the cost of honesty

shadow kate.

The theological reflection I wrote for class this week is so bad that I can’t even share it. It’s aimless. Rambling. Covers too many concepts. It’s based on a visit to the office of a woman named Anna in the manse of Our Lady of Lourdes – a Jesuit arm of the Catholic Church in the neighbourhood where I work. I have been attending mass most days during the week and I felt compelled to call and ask to speak to someone about participating in Eucharist. Partly because I wanted to be a shit disturber and see what would happen. And partly because I genuinely want to receive communion daily and my local Anglican church only does it once a week. The reflection focused on assumptions, judgment, Islam, blahblahblah… the story isn’t the point. The reality is – I chose to write about something that wasn’t all that honest. It’s not that the story was dis-honest but I ignored the truth on fire in my heart that I was called to share with that group. In all my mask wearing… I took the easy road and wrote crap.

True honesty costs something. Honesty would have been writing that the scriptural truths that I heard in Cincinnati broke my heart in repentance and melted the impenetrable, stiff, solid rock of a spiritual heart I have been carrying. How could I have shared that I was woken up at 3am on October 17th and the scripture in Haggai 2 that was preached several days later refers to October 17th and spoke to ME about temple rebuilding… How could I have shared that with any sense of credibility without seeming crazy? How was I to write that after several years of railing against the call, after months of mocking those who abstain, that I have submitted to the Voice calling me to live alcohol free for a year … without admitting that I might have a problem? The cost of sharing these vulnerable truths isn’t the obvious one of getting a bit red in the face or having to leap over the deep gully of pride standing between the world and I…. the real cost is having to suppress and contain the utter joy that I feel in every nerve of my skin. And it’s not worth it.

I am free. So very very free. Finally able to rest well and deeply. Free to wake early and finally understand once again (how long has it been?) what joy there is in sitting with God alone in the dark, experiencing His incredible and undeserved love for me. And I am loving well… and I laugh as I write that because it is what I have been made to do and I am so good at it! How could I have forgotten? Honesty is one of those beautiful, intriguing and altogether magical mysteries of our walks… I am in awe of an Author who has given me such freedom just as I was at the breaking point – literally feeling like I might never be able to be put it all back together again. 1 Samuel 15 speaks of Samuel hearing that the Lord is sad that he made Saul a leader… When I heard all of that, especially v. 17 (“although you are small in your own eyes (or although you think little of yourself), were you not called by the King to be a leader?”)… I was over the edge. I am once again stepping back into who I am.

I turn 29 tomorrow. It’s a year that will be lived by grace (once you see it for real, how can you put it into words?) and one spent “getting my beautiful wild garden in order” according to one friend. This is the adventure I have been waiting for.

Anna never agreed to let me take communion (I won’t be allowed to I’m sure.. I’m Protestant after all and the roots are deep),  but that’s not the end goal. I carry Christ and receive Him in the middle of the night at 3am and no liturgy or ringing bells are required. Here’s to a year of living in honesty, getting over the cost and reaping the freedom it gains. Shadows hold no more appeal for me.

riding in idaho

all together… surprising

I was in Cincinnati this past week with Aiden Enns. That’s not really all that true actually because I wasn’t “with” Aiden, more just at the same conference as him. Which is cool. Along with thousands of other people so… I was just in Cincinnati. At the CCDA Conference. Alongside Aiden. The point being, it was a cool conference with cool people and dearauntjemima why do I still use the word cool. Time for some new vocabulary.

Some things I’ve noticed, or learned, in the last few days:

• When your mother in law gives you peony bushes from her garden that she no longer wants, it is not a good idea to plant them in the dark at 7pm on a Sunday night because you’re antsy from being in the car for 9 hours coming home from a conference where you mostly just sat in a room for a plenary or a workshop for 3 days straight. My “garden” looks like “shite” this morning.
• Downtown Cincinnati looks a lot like downtown Perth or Thunder Bay except for one carved out town square that has a rather out of place European looking fountain stuck in the middle of it. Deviate from that square and you run into a lot of empty, sad storefront. As much as the tourist bureau folk behind the city slogan “Cincinnati: All Together Surprising” (not) would have you believe that it looks like this…

it doesn’t.

• Some Americans are crazy. Given the serious dearth of coffee shops in the above mentioned gut of a downtown, I wandered around on Saturday afternoon for a beautiful sunny hour, trying to kill some time before my next meeting. I ran into a group of protesters holding signs and placards with, no joke, sayings that included “Obama is a socialist” and “My America is Free” (what does that MEAN??) and various other brainless comments on the nation’s health care system and how it should not become a national program. As buses full of politicians pulled up to the hotel, and the police on horses trotted around and looked official, patriotic music filled the air and some canned country crap caused people to cry. They put their hands on their hearts, took off their hats, sang along to a diddy about America being free and beautiful. And they cried.
• Always bring your camera on trips. You will regret leaving it behind when you’d like to have proof in later conversations to show people just how crazy some Americans are.
• Not all Americans are crazy. I met some inspirational and brilliant ones who affirmed my thinking and work and I am really grateful for that.
• I found a school to do my Masters with! That is neither learned, nor an observation, but I am excited.

I am really glad to be back in the land of good coffee and sleeping in a bed with someone that doesn’t mind if I accidentally punch them in the middle of the night (both an embarassing and awkward story for another place and time.)

sunny fall week.end.

If you have less than 48 hours to introduce someone to Toronto, what do you show them? We included Ward’s Island and the Distillery district, because the urine smelling back alleys of some of our other neighbourhoods didn’t seem quite what anyone was hoping for.

cottage on the island

the girls and sleepy gatsby

a left over from nuit blanche

toronto tourists: kathy & rick