camping

Gratefully, after 22 years I can finally confidently assert that I have “gone camping”. We arrived at our site early Friday afternoon where I learned how to assemble and position a tent. Once our supplies had been properly unpacked and stored, I began to crave adventure. Equipped with my mountain bicycle, I set off to locate the various trails in the campground. Later that evening, red and orange flames rose from the fire pit as we grilled our pizza sandwiches and later, our s’mores. My first evening sleeping in a tent produced no dramatic stories or exciting events - only a very strange dream. I awoke not to the sounds of animals or humans, nor to the brightness of the sun, but simply because my body wanted to be rid of it’s restraint in a sleeping bag. After a delicious breakfast of my homemade cereal, I enjoyed the company of a friend while playing cards. Beckoning us towards the sandy beach, the sun continued to provide light, heat, and pleasure. With no football to occupy my time at the beach, I began to practice my swimming techniques learned many years ago: front crawl, breast stroke, elementary back stroke, back crawl, side stroke, and varying positions of treading water. Later Saturday afternoon, I welcomed my friend’s company as we explored additional trails on which I had earlier hesitated because of my lack of companionship and therefore assistance. Unfortunately, we were forced to return back to our site when a flat tire became noticeable. After dinner, I went back to the beach to observe a beautiful sunset over the waters, to listen to the laughter of families, to watch teenagers playing baseball, and to think about my future. Warmed later by the fire, I sat in contentment. Pancakes were served Sunday morning after an equally comfortable sleep. I was able to wander around the campground a bit more after I packed up my belongings. Before returning home, we spent early afternoon at the beach. Undoubtedly, my first camping experience has been very gratifying. I am thankful to my friends who encouraged me to use this opportunity to advance my knowledge of and personal encounter with camping. I wonder if “gone camping” will be an expression I can practice in Uganda.

refuse

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. These basic actions are commonly discussed, analyzed, and evaluated, yet my experiences reveal a generic lack of practicing these actions that were exhaustively learned in elementary school. Synthetic materials unnecessarily clog our soil, recyclable waste still largely escapes the blue bins laid out on the curb, and pristine commodities are easily rejected to be replaced by bigger and apparently better things. Allow me to introduce a fourth R, and arguably more critical, that would actually limit our need to practice the three R's: refuse.

Instead of spontaneously purchasing one more pair of pants, shoes, cookie bag, gasoline fuel, [. . .], say no. Avoid the sin of gluttony, of possessing too much, of loving money, of loving material possession by refusing to be tempted. While I recognize, appreciate, practice, and approve of reducing, reusing, and recycling, I believe we must refuse. By refusing to indulge our human senses and desires, we begin to practice environmental stewardship. Consciously limiting our impact on the environment consequently produces a healthier environment and appropriately reflects our relationship to that which is entrusted to us by God.

Ironically, the large, obtrusive, grey buildings that sit isolated near the edges of our cities and towns help to perpetuate the problem they have been created to solve. Waste management facilities seek to safely destroy human-produced wastes. Yet perhaps the erection of these buildings satisfies the human desire to consume and dispose. Instead of analyzing how to properly get rid off waste, perhaps our energy needs to focus on how to eliminate the problem of getting rid of waste. In other words, refusal to consume would easily lessen the burden of waste management facilities simply because there would be less waste to stack, less toxins to burn, less pollution emitted from the rotting waste, and less land degradation.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Refuse.

football

Lately I've consciously been engaged in activities in which I knowingly will not be able to participate in Uganda. This past weekend was no exception. As I laced up my cleats after properly positioning my knee pads, I was reminded that this would likely be my last football game before I leave for Africa. Although this reality does not bring a smile to my face, I still exuberantly jogged onto the dry and hardened field for one more (competitive) game of touch football. To offer you a written description of my enjoyment of football is challenging.

Arguably, football is a defining feature of my life: from learning the basics of hand-eye co-ordination as a young child to competing in the Kitchener-Waterloo Touch Football league for the past two years. Amidst all the games and practices, I fondly recall my childhood where my introduction to the skilled game of football took place adjacent to my side door. Thursday afternoons, my sisters, father and I would change into our play clothes to begin our weekly ritual of playing field hockey, soccer, and football. Those blades of grass, dirt, ant hills, and twigs supported my little running shoes, my bony legs when I fell, and my blond hair as I somersaulted and rolled. Thus ensued over fifteen years of constantly developing my athletic abilities, notably in the area of football, and later together with fastball and volleyball. Although I have not always been privileged to play competitive football in a league, I have often considered many games played with friends and family as competitive with the purpose of winning. I feel privileged to state that in over twelve years and about fifty games, my father and I have never lost a football game against family or friends in which we have assumed either the quarterback or rushing position. Having played with my father for over a decade, we have developed a unique relationship on the football field whereby we understand the reasons for strategic split-second decisions, the conscious placement of team players, and how we will move in unison down the football field. This bond is beneficial because together we consistently complete critical running and throwing plays.


Without getting too involved in technicalities, I want to say thanks. Although presented with very minimal risks and dangers, my mother has supported my pursuit of competitive football. Because of my lack of relative quickness compared to my male league counterparts, I am indebted to my father's teaching of strategy, of proper offensive and defensive positioning, of moving my body to create the desired effect, and of unifying my timing of throwing and running. Competitive football is incomplete without the many fans, so thank you to those who have watched, cheered, and commented on the football games. Finally, thanks to those who have repeatedly pulled out their running shorts, jerseys, cleats, receiver's gloves, and other gear to throw around a pigskin during the melting heat of the summer, the icy chill of the winter, the pounding raindrops, and the blinding snow flakes.

Focusing on the goal, my father runs with determination and confidence.

Playing in the K-W Touch Football league, 2005 (right) and 2006 (below). You will notice I am #10.

Christmas isn't complete without football. In 2006 Christmas took place in Banff, Alberta.

celebration

As I comfortably sat on a warm sleeping bag, covered with a large blanket and layers of clothing, snug between family and friends, I realized I have much to celebrate. Having filled my stomach from a delicious and abundant meal in the company of friends and family and after exercising my fatigued legs by playing football, the laughter and cheers accompanying the firework display were easily absorbed by my attentive ears. I reflected on the luxuries and privileges I easily and undeservedly obtain as a middle-class Canadian. Yet I am burdened that my materially extensive world contrasts the life of billions of materially deprived people. The question now becomes not one of who possesses more but who is more possessed? While affluence supposedly leads to happiness, comfort, joy, and betterment, poverty is supposed to lead to sickness, death, pain, and sorrow. Affluent nations possess more: more money, more resources, more education, more space, more medicine, more. Incidentally, affluent nations are more possessed: controlled by the advertising companies, controlled by credit card businesses, controlled by money, controlled by human lusts for things. Non-affluent nations possess less: fewer resources, fewer opportunities for vocational change, fewer policies, less available money, less. Similarly, non-affluent nations are less possessed by human desires. Whereas non-affluent nations certainly demonstrate an acute awareness of the spiritual, of God, and of community, affluent nations rely more on human derivatives. In short, affluent nations seem to be possessed by the pursuit of acquisition, while non-affluent nations submit to the power of God for fulfillment of life and of needs.

I wonder how my needs will change, increase, or decrease, when I leave my home of 22 years. But this I do know: I am loved by God. I am loved by my family. I am loved by my friends. Because of God's love I will love. I will love my new family, my new home, my new community, my new environment, my new friends. I will celebrate my life: the riches, the poverty, the beauty, the pain, the maturation, the vulnerability, the talents, and the weaknesses. I will possess less things and be less possessed by things.