food.

I want to know what in God's name so many Christian camps are doing serving children, as they retreat out of the city into beautiful alcoves of God's good creation, such shit.

This weekend I watched a camp serve eager kids and loving leaders fake eggs, apple crisp made of close-to-fake apples, fake whip cream, processed meats, Eggocrapo waffles, toxic juice, etc.

My hopeful heart had a vision of year-round staff tending the land, raising the chickens, getting their hands dirty and lovingly preparing food to set before their guests. I pray for a camp food revival. I pray that camp leaders will start reading godly books like The 100 Mile Diet and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I pray that they will engage in the rich monastic tradition of our faith and embrace their gifted place in creation: to be places of worship, teaching, hospitality, retreat, and good food passed around a banqueting table.

That's Not My Brassiere

As I prematurely pulled the pile of ALL BLACK laundry from the drier (I like to time certain parts: jeans - 5 minutes; newer black shirts - about 7 to 10 minutes; old black stuff - all the way to 50 minutes) my hands grabbed onto something strange.

I tossed the other items aside and pulled out this new texture: a much-too-big-for-me bra. And for that split mini moment my imagination flashed through how different my life would be if that much-too-big-for-me bra really did belong to me because I had that much to mold and hold. Bobbi with big boobs: it as a nice ring to it, but would have likely set me on a different course of cleavage and God knows what else.

I'll stick with my simple physique, mostly because I have to, and leave that lovely piece of lingerie for whoever did laundry in our house this weekend.

Please, Take a Peek

My friend Leah, who lives in Vancouver, has started a beautiful art/photo/life blog with a buddy who is doing aid work in Burundi.

Get your virtual butt there.

Here's a sample of its dazzling work.

Mount Pleasant

I'm sure I post about the same things over and over, but I can't seem to help myself. Tonight . . . I'm thinking about my neighborhood.

I went out early yesterday morning to walk less than a block to vote at Grace Memorial United Church. It's so close that even I can almost throw something at it from my third floor bedroom window and hit it. Not that I would, but I almost could.

As I walked down the ramp into the fellowship hall I noticed that the door had been pushed back against someone's overnight squatting gear. There was an empty shampoo bottle, a jacket, and a yellow blanket. I was a bit surprised that the voting day volunteers hadn't moved it, but then again, this is Vancouver East and that sight is not uncommon.

This morning was another early morning as I raced out with the rising sun to make my way to a First Aid course. I drove down my street and saw a woman who had been out all night. She was dressed to impress, cheaply. She looked so tired, quite at home behind the laundromat, and numb to the cold. Though, I'm sure she wasn't. We all feel cold, right?

Tonight as I tried to walk a bit of my dinner and wine off I crossed paths with a police operation complete with three staked out cars, cops on foot, and a focused sniffer dog in search of someone in some dark hiding spot.

So what makes a pretty good girl like me feel quite at home in all of this mess? Mostly, I don't really know. I just know that the broken pieces I see around me look a bit like the broken pieces I name within me.

There is loneliness, curled up in a church's dark doorway.

There is desperation, selling herself on the busy Vancouver Street.

There is heartbreak, hiding in the bushes trying not to get caught.

There is life. And hovering over all of it, though most certainly not fully realized, is a deep and promised hope.

Giving Thanks, Cutting the Crap

For Thanksgiving I am making an "I want" list.

I want to buy less.
I want to wear things until they fray.
I want to clean out my closet and give stuff away.
I want to eat what is in season.
I want to meet more farmers.
I want to run and bike in the cold.
I want to be neighborly.
I want hospitality.
I want to share.
I want to write.
I want to listen.
I want to worry less.
I want to laugh more.
I want to breathe deeply.
I want to be silly.
I want to be good.
I want to pray.
I want to be generous.
I want to rest.

My Friend, Music

This week I've enjoyed some great live music. I finally saw Ron Sexsmith at the Chan Centre with my dear friend Nerida. I've been waiting years for this.

While taking in Ron's music I was reminded that I love a good songwriter who can sing other people's stories, as well as his own. It's that element of music that reaches into some of our broken places, cuddles up beside those painful bits, and soothes them with their presence. In this company one is a little less alone then she or he was before the song started 2 minutes before.

Here's one of Ron Sexsmith's songs that names the struggle and holds out hope that it will get brighter still. Be sure to listen for the little treat at the end.

Vancouver Farmers Market

I have been going to the Trout Lake Farmers' Market all summer. I have hardly missed a Saturday morning. The dream of the market starts setting in midweek. By Friday night I go to bed with a little grin on my face knowing that the next morning I will get on my bike, ride down the hill to the market, meet up with a friend or two, fill up my pannier with produce, eat a fresh crepe, and bike a bit of harvest back up the hill to my house.

This week the farmers market encouraged me to try a couple new recipes. I made potato kale chowder for dinner and carrot-walnut muffins to snack on in the week ahead.

I love fall for it's changing leaves, long sleeved black t-shirts, plentiful harvest, and sunny September mornings at the market.

A Girl on Her Bike in the Fall

I've started a new job!

This requires a whole new pile of words/phrases. Here I go:

bike to work.
fresh fall air.
people on their bikes aren't always nice -- I wonder why we can't all just be friends.
lovely new church people.
like Jan, Tim, Jodi, Jack.
the sparkle of anticipation.
health and hope.
kind faces.
temporary work spaces.
welcome.

A Good State

Last week my sister and I took a road trip. We showed up in beautiful bits of Oregon coastal scenery and chased down good food and drink. We took turns driving my Corolla with it's reliable new tires, we laughed through two days visiting friends Kim and Case in Portland, and we ate well.

Here are some pictures of things I got excited about:

1. Food/Drink.







2. Whales.



3. Books.



4. Being a sister.







5. Climbing a big hill.

Some Summer Days

I am not working right now. It's nice, sometimes a bit dull, but of total restoration importance. After finishing my old job just 22 days ago, I am spending my time . . .

breathing.
sifting.
sorting.
mixing.
running.
reading.
hoping.
biking.
listening.
visiting.

Focusing on these words, saying these words, and living these words helps when I get restless or my Grandma Joan energy wants to keep me busy during most moments of the day.

It's also been fun to spend time with some people I love who love me too.


My family in Alberta.


Chris and Sarah Harder in Kamloops.
We ate delicious dinners together last week in their garden.


Sarah and I at some pretty lake, BC.


Old and new Regent friends: Ali and Nerida.

A Party and A Poem

I had a party this weekend to thank the people who have been paramount friends to me while I've been transitioning, crying, laughing, panicking, saying goodbye, and settling into what the next hellos might look like.

I called this gathering the HOLYSHITiMADEIT party. Please take no offense. I named it with great intention. A few weeks ago I was running down the hill towards Trout Lake (LOVE running down hills) and I was feeling angry and saying bad words in my head. But then the word "shit" took on a new life as I placed it right beside the word "holy" in my imagination.

Now, it may seem offensive and possibly blasphemous to let a word so divine make friends with a word so dirty. Lately though, these two words have become my favourite poem. They are reminding me that really heart breaking things can and do happen all the time. But they are not beyond the reach of a God who makes beautiful things out of really, really crappy things. This is my redemption poem.

These are my party pictures:


It was hot. We took the party to the street.


My friend Nerida and I.


Peekaboo Calgary Greg, Paul I-love-my-beers, Matt from Mission and me.


The always beautiful Kristi.


Some of my fav Willingdon peeps, Lauren and Andy.
The pose? Ummm . . . awkward.


My dear friend Angie and some chicken enchilada leftovers.

Even Under Its Weight, We Smile

Today was the "Farewell to Bobbi" at Willingdon Church. I've served there for four and a half years and it was quite sad to say these goodbyes. I must say, though, that it was one classy and personal affair thanks to the beautiful people who attended, the encouragement they spoke/wrote, and the hugs that they shared.

I am deeply thankful to Jenni, my friend and ministry counterpart, who gathered up bits of art and encouragement from students, created a gracious spirit in the Youth Centre, wrote and led a leaving liturgy, and honoured me in a thousand particular ways.

Here are some highlights:


My friend Sasha and I


Brother and sister: Selena and Travis.


Some of my not-so-little guys: Matty and Mitchell
Mitchell served with me as a SLUG this year (Student Leader Under Guidance)
Matthew has been a constant encouragement to me with his genuine heart and servant leadership


2 of my most consistent kids these last 2 years: Sam and Cheryl


A couple brothers I adore: Neil and Matthias

FYI: The Youth Centre really is this ugly.

Some arts offerings: Katie and Charlene wrote and read a poem
My friend Ryan sang me one of my FAV songs: Josh Ritter's Monster Ballads
I nearly fell on the floor weeping it was all so truly beautiful.

The Weight of Goodbye

The sun is setting
I am sitting
in my house tonight
with the light
what's better?
just an hour or so ago
it came (this light)
almost unannounced through
my north west facing window
it cupped my face
with it's most tender hands
it didn't say a word
it just
held
me
my face in the hands of
the sun
tonight I'm sitting with
(and distracting myself from)
the heaviness that has been getting up
in my personal space
all day
what's worse?
it has been here
for weeks
a lifetime of
weeks
it's the weight of goodbye
banging about in my head
aching up and down my heart
it rolls in so heavy
hides away behind the next hour
and then shows up and
overstays
its
welcome
tomorrow I will say so many
goodbyes and I know
around this world
so many people will be saying
so many
goodbyes
for
good
for
g
o
o
d
GOODBYES
we plead with you
we who live them with
intention and
(please) generosity
may you lend us
a sweet


hello.