Carpe Diem

I have a new favourite song. Okay, I have a couple, but I'm only going to talk about one today. But I'm going to keep you in a bit of suspense for awhile longer while I give you some background.

Lately, I've been having a lot of morbid thoughts. I know that Duchess' death has made me re-evaluate my mortality and look at what I'd like to leave behind when I'm gone. I've really wondered, "Crap. What if this is all there is? Wouldn't that be awful? Surely there must be more to life than this miserable existence." I get depressed just thinking that.

I was generally a passive creature; passive by nature and passive by "molding". If I tried to do something and it didn't work out, I accepted it as that was what God wanted; that that was the way things were meant to be. Yet, somewhere, inside there was a spark that wanted freedom - but I was too scared to "steal the fire from the gods" and face the consequences of my actions. Occasionally, if I wanted something badly enough I would fight back against the forces of the universe. I do have a stubborn streak.

I don't know why, but on Monday I found myself humming a song I don't think I've (consciously) heard in months. When I got home, I "you-tubed" it ("is you-tubed" a word?)to watch the video. And it amazed me. I'd been aware of the band's existence since about 1987, but didn't pay that much attention to them. What few songs I'd heard of theirs I liked. You can see the video: here.

And here are the lyrics:

This ain't a song for the brokenhearted
No silent prayer for faith departed.
And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd.
You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud.

It's my life. It's now or never.
I ain't gonna live forever.
I just wanna live while I'm alive
(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway.
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way."
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
'Cause it's my life.

This is for the ones who stood their ground.
For Tommy and Gina who never backed down.
Tomorrow's getting harder, make no mistake.
Luck ain't even lucky, gotta make your own breaks.

It's my life. And it's now or never.
I ain't gonna live forever.
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way."
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
'Cause it's my life.

You better stand tall when they're calling you out
Don't bend, don't break. Baby, don't back down

It's my life. It's now or never
'Cause I ain't gonna live forever.
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way."
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
(It's my life)
And it's now or never.
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way."
I just wanna live while I'm alive.
'Cause it's my life!

Okay, okay. If you haven't figured it out by watching the video, it's Bon Jovi's "It's My Life." (And how did I miss Jon Bon Jovi being such a hottie all these years?) What a passionate call to life, to freedom. It's an anthem. It's a challenge to take accountability for one's actions and to take charge of one's life. The symbolism of having to go underground to sing to young people about freedom wasn't lost on me.

It's a song about desperately wanting to do something with your life and being true to who you are. It's about looking at your life honestly and a call to take steps - even leaps if necessary - to live life to the fullest.

Notice in the video, there's a clock running; time is running out. The young guy has only five minutes to make it to the tunnel. We don't know why it's important to him that he make the concert. We only know it is. The first time I saw it, I was on pins and needles: will he make it, or will he miss it? will this have a tragic ending? (I actually thought the semi might get him).

I've heard the call. Changes are coming. Slowly but surely, I'm learning to take some responsibility for my life, instead of being blown by the wind. This is my new theme song (yes, theme songs like on Ally McBeal. Speaking of Ally, wasn't Jon Bon Jovi on a few episodes?)

I look to the future with some hope. I pray there's still time left that I will leave behind something I will be respected for, so my life will not have been a complete and utter waste. I think I understand the pyramids now; why someone would want to leave a monument. It's so they won't be forgotten. I can almost hear the voices of the dead pharoahs mockingly say, "Who will remember you? I reach for the skies. They know my name. I am immortal".

What my "monument" might be, I don't know. I have some ideas of things I'd like to be remembered for. I've always wanted to be a writer. However, would I want to be a Stephenie Meyer, or a Margaret Mitchell? Let's face it, Twilight is NOT great literature (decent potential, poor execution). Margaret Mitchell's - though she only wrote one - is a classic and one that will never go out of print. It's still popular today, 70 years later. No one (hopefully) will still be reading Twilight in 70 years. Mitchell's one book? None other than my favourite novel, "Gone With The Wind." I'd like to think I could leave something that wonderful behind, but I'm not sure I could live up to the standard she set.

Join me in taking up the challenge to do something meaningful with your life - and I don't mean just going to work for the sake of making a living. Life is a gift - and we never know when it will snatched away from us. Life is eerily fragile. From now on, I'm going to try and take some "baby steps" to actually do some of the things that up to this point in my life I've only dreamed of doing.

Carpe Diem - Seize the Day.

Eulogy to an Aristocat - RIP Duchess

I know I'll never get through this without sobbing, but I have to do it today while the memories are still fresh.

This morning, we lost our beloved pure bred lilac point Siamese cat, Duchess. She was 12 years old. We're both taking this pretty hard. Let me tell a little bit of her story.

We first met Duchess at the mall. We were newlyweds and we were in search of a cat/kitten. Originally, we were looking for a young adult, maybe a year old or so. I had hoped we'd find a Siamese, as that was my favourite breed, having had two previously. We'd been to a couple of animal shelters but couldn't see a cat/kitten we both agreed on. Then DH suggested we go to the mall and look at the pet store. Sure enough, not only did they have kittens, but Siamese kittens.

We asked to see the kittens. There were at least two on display, maybe three. One leaped over the other kittens and beat them to the door. She climbed up DH and started purring. Then she turned to me and climbed up me and started purring. That did it. We were both smitten. We looked at one of the other kittens they had, but it just didn't have the personality. This one was THERE. She was vibrant. As this was a Monday evening, we put down a deposit and came back for her on the Friday after work.

We were so excited to take home our new baby. I originally wanted to call her "Esmeralda" as when I'd read the "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" two years previously, I thought, "What a cool name for a Siamese cat." I remember talking to a friend on the phone the night we took her home and telling him about our new baby. Kitty was down at the end of the hall, and when I called her she came running; gamboling was more the word. She was all legs.

We took her to the vet the next morning to get checked out, and then we went to lunch. While sitting in the car eating our McDonalds, we said, "Well, if we're going to get a second cat, now's the time to do it." So, we went to the local SPCA and there was a little Siamese. She was obviously the darker markings, whereas our "first born" was the lighter. I picked up the little fur ball and said to DH, "What about this one?" And he said, "I can live with it." So that was how we added a second kitty. They meowed all the way home in their respective cat carriers.

When we got home, we opened up the carriers and let them meet. I put down food for them and let them go at it. The first born immediately started eating. The second one let out a cry, as it to say, "Hey! I want some, too." Firstborn, immediately put her paw on second born's head, as if to say, "Be cool, kid". To which, the second born literally had a hissy fit.

Now we had a problem. What would we call them? As I said, I originally wanted to call the first born "Esmeralda" but somehow, that didn't suit her; it suited the darker markings of our second born. So, the second born had a name: Esmeralda, but what to call the first born. I suggested "Duchess" after the mother cat in Disney's "The Aristocats" and because she was a pure bred. DH agreed, so that was how we ended up with Duchess ("Duch") and Esmeralda ("Essie" or "Es").

Duchess accepted Essie right away and wanted to play with her, but Essie wasn't so keen on Duch. It took about three days before she accepted Duch. By the Wednesday, they were sleeping together. That was it. From then on, they were siblings. They loved each other, yet could get on each other's nerves. I saw them "bitch slap" each other as kittens.

Having two cats - let alone kittens - was new to both of us. I'd never had more than one cat before, and neither had DH. It was fun. It's sad, but I can't remember a lot of the mischief they got into, but I do remember some stories. Notably, the time Duch climbed out on to the patio railing, stretched herself out and put her front paws on the window to the right, exposing herself to a fall of 13 stories. I'm glad it was DH that was home and not me. I might have freaked out and she would have plunged to her death right then and there. Somehow he coaxed her back down, all the while thinking, "Heather's going to kill me."

Duchess was a smart cat. Man, was she ever. Being the pure bred, she was also a feline jumping machine. I once saw Essie charge Duch and Duchess avoided Essie by jumping straight up in the air, about two feet. Ah, the joys of kitten hood.

Everyone - including pets - have their flaws. But not Duchess. Seriously. I can't think of a single bad trait she had. The worst I can say is that she could be stubborn and a bit proud, but those are good things. She was patient, she was loving as well as smart.

Like all pets, she had her quirks. Hers was what we called, "playing with dolls." She used to take her toys, carry them in her mouth (like a mama cat) through to the kitchen and dump them in the food and/or water bowl. I had to be very careful when I stitched that I picked up all my bobbins of floss afterwards, or she'd steal them, too. Many's the time I had to chase her around the apartment in an attempt to take back my floss, or it, too, would suffer the fate of her toys and take a bath in the water dish.

People used to say, "Oh, Siamese? I bet they're noisy." No. Neither of them were. Of the two, Essie was more vocal. Duchess had a very quiet meow. In fact, she hardly meowed at all. When she was one year old, we moved down to the U.S. for the first time. It was late August/September and the mallard ducks were starting to congregate beneath our window, two floors down. Duchess used to sit in the window and watch them, fascinated. Then we noticed she started "quacking." Seriously. She was walking around imitating the noise of the mallards. She wasn't meowing; she was quacking.

Eventually she found her voice. When she wanted to, she could turn on the full volume Siamese yowl. When we lived in a townhouse with three floors, she often could be heard at night in the basement "tuning up."

She was a perfect pet. When DH's mom died, it was Duch who climbed up on DH and started purring in an attempt to comfort him. She didn't go to me. She went to him. Somehow she knew exactly who to go to. Essie just didn't get it. I used to say that Essie was "brainless but beautiful," which is a fairly accurate description. I've often joked that she may have been deprived of oxygen at birth.

Essie and Duch took turns being top cat. Eventually, however, Duchess seemed to emerge as the dominant one. I guess Essie pissed off Duch one day, and I saw Duch grab Essie by the throat and smash her head against the floor a couple of times to teach Essie a lesson. But it would take Duch a LOT to lose her cool like that. She was very patient; always dignified; always a lady. She never took a swipe at us, of scratched us, or tried to bite us. EVER. I can only think of one time in all her years where she hissed. It was the first time she met a child: when she was four months old.

She became DH's cat; she favoured him. I was all right with that. They had a special relationship. He used to play with her with his keys. He would jingle them for her, and she would try to swipe them. Whenever she did, she would start doing the "Duchess dance" (as we called it) to demonstrate her superiority. The "Duchess dance" consists of kneading into either a person or some piece of furniture with the claws, while swinging the hips, in an attempt to show off.

They were our babies and I loved them dearly. I dreaded the day that I would lose either one of them. Being Siamese, I expected they would live a long time. One of my previous Siamese cats lived to 21. Being a pure bred, I knew that Duchess would probably be the first to go.

Everything was fine and I had two healthy (eventually three, but Hesperatu doesn't really figure much in this story) cats. That was until about nine months ago. Duchess - almost overnight - lost weight. I was concerned, but thought, "Well, she'll put it back on." I watched her to ensure she ate. She always was the more picky eater, so I tried to do what I could. She seemed to lose more weight. I took her to the vet and she was five pounds, down from the nine pounds when she was last weighed. The vet did a blood test and it came back clean: kidneys and liver were fine, and she didn't have diabetes. He did express concern about the lack of protein in her blood and hinted that it might be cancer and that she would need to come back for an x-ray to see what they could see.

Unfortunately, due to finances, I wasn't able to do the x-ray until last week. Up until that point, she was doing pretty well. Still eating, still peeing. True, she'd lost a step or two, but I put that down to the fact she was 11 years old, approaching 12. I didn't think it was cancer. I thought she just might be clogged internally. I did notice she'd had a problem going "poop" and added more fibre to her diet to help her go. I even upped the fibre and it worked. Ten days ago, she laid a ping pong sized ball of poop (sorry if that's too much information). But something happened after that. From then on, she refused to eat. I had to force feed her. I took her in for the x-ray and the vet said she was "bad off." She was dehydrated and was now down to three pounds. She was literally skin and bones. The x-ray showed that a lot of her organs were "fuzzy" looking. They weren't clear like the heart and lungs were. He gave me some antibiotics and I was told to bring her back once they were finished.

She cascaded downhill after that. Mom and Dad came round on Sunday evening to say "good bye".

By yesterday, she could barely walk. She dragged her hind legs around. Last night, she slept in the cat basket, which was balanced on my night table. At some point during the night, she moved and reached out towards me. I picked her up and took her into bed with me. I'm not sure what time that was, but it was still very dark. When I woke up about 7:45, she was gone. She was still warm, but she was dead. We sat with her for about three hours, reminiscing - looking at photos and videos we'd taken. We placed her body in the cat basket. She looked like she was asleep. I kept saying, "Wake up, Duch. Come on, wake up."

What killed her? We did, ultimately and I'll never forgive myself. This has hit us hard, and it's more than just losing a precious pet and companion. It's the guilt that we just couldn't afford to help her in her hour(s) of need. She's the innocent victim of our mistakes and she was forced to pay for our "sins." Naturally, there is no guarantee that if I'd taken her in to the vet right away that they could have caught whatever it was that was ailing her. But it might have. She never once complained, or showed signs of being in pain. She may have looked miserable, but more like she was fighting a nasty flu, not fighting for her life - until this last week.

Duchess, I'm so sorry. I hope you know how much we both loved you. I'm so sorry we let you down. I'm glad you're away from your suffering. You were the perfect kitty.

I sign off with her theme song, the title song from The Aristocats sung by Maurice Chevalier. You can listen to it: here

Which pets' address is the finest in Paris?
Which pets possess the longest pedigree?
Which pets get to sleep on velvet mats?
Naturalment! The Aristocats!

Which pets are blessed with the fairest forms and faces?
Which pets know best all the gentle social graces?
Which pets live on cream and loving pats?
Naturalment! The Aristocats!

They show aristocratic bearing when they're seen upon
an airing, and aristocratic flair in what they do and what they say!
Aristocats are never found in alleyways or hanging around the garbage cans where common kitties play. Oh no!

Which pets are known to never show their claws?
Which pets are prone to hardly any flaws?
To which pets do the others tip their hats?
Naturalment! The Aristocats!

Naturalment! Naturalment!
Oh, Naturalment!
The Aristocats

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wax Museum...

You're just never sure what things will impact you for your entire life. I have three stories I'd love to share that have formed some sort of conspiracy (OMG. The spelling of that "c" word is pretty hilarious considering what I'm going to be writing about) to profoundly affect my life.

When I was about four years old, Mom and Dad somehow got the dubious privilege of taking some of us kids from church over to Victoria, BC for the day. One of our destinations was the Royal London Wax Museum. If you know the museum, you'll know there's a figure of Cleopatra bathing there in front of Julius Caesar. Dad, being the dutiful tour guide asked, "So does anybody know how she died?" None of the kids knew, so he said, "She was bitten by a snake."

Something happened at that moment. It was like some genetic memory switch had been turned on. I refused to get into bed that night as I was convinced - somehow - that there was a snake in my bed. I howled and set up such a fuss that Dad came in to see what was the matter. He pulled back the sheets to prove to me that my Mom was telling the truth that there was no snake in my bed. He then reaffirmed her orders to get into bed. I was "disinclined to acquiesce to their request" (that means "no") and continued my assertion that there was indeed a reptile hiding somewhere betwixt and between my sheets. I'm fairly sure I lost my case based on the lack of evidence on my part. Considering who the judge and jury were, I'm sure I couldn't have had a fair trial anyway. I should have launched an appeal. But I digress...

From that moment on, I have been irrationally afraid of reptiles (in general) and snakes in particular. I loathe them and despise them. It's something I've never outgrown and probably never will. I even get queasy watching nature shows, as I get so upset over watching some poor animal getting devoured by these vile creatures. Okay, wildebeest sort of don't count. They're too stupid to exist. "Oh, look! There's a pair of eyes swimming towards me in the water. I wonder if it will be friends with me." Um, no. Not unless you are thinking in the Hannibal Lector sense of it "having an old friend for dinner."

So that's the first thing. Here's the second:

In 1975, when I was eight, my parents finally gave into my years of, "Can we go to Disneyland, Dad? Can we go to Disneyland, Dad?" (Well, I'm not sure I really was that big of a pest, but I'm sure I did ask). We left on a Friday morning and drove down to Anaheim. I was warned that repeated questions regarding the arrival at our destination would not be tolerated and that we'd be there Monday. In the meantime, I was encouraged to stick my head in the books I'd brought along for the ride.

On the Sunday morning, upon waking, I was informed that our ETA had been adjusted and we would be arriving in Disneyland that evening. However, we would be arriving too late to go to the park. It would have to wait until tomorrow. I found this new change of itinerary satisfactory.

I know we spent two days at the park. I'm not sure what day we went on Pirates of the Caribbean, but it might have been our first. I don't think I'd heard of the Caribbean before (I vaguely remember asking my Mom where the Caribbean was as we were walking in) and I'm not sure if I'd heard of this attraction or not. Yet, something is ringing a faint bell about hearing about it on a Sunday night episode of "The Wonderful World of Disney" that featured a tour of Disney World in Florida. Something happened on that ride. It began my love affair with pirates. It's the only explanation I have for my love of pirates. One of my all-time favourite movies is "Captain Blood" starring Errol Flynn and Olivia De Havilland. So, yes, I loved pirates long before they became cool thanks to Captain Jack Sparrow and the success of the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise. I was so ahead of my time.

So, when DH and I started dating and I mentioned that I loved pirates, he asked if I knew that pirates were Templars. I said, "What's a Templar?" Well, thanks to Dan Brown and the DaVinci Code, we all know what they are. There does seem to be some evidence that pirates were, indeed, Templars.

So, that's the second thing. Here's the third:

One of my favourite books as a child (under eleven-ish) was "Heidi." This was before I read the "Anne of Green Gables" series. I'm sure I read Heidi many times. I was always fascinated by how Johanna Spyri described the beauty of the mountains of Switzerland. I loved to pretend I was from Switzerland, which I can only attribute to reading Heidi. Reading it made me crave cheese and milk as a child. (Who funded this book, the Swiss dairy guild?) Oh, and guess what my name is in German? Heide. No wonder I loved the book.

Now, here's where things get interesting. The Swiss have a legend of the founding of their country by some knights in white. This legend dates back to around the time the Templar order was dissolved in the first decade of the 14th century. If you look at the Swiss flag, there is a strong resemblance to the Templar cross. Also, the Templars were the first international bankers, and well, what's Switzerland known for? (other than cheese and chocolate?) Banking. Some very interesting coincidences.

So, there you have it. Templars and pirates and snakes, oh my. So that's it then. I'm off to commandeer a ship, "pick up a crew..., raid, pillage, plunder and otherwise pilfer my weasely black guts out." Who's with me? And guess what I just found out? There are no poisonous snakes in Jamaica!!! (but they do have constrictors).

Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!

Where True Friendship Begins...

You never know when you'll find yourself facing a moment when you're challenged. I had one of those moments the other day. If you've ever read some of my older posts, especially the ones dealing with religion, you'll know I'm an outspoken "radical gracist". But lately I've been confronted with the fact that though I preach such things, I can still be quite ungracious.

Here's what happened: I met up with someone from the distant past. Someone I never kept in touch with once we left high school. This was someone that was from my viewpoint, at the top of the social order. I can't say that I looked up to her exactly, but I know that I sought her friendship and approval and that I would have died of happiness if I thought that she considered us to be friends.

Twelve years ago, we ran into each other at a reunion and the first thing she did was grab me into a big bear hug and say, "I'm so sorry for the way we treated you." Wow. That was something. The funny thing is, I never felt that she was mean. Sure, she teased, but it was all in good fun and I played along. We both had a sense of humour.

We recently found each other online and we met up in person the other day. Naturally, part of the conversation consisted of the shared experiences of our youth. I was shocked to hear how she considered herself an outsider during her early years at school. Really??? No way! I was also stunned to hear how she had been hurt by the same institution. In fact, I think her story was probably far more painful than mine. We talked about the legalism of the institution and how damaging it was. It was a bonding moment for me to realize that I wasn't the only one who was affected. The legalism was NOT what I was used to. The group I hung out with from my home church wasn't like that at all.

Somehow she has managed to not only survive, but has kept her faith and her graciousness. Yet, here I was, someone that considered myself a radical gracist who in many ways just wanted to close the door on the past and let it be. The past was the past and it was dead. It was what it was and I wasn't really interested in looking back. I didn't think I held a grudge, or was angry. I just didn't want to go back.

Due to the nature of the education, we were fairly isolated as students. We each sat in our own cubicle. There wasn't that much interaction with the other students. It wasn't until my last year when the format of the curriculum changed and we had more interactive learning that friendships really developed, but she had graduated by that point and missed out on that.

I recently saw a quote from C.S. Lewis that I loved: “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What! You too? I thought I was the only one." Friendship was born the other day; true friendship. She introduced me to her family as her friend. And, now, I realize, yes, that's what we are. We *are* friends.

I can't under-estimate how healing the experience of that visit was. I found myself almost literally, physically healing. Again, the odd thing was I don't even consider myself angry or holding a grudge. I found myself letting go and realizing that we were all just kids, all in our own little worlds. I didn't know much about their backgrounds and they probably didn't know much about mine. That's just typical narcissicic kids. I bet there were a LOT of stories of painful pasts at that place. A lot. No wonder some of the kids were so miserable.

A friend has suggested that perhaps in my rejection of mainstream literalistic Christianity that I was throwing the baby out with the bath water. I now am beginning to realize how accurate that statement might have been.

I think I've passed a milestone on this journey I'm on. At least I think I have. Thank you, friend, for sharing your heart the other day. It's helped me more than you will ever know. We are fellow pilgrims on this journey and may God guide us both in our search for truth and grace. I love you.

25 Years

It's hard to believe, but I graduated from high school 25 years ago today. In many ways, it feels not that long ago; in some ways, it feels like it was a different lifetime.

Let me start off by saying that I hated high school. I went to a high school that was run by a church that we didn't attend. Having gone to Catholic school and having been picked on because I wasn't Catholic, I was looking forward to going to a school where I figured I would fit in better. How wrong I was.

I was shocked at how mean spirited and ignorant most of my classmates were. Most of the guys weren't bad; it was the girls. Some of them out downright nasty. This is NOT what I expected. I put my head down and did my work. I also had the "misfortune" to be a good student, so I got picked on almost every time I hit 100% on tests. Occasionally, the teachers held me up as an example of good behaviour and that "their" kids could learn a lesson from me. Oh, man. Did that ever do wonders for my social standing. Yes, the movie "Mean Girls" was fairly accurate. You know you were treated like crap when the most popular girl in school grabs you in a big hug at a reunion and the first thing out of her mouth is, "I'm SO sorry for how we treated you." I'll never forget that. She wasn't even, really, one of the "mean girls." She had a heart.

I was pretty lonely. I had no friends. The only people I hung out with were other "outcasts". The one time I remember ever being shown some friendship was during a school trip to Dallas in 1982. Part way through the trip, two girls took me "under their wing" and insisted that I bunk, eat, and go around Disneyland and Magic Mountain with them during the latter part of the trip. I've never forgotten that kindness, either. (I like to think it was because they wanted me to be with them and not because some teacher told them to).

It was completly opposite to my home church youth group. NO ONE there was nasty; we didn't treat outsiders that way. New friends were always welcome. At least that's how I remember it - and I'm sure that most of us from that youth group would say the same thing.

By the time I got to grade 12, the format of the curriculum and method of instruction had changed, making it easier to interact with classmates. That was when friendships started to form. Yet, once graduation happened, within a couple of years, a lot of us had lost touch with each other. I only kept in touch with one, but that was sporadic and we'd sometimes go for years without talking to each other.

Recently, I've reconnected with some of the people I went to high school with. Some of them I welcomed back to my life, others more reluctantly so. It's not that I judged them by what they were 25 plus years ago (as I certainly wouldn't want to be), it's just that other than the fact we went to the same school, there wasn't anything to talk about. Even then, our perspectives on the school would probably be quite different.

I look back at the intervening years and wonder, "So, what did I accomplish?" Sadly, I don't see a lot to be proud of. Because I lacked any self-confidence, I never went to university. That was because I was scared of math. Little did anyone know that I had a physicial disability that caused me to struggle with it. Yet, because I was good at everything else, it was swept under the carpet. I don't blame the school for that. No one would have known. I'm just sad that it wasn't caught early, for it would have made a huge difference in my life.

So, I guess today is a day to remember and look back, and also to "go home and rethink my life" to see if there is yet time to accomplish something I can look back at the end of my life and be proud of.

Who's Afraid of The Big Bad Truth?

I remember getting warned in high school about studying the Bible outside the mainstream church. Studying it at university was bad because university was filled with arrogant intellectuals who would pick apart the Bible and try to cause people to lose their faith. And I believed it.

As I've said before, I was a mainstream christian who thought the Bible was inerrant, etc. etc. etc. until nine years ago when my faith was destroyed. In case you want to know a bit more, you can find more details on the story here.

After I'd walked away from mainstream christianity, the words from an old Amy Grant song had new meaning for me:

"All of my friends are happy to stay here in this yard day after day
But something inside me has called me away.
I don't understand but I know I can't stay...

'Cause I have felt for the first time
I can be myself
No more faces to hide behind
Just a smile and a dream that's mine
Even if I am the only one who wants to fly"

Recently, I've come to debate certain issues relating to the Bible truth with certain mainstream christians. Let's just say that these people come from a background that considers their denomination as "theology for the rest of us." In other words, the... um... not too intelligent. I'm not going to name the denomination, but it relies on a lot of "signs and wonders" there's a lot of "flash and boom" and "talking in tongues." I think you can read between the lines. When you try to point out that there are two different stories about Judas' death, two versions of the story of Jesus raising Jairus' daughter, two lists of Jesus' ancestry, they don't listen. One is told that anyone that dares to suggest such things is arrogant, deceived by logical sounding lies and that “the heart of all Biblical challenge is spiritual unbelief, not intellectual incompatibility, though the latter is often sited and held onto for dear life, ironic as that is, by those who professing themselves to be wise have become fools.”

This attitude bothers me. I consider myself a seeker, especially a seeker after truth. I want to know who Jesus is. There's a lot of details missing in the Bible about him, and I want to know as much as I possibly can. Is there anything wrong with that? I'm a very curious person and I want to know - not so I can say I'm smarter than anyone. I just want to know.

I have now come to appreciate those scholars at universities who write and teach on the subject of religious studies. One is Bart D. Ehrman, a graduate of Moody Bible Institute and was (In his own words) "a committed Bible believing christian" and was "certain that the Bible, down to its very words, had been inspired by God. Maybe that’s what drove my intense study… Surely knowing them intimately was the most important thing in life.” Does this sound like someone that's looking for contradictions, or a sincere seeker? Another is John Shelby Spong, Episcopal Bishop of Newark for many years before his retirement. Another is Elaine Pagels from Princeton University, an expert on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Ms. Pagels has seen her fair share of tragedy, losing a young son. These are NOT scary people. In fact, they sound like seekers to me. My kind of people: intelligent seekers.

These are people that have gone through the Bible meticulously and some of them have come out with things that don't quite fit with the message that's preached by mainstream christianity. Bart Ehrman has pointed out some very interesting contradictions in his book, "Jesus Interrupted: Revealing the Hidden Contradictions in the Bible (And Why We Don't Know About Them." None of these contradictions should be dismised lightly. They should be taken seriously. One thing that deeply disturbs me is the allegation that most seminaries now teach that Paul did not write all the epistles that are attributed to him. For example, it's well known in (most) seminaries that Paul didn't write I and II Timothy. Other people wrote those letters in his name. Yet, these pastors never tell their congregations that. That sounds like fraud to me.

So, who are the arrogant ones? The ones that refuse to listen to the facts, and open their eyes because they're frightened at what they might find, or is it those who are seeking? Personally, I think it's the former. I know that know-it-all attitude, for I, too, once thought that I knew all the answers and that anything that disagreed with the Bible was wrong and couldn't stand up to scrutiny. Isn't it arrogant to think you can't learn something from someone you may not agree with?

The beginning of wisdom is to admit you don't know. That's the place I come from. I admit that there is a LOT I don't know. Like everyone else, I have some pet theories about Jesus, but I'm also open to the idea that I might be wrong on some things. Everything I read influences me. How is that arrogant? I really hate the idea of being ignorant, and I think God gave us brains for a purpose - to use them. I consider education very important. I would rather know the truth - even if it hurts and disturbs my comfortable worldview than be misled. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

So, who are the arrogant ones? The know-it-alls, or the seekers who aren't afraid to challenge their boundaries?

May God guide us all in our pursuit of truth.

Three Visions of Grace

I posted a couple of months ago about "Amazing Grace". Grace is one of those things that it may be hard to put into words, but you know it when you see it - and when you don't. Here are some of my favourite visualizations of grace.

One of my favourites is a scene in the movie "Gone With the Wind". It's the scene were Scarlett shows up at Ashley's birthday party. Scarlett wasn't going to go, as gossip had ripped through the town earlier that afternoon regarding Scarlett and Ashley. Rhett makes Scarlett attend the party, and leaves her at Melanie and Ashley's front door to "enter the arena alone". Scarlett stands there proudly and haughtily, daring the gossip mongers to say something. Melanie breaks through the crowd and marches directly to Scarlett. There is a moment's tension: what will she do? Will she slap Scarlett across the face? Order her out of her home? No. She kisses Scarlett on the cheek, and welcomes her, saying, "Scarlett, darling. What a lovely dress." There is a moment of confusion on Scarlett's face. This was not what she expected. It was grace.

Another favourite is in "The Mists of Avalon" mini-series. King Arthur's wife, Gwenwyfar, a christian, never really trusted her sister-in-law, Arthur's sister, Morgaine. Morgaine was a follower of the Goddess, and in Gwenwyfar's eyes, a witch. Gwenwyfar had even gone so far as to manipulate a marriage for Morgaine in order to remove Morgaine from Arthur's court. Fleeing for her life after she's been caught with Lancelot, Gwenwyfar returns to the convent at Glastonbury where she had been before she married Arthur. Morgaine is also in the convent, and when she sees her sister-in-law, she doesn't hesitate. She embraces Gwenwyfar and welcomes her to her new home. The past was forgiven and forgotten. It was grace.

I found another one tonight - and it made me tear up.

Recently, I've discovered a new favourite tv program: "Glee". Being musical and being an awkward outcast in high school, I love it. Most (if not all) of the kids in McKinley High's glee club are social outcasts; they aren't cool. None of them have friends outside of glee club. They have to stick together and stick up for each other. There's a lot of grace on that show.

There's one character, Quinn, who is pregnant. She was a cheerleader until she got kicked off the squad due to her condition. She's also president of the abstinency club and she's too scared to tell her parents that she's expecting. When Quinn's parents (who are church-going christians) find out, they throw Quinn out of the house. "What went wrong? We raised you right. Who are you?" her father asks. With tears in her eyes, Quinn says, "I'm your daughter who loves you and I need my Daddy to hug me and tell me everything is going to be all right." Both parents walk out of the room. Quinn and her boyfrined, Finn (who thinks he's the baby's father) go to Finn's house. When Finn tells his mother that Quinn's parents have thrown her out, he asks if Quinn can stay there. Without a moment's hesitation, Finn's Mom hugs Quinn and says, "Of course". It was grace. Knowing that Quinn and Finn (who came up with that name combo?) are going through a rough time, the glee club expresses their feelings of friendship and support for them in a rendition of "Lean on Me". It was grace.

Why is it that in two of these three stories, it's the christians/church goers who just don't get grace? Is it because they've never "lived" and fallen down and scraped their knees? Perhaps, is it possible, they've *gasp* never been truly confronted with it, and if they did, they'd be confused - like Scarlett was. If Melanie had flown into a rage at Scarlett, or been icy cold, Scarlett would have understood and known how to deal with it. She was so haunted by Melanie's actions that she went home and paced the floor for hours. In Rhett's words, "So she stood by you, did she? How does it feel to have the woman you loathe cloak your sins?" I love the phrase, "cloak your sins" as that is what grace is: a mantle, a cloak, something to keep you warm.

It's Oscar Night in Hollywood

Well, it's that time of the year again when Hollywood hands out the hardware. As in past years, I'm going out on a limb and predicting tonight's winners in some of the major categories:

Best Picture: Avatar;
Best Animated Feature: Up
Best Actor: Jeff Bridges;
Best Actress: Sandra Bullock (even though I'm hoping Meryl Streep wins);
Best Supporting Actor: Christoph Waltz;
Best Supporting Actress: Mo'nique;
Best Director: Kathryn Bigelow.
Best Special effects: Avatar
Best original score: Up
Best Costume Design: The Young Victoria;

I'll update this post later to see how I did, and my impressions of the show.

Edited to add:

Well, with one exception, my predicitons were bang on. I was wrong in the best picture category, as The Hurt Locker won. I haven't seen it yet, but I knew it was Avatar's biggest competitor in the best picture race. I agree with the awards that Avatar did win: special effects, cinematography and art direction. Those were its strong points. (even though, personally, I thought the art direction in Sherlock Holmes was excellent and would probably have voted for it or The Young Victoria).

I missed hearing the nominated songs being performed. I generally enjoy those. I wasn't overly impressed with the dancers performing during the performance of the nominees for best original score. I didn't feel they added anything to the music; in fact, I found them distracting. Glad to see Up win for best animated feature and score. I *loved* that movie.

Though I really enjoyed Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side, I still think that Meryl Streep was robbed. She was fantastic as Julia Child. I didn't care for Mo'nique's acceptance speech: "I would like to thank the Academy for showing that it can be about the performance and not the politics." Um, you just DID make it political.

Best dressed list: Sandra Bullock, Cameron Diaz (surprise, surprise!), Anna Kendrick. I liked Rachel McAdams' and Kristen Stewart's dresses, but not their hair. I liked Sarah Jessica Parker's dress and hair, but not her makeup (looked like it was sprayed on). Another pleasant surprise was Jennifer Lopez.

Dresses/ensembles I didn't like: Maggie Gyllenhal, Miley Cyrus, Nicole Richie, and Charlize Theron (what *were* those things that looked like they were grabbing her breasts, cupcakes?). I didn't like all the fruff of the bottom half of Zoe Saldana's dress, either. Made her look like a Zigfeld girl.

Something has changed...

When I was growing up, Canada always sucked at the Olympics. It seems we came in third - at best - to either the USSR or the US. It seemed that we couldn't compete with the best in the world. And we accepted it, or at least seemed to.

Now things have changed. Ever since the Calgary Olympics in 1988, Canadian medal counts have slowly gone up. The only thing that was missing was an olympic gold medal won in Canada. This time, in Vancouver, everyone knew it would be different. It wasn't "if" a Canadian athlete would win a gold medal, it was a question of who and when. Thankfully, we didn't have to wait long. Alexandre Bilodeau won his gold medal on the second day of competition. The whole nation rejoiced. Our embarressing legacy of being the only host country not to win a gold medal was over. Bilodeau predicted that more would follow. By the end of the first week of the games, Canada had nine medals - at least one per day. There were those who criticized this, saying it wasn't good enough. I was happy - as I remember a final total of five or six medals for the whole games.

Then, the floodgates opened: the women's hockey team won gold, two gold medals and a bronze in men's short-track, a silver in women's curling, followed by a gold in men's curling. The crown jewel awaited: the men's hockey. In some ways, no matter how many gold medals were won, if this one eluded Canada, it would be disappointing.

The men didn't make it easy on themselves, getting by Switzerland in a shootout and losing to the US in round one. We waited nervously with bated breath to see what they would do against the Russians. Turns out, we needn't have worried. It was a rout: 7-3 Canada. Next up were the Slovakians. After going up 3-0, Slovakia got two late goals in the dying minutes, and Canada hung on to advance to the gold medal game against the US. Once again, the men kept a nation in suspence: after going up 2-0, the US tied it in the third period, and it went to over-time. Thankfully, it was settled quickly. Sidney Crosby was the hero and scoring seven minutes into it. For the second time in three Olympics, Canada was double gold medal winners in hockey. The nation went nuts. It was delirious. By the end of the games, we won 26 medals, our best haul over - and 14 of those were gold - a record for *any* country.

Canadians are quiet patriots. We aren't pushy about it. Yet, you could sense in the air with this Olympics - even before the opening ceremonies - that there was something special about to happen. There were splashes of red and white all over: flags waving from cars, homes and office buildings, people dressed in red and white, etc. We just needed the occassion to show it off, that's all.

We've changed these last three weeks. We are no longer meek and mild and just happy to be invited to the big dance. We are now fiercely competitive and can definitely say that we can compete with the best. The days of Canada sucking are long gone.

Thank you, Canadian Olympians. You made us all proud.

An Olympic Moment

I love the Olympics. Whenever they are on - summer or winter - I try to watch as much as I can. It's rather odd, as I'm not a sporty person. I always sucked at sports. I figure skated as a kid, but failed my second badge as I couldn't perform a certain manuever for the required amount of distance on the ice. Thus ended my Olympic dreams. Pity, as I would have been the perfect size for a pairs skater.

Every now and then, you come across a moment at the Olympics that really epitomizes what it's all about - the true Olympic spirit. Tonight was one of those nights. Tonight was the free dance segment of the ice dancing competition. The Canadian team of Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir were in the leading heading into tonight's competion. Their closest rivals were the American team of Meryl Davis and Charlie White. Turns out the teams train together and are the best of friends. White and Davis skated first to the music of "Phantom of the Opera." They laid down the proverbial gauntlet and skated a fantastic routine. They received excellent marks, with a slight deduction as one of their lifts was too long (like anyone other than the judges would have caught that). Then came Virue and Moir. They were magical and skated flawlessly. The look on their faces at the end of their routine was priceless. He could be seen saying, "I love you so much" to her. Canada held its collective breath. Would their marks be enough to move them into first place with two teams left to skate? Yes!

CTV hypothesized that the two teams had performed so well that perhaps double gold medals might be in order. When it was all decided, Virtue and Moir were first, Davis and White, second and the Russian team of Domnina and Shabalin were third. It was a historic night as no North American team had ever won gold in ice dancing before. While being interviewed backstage after the win by CTV, Virtue and Moir were interupted by Davis and White who came by to say "Hi!" and then proceeded to hug, kiss, and congratulate them. They were genuinely happy for their rivals. Apparently at some point they said, "We're so proud of you." Wow. The feelings were reciprocated, as Moir told CTV that they were proud of Davis and White and, "without them... we wouldn't be here." During the medal presentation both teams were glowing and very excited with their medals. The skating and the conduct of all four skaters impressed me. After the medals had been handed out, the teams went for a victory skate. I felt slighly embarressed for the Russian team as they were the only team that didn't have a flag to skate with.

It's good to see that sometimes at the Olympics, the Olympic spirit does, indeed, shine through. Congratulations to both Virtue and Moir and Davis and White. All four of you are a credit to your families, your countries and your sport. I wish both teams well and I look forward to watching them skate for many years to come.

Truth vs. The Lesson

Recently, I was sent a youtube video called, "This will make us all think" and an invitation to join a group called "Keeping Christ in the Classroom" ("KCITC"). This person also posted it in a public place where other people could see it. You can see it here, and the group that posted it. I hate to ask this, but I'd encourage you not to watch the video and give them the readership in order to inflate both their numbers and their egos. I'll provide a link to the complete story in the next paragraph. I'd heard the story years ago; this was nothing new, but alarm bells went off in my mind because the story claimed that the events happend "recently". Me, being me, I went to snopes.com - that great debunker of urban myths and legends. It's a great resource for checking out all those stories that you come across on the internet.

Just as I thought: It's false. They had the story posted there with different variations. It's nothing but an urban legend. I hit the roof; I was so angry.

I was angry that this KCITC would post such a story without either (a) checking their facts or, (b) posting this propaganda knowing it was myth and legend in order to further their cause, which is a blatant violation of the separation between Church and State and a violation of the U.S. constitution and is illegal. If you want Christ in the classroom, send your children to christian school. Either that, or home school them. Your choice. There is room for both secular and relgious education in this society. Even if you agree that Christ should be in the classroom, don't you want your viewpoint represented by solid facts and not urban legend? The fact that they would use myth and legend to propagate their illegal agenda just made me livid with rage because most christian people wouldn't even bother to check the story; they'd just blindly accept it.

Let me define what I mean by myth and legend. Merriam-Webster describes myth as: a popular belief or tradition that has grown up around something or someone; especially : one embodying the ideals and institutions of a society or segment of society. It's a belief not facts. Legend they define as: a story coming down from the past; especially : one popularly regarded as historical although not verifiable. In this case, the story is insupportable. I don't mean to say that myths are lies just because they didn't happen. They are just stories and often there is a moral or lesson to them. They are that: just stories.

I let the person know that forwarded this story and invited me to join this KCITC (obviously she hadn't even bothered to read my blog, or she'd know where I stood on such things) that this was just legend and guess what I was told? It didn't' matter. It was the lesson that was important - standing up for what one believed. Several other people chimed in the same. Not one other person had an issue with it. I couldn't believe it. If the story was told as an anecdote or prefaced with, "There is a story about a professor..." but it wasn't. It was told as an actual event that happened USC.

I was told that this was no different than a movie or a novel where the lesson was what was imporant. I disagree. Novels and movies often have disclaimers stating that "This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters or actual events is mere coincidence." Or, if the story is based on actual events, they will say certain parts of the story/dialogue were changed for dramatic purposes. There is NO such disclaimer here. Jesus spoke in parables, but he didn't try and pass the stories off as actually having happened - and his audience knew that.

I was told that "I once knew the truth" and that I'd been "deceived by a logical sounding lie." Yet, I've done far more research, reading and study on all these topics than the lot of that group put together. In any other field, I'd be regarded as an amateur expert and my knowledge taken seriously. But not when religion's myths are exposed as just that and people's worldviews are in jeopardy. No way. Then it's me who's in the wrong.

I posted again asking the people that had responded saying they were fine with the story being just a lesson, "Which one of you would have checked this out? I bet you none of you would have. You would have just accepted this as fact if it hadn't been for me doing some research". Do I get any thanks? No. Guess what? I got an email entitled "enough venom spitting" and the thread was deleted - with the exception of the original post. This person obviously isn't interested in truth or rational discussion but simply propagation.

I love the hypocrisy of KCITC's statement, "...if we simply have faith and one person stands up for him. There is a lot of power in faith and we need to keep it strong so that when people do try to break it we can hold on". I seem to be one of the only ones that's interested in standing up truth against these devious manipulators.

This really bothers me. Deeply. On many levels. First, that KCITC is using myth and urban legend to affect public policy. If that's the best they have as evidence, they shouldn't be taken seriously. Any judge would dismiss this in court. Second, that when the story is exposed as urban legend that it doesn't bother people. Third, that someone would shut down a discussion leaving the story in place without the disclaimer that the story is just legend thereby helping propagate this myth leading others to believe it's true.

So who is right? Is it important to expose things like this as myth and urban legend that are told as historical events when the group telling the story is using it for political ends, or is it the lesson that's important? I'd really like to think I'm not the only one who thinks the way I do.