What a trip. I’ve got more photos posted on my Facebook account, if you’d care to check them out: Kenya – London

I purposely left my laptop at home and I have to say that was a wise move, though it was the longest I’ve ever gone without internet access in more than a decade.

We met amazing people, toured beautiful country, saw stunning wildlife, ate great food, and so much more.

I’ve have yet to fully process the experience . . . but wow!

Peace, dwight

the journey of a diamond

“Her arms held a million wrinkles and 100 million memories as well.

As we (my mother and I) entered the room where she sat, she didn’t stop talking. Jabbering incoherently, her emotions were in obvious distress. Her mind overtaken by an enemy — dementia. Though verbal communication seemed impossible to reach her, she still understood the deeper language of the heart.

Love.

And as we sat and then later walked with her, we touched. Her hands, her shoulder, her face and each time we did…. she grasped hold of us –tightly — and pressed our hand to her face. And smiled. I felt peace slowly inch its way upon her as her spirit began to settle.

I longed to reach her. For her to understand me. To let her know how special she was, that she was loved. Yet, each effort I made left me feeling like my words simply confused and frustrated.

Better not to talk.

Suddenly, I had an idea! I crouched down to her level and looked her square in the eye. She met my gaze as I began to sing a song that in years past we’d often sung together.

She smiled as I sang and by the second verse she began to hum along.

My voice cracked. I could barely sing.

“Jesus loves me….this I know….”

Though there was much she had forgotten. This, she couldn’t forget.

We finished the song (somewhat) and got her ready for bed. Her 92 year old body was tired as we changed her and helped her lay down in her bed. I was reminded of my youngest daughter. They seemed very similar somehow. Their spunk, their heart, their love — it was the same.

We tucked our little grandma into her bed. Her body small. Frail. Weak. Loved.

Wrapping her blanket snugly around her face, I kissed her on the cheek. Her face broke into a huge smile as she reached out her arms for more. More, more, more. She soaked up love like a dry, thirsty sponge.

Then turning out the lights in the room, we walked out the door. Well…our bodies did. Our hearts stayed beside her.

Goodnight precious Grandma. Sweet dreams. I love you.”

Thanks Ruth.

Peace, dwight

Had a great family vacation in and around Winnipeg. Connected with a number of church leaders in the avant-church world and connected with lots of family.

One night we got together with Mark Humphries and the simple church he does life with. Mark has been one of the truly innovative leaders in the avant-church world. I first met him in the mid-late ’90s at GenX 2.0 where he led a workshop integrating the church and arts. He was so far ahead of his time.

I also got to share breakfast with Brother Maynard. He’s a really good missional thinker and has an amazing grasp of the Winnipeg scene.

Next time I hope to also connect with Jamie Arpin-Ricci.

But mostly we spent time with our family. The Friesen family had a big reunion (my dad is one of 12 kids), I hadn’t seen some of my cousins in at least 20 years. It was so good to be together, and sense our roots, and hear life stories.

We stayed with Lynette’s brother’s family. A great time . . . I wish we lived closer together. Here are a couple of photos.

Peace, dwight

After more than a year of labor, permit problems, miscuts, and slivers our deck is done.

BEFORE:

After:

Peace, dwight

For some time Lynette has had an altar in her creative space at home.  The altar serves as a prompt to prayer, and is littered with holy objects from her journey: photos of people, poetry, journals, prayer beads, etc.  Though it is nothing fancy it is beautiful.

Our Christ-commons meets Sunday nights which leaves our Sunday mornings open, except for those days when I am guest speaking.  Every once in a while we attend the Episcopal church near our home.  Not too long ago Lynette and Pascal were getting ready to go to the Episcopal church when Pascal protested; “Let’s not go to the church building, let’s stay at home and worship God at mommy’s altar.”  Now if only he had left it there – but no – he went on to say that he wanted to create an altar too.  Only he wanted to create an altar to worship Baal.

It almost makes us think we should stop telling him Old Testament stories – an altar to Baal – I mean really!  How many four year olds even have a context where that would make sense.  Not only I am raising a heretic but an idolater. 

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

peace, dwight

Innocence cannot be saved.  It seems every child will experience this loss.  And it always hurts.

Yesterday I watched as my three-year-old son lost some of his innocence to a small group of boys ranging from 4-8 year-olds who were playing across the street.  We were inside the house when Pascal noticed them and he wanted to play too. 

We helped him put on his shoes, and off he went.  In just a few minutes he came walking back sobbing.  The older boys were playing a bit rough and making fun of him.  As you know every “little kid” wants desperately to be a “big kid.”  The boys were taunting Pascal saying things like, “I bet you don’t even know what one plus one, equals?”  Hearing this Pascal just stared at them; it was clear that he both did not know what the words meant nor did he understand the sarcasm in their voices.  But he was able to discern that it didn’t feel good. 

As far as I know this is may be one of the first times he has been flat out mocked.  Until now most of our parental comforting has involved illness, him hurting himself, discipline or kid play turned rough.  For the first time his tears were brought about by a group intentionally being cruel and primarily through language.

I love kissing boo-boos.  Boo-boos go away and the cause is usually clear even to a three-year-old.  But holding him and trying to explain that sometimes people are just mean is very different and I don’t like it.

If you ever saw the movie Grand Canyon you might recall the scene where a BMW stalls in the wrong end of town.  While waiting for his tow-truck, the BMW is spotted and surrounded by a number of gang members.  Before anything can happen the tow-truck pulls up and the truck driver starts hooking up the the BMW.  The tow-truck driver pulls the leader of the gang aside and says something like: “Hey man, the world isn’t supposed to be this way.  I’m supposed to be able to do my job without asking you first.  And that dude should be able to with with his car without you ripping’ him off.  Everything is supposed to be different than what it is here.” 

That’s how I felt watching my son’s confused tears bounce off his checks and splash on the sidewalk. 

Peace, dwight

Here are a couple of links to Girard speaking on the subject:
- Oxford 1997: “Violence, Victims and Christianity: The D’Arcy Lecture.”
- Innsbruck 2003: “Shakespeare on Passions.” (he begins in French but will switch to English)

Its not that I don’t do violence – I do and very often I am not even aware of my own violence. Strong arguments can be made that I do violence by my commitment to non-violence.

When we were at Andrew and Hannah’s wedding, a few weeks ago, we attended a baseball game. The ball field had a kids’ play structure where I took Pascal (he’s three years old). There was an older kid (maybe 9 or 10) who was the self proclaimed king of the playground. Pascal was sitting on the stairs waiting for his turn to go down the side when the “playground king” walked over and took Pascal’s hat.

Pascal stood up tried to get his hat and then pushed the “playground king.” The older boy played this up, “You want a piece of me?” Which is about when Pascal started to cry.

The “Playground King” returned Pascal’s hat turning it to the side slightly, then moved on to another area of the playground.

I rescued Pascal and comforted him. I asked Pascal how he was feeling, and he resumed his tears, he wasn’t angry, he was sad. He didn’t understand what had just happened.

Once his fears were relieved we talked through what happened and I promised him that I would keep him safe. We then set out to find the “playground king.” Holding Pascal’s hand we walked over to him, and I got down on a knee and said something like, “Excuse me, you scared my son and he wants say something to you.” And Pascal said, “Please don’t take my hat anymore – that made me feel sad.” The boy apologized to Pascal. Then we went back to playing.

Did I do violence? Did I permit violence? Did I redeem violence? Other? All the above?

Peace, dwight