Journal of an Insomniac

Stairs and Stereotypes

2011-02-04T12:02:00.002-06:00

The world is flat - or so many of us may think when it comes to equality, fairness and accessibility for those living with disabilities today. We certainly have more ramps, electronically operated doors, accessible washrooms and elevators than were seen in this country a few decades ago, but even so, physical barriers remain. The government's goal of creating an accessible Ontario by 2025 will be an easy one if these are the only barriers they take into account.

Something far more pervasive and insidious than physical barriers stand in the way of a truly level playing field for those of us who are differently abled. Stereotypes and negative attitudes are much more difficult barriers to remove, and these stand in our way in every area of our lives.

Often, even the services put in place to minimize barriers seem blind to their own oppressive practices. For instance, a disability job search agency is allowed to offer unpaid work terms to employees with cold feet regarding hiring a person with a disability. These terms can last for up to one month depending on the employer's preferences. Essentially, the message to the individual is this: your resume, intelligence and accomplishments are worth nothing until you can prove to me that you will be as valuable a worker as someone without a disability. Inherent in such requirements is the assumption that a person with a disability is likely not to measure up to their 'able-bodied' colleagues. Until you disprove this stereotype, your work has no value.

Of course, the job search agencies make the unpaid work term sound much more positive. "You can get a firsthand look at how much you like the job, and then decide if you want to keep it." It only takes the modification of a few words to encapsulate the appeal of this arrangement from the employer's perspective: "You can get a (free) firsthand look at how the person compares to others, and decide if you want to keep him/her." Because of an employer's skeptical attitude regarding my abilities, I have to sacrifice a paycheck to prove myself worthy of working alongside others who may not be 'disabled', but who nonetheless have limitations of a less visible kind.

I want to see a world where my intelligence, talents and personality speak louder to potential employers than my wheelchair does. It should not be tolerated that those without disabilities can be hired with pay from day one, simply based on a resume and an interview, while a person with a disability must prove something more. I am able to receive so much more respect and admiration in the social and academic levels of my life, but the ramp does not yet extend to the occupational level. This must change.

The subtle, but thriving stereotype that a differently abled person is lesser than a person without a disability must be done away with. I'm thrilled institutions are building more ramps, elevators, and automatic doors. But this will not make our provinces, communities and institutions truly accessible. As long as this attitude is held by any institution, corporation or person in power -

you
are not
accessible.

Just in case love has wings...

2009-06-23T10:56:00.008-05:00

"She said the locket looks empty, but that she filled it with her love"
-- Mom

I may never meet you. It's the strangest thought, not to meet you, but the second strangest thought is the exact reverse. What would I say? I feel a complete blank when I really think on what you would say to someone who should be of so much significance, but whom you don't know at all. And yet, when I think of all the things that will remain unsaid if I never did meet you, I feel an overflow of things I would want to say, and things I would want you to know.

I kept that locket, and considered it as my greatest treasure. As a child, I chose the safest place I could think of for it -- my sock drawer. I may have grown up and changed in many ways since then, but in at least one respect I haven't. Nestled among my socks and pajamas, is a blue box that holds my most mysterious possession.

You gave it to me, whoever you are. I wish I could capture the feeling of curiosity, excitement and wonder I always felt when I would take out that locket as a little girl and look it over, how I clasped it in my little fists, and imagined what you were like in a thousand different ways, with a new interpretation for each stage of my life. My one consistent shortcoming through all my imaginings was that I made you too much like me. I simply can't imagine you without that serious, wistful soul of mine that's most true to itself in moments of reflection like these. I can't imagine you without a love for language, a shy smile and a sensitive heart, or a strong imagination. I simply cannot imagine you as someone who does not imagine what I am like. Maybe that's why that response came as such a shock.

If I never meet you, I won't say I'll be incomplete. No one who has been loved as much as I have can think their life is so. Not meeting you may have only this advantage: that I can continue to imagine you as the person I want to become, with the traits I lack built into my mysterious genes. I can inherit traits you may not have, without fear of history repeating itself from your generation to mine. And yet, it has some looming disadvantages: I can't thank you, and let you know that you have been in my thoughts and prayers for my whole life. I can't give you closure. I can't tell you just how much that one little gift, filled with love, meant to me.

But if I could tell you anything about my past, I think it would be this. I was so careful when I opened that locket. It was filled with your love, my mother told me. It looked empty, but it wasn't. Filled with love... it was the most mysterious and wonderful idea to me. I used to open it, imagining what love looked like, if only I could see it... but I'd close it as quickly as I could, just in case love had wings. I imagined love to be like tiny silver butterflies that only your heart could see. I pictured them with their delicate translucent wings, flitting about the room in silvery gossamer ribbons, brushing against my cheek in their flight. I was afraid that if I opened it too long, all the love would float away and the locket would be empty. After all, it was what was inside the locket, not the locket itself, that was precious to me.

Thank you for giving me an amazing life by making the hard choice that you did. It's a curious thing that even though I have no memory of you, I've never forgotten you. Every now and again, I find that blue box, take out the locket, and open it, just for a second. Just in case love has wings.

Gary. Explained in a letter to a friend

2009-06-04T19:12:00.002-05:00

Thank you so much for your encouragement, love, and even for the simple blessing of writing that wonderful letter in all those lovely bright colours. I confess that where I'm currently at has made me a little colour-blind. I still see hope, I still know it's there, but my world feels just a shade dimmer at a time when all I want is to be able to thrive in the brightness and joy and hope that I know is there. I won't write too much about the negative stuff I'm feeling, because I find describing it too much seems to open the door to those feelings, and for the moment I've successfully shoved them out on the back porch to shiver and be miserable without me. My anxiety issues are there still, but worse than the anxiety is this... shadow. I'll name it Gary so that I feel less threatened by it, since Gary is a silly name and invokes a lot more lightness than words like 'shadow' or 'depression'. Bear with me, I realize that changing words like this may sound pretty hilarious and change the meaning of my words entirely, but most importantly, it will change their tone, which gives me a better chance of keeping my smile as I write this.

So anyways, about Gary. I've met him before. He's a rather heavy-set gentleman, and let me tell you, he weighs a TONNE when you have to give him a piggyback, which I've been doing on and off for almost 2 weeks now. Usually he drops by a bit before the anxiety comes, tells me a load of lies that sometimes I believe (because he can speak so forcefully... man, it's hard to think anything else when Gary's doing his storytelling. You feel his words in your bones, you feel their pain). When I do listen to Gary, I panic. His words swirl around my mind so quickly that I can't stop them, and my body goes haywire -- hyperventilating, sobbing, the whole bit. It lasts about 10-20 minutes, and when it's gone you feel like a hurricane just blew over, took out your whole town, and left you alive (barely) and shaking like a leaf. Then Gary hangs around a little while to survey the damage (probably with a smug, satisfied look on his face), and to make me think that I'll never, ever have the strength, determination, know-how or even the energy to re-build the town again. Those are the times when I just want to leave everything -- school, even friends, and just withdraw and live as a hermit or something. Eventually though, people's love and caring for me, and my own sense of optimism, eventually rally me and I slowly (and perhaps slightly unsteadily) get up and start to pick up the debris and make sense of everything. I get a flash of insight, I see a problem that appeared insurmountable before as suddenly solveable. It takes courage to show my face around town again, but I take a deep breath and do it, and am always glad that I did. What I'm afraid of when I don't want to go to social gatherings or see other people or be asked "How are you?" is the pity. Those words that I know come from the heart and are meant so well, but just feel so... (can I say it?) trite. I mean, my town just got destroyed for Pete's sake, and I'm not always ready for the Romans 8:28 (even though it's my favourite verse), or the "It'll pass", and so on and so on ad infinitum. But I go out, I find the comfort of real and sincere friends, and I start to heal. And most notably, Gary leaves. And things move on, even if he does come back in a similar way from time to time. After all, it's always hurricane season in Leannetown.

This time it's a little different. Gary doesn't feel like leaving. He's skulking around the windows as we speak. His presence is always noticeable, he's not just hanging around before or after the storm, he's settling in, right at the time when I'd like to evict him most. So I go to the doctor about Gary. Gary is too heavy, Gary casts too big of a shadow, Gary eats joy and peace for breakfast. He makes everything black and white, he makes it take ten times the energy it used to just to walk from one room to another, he makes me want to sleep all day, yet not be able to sleep at all. Gary makes food lose its taste, and makes concentrating impossible. I'm worried Gary's last name is Depression. It would be a fitting surname anyways, it sounds dark and heavy enough. But I'm afraid to know Gary's last name. His possible surname carries so much weight and sounds so ominous that I'm afraid just knowing it will make me feel worse, or will make me think that those bad feelings are coming spontaneously, when really they're coming from the ideas that intimidating last name unconsciously puts in my head. Hence why I'm calling him Gary. The doctor, thank God, does not tell me Gary's last name. No labels, just changing medication schedules. He increases my dose of sleeping pills, hoping to get rid of Gary, my insomnia and anxiety with a higher dose of one pill. It's too early to tell, but it really feels to me like Gary is liking this new plan. The medication coupled with Gary's top-of-the-world feeling are combining to make it almost take too much energy to talk much, to listen, to dream. I wrote a midterm today. It took me 4 hours. Good thing I warned my prof about Gary and could get more time! It was just so hard even to write a sentence this morning. But don't despair! As you can see, I can write now, and I'm feeling a lot more like myself. It's not always that bad; it's just that when it is, it feels like it will always be that bad. I have great friends, and that's a blow to Gary. I have a great family, and that's a blow to Gary. I have the best fiance, and that's a blow to Gary. I am a daughter of the King, and that's the biggest punch Gary can get. He's still there, and he's still feasting on all the joy and energy I want to feel, all the concentration I want to have, and a good deal of the hope for the future that I want to experience. It's the worst when I think of my wedding, and all the joy and expectation and longing that I know I feel somewhere, that I want to feel, all the smiles my face wants to really, sincerely wear. Sometimes when I think of my wedding, and of Marc, I cry. If I can feel joy about just one thing, one person and one day, I want it to be that. It should be that. But I'm learning, thanks to the wisdom of friends, to stop thinking how I should feel, or what's right and what's wrong in my thoughts and feelings, and to stop judging and guilting myself about it. To observe my thoughts, recognize them, and let them come (because they inevitably will), but infinitely more importantly, to let them go. By dwelling on them, I become a prisoner of that thought process, but by observing them from a distance, I can let them come and go without dragging myself down their all-too-familiar path.

I will get through this. Or rather, God will get me through this. It's not my fight. Gary's about 100 weight classes above me, so he's out of my realm. It's not a fight at all, actually. I just have to be. To learn to rest, and to learn to wait. This is where God has me, and it's not a divine error. I am loved, I am precious. I am me. And whatever Gary's last name is (if he has one), that will not change.

Love Lea (Just Lea, no Gary! Hooray!)

Journal of an Anxiety Addict?

2008-04-09T12:21:00.003-05:00

What worries you masters you -- Haddon W. Robinson

We have been taught to believe that negative equals realistic and positive equals unrealistic-- Susan Jeffers

I'm sure most of my small readership is aware of what I've been going through in the last few weeks, but I thought it might be best to give a bit of an account of my experiences, since they've reshaped my life in many ways, though surprisingly, only the minority of these changes are truly negative.

It's been about three weeks since it happened -- my 'first' real panic attack. However, as I look back into my childhood, I'm beginning to realize that many of those horrible times of fear and anxiety I often experienced when left alone, which were at the time labelled by myself and those around me as 'Leanne getting worked up', were actually panic attacks in their own way, and precursors to the anxiety which took me by storm on March 16.

It all began with a simple case of writer's block, something I've endured and overcome countless times, almost as many times as I've taken up a pen or turned on the computer to begin to write. At these times, my mind is always swirling with ideas faster than my brain can interpret, but on any usual occasion, the cyclone in my mind would eventually blow away the mental chaff, and blend the remainder into a coherent idea, finally breaking into a rainstorm of inspiration. This was the process in which art, whether academic or personal, would come into fruition. I must confess it's been a long and dry time since I felt the refreshing waters of inspiration flowing over me. I've been living an artistically arid life long before this storm hit -- a storm in every way different from all the others, but long overdue.

Sometime shortly after entering university, I felt myself drowning in a sea of demands and pressures. This was no refreshing and inspirational cloudburst. This was an ocean of tasks and papers and stressors, one in which I could barely keep my head above the waves. I quickly learned that I must keep up a continual output of work, writings, papers and whatnot if I was to keep myself from drowning. I found that my schooling crammed me with information, and required me to digest and regurgitate it again and again, all the while leaving me with no refreshment. School kept taking and taking, without leaving me any fodder for my forgotten artist's heart. Writing, once my joy, once my familiar realm in which I was extremely confident, became a chore, a source of dread, and even of sorrow. With all the weights of academic demands, I was forced to cast off any unnecessary weight. I forsook that creative spark, already dimmed and emaciated. Nearly extinguished already, it seemed pointless to carry around such a dead weight when I had so many pressing demands to meet. The previous post contains the very last creative endeavour I had time to record. The others that followed never reached any medium, and are lost in the recesses my memory.

After this point, papers became more than discouraging and tedious, they became absolutely terrifying. The starving artist within me still wanted to fill each assignment with inspiration, but without a spark, and without the time, my artist's expectations were always disappointed with my work. I had always doubted my own abilities, but never to such extremes as I then did. Any work I did was a failure in my mind, until it was returned to me marked with an 80%, 90%, 95%, or, rarely, 100%. Then it would magically transform into a wonderful piece of work in my eyes -- but only if the mark fit in to the range listed above. I was a slave driver to myself.

My friends could estimate how many papers made up my workload by the length of my fingernails. Long -- I had no papers. Short -- I had one paper in which I was somewhat confident. None, with gnawed and bleeding cuticles -- I had many papers, and I lacked any confidence in them whatsoever. They urged me to relax, to take things one step at a time, finally, to see a counsellor. I recognized the sense in what they were saying, but couldn't put it into practice. I had created a monster. Unrealistically high expectations without regard for extenuating circumstances had walled me in. I taken prisoner by a perfectionist. Let's call her Superleanne.

Superleanne's expectations were soon to be disappointed more than they would normally be, with her usual fare of 'slightly less than acceptable' 83's and such. No, she received a 67.5% on an essay, in her intended minor no less. She may as well have been shot in the chest for all the wailing she did over that grade. I say 'she', because even then I could hardly see myself in who I had become. This grade pushed Superleanne to new heights of woe and to new and higher demands to atone for such a shameful assignment. The next essay would make up for it -- a tall order.

And when the next essay came, I hardly needed the extra pressure to succeed. I still had nightmares about the previous essay, and in my mind (and sometimes even whispered, barely audible) I would apologize to my taskmaster again and again for it, begging Superleanne for forgiveness. It was under these stifling conditions that I attempted to write the essay that would bring on the inevitable.

I wish I could say that I at least began the assignment optimistically. But right from the start, I had convinced myself that I must face this 'realistically', by which I meant pessimistically. I had nearly failed once, and having established myself as an unsatisfactory student in my history course, it would take nothing short of pure genius to bring myself up through the ranks to my 'rightful' place at the top. I wouldn't recommend this strategy to anyone who doesn't want to end up hiding in the shower in the dark believing that the doors could shut the screaming voices of failure out. Because that is how I ended up, after the first violent storm of panic passed.

And yet no storm comes without rebirth and cleansing, especially in the desert. And no storm lasts a lifetime either, though I had 'realistically' (again, rather pessimistically) convinced myself that it would. The rain showers, thunderstorms and bursts of panic and despair eventually gave way, although the process was painstakingly slow. My first prescription medications convinced me that I was no longer myself, and as such that I had no responsibility to feed and clothe this stranger. How strange indeed, since I had been a stranger to myself ever since I cast off my creative heart in the name of academics, and had failed to truly realize and address this. However, my solution at this time, made during the night when I was alone, was (I kid you not) to rename myself, since I 'lied' when I called myself Leanne. Luckily, that medication was replaced, my name wasn't changed, the skies began to clear, and without the stresses of school, which I still was unready to face, Superleanne's hold on me began to weaken. I could see her for what she was, a hollow craven fool, who chased ceaselessly after a phantom named success.

I had been a desert, but as the clouds rolled back and the rainstorms ceased, my heart again began to bloom with the rapidity of an arid land that sees rain too seldom not to rejoice in instantaneous and frantic regrowth. I still struggle with feelings of fear regarding my schooling, but it's more of a fear of being caught in the midst of a storm I can't escape than one triggered only by fears of failure. Superleanne still isn't entirely vanquished, but help in the form of counselling, prayer and lots of loving support will, in time, convert that perfectionist spirit of mine into a more sympathetic one, and will, I believe, help me to overcome my anxiety.

It's true what I wrote. Even amid the storms of anxiety and those few moments of despair, hope is so hard to crush.

Wings

2008-04-09T12:11:00.002-05:00

An explanation is likely required here. This piece was written last term when I needed to tell a story using stream of consciousness, a form of writing with blatant disregard for the conventions of syntax, and also for the 'logical' way that a piece of writing is expected to flow in the eyes of the majority. It was a stretch to write this, and it's still a far cry from true stream of consciousness, because even now it makes too much sense. However, I'm not ashamed of it, and having recently been a bit poetically inspired, thought I'd post this here for anyone who cares to read it.

Remember the day I got the letter. Ride home after the service. Something to ask you. Don’t worry, good thing. Butterflies all day. Used to watch them flutter in droves across Huron in autumn. February now, but the same fluttering inside. Many splendored thing? Rather multifaceted. Not sure whether to laugh or cry. Don’t worry. Don’t breathe as easy. Sinking to the bottom. Trapped. Hands reach for me. Arms too short. Fighting not to breathe water like air. Roaring, drowning, struggling, waiting. For? Good thing. Break the surface. Breathe again.

Something to ask you. Sit in my class, counting on shaking fingers. 9 hours. 540 minutes. 40,500 heartbeats. Now more like 60,000. 7 plus or minus 2 times. Numbers unfeeling. No heart in it. Rather solve another question. Ask you. About some other girl? Weather? Misunderstood intentions? In love with me? No. Surprise better than disappointment. Hope is so hard to crush.

For I know the plans I have for you. Wish He’d tell. Surrender. Trust. Wait. Hour left. Fly or fall. It all depends on the question. His arm brushes mine. Butterflies. A hundred pairs of wings, translucent in the sun. Something to ask. Could be a ruse. Root vegetables or the like. Yes, I don’t mind potatoes. More important surely. Thy will, not mine.

Over at last. Not so sure I’m ready. Maggie and Susanna whispering. Afraid Marc will hear.

- Have fun! Tell us everything! Good luck!

Pretend I don’t follow. Cheeks feel sunburned. It’s time now. Out the door and down the steps. Can hardly walk. See rainbows in puddles. Halos around streetlights. Silver moon sparkling. Reflects in his eyes. Look away. Click the seatbelt in place. Dreaming? Pinch. No. Deep breath. Silence.

- Something you wanted to ask?

- Yeah. Been waiting for this all day. Had it all planned. Now I can’t remember a word.

- Don’t be afraid.

As if I’m not. Grip the door till it hurts. Heart in my head. Deafening. Then:

- We’ve been friends for a while, but now we’re becoming something more. Do you see it that way?

Root vegetables! This is much better.

- Yes! Of course!

- How long have you felt that way?

- A year.

Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall. Most was winter. High precipitation. Endless night. Used to be afraid night wouldn’t end.

- For lack of better words, will you go out with me?

Daybreak now. Filled with fluttering. Could fly in the dawn with wings like the sun. Nothing will melt them.

An answer to my prayers...

2007-03-09T15:41:00.000-06:00

"This too shall pass.." - My mother

I wasn't always adrift. I didn't always live in the valley. Once, I was on the mountaintop with God, and everything seemed so clear, so infused with life and hope and joy. I felt God's presence every moment, and He brought so many things to my attention that my eyes couldn't see. I wish I didn't have to leave, but life derives its meaning from a sojourn in the valley. Before I left the mountain, I prayed, "Lord, cure me of my pride. Soften my heart to those who call the valley their home." I thought it would be an easy lesson, but the wonderful thing about God is that He's not afraid to teach you, even if its a painful thing to learn.

For many months after leaving the mountaintop, I thought it was my fault, that I had done something wrong to force me to leave the heights and come crashing to the depths. I lay awake, restless and longing for more, aching to feel God's hand over me again.

I feel so worn, yet perhaps that's not so bad as I once thought, for although my strength is waning, my pride is as well. I strain my eyes to see in the dark, losing hope. I call out to God, and He lights a single star in the heavens for me, a beacon. He teaches me that this faith is about so much more than feeling, but about living out the reality we know. He is never so far that He cannot reach you. Have faith - He would never stand back unless He knew that you were strong enough. Even when you doubt, He believes in you.

Eventfulness again

2006-12-19T15:36:00.000-06:00

It's been a long time since I last updated, and I felt as though I should recount a few joys to accompany the sorrows of late. However, there was nothing particularly interesting to write about; I'd mainly been just going through life without too much incident or triumph worthy of noting, but today sticks out now as different from the blur of days which have made up this past month.

Today after school, my former Educational Assistant, Anna, came to visit me. She'd been home in bed for weeks, as she had a high risk pregancy that left her bedridden. I was overjoyed to see her because I thought that perhaps it was safe for her to get up again. Unfortunately, she was there because she lost her baby, a girl, and was weary of being home in bed recovering. Even through all her pain, she still thought of me, of how I was doing and what was happening in my life. Anna is quite possibly among the kindest, sweetest and most selfless people I've ever met. Even through all this sadness, she had so much hope and strength. I can't imagine what she's been through this past little while, yet she's so concerned about me. I hope God will see that and bless her as richly as she has blessed me.

My mixed emotions regarding Anna left me feeling confused about how to feel. I mourned the loss of the child she'd loved so much even before she'd seen her, and yet something about her strength and hope wouldn't let me mourn long. I can't understand why God lets some things happen, but I know he only lets these things happen to those strong enough to bear it, and I know Anna can, with the help of her loving son.

When I got home, I found out something I definitely hadn't been expecting so soon. I got accepted to the University of Waterloo! It's really cool, because I wasn't aware I could be accepted so soon, and this is the university I was really wanting to go to. I'm going to wait a while and pray on it to make sure this is what's right.

It's exciting to see my future becoming a little clearer, but I know that life is far from predictable. I just pray God will guide me through this journey, over the smooth and rough spots, and crossing over the mountains that are sure to be ahead.

The Brevity of Life

2006-11-07T14:51:00.000-06:00

Our school has had to face another onslaught of grief today, so soon after Calvin's tragic death. Last night, 17 year old Kyla Kowalik passed away. She'd just returned home from the hospital after a surgery to repair her anterior cruciate ligament. All had gone well, and her mother had gone to inform her friends that Kyla was healthy and would be back in school soon. Then her mother went out for lunch with a close friend. While she was gone, Kyla suffered a bilateral pulmonary embolism, and collapsed on her way down the stairs. Her mother's lunch was interrupted by a terrible phone message: Kyla was dead.

I can't claim to be Kyla's best friend, but her cheerful, helpful attitude and ready smile were infectious, easily making her a friend to many, if not all the people she encountered in her short time on this earth. She was the sort of person you couldn't help but love. Many times, in my daily travel through the halls, I'd pass her by, and seldom would she miss offering me a smile or a bright hello. She was always there to grab the door for me, help me put my things in my backpack after class, or give me a push through the halls. She didn't let the leg brace she needed to wear stop her from giving me a push to class or the library. She always made you feel warm inside when she so freely offered her kindness to anyone she came across.

I remember last year in gym class there was a unit on kickboxing that I couldn't participate in, and I was dreading having to spend the next few weeks of class alone in the weight room feeling down. But the day the unit started, there was Kyla. She cheerfully told me that she had a spare when I had gym, and that she'd decided to come and hang out with me in the weight room and help me so I wouldn't be all alone. That was true Kyla, always willing to offer whatever she had for someone else. I can't believe she's gone.

God seems to really be anxious to get the best of His children back to Him, first with Calvin and now with Kyla. She was a blessing wherever she went, always looking beyond herself to people in need of a little sunshine. She left a void in our hearts and lives when she departed so suddenly. Her empty desk left the classroom a much darker place, creating a space that no other person could fill. I can't understand why this happened, but I thank God for her life, for the countless people she touched, and for the gift of being one of them. Her bright, optimistic spirit and constant smile will be sadly missed. Kyla's kind deeds often made me think she was too good for this world, and I guess that was true. God needed her loving spirit with Him, and had to cut her earthly life short. There are many tears being shed for Kyla, but where she is, there is only joy.

Staring death in the face

2006-10-12T15:42:00.000-05:00

"Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life." - Bertolt Brecht

A week ago today, 17 year-old Calvin Nedeljkovich and his younger brother were biking home from their work at a nearby farm. It was perhaps a 5 minute ride, but Calvin would never reach the end of it. No more than a minute from his home, Calvin was hit by a pick-up truck. his younger brother ran home to tell his family what had happened, saying he was dead. When his family reached the scene, the driver was attempting to revive him. When the ambulance arrived, paramedics could find no vital signs, but were able to revive him. However, this faint hope passed away when Calvin died in the hospital two hours later.

Calvin was a grade 12 student a Waterloo-Oxford. Though I didn't know him personally, his twin sister Caroline and younger sister Danielle have been my friends for several years. It hit me hard that a boy whose life was really only just beginning could die so suddenly.

The funeral took place on Tuesday. The moment my friends and I arrived, we knew instantly how much this boy was loved. The room was jam-packed with family, friends, neighbours and teachers. People had to sit outside the room or stand against the walls just to fit in. Seeing this really made me wish I could have known the person which so many people had come to honour. It certainly isn't every person that can boast being so loved by literally about 1000 people.

As I passed the coffin in where Calvin lay, with the make-up managing to almost conceal the bruise on his head, it struck me. I can't make excuses for myself anymore. As I'm sure God knows, I constantly see things I should deal with in my life and my heart, but I tell myself, "I've got my whole life ahead of me to work that out". Staring Calvin in the face for the last time, God drove home the point that this was certainly not always the case. How sad that it took a fellow student's death for me to realize this somber truth!

If you can, please pray for the Nedeljkovich family. The sadness I feel must be pitiful compared to the sorrow his mother, father, 11 siblings and extended family must feel. Imagine having to bury your eldest son, your brother, or your twin! Although I can't understand why God allowed this to happen, I know that it will bring him glory in some way. Thank you God, for the testimony of Calvin's life. I know that there are no tears where he is.

It's About Time

2006-09-19T12:09:00.000-05:00

"Oh! Do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated by a watch." - Jane Austen

Time always frightens me with how fast it moves. It seems just a moment ago that we were leaving for our Europe trip with high expectations and heavy suitcases, but one look at my very neglected watch is enough to tell me that summer has already come and past, and that this equally neglected journal could use some of my attention.

It's hard to believe that I'm already in grade 12, but whether I believe it or not, I am. I still remember looking up to my older cousin Mel when I was in grade 9, thinking she was so mature and had everything figured out. Now my cousin Jared is in grade 9, and maybe he has the same ideas about me. I can certainly clear up at least one of those delusions for him, I definitely don't have everything figured out.

As far as school goes, however, I'm very lucky this year to have classes I'm actually interested in, and peers I really enjoy working with. But God never fails to give me at least one new challenge with each new school year, and it didn't take me long to tag this year's trial. Ironically, it's in the one block of the day I wasn't expecting to have to face any difficulty in - my spare. Although I have one great friend with me, we're outnumbered by the people I usually manage to conveniently avoid, people whose daily conversations can barely resist wandering into subjects such as their great distaste for anything pertaining to religion, and their interest in anything twisted or perverted. I can certainly tell you that if you have the audacity to pray for God to get you out of your comfort zone, He will deliver. Don't get me wrong though, it's not the people I have a problem with, they can really be quite enjoyable, it's mainly more the way they act and the things they say that make this a difficult time for me. I also feel so overwhelmed by the problems I know some of these people suffer through and their intense dislike of anything Godly that makes me wonder where exactly God wants me to start. I just pray that perhaps my actions will speak louder than the words they refuse to hear. I want to show them that the answers to their questions and problems are in the one place they refuse to look. I just hope I can do something right and good with this last year of school.

I remember being young and finding a five minute car ride unbearably long. Now I'm shocked to realize how fast a day, a month or a year can blossom and fade away. I'm a little scared to think how fast time will go a decade from now or longer. Will it always keep passing so quickly when I'd rather it would slow down? My mom once told me that her years of junior high were the best of her life. I think she was saying that to cheer me up and encourage me to make the most of each day, but instead it made me very afraid. I didn't want these days to pass and leave me with the lesser days which followed. For some time in my early teenage years, I began to dread each birthday, feeling that with each year added to my life, something golden in myself was lost. This was something none of my friends could understand, all of them longing for the freedom which came with growing up. It was during this time that the meaninglessness of life hit me like a wall, and I felt very discouraged. It was in this place that I truly met God for the first time after all my years of Sunday School, and discovered that He could make my brief days on earth amount to something that would outlast myself. I also discovered that what was true for my mother was not true for me, though junior high was a fun stage of my life, better days waited ahead, where deeper friendships developed and where my heart truly learned what it is to love. Sorry mom, but you were wrong just this once.

Going on Vacation

2006-06-29T09:13:00.000-05:00

"A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it." - George Moore

Well, summer vacation is officially here, and my brain is still stuck in student mode. Every day I wake up feeling as though I need to study for an exam or hand in a summative that must have slipped my mind. It's funny how I spent all year waiting for the freedom that comes when school ends for the year, and now that it's finally here, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

Luckily, I don't have too much time to waste here at home, since my family has been planning a trip to visit relatives and friends in Germany, Austria and Switzerland from July 1 to August 11. As soon as my friends heard about this, they were all very excited and jealous of me, but as of yet, I'm still not nearly as excited as would be expected. I never seem to trust exciting events in my life as real until part way through or even after they occur, since as a child my imagination was always taking me on some wild adventure past the borders of possibility, making me wary of anything overly exciting, since most of these things were all pretend. I may be a little more grounded in reality now, but I'm still slow to believe in adventures, just in case my mind has woven them up as readily as it used to.

The highlight of this trip, I'm already sure, will be that Marc is coming with me. This is a marvelous blessing, since I discovered last year that it's more than possible to leave your heart at home, which made the trip much more painful than enjoyable.

Being away from home gives you a chance to really step back and see your life and everyone in it from a new perspective. I think the best part of any vacation is coming home to the same people and places to discover how much they truly mean to you and how much you missed them when you were gone. It's more the experience of coming home which stays with me and changes me most, rather than the experiences of being somewhere new. It will be my third time in Europe, but the scenery both there and in my very own neighbourhood always hits me in a new way upon my arrival or my return home. Sometimes going to the same familliar places after time away can truly show you how you yourself have altered over time.

So, I guess deep down maybe I am excited about this trip. I'll get to revisit some places and go to some entirely new ones. I'll also get to eat some pretty good food too! And this time there won't be any heavy heartache to bear with me, just heavy suitcases. I just pray I can endure six weeks crammed into a little car with my family!

Auf Wiedersehen until August 11!

Oh the Disabilities...

2006-05-31T08:57:00.000-05:00

"There are some advantages to being in a wheelchair... you get to have cute boys push you around." - Jean Scott (My E.A)

I've never quoted someone I actually know personally on this blog so far, but I thought this one was too funny to pass up. It was a comment made to me when my Educational Assistant met my boyfriend Marc. She is right that my disability can give me the upper hand in some situations. As far as being noticed, I generally receive a lot more attention from others due to my obvious differences, which makes a great platform to speak about my faith. For some reason I have yet to fully understand, people admire me and are inspired by me. Perhaps they wonder how I can be so upbeat with my disability, but it's easy to understand how a person surrounded by loving friends and family and respected by peers would feel pretty cheerful most of the time. No, my disability isn't that bad. In some ways, I've learned to see it as a blessing. There are, however, some downsides to being disabled as well.

Yesterday my mother took me in to have a conference to determine whether I could qualify for disability pay when I turn 18 this November. We are currently receiving about $100 monthly from the government to help pay for medications and other inconveniences which are a part of having cereberal palsy. However, it turns out that I don't qualify to receive anything once I am officially an adult. My wise parents have saved up $5,300 to go towards my education in a savings bond which I can't access except for educational purposes. However, they consider this an asset, something I can use towards myself. Since I have assets of over $5,000, I don't qualify to receive a dime, even though this money can't be used to cover the costs of my disability in any way. Now I know I shouldn't complain, since my parents don't have trouble bringing in enough to support our family, but I know that I do eat a larger hole out of my dad's wallet what with vitamins, chiropractors, osteopaths, orthodics, and frequent drives to appointments and school. Other disabled kids I know qualify for $800 a month, as long as they don't get a job, at which point the coverage ends.

Maybe I'm just angry that I had to be taken out of school just to be told I didn't get a dime, but something about this doesn't seem quite fair.

Gimme that old time tradition

2006-05-10T10:29:00.000-05:00

"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." - Andy Warhol

Tradition. It means different things to each of us. Perhaps the word makes feel warm as you think of a family brought together by their traditions of celebrating Christmas. Or perhaps, like me, the word makes you think of a family cold and divided by tradition. My family is. My many brothers and sisters are torn by a tradition they have placed so much emphasis on that it is now nothing short of a religion in itself.

Of course, I'm refering to my church. I grew up among these people, laughed with them and learned much from them. This explains why my heart is torn to see my church slowly falling to ruin before my eyes.

A man in our church once stood at a meeting with tears in his eyes. Something was clearly troubling him which he held at great importance. What could it be? Had we forgotten the power and majesty of our God? Was the severe shortage of people willing to serve God in the church troubling him? No. He was extremely upset that we were allowed to clap in church. When he was a boy, he was taught that this was something one might do in a theatre, and no Christian should ever go to a theatre. His very faith was seemed strongly rooted to this fact. He wanted to have clapping abolished in the church. And right away, it was. Please, I don't mention this to offend the man who believed this, or any others who agreed. It just astounds me how quickly the church was willing to change this, and yet how gruellingly long it takes to make any changes to the church which might benefit the kingdom of God.

Our church was founded by the elderly. They are people of strong faith and devotion, as well as strong tradition. What is our faith? That Christ died for us, and is the only way to God. By accepting Him, we are forgiven of all our sins, and made pure. He gives us new life, which we devote to seeking and serving Him. What about our traditions? We must never clap in church. Church is meant to be reverent and quiet, not boistrous or joyful. Our tradition tells us that miracles do not happen today, but were only meant for the time when the apostles walked the earth. Spiritual gifts such as speaking in tongues were also only meant for this time. It also informs us that a "good Christian" will never attend movies or watch television, as this is too worldly. Pastoral candidates have been turned down for making references to movies. Worship music which includes drums and electric guitars is also too worldly. Wow. Quite a list. And I know I've left many more things out. What is our faith again? After reading all of that, it's easy to forget the very reason why we gather each week, which is exactly what has happened.

So much emphasis is placed on these rules that we've made them the core of what we believe. This is dangerous. Nothing can be at the core of our beliefs except the fact that Jesus is the Son of God who took our sins upon Himself and died to give us new life, eternal life. Putting anything else at the centre will make our faith topple. Something must change. But what? Surely not our religion. The fact that Christ is Lord and has died and risen again will never change, not even in another two thousand years. So what must we change? The tradition. We must constantly be willing to change and look at our same beliefs from new perspectives so that young people in changing cultures can find new ways to experience the same, unchanging God. Just about all the hype surrounding Christianity results from our stubborn traditions, not from the faith itself.

I don't want to see my both the height of my church's success and its fall all in my one short lifetime. We are refusing to meet the world where it's at, and so we're crumbling. This is not what Christ intended for His Body. Please, fry the tradition, before it fries us.

Insomnia Returns

2006-04-28T12:45:00.000-05:00

"[Sleep is] the golden chain which ties health and our bodies together."-Thomas Dekker

Well, once again my insomnia has returned. I'm exhausted, and I can't seem to focus on anything very well. I recently broke down over a simple psychology assignment because I couldn't even formulate a sentence correctly, and spent hours staring at a blank screen with no idea how to finish (or even start) my work. Along with the insomnia, I've lost my appeptite and feel constantly weak and tired. I don't sleep very well at night, and any sleep that I do get happens between 6 and 11 am. Due to this, I've missed all but one day of school this week, which only increases my stress. I'm also troubled with strange and alarming dreams during these times where great harm always seems to come to people I care about.

Marc is a true blessing, especially during these times. He shares the burden of my stress and exhaustion with me, and he helps to do what is best for me. I know that it's hard for him to see me so weak and emotionally unstable. I don't know how I'd get through these times without him to encourage me. Thanks Marc.

This entry might be a little lacking in creativity or form, since I'm still pretty exhausted and not all there. It also doesn't help that there are three or four students next to me who can't seem to go five seconds without some blatant use of profanity. It's almost like a drug, and they're definitely addicted to it.

I know this vicious cycle of insomnia won't last forever, and when it's over, I hope I'll be back to more frequent and better written posts. Until then, I'll try and get some sleep.

The God box

2006-04-21T12:49:00.000-05:00

"Is he safe? 'Course he's not safe! But he's good." - C.S Lewis, "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe"

When the servant of the man of God got up and went out early the next morning, an army with horses and chariots had surrounded the city. "Oh, my lord, what shall we do?" the servant asked. "Don't be afraid," the prophet answered. "Those who are with us are more than those who are with them." And Elisha prayed, "O LORD, open his eyes so he may see." Then the LORD opened the servant's eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.
2 Kings 6:15-17

Sometimes, I think we all forget the power of God. We pray, but don't really expect an answer. Maybe we envision God as a friendly old king on a fancy throne, and we forget what He can do. We expect Him to operate in safe, predictable little ways. We go to Him more for life insurance than out of gratitude for His unending love and desire to know His power.

When I first read this passage, and I mean really read it, I was blown away. How much does our shallow sight miss in this world? Just imagine, whole armies of angels jumping to our defense! There is a lot more going on underneath the veil of this world than we realize. Let it never again be said in my hearing that Christianity is boring!

When was the last time you, or I for that matter, rolled out of bed thinking "Wow! I am so psyched to go out into the world today and serve God!"? Something is amiss here. Why does Christianity have such a dull reputation?

I think we've tried to shove our big, awesome and mighty God into a nice, neat little box. We’ve tried our hardest to keep Him caged up, so He can’t try anything particularly dangerous or unpredictable, and I think He’s getting a little claustrophobic. We want the lamb without the lion; we want the excitement without the risk. We want Him to be tame, safe, like a house pet. And that’s just not who God is at all. And how can we get fired up about serving God when we can’t even accept who He is?

We’ve got to let the Lion out of the cage. God loves the wild; He loves change, and He loves risk. If you’re not sure how I know this, just take a look around you at the world He made. It’s filled with fascinating creatures that are definitely not “safe”, unpredictable weather, and changing seasons. We have to accept that side of Him as well as the gentle, meek and kind side.

If you ever see a picture of Jesus, it’s bound to be one where He is depicted as the most non-threatening guy you ever met. Not that this side of Him is bad at all, but I think we need one or two pictures which show Him a little differently. How about a picture of Him throwing down the temple tables or calling a crowd a brood of vipers? How about a picture of Him knocking an entire crowd of men to the ground with a single word? I can’t stand letting this world believe that the God I serve is boring and predictable – we have more than enough people like that in the world already. I say let the Lion loose!

I am not an accident

2006-04-20T11:17:00.000-05:00

"Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body." -Elizabeth Stone

I've often viewed life as a huge puzzle, intricately complex, with many different pieces. Pieces are constantly being added or shifted by an unseen Hand, who wisely arranges our disorganized lives in such a way that we should be blessed with all we need. Sometimes, as the pieces shift and change, it leaves us feeling panicked and confused; for from our point of view, we cannot see the full picture, the wise plan of our Father; we only see the apparent disarray of our world, and feel as though God has forsaken us, when in fact He carefully holds and arranges our whole lives within the palms of His hands. When I look at my own life, I see His fingerprints all over it.

I was born on November 10, 1988 to a woman probably not much older than myself. She had hidden her pregnancy until the very last moment, when she went into labour. She had been terrified to tell of the life inside of her, as I can only imagine she must have been. Through the eyes of the world, I was a mistake - an accident, an inconvenience. But through the eyes of God, I was no mistake - He had plans for me. By His grace alone was I even born that day, rather than being aborted. His fingerprints were on my life before it even truly began.

I was not meant to remain in my birthmother's life. My piece had no place in this puzzle. My mother had the wisdom and the love for me to see that, and to make the remarkable sacrifice to give me the best life she could possibly find for me. Upon reading the quote above by Elizabeth Stone, I realized what a sacrifice my birthmother had made for me. She gave up her heart to give me a loving, deicated family, a large network of loyal friends, and all she knew that she could not provide.

God's wise hands have set me in the place He had designed for me in the beginning. His careful placement has allowed for countless wonderful people to be a part of my life - and to have a profound impact on it. Had my birthmother not made that heart-rending choice 17 years ago, I would never have met my many faithful friends, would never have met those I call my family, and never have received the love of my boyfriend and soulmate. So thank you to my birthmother, wherever you are. And thank you, above all, to God, for putting my life together.

For Maggie

2006-04-19T15:39:00.000-05:00

"Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies." - Aristotle

Maggie and I shared everything - our deepest secrets, our interests and dreams, even our clothes. We'd talk on the phone for hours, and hardly a day would go by without one of us being at the other's house. At the age of maybe 8 or so, Maggie said she wanted to marry my brother solely so that we could be sisters. We always dreamed that somehow we were, perhaps not in body, but something deeper, something even stronger. I had vowed then that I would let nothing, nothing tear us apart.

We've been friends for 12 years, and in that time we've weathered our share of adversity. But we were always there for each other, to lend a hand or help to heal a hurt. We listened, we shared, we laughed and we cried; we faced both joys and sorrows together. Our friendship has successfully survived countless trials, each struggle only strengthening our bond. It seemed as though nothing could weaken our sisterly love. And nothing has. We still love each other dearly; but that seemless bond we once had has somewhat changed - as have we.

Change was the one thing I hadn't counted on. I knew that people did change as they grew older, but I had always figured (rather foolishly) that we would change in the same ways. And in some ways, we have; while in others, we are quite different. It's not that this puts a barrier on our friendship; we still are close, and after all that we have shared in this life, I believe we always will be. It will just be different from what I expected it would be back when I was 7. Our friendship hasn't lost it's strength, it's just changing, like we are.

Mags, I know that we're always going to be close. We may never quite have the closeness we once shared, but I still share a mind and a heart with you, even though our changing lives are tugging us in different ways. I want you to know that I love you and always will; that you have been a friend like no other, and that I would truly be lost without you. I've always feared two things: change and time; but I know we can face them together. I will never let our friendship die.

A world of truth

2006-04-17T16:02:00.000-05:00

"What can you say about a society that says God is dead and Elvis is alive?" - Irv Kupcinet

It's easy to understand why some people end their lives when they are told by society that "all you see is all there is". There is no more depressing thought. To think, people actually stand and fight with all their strength, defending the bleak, hopeless idea that all there is to this life is to work hard for money that buys no joy, accumulate things that are left behind when you die, and seek success that doesn't satisfy. They fight against the terrifying thought that they are loved, cared for, and created for more than this world. Most of all, they fight against the fact that they have erred. Inside, a desire for more than this world gnaws at our hearts; an unanswered question fuels our every action. I've had many friends tell me they are not "religious". On the contrary, I have seen them worship their own gods fervently. At the core of our being is the desire to worship something much greater than ourselves. We all worship something: our jobs, money, loved ones and ourselves. Just because we wouldn't give these things the title of "God", doesn't change the fact that we devote our thoughts, time and energy to these things, and place them above all else. People say there is no proof for the existence of God. Even stranger is that these people have perfectly working eyes and minds. Seeing is not believing, but God has placed a lot of truth in His world for opened eyes to find.

God filled this world with evidence of Himself and His power, and with lessons to learn from nature. Looking at the stars must turn the stomach of any atheist. Such a complex, beautiful world cannot be an accident, it screams of a creator. It must be hard to look at the breathtaking scenery of this world and think, "What a beautiful accident!". What are the odds an asteroid hit a barren planet and made a whole world of things perfectly dependent upon eachother, who had all they needed to thrive? Atheists say they aren't religious, but it takes an awful lot of faith to believe something which contradicts their very design. If only Christians had their strength of faith, the world would be completely different.

Lessons are hidden all around. I learned a new one this weekend. A huge thunderstorm came, with lightning, and hail as big as golf balls. It seemed like the sky itself was falling, and like the sun would never shine again. And yet, the very next morning, the sky was a piercing blue and the sun shone all the more brightly in the sky. Many times in our lives feel beyond hope; it is as if our world is falling apart. "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." God proves this time and time again in His world, patiently re-teaching us each day. All we have to do is open our eyes and see it.

For Dave

2006-04-13T14:48:00.000-05:00

"In the truest sense, freedom cannot be bestowed, it must be achieved." -Frankin D. Roosevelt

All of my life, I've looked up to my brother. He was - and still is my role model. He's going through a hard time right now, and through a lot of it, I struggled to understand and respect him the way that I always have. Sometimes it seems like the brother I know and love is gone, but I know that's not true.

I have so much respect for you, Dave. I may not show it as often as I should, but I know looking back that ever since I can remember, I've been trying to gain your approval and respect.

There are countless times in my life when I can remember my parents "ganging up on me." I've never had the skill of holding back tears when voices are raised, but I could always count on Dave to say the words that I could not, due to my blubbering. That didn't go unnoticed, and I'm deeply thankful for it.

As discussed in a previous post, I've hit some rough spots on my road of life thus far. During these times, I often felt like I was drowning in my own emotions. For a long time it seemed that no one quite understood how I was feeling, or didn't want to take the time to ask. During those times, Dave was always there with gentle, wise advice and an understanding of what I was feeling, even when I didn't understand it myself. Your wise words have helped me to get through so many hard times, and helped me to grow into who I am. Any wisdom I may have, I received from you. I love you Dave.

I know that there are a lot of difficult days in my brother's life where everything seems to be going wrong, and his world seems to be falling to pieces. It's only understandable that on those days, he may not return home in the brightest of moods. No, Dave, you are not a jerk, and you never were. Forgive me for being so over-sensitive to myself, and so under-sensitive to what you're going through. I want you to know that I respect you and love you so much! You are such an understanding brother and such a wise mentor to me. You have so many gifts and talents! It doesn't matter to me, or to anyone what you have on the outside. The reason I, and everyone who knows you, love and respect you so much is for your heart. You'll always be my role model.

Learning to See (my essay)

2006-04-08T12:35:00.000-05:00

"We must simply allow the scales to be removed from our eyes, and learn to see."

I wanted to post an essay I wrote earlier this year that I am actually proud of. To me, a truly great work is made when you look at the page and realize you are staring your soul in the face, and this essay is the closest I've come to accomplishing that so far. It actually won a contest at my school, which is pretty exciting! So here it is:

How many of us have tried to slap a price tag on ourselves, to determine our own worth? If you did, what did that price tag say? Did it read worthless, or priceless? For too long, I went through life with the word worthless branded into my mind and my heart, and I learned just how big a difference those 5 letters can make.

When I was younger, the world was a sweet and wonderful place; a golden globe of opportunity. I was myself, and I loved myself. I learned that D-I-F-F-E-R-E-N-T spelled different, that I was unique, even special, and that there was no one else on earth quite like me. I learned that different was good. Some people were tall and some were short, some had blue eyes and some had brown, and that was good. Everyone was special, and everyone loved who they were. But suddenly a shadow fell on my perfect little world, a frightening intruder called reality. There was something different about me, very different, and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a good thing. I had cerebral palsy. Somehow my naïve little eyes had managed to pass over that fact, to regard it as just another blissful little difference, no more serious than a freckle. Reality hit me like a wall when I realized that I could not run, that my friends often let me fall far behind them as they played, too absorbed in their childhood paradise to realize that I could not keep up, and probably never would. I became acutely aware of the training wheels on my bike that I would never be rid of, the metal canes I needed in order to stand, and how my wheelchair was beginning to be associated with my identity. The long white scar down my spine and deep ugly pink scars on my hips haunted me like phantoms, memories of surgeries and pain; they made me feel like even more of a freak. It dawned on me that some people who looked at me did not see a girl, but a wheelchair or canes. Some even saw something frightening – a difference. And from the looks on their faces, I learned that not all differences are good; in fact, some of them were downright bad. Soon that was all I saw in myself – the things that were different, and I craved to be normal.

As I grew a little closer to adulthood I grew painfully aware that the world was far from perfect, it was not all smiles and sunshine. It was flawed – and so was I. Cerebral palsy wasn’t my only fault. Standing in front of the mirror, other problems seemed magnified in my reflection: dark, bushy eyebrows, stringy hair, and a long nose. It was strange that my blind eyes could even point out such faults at all. Sure, I was an avid reader and could tell you how many fingers you were holding up if you asked me. I could see beauty in the sunrise and sunset, in a snow covered hilltop, and in the faces of friends and loved ones, but I was completely blind to any beauty in myself.

I had spent years circulating the same worn old thoughts through my head. “I’m a freak, a failure, a monstrosity.” Thoughts like these created a steady rhythm in my head. In my mind, I magnified my faults and failures while I made my successes and attributes miniscule. I’d often cry out to God “Why did you make me this way? Why did you even make me at all?” I stubbornly refused to see good in myself, only bad things stuck out. I chose to stay blind.
When I think of the events which slowly pulled me from my rut of self hatred, it was sounds, not sights which surface in my memory. I recall when my best friend got a new silver scooter, and I wanted to ride it so badly. I tried, but I could not balance for all my hardest effort, and I fell and cried more out of frustration and self-pity than pain. But my friend was determined. She wanted me to ride that scooter somehow, and she wasn’t giving up until she found a way. As I sat there crying, she tied an old wagon to the back of her scooter with a skipping rope, and grinning, told me to hop on; we were going for a ride. She pulled me all through town until she was out of breath. I’ll never forget the whir of the wheels on the cracked cement. In my memory I can still hear them. The sound reminds me that with the help of family and friends, I can do things I could never do alone.

Another sound that rings in my ears is the cold metal slam of the locking doors to the suicidal ward of the hospital. I watched a dear friend disappear behind them. I felt so confused and frightened then, and I couldn’t understand how such a beautiful person could have such intense hatred for herself. Cuts laced her forearms, scars she had given herself. She was so sweet, kind, beautiful, talented, and she could walk and run. Why couldn’t she see it? Then I realized she was blind, just like me. She saw only failures, faults and letdowns in the mirror. The reverberating thud of those doors drove into my heart how close I was to disappearing into that ward, too. While I helped my friend learn to get over her blindness, I vowed to accept my differences and not hate myself, before I ended up suffering as much as she did.

In the end, it was three little words which truly shattered my hatred of myself, “I love you”. When my boyfriend says those words to me, I’m reminded that there is good in me. He looks at me and manages to see enough good to easily overlook bushy eyebrows, and even canes and a wheelchair, to see a girl he loves. I was loved very much all my life by my parents, but there is something so much more different about someone choosing to love you over everyone else in the world. His love makes me delighted about who I am. Yet another “I love you” is evident everywhere I go, whispered in the wind, read in the starry sky, and engraved in the hands of One who loved me enough to give up His life. God made me, loves me, and even died for me, and because of this I have a worth beyond anything I could imagine. He shed His blood, and used it to write “priceless” rather than worthless on that price tag I bear.

The same is true for all of us. We are not mistakes, freaks, or failures. We are beyond price. We must simply allow the scales to be removed from our eyes, and learn to see.

Sweet Sorrow

2006-04-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

"... for if joy is a fountain which rises in the sun, its springs are in the wells of sorrow unfathomed at the foundations of the earth." - J.R.R Tolkien

Some days you can't help but smile. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and everything is going your way - you're on top of the world. Other days, you're so low that a smile seems like a cruel mockery of your pains. You feel trapped in the valley of despair, and you're sure no one cares. Funny how it seems the sweetest joy rises from the ashes of deepest sorrow.

I've been there. I've stood under the crippling weight of sorrow and wondered why I should go on. For months, I hardly said a word to anyone. I was hardly more than a bitter shell of a girl. No wonder I could feel no joy; there was no room for it in my anger-filled heart. I felt lost in a darkness so much bigger than myself. I was battered and beaten, and no wonder, because character isn't shaped without a fight. Throughout this time, God was near to me; destroying my bitterness and self-pity, and guiding me not to focus on my disabilities, but on my abilities. He was preparing me for something, but at the time I would never have guessed how wonderful that something would be.

I can still recall when that black night lifted. God sent me a light - whose name was Marc. Patiently, he counselled and encouraged me, and saved me from my worst enemy- myself. Of all the people God's hand has graciously placed in my life, none have blessed me and changed me the way Marc has.

Before either of us knew how we felt about eachother, I had prayed a brave prayer: for Marc to find the best girl in the world, who would love him purely, bring him joy and devote herself to him, even if it meant that he would never love me in return. Little did I know what a tall order I had placed on myself! That time of utter despair helped me get one small step closer to answering that prayer. It was those tears of sorrow which now are the spring to a fountain of joy.

If it's not worth the risk, it's not worth anything

2006-04-06T11:19:00.000-05:00

"Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks." - Horodotus

What a strange race we humans are. When things are unpredictable, we panick; when things are predictable, we languish. We cry for adventure, and then shrink back from it. It's strange isn't it? Taking a look back on history, and on who the world admires, one soon realizes that no one has ever been remembered for taking the back seat, keeping our distance, or not speaking up. Everyone who has made an impact on the world has done it by taking a risk. We'd be ashamed of a soldier who was too afraid to take a risk to save his comrades, but would we do the right thing in his shoes?

You'll notice two things about someone who doesn't take risks:

They have a stockpile of dreams they're too afraid to chase, and;
They're bored.

Reading this, you may conjure up images of me as a daredevil - I'm not. I'm even afraid to decide on what to order in a restaurant, for fear I won't like it. I'm about as far from a daredevil as it gets. But I've learned a thing or two about life that has made me look at risk in a new light.

We were made for risks. How else can we explain the popularity of theme parks and extreme sports? They are the world's way of retaliating against a safety-obsessed culture. I'm not saying safety is bad, or extreme sports and theme parks for that matter. But how many of us actually even go outside anymore? When was the last time you explored new territory or put your neck on the line? An increase in safety has also increased the desire for adventure and danger, and that's only natural, it's what life is all about.

A little over a year ago, I went out to a movie with a friend. A friend who happened to be a boy. And I was pretty crazy about him. It was a good movie and a great night. The more time I spent with him, the stronger my feelings for him became. Finally, on the way home, I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned over, and for the briefest second put my head on his shoulder! You're probably laughing at me, but remember, I'm not a risk taker, especially when it comes to love. I went as far as attempting to calculate if I could land on the curb if I jumped out the window, but never having taken physics, I didn't have much success. However terrified I was, that little hint was the final push for him to tell me how he felt. Through a relatively small risk, I got the biggest blessing of my life.

Risks can be scary things, but the best things in life are born of them. I'm not saying go skydiving or bungee jumping (not unless you want to), but don't let fear stop you from speaking your mind, chasing your dreams, going after that dream job or finally telling that certain someone how you feel. It may just be the best risk you ever took. I know mine was.

And so it begins....

2006-04-04T12:18:00.000-05:00

"Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep." - Fran Lebowitz

Insomnia can teach you many things, or it can make you go insane. The latter often seems the most imminent, but I know that I have learned some things from many nights awake. I was telling this to some friends when one suggested that I make a journal to hold my many revelations and ideas. At first I laughed it off. Who would really want to hear my ramblings anyway? A year or two passed, and I'd actually finally found a medication that worked. I was actually sleeping through the night! Then suddenly, I remembered that journal idea, and it got me so excited that I couldn't sleep. So, for my own sanity, here it is.

If sleep is rest for the body, then some days I'd almost say insomnia is the waking of the soul. Many days I've felt as though I'm only half awake, or sleep walking, but it seems that on the nights when my body is half asleep, my true dreams and desires come alive in me. I've always wondered why this is, but now it seems to make sense in a crazy sort of way. I've always been a doubter and a skeptic; it's one of my least favourite qualities. But when my body is crying for sleep, I think the skeptic in me is a little too exhausted to dash my optimistic ambitions. At night, I dream endlessly of who I could become and what to do with my life, and in the morning these thoughts seem as childish as fairy tales. Nine times out of ten, my fiery ambition has already been snuffed by the time I wake up in the morning, its short life ended by my ever present "common sense". Any ideas I don't instantly dismiss with the rising of the sun are generally labelled as impossible, and their allure is slowly forgotten. I'd love to escape common sense for a moment, take a risk, and perhaps accomplish those dreams some day. I'll have to start small, so I'll start with this...