bumblebees, bald eagles, and blackberry bushes

I scrub. I pour water. Then I scrub a bit harder. I try to get the soil out from beneath my fingernails and toenails, from the crease in my elbow, and the tiny places between the toes. I've been playing in dirt again - I've been doing that a lot this summer. And there's something remarkably beautiful that happens when we play in dirt.

When I dig through compost with children while looking for worms, beetles, springtails, flies, and other interesting creatures that help to break down waste, I think about my waste or bad things that can become a joy and blessing to someone else. I've learned that the moments when I'm weak and hurting and confused, when shared with someone else, becomes opportunities of strength, joy, and healing.

When I go to the flower garden with children to pick flowers, frightened faces quickly appear as the bumblebees make their presence known. I think about how our fear, perceived real, can be soothed and calmed with a reassuring voice and a person who will stay by our side.

When I help a child to touch a tree for the first time and really feel the rough bark, the rippled edges, the soft and fragile moss, I think about how we can learn through touch. I think about all our senses and how to use them to fully experience life.

When I squat by the pond, net in hand, beside a child who is tempted to just jump into the pond to catch a pacific tree frog, I think about how our boundaries can limit us in healthy and positive ways.

When I quietly walk around the meadow with binoculars securely fastened around my neck and listen for a bird's call, I think about the gift of listening: those who listen to me and those who allow me the privilege to listen to them. Then when I find a bald eagle soaring high above the cedar trees, I think about perspective. A bald eagle sees things differently from up above. Sometimes I wonder what the bald eagle sees. And I wish I could be a bird to get a different perspective. But there are bald eagles in my life who offer me a different perspective also.

When I plant a seed in the ground, bury it, then water it, I think about growing. The smallest black seed needs the right amount of water, sunshine, and temperature to grow. It needs to be loved by being weeded, thinned, pruned, and pests removed. And pretty soon, the black seed turns into vibrant colours, into fresh fragrance, into delicious and nutritious foods, into soft leaves, into a space where the wind creates soothing sounds. And with time, patience, love, and grace we too can become something beautiful.

When I give the carrot tops to the cow, and watch as the cow hastily swallows the greens, I think about hunger. Hunger comes in different forms (physical, emotional, spiritual, mental) and when it comes, we need to eat. The cows have taught me that.

When I lead children through the forest and we find a blackberry bush, we momentarily stop and search the bush for some ripe fruit. Then we each pick a few, watch our hands turn a deep violet-red as we put the tender fruit into our mouths. Once the taste remains in our mouth, we continue our walk. I think about all the ripe fruits that I often miss during my walk through life. And I'm learning to stop and pick the fruit before running on.

I scrub. I pour water. Then I stop. Maybe I don't actually want to scrub the dirt away. It's too beautiful.

sights

I see life in nature: strong and shading trees; unmoveable mountains; unobtrusive Pacific Ocean waves; the water cycle either as snow, rain, or fog; home-owners leaving their uniquely architecturally-designed homes that take advantage of the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains, dogs cowering from the unusually colder weather, cyclists freely speeding down the road en route to the city. Vancouver is full of life: vegetation stretches farther to soak up the rare sunshine, healthy citizens explore their surroundings, natural cycles continue to provide life.

But death is here as well: fallen or cut trees; rubbish collected near water sewers; lonely faces; persons coping with HIV or AIDS (in North America, it is here where the highest percentage of people who are HIV positive or who have AIDS live); shopping carts full of people's only belongings or maybe full of bottles collected hoping to get some change in return to buy a small meal; hopelessness; consumerists unconsciously purchasing beyond their needs or financial abilities; depression; empty churches. Vancouver is full of death: waste, marginalized people reaching out for hope and mercy, emotionally, mentally, sexually, physically, and spiritually torn apart.

Life and Death. This world needs some things to die: selfishness especially of the rich, abuse of the weak, ignorance of the cries of fathers and mothers and children dying in far-off places, sexualized content everywhere, passivenes. Death comes from life. Life comes through death.

This is what I see.

captivating

I have been trying to think of something funny, creative, inspiring, profound, strange, remarkable, or bewildering to write. And each time I sit down to write, I am at a loss for words, pictures, or stories. This is rare because so often I recognize connections or simply want to share a story.

I want to tell you instead about some things that have caught my attention recently and left me smiling. As I prepared to leave my home in Kitchener-Waterloo, I was captivated by:

- the honest and inspiring conversations I had with some of my closest friends
- the prayers of my family
- the sound of my Ugandan friends' voices, laughter, and hope
- the embrace of my church family
- the items I have collected that remind me of my second home in Uganda
- the competitive yet sportsman-like football games
- the cumulative and astounding white snow

I left Kitchener-Waterloo. I arrived in a big new city full of life and death. And I have continued to smile. These are some things that have captivated me in my new home in Vancouver, B.C.:

- the kindness and generosity of roommates
- the affection and warmth given to students by faculty and staff
- the companionship of new friends
- attending a church where a homeless man gave all his money in the offering plate
- receiving a message from a friend in Uganda telling me her newborn daughter is called Michelle, after me
- receiving encouraging and exciting messages from friends throughout Uganda
- walking towards downtown in the evening and singing in the rain with friends
- the effect of 1 foot of snow to incapacitate a developed city
- the immense duration of rain in a largely-populated city

I am captivated. Above all, I am captivated by the immeasurable and infinite love of God. Here I am, surrounded by life and death and I can find serenity, rest, and hope. I wonder what will captivate me tomorrow?