Just Sayin'

Unless you’ve been under a rock, or cloistered in some hilltop monastery, you may have noticed the world is in turmoil. Never before has politics been a, so in your face reality. Join any one of hundreds of online threads where people are discussing, arguing, yelling and name-calling and the vortex of opinions will suck you in like a dinosaur trapped in tar sand. There’s no escape. Not that any of this is new to politics; mudslinging, lying and dividing are the bedrock of the political arena.

It’s easy to shock someone to the point of brain damage while remaining anonymous, but publicly sporting a shirt that proclaims, “I’d rather be Russian than Democrat,” is full frontal, blatantly mind-numbing lunacy. In the immortal words of Jesus, “they know not what they do.”  The question of why they know not is best left to sociologists and scholars.

For a while, the world seemed to be making a concerted effort to move onward and upward; striving towards higher ideals and peaceful living, then, bam – a massive push-back and recoil. It seems that fear, anger and hatred have not given up the ghost – and what powerful poltergeists of emotions they are. Globally, these forces simmer under the surface remaining for the most part contained under the lid of civil and social graces. Now the cauldron is at a tipping point, waiting to scald anyone or anything that gets in the way.

The Nazi Party has made a glorious resurgence, Italy is aligning with Putin; and I gag typing the name, Trump, whose hubris, mental instability, and ignorance have mired the very Un-United States in the muck and mire of it all.

Mankind is at war, make no mistake about it, but this war is not about bipartisan ideals, nor is it about political ideals. It is not about acquiring land, nor is it mistakenly about greed; although avarice is a deadly pandemic. It is about fear, lack of education, control and fear of losing control. Polar opposites clashing like titans on the battlefield – education and ignorance, science and flat-earthers, fear mongers and critical thinkers. And the lowest common denominator? Good vs. evil? Love vs. hate? Fear vs faith? Maybe all of the above.

As with all wars, there is collateral damage. I have lost two friends over the past two years as a result of this global tearing, and I have had to ask myself what part did I play in our triad? How could I not know that my friend of over thirty years was a racist; a person who harboured so much hate? Did I value friendship more than detest her points of view? Was I responsible for allowing her ever-deepening anger and hatred to fester unchallenged? Was I permissive?

Yes. Guilty. The fact is I did know. Over cards, coffee, choir practice, Sunday outings and general sharing, I felt twinges of discomfort when words like, “turban-head,” and, “those people,” fell out of her mouth. It does not negate the many heartfelt conversations, the laughter and tears of thirty years, but it blackens and taints. I am ashamed I laughed; ashamed I allowed her words to go unchallenged for many years… until the cauldron tipped and out poured the vile blackness that could no longer be contained. The catalyst of hate had given her permission to say what she’d always been thinking, and I enabled it.

Finally, my conscience squirmed and twisted so uncomfortably within, I cut her free, along with the other third of our triad who supports her right to be hateful. Whenever I miss them as I often do, I think of the scene from The Sound of Music when Liesl knows she must let Rolf go from her life and from her heart. She recognizes he is no longer the person she fell in love with, just as I must accept my friends are no longer the people I loved anymore.

Some say friendship is more important than any political or ideological stance. I respectfully disagree. There are some differences we can not, and must not accept; whether they be in our family, friends, or in the world at large, lest we become hateful too. “You are either part of the solution or part of the problem,” “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.“ Timothy 3 1-5 says, “But understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power. Avoid such people.” Avoid such people.

Collateral damage; it’s a sad fact of war. Let’s hope we reach a truce soon.

I’d like to share a story that begins with a joyful and deeply meaningful event in my faith – more than a dedication; it is a knowing that a soul becomes a part of the body of Christ. I’m talking about, Baptism or Christening; a holy ritual ensuring that when and if our parents fu*k up, we’re still in the best of hands.  (In this regard, the earlier, the better.)

My grandmother was the matriarch of the family, and my mom complied with pretty much whatever Baba said; mostly because my mom got pregnant with me before she was married, then proceeded to marry a man my entire family despised. In Baba’s mind, mom owed her big time!  What couldn’t be agreed upon through reason, was agreed upon through careful and loving manipulation. 

Since my mom had eloped, my grandparents didn’t have a chance to put on a wedding celebration, and so they turned my christening into one hell of a party, (just ask anyone who was there.)  They held it at the King Edward Hotel in downtown Toronto, complete with flaming Baked Alaska, and a champagne fountain.  It was BIG!

One of the “decisions,” mom was asked to abide with was the choosing of Godparents.  My Uncle Eddie was chosen to be my Godfather, (as he was the apple of baba’s eye – and her sister’s only son,) and my grandmother picked her cousin’s daughter, Valerie to be my Godmother.  Needless to say, my mom was not happy about this decision, as she wanted her best friend Julie to be my Godmother.  Nevertheless, Valerie was thrust upon her. So let it be written, so let it be done.

My Uncle Eddie was and continues to be a constant in my life, like bread on the table.  He was always there, whether in passing conversation, stories my mom would tell about their childhood together, or seeing him at every family gathering – Christmas, Easter, birthdays, etc. He was the brother my mom never had. He was not only the bread but the butter too!  He was the model dad.  He played with us, chasing us around the backyard, eliciting squeals and shrieks. He built skating rinks for us in the winter, and an above ground pool in the summer. He took us to corn roasts, and drive-in movies. He kissed us good-night before we went to bed, and barbecued hamburgers and dogs for us when we were hungry.  I say “us,” because I’ve always thought of myself as one of his kids.

As my mom was a single parent, she would send me to my Uncle Eddie’s and Aunt Raldine’s to spend a week with what she called, a “normal” family.  She wanted me to see how a real marriage worked; how true love could make you feel, and I did feel it.  In fact, I never felt more loved than when I was with the two of them, and my cousins Jori and Jeff.

“Auntie” Valerie, on the other hand, was a complete mystery to me.  No one talked about her, except to say that she had married a doctor, and lived not too far away.  In fact, I knew where Valerie lived, and decided to take it upon myself one day to pay her a visit in the hopes of getting to know her better.  Surely, she took her role as Godmother as seriously as I did, right?  I hopped on my bike and went flying down Islington Avenue all the way to her house near the Westway.  I was very excited.  We had a lot of talking to do!

I knocked on the door and waited anxiously.  Finally, a face emerged from the barely open door. 

“Hello, Auntie Valerie?”

“I’m Valerie.  Can I help you?”

“I’m Kim, your goddaughter.”

“Oh.  What can I do for you?”

“I want to get to know you better,” (or something like that.)

“I’m sorry, I’m busy.”

“I’m a little thirsty, can I have a glass of water? (Totally dejected)

“Not know, sorry.  Bye.”

I was crushed.  Was this the person, Baba in her infinite wisdom, had chosen to guide me in matters of faith?  When I asked why she’d chosen her, she just shrugged and said, “Well, she’s family!”

From that moment on, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I thought about a woman I could count on through thick and thin; one who was kind and sweet, one who never seemed to tire of my incessant talking, never rolled her eyes at my silliness, never said no to my childish company. I immediately went to my Aunt Raldine’s and asked her if she would be my Godmother. Her response?

“I’d be honoured, dear.”  She’d be honoured!  A little different than having the door closed on a thirsty little face.

It was one of the best decisions of my life. 

My Uncle Eddie and my Aunt Raldine (or Auntie Ral as I like to call her,) are living testaments to marriage, parenthood, friendship, and faith. They are a blessing to all who know them.  Loving unconditionally, they are beacons of light.  Never a harsh word; without judgment, fanfare, ego or conflict they have been the finest examples of human beings that have ever inhabited this earth.  I love them so much that sometimes I feel as if my heart will burst. They have been the two single greatest influences in my life, and I could not imagine anyone better.  They have loved me, sheltered me, fed me body and soul and cared for me as their own.

I know they have no doubts about how I feel, as each time we talk on the phone, or Brad and I go over to play some Euchre, each visit ends with reciprocal, “I love you’s,” all around. 

Life is short. Some of us already have a time-table, while most of us are left guessing at how and when we will transform to another plane. Have a living memorial, don’t wait until it becomes an “In Memoriam.”

There is never time to leave things unsaid, especially if those words are, I love you.

I grew, I stagnated

I soared, I drowned

I spoke truth, I dissembled

I hung on, I let go

I envisioned, I lost sight

I laughed, I cried

I was talkative, I was silent

I hoped, I abandoned hope

I floundered, I succeeded

I clasped pleasure, I gripped pain

I was inspired, I was jaded

I was passionate, I was laissez-faire

I contemplated, I scorned

I comforted, I agitated

I filled, I emptied

I was savvy, I was fooled

I fell back, I stepped up

I stepped aside, I came forward

I entertained, I was bored

I used my gifts, I squandered time

I talked, I listened,

I towed the line, I walked in circles

I gained, I lost

I was enlightened, I was perplexed

I ministered, I hindered

I friended, I unfriended

I grasped joy, I grieved

I mothered, I chastised

I advanced, I retreated

I was abundant, I was mediocre

I dreamed, I prayed, I wished, I hoped, I planned

I strived to be more human

I strived to be less human

Another year

I have been mightily discouraged recently in regards to events transpiring around the world, and in particular in my neck of the woods,( namely, Canada and U.S.) To quote a line from my friend, Walter Kish’s blog, “for some decades now, a disturbing trend in the growth of anti-intellectualism has been growing in many Western societies.”

He’s right, no one seems to be listening anymore, and the ones that are, scoff at reasonable arguments; even absolute facts.  How can people claim that climate change is not occurring?  Icebergs are dropping off in record number, the ocean’s temperatures are rising, reefs are dying, and deforestation is killing species. Scientists are scurrying to create plastic eating microbes and special machines that roam the oceans to collect all our garbage.  Just the other day, Brad and I were walking through a park, and the amount of Tim Horton’s coffee cups and plastic water bottles people have simply discarded on the ground was astounding.  Why?  If I could explain human behavior, I would make a google load of money!  We have polluted every inch of our earth, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, we have filled space with our trash too!  Now we want to go to Mars and leave crap there!

I have felt some hope with the election of our new Prime Minister.  At least he has brought back science, in the hopes that continuing education and exploration will help us discover ways to combat climate change, pollution; perhaps lead to medical breakthroughs. And how about just plain learning something new?  God help us!  We still need to learn so much!

But, as I began thinking about Walter’s quote, I realized that perhaps “intellectuals,” and so-called “experts,” have caused not only their demise but are the reason we don’t believe what anyone has to say anymore. 

Expert:  heavy drinking kills brain cells that don’t re-grow – False – brain cells do in fact continue to grow

Expert:  the earth is flat – False – the earth is round

Expert:  the sun revolves around the earth – False – we revolve around the sun

Expert:  humans use only 10% of their brains – False – we use all of our brains

Expert:  the universe is slowing down – False – the universe if flying apart, faster and faster

Expert:  stress causes ulcers – False – bacteria causes ulcers – H. Pylori to be precise

Expert:  bats are blind – False – bats can see

Expert:  bloodletting cures illness – False!

Expert:  eggs are bad for cholesterol – False!

Expert:  a mammogram is required every year – False!

Expert:  have a colonoscopy for no reason – False!

I could go on and on.  Is it any wonder that we have stopped believing in these so called, “experts?”  We used to believe that doctors could cure us, but they aren’t here to cure disease, they are trying to manage it, or cut it out.  They work not on fact, but on their best theories, as has been proven time and time again over the centuries.

How many drugs have been approved for the masses only to be recalled at a later date due to safety reasons?  When’s the last time you saw a commercial for a drug that didn’t say:  may cause bleeding, blindness, vomiting, diarrhea.  If you experience a sudden drop in blood pressure that could cause you to go into a coma and die, go to your emergency room right away.  How many drugs have “experts” put on the market that have caused death?  And they KNOW this could happen.  How many drugs aren’t even looked at because they are now in the public domain, and nobody can profit from their use?

We used to be able to trust that Bayer Aspirin did what it said it did and that it wasn’t going to harm us.  Can we trust big pharma now?

How about GMO’S?  Good?  Bad?  Some experts say that food has naturally evolved, and it’s no problem.  Some of the greatest scientific minds on our planet right now scoff at the idea that genetically modified foods are a problem – Neil deGrasse Tyson being one of them.  Other experts are screaming blue murder that we are destroying ourselves with GMO’s.

How can we trust anything that anyone says when we are constantly being lied to about . . . Everything!

As a species, it is clear that we are slow to learn important lessons but too fast at creating technologies,drugs and other things that have detrimental outcomes.  We often talk about the fact that life gives each of us lessons that until learned are destined to be repeated.  As humankind, we are also given these lessons over and over and over and over again.

War, violence, greed, power.  War, violence, greed, power.  Is this to be Mankind’s mantra for the rest of time?  Perhaps it’s time to look at a completely different model than the one based on a dollar economy.  Until money and greed are eliminated, we are destined to repeat these patterns until the end of time. For a new perspective, and yes an idealistic one, I urge you all to watch the feature film entitled, “The Venus Project.”

So, is it any wonder we aren’t listening anymore to reason, logic, or expert opinion?  Have we lost all trust in our fellow man, or at least the ones who purportedly seem to be in the know? Most importantly, have we lost hope that there are still learned, honest, kind people who are doing the right thing; telling us the right things? Are we losing the battle against the greedy and powerful?  I hope not, but lately, it sure feels like it.

As most of you know, I spent the first week of June traveling around Nova Scotia with my husband Brad and my daughter Taylor.  A treat for all of us, as none of us, had traversed the Cabot Trail or ventured over to P.E.I.  For anyone who hasn’t made this trek east, I can tell you it’s spectacular. Do it.  This country of ours has some of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring scenery in the world.

With all of that being said, the scenery that has meant the most to me is my daughter’s face. Such inner joy, contentment and on this particular visit . . . love.

We were very excited to meet her new beau, Alex.  Even though she’s been in Halifax almost six years, (arriving when she was only seventeen. She is now 22 – just in case you can’t do the math, like me,) and well able to take care of herself, it still made my heart beat a little slower to know that someone else could and would take care of her too.  She could lean on someone else, trust someone else.  She is so capable in whatever she does that sometimes she forgets that it’s okay to rest in someone else, to allow someone else to help carry whatever load is becoming too burdensome. When you are a complete person, and then have the incredible bonus of a significant other; a partner to share in your joys and sorrows, good days and bad, there is no greater gift.

Whenever I see Taylor, (and it’s usually only twice a year – Christmas and once during the summer,) it causes me to pause and reflect not only on how well her life is going, but on my own life too.

And now, The Manhattan Effect.

Those who know me well, know I’m pretty much a straight up Martini gal; very dry with two luscious olives marinating in heavenly Blue Sapphire. That’s my go to almost every time . . . almost.  One evening on our journey, I decided to change it up a bit and order a Manhattan.  Rye, Sweet Vermouth, and those little maraschino cherries – mm, mm, mm. 

I’m not sure exactly what happened next.  I looked at Taylor over our dinner plates, and every moment from the second she was born, to the agonizingly emotional day I dropped her off nearly 1,115.6 miles from home, along with everything in between, came flooding over me like a tsunami. I immediately broke into tears, thinking about how proud my mom would be of her; this independent, lovely, justice minded, empathetic, talented, gifted woman, and at that very moment how acutely I missed my mom.  I broke into laughter at the fact that I was crying like a fool, and Brad and Taylor were both looking at me with this, “whaaaaAAT,” minion face, which caused me to laugh even more.  Then as I thought about the new and exciting love in her life, and that my mom would not be around for her wedding, I cried some more. I had now moved from simply reliving the past to seeing into the possible future!  Then came a few more rounds of laughing/crying, laughing/crying, all taking place literally within a minute.

I am now forever banned from partaking in the libation known as the Manhattan, (although in fairness, I did order a double!)   From here on in I think I’ll stick to my standard; the good old fashioned, Martini – unless of course I need a good cry…laugh?  Cry? Laugh?

In the meantime, just to be on the safe side, I’ve stuck to tea since coming home.   Hiccup!

I was so excited!  I hadn’t seen my first real love since my parent’s divorce, and today was the day. My heart was just bursting.  I fidgeted in the car all the way up to his house; I just couldn’t wait to see him smile at me; hug me.  I wanted to know everything he’d been doing over the last six years, and I wanted him all to myself.

As we drove up to the house, I felt a little disappointment seeing several other cars in the driveway.  I’d hoped the house wasn’t so full of other people that we didn’t get a chance to take a long walk, or have that long, desperately wanted conversation.

I knocked, and someone I vaguely remembered opened the door.  I could hear raucous laughter pouring out of the back room, and felt immediately withdrawn.  As an introvert, I don’t do well with people I don’t know or noisy environments. But it all just melted away when I saw him, and I thought back to a time that didn’t seem possible that I’d lived; rather a different life, space, and time altogether, almost a dream.

Seeing his face, I was immediately transported to my childhood; running down the chevroned concrete driveway, ponytail bobbing; him running beside me.  I always beat him.  The leaps off the garage roof, the every other Saturday morning hockey games, the beautiful white boxer named Snow that waited for us as we came home; the other Saturdays at my grandmother’s house as we ran around and were told countless times to “settle down,” finally doing so with a game of Parcheesi or playing with our Etch-A-Sketches.

We never had a cross word between; ever! We never had a fight like I’ve heard tell from other friends who have siblings – especially brothers.  He never picked on me, in fact, (even though I could always handle myself), he would never let anyone else pick on me either.  He would have defended me in the face of giants or ogres, dragons or armies.

I smiled at him, as he looked up, and then it happened, the second worst thing I could have imagined.  He ignored me.  He was with some other friends, playing his guitar and laughing. Surely, he didn’t see me.  I came closer and said hi.  He said a cursory, hi, then did the worst thing I could have imagined, he got off the couch, motioned to his friends to follow him outside, and left me standing alone in the middle of the room.

To say, I was crushed, would be like saying that the atom bomb had done “a little” damage. My first love had dumped me! He’d cast me off, brushed me aside; almost as if he’d never known me.

It had nothing to do with age, as there were only three weeks between us, me being born in August, he in September.  I simply just wasn’t important to him anymore.  That’s when I knew our intimate relationship was over.  Perhaps it had been a dream, one that I wish had never ended.

We saw each other only a few times over the next decade – once when his sister Christine was killed in a car accident, the other his father’s death, and finally his mom’s funeral.  Then there was the day he called begging me to visit my father who was dying.  If it had been anyone else who’d asked, I would have said no, but it was “him” asking, so I went.

About four years ago, I saw him once more as he came into the city for a doctor’s appointment for his son, and stopped by the apartment.  When he left, I thought how odd it is that people can be so very close to each other, and then it’s just . . . gone.

We’d shared nothing of our lives, past the age of 14.  He married a lovely woman from New Brunswick and had a brilliant son.  I got married – twice, but neither had been invited or gone to each others weddings; there were no congratulatory cards or e-mails on the birth of our children; no sharing of any kind.

Gone forever, was my very best, first love.

I never realized how much that shunning still hurt me until I saw him this month and realized how very much I still loved him; how deeply he is embedded in my heart. He is my flesh and blood.

He took me on a ride around his thirty acres of mainly uncleared brush and pine, and I could feel the pride as he shared it all with me, along with stories of bear and deer that come up to the porch. We laughed, threw barbs, hugged and talked.  It was a truly wonderful day!

We are cousins, family; attached by some invisible thread of generational time that can NEVER be broken.  We may live separate lives – him always and forever a country boy; I forever and always a city girl, but in my heart, I will always carry the memory of “little” Danny and Kimmy, running down that concrete driveway some Saturday afternoon, 1960 something.

Danny, you were, and always will be, my first love.

Who am I?  Who am I?  24601?  I’m definitely not Jean Valjean, and whether or not I was number 24601 in the 23andMe lab is irrelevant.

For those of you who might not know, 23andMe is a genetic testing lab.  From saliva, they can determine your ancestral origins, or if you have an increased risk of developing Alzheimer’s, Breast Cancer, Parkinson’s and more.  These genetic testing sites have seemingly sprung up all around lately:  Ancestry.com, Canadian DNA Services, 23andMe and more!

I think we all yearn to know where we came from, and I think this is especially true for those of us of a certain age. Before we go, we want to know where we’ve been!

I first heard of 23andMe from someone on Facebook, who gushed on and on about her gypsy blood, and her Ashkenazi Jewish heritage.  Then I heard of others who were tested.  I even heard of someone who’d received a testing kit as a Christmas gift, but I have been curious about my ethnic origins ever since my cousin mentioned that my paternal grandmother (Anelia Wiczorek) may have been Jewish.

At first, this rocked me to my core.  I’d never heard a whisper of anything about this from anyone in my family.  Could I have strong Jewish genes and not know it?  Would this change how I saw myself?  Would it change my life?

From the time I was born, up until the age of six or so, I lived with my paternal grandparents. I thought back, and I think I remember crosses scattered throughout the house, but I can’t be sure.  I do know my father’s parents never went to church, at least, they never took me.  The only thing I can remember is that my baba had been instructed (by my mom,) to take me to catechism classes. She probably sat around with other parents or grandparents and waited until class was finished, so she could bring me home.  She never once spoke to me about God or Jesus, (that I can remember,) so when my cousin mentioned that she may have been a Jew escaping war-torn Poland, something about that pinched a little.

I began to think that maybe I didn’t know myself or family history as well as I thought I did.  So, who am I?

Well, I’m 99.6% European, and I’ve been European as far back as ten thousand years! That’s a long time!

The breakdown is this:  76% Eastern or Southern European, 12.7% Balkan, (who according to Wheeling Jesuit University/Center for Educational Technologies states: Sometimes scholars define the Balkans as the region that was conquered and ruled by the Ottoman Turks for varying periods of time after 1300. – Today they would be Greeks, Albanians, Macedonians, Bulgarians, Romanians, Serbs and such 😉 2% Brit/Irish, .4%Ashkenazi, .2% Asian or Native and finally, .1% Sub-Saharan African.  I’m about as Eastern European as they come.  Talk about white privilege!

I have to say; I was more than a little disappointed with my results.  I guess part of me wanted to have some exotic gypsy strain or sultry Mediterranean; or have Jewish blood coursing through my veins perhaps going back to the time of Christ.

Apparently my ancestors liked where they were, didn’t have the traveling bug, or simply couldn’t go anywhere.

Now, for the scarier side of DNA. Did I want to see my health overview: genetic risk factors, drug responses, inherited conditions or traits?  Did I want to know my risk of developing breast cancer, or Parkinson’s?

Even with specific variants present, it doesn’t mean I will develop these things; it just places me at higher risk.

I started with traits.  It seems my odour detection is: sensitive.  Both my kids can tell you that.  I was born with an extra sinus.  Whether or not this helps me smell better (pe-ew 😉 is debatable, but whatever it is, I have an extremely strong sense of smell.

I have odds of early menopause.  I am already post-menopausal, so I’d say this is correct.

I am likely:  not resistant to one form of Malaria.  Good to know, just in case I’m traveling to a certain part of the world where I might get this one in a million strain.

Inherited conditions: – I have a variant present for Limb-Girdle Muscular Dystrophy. Limb-girdle Muscular Dystrophy is a term for a group of diseases that cause weakness and wasting of the muscles in the arms and legs. The muscles most affected are those closest to the body, specifically the muscles of the shoulders, upper arms, hips, and thighs.

Now for the sobering three: Alzheimer’s, Breast/Ovarian Cancer, Parkinson’s.  I took a deep breath and unlocked the reports.  Thankfully, I’m clear for “increased risk for the first two, and 0% for Parkinson’s.

What it doesn’t say is that I think I have several variants which give me an increased risk of being:  kind-hearted, funny, forgiving, gifted, loyal and faithful.  I’ll take those traits any day!

So, who am I? 24601?  Nope, just me!

OKAY, A LITTLE RANT – Some of you may or may not have heard about a minister in the United Church named, Gretta Vosper.  It came to light that some time ago, Ms. Vosper (I won’t call her Reverend) decided that she no longer believed in God as an entity, or the divinity of Jesus.  She stopped saying the Lord’s Prayer in her services, and OBVIOUSLY alienated many of her congregants who left her church; OUR church.

Now, anyone may choose to believe whatever they want, but as a minister in ANY church, this is ludicrous!  She should have been ousted immediately.  Instead, the very inclusive (it seems of absolutely everything and everyone) United Church has allowed this to drag on and on.  After all, there are legalities etc. etc. and certainly we wouldn’t want to dismiss a minister who doesn’t believe in God, do we?

The United Church has one assumption that is making all of this possible; the assumption that God is Love, and only that.  Yes, God IS love, but God is not ONLY love.  He/she is so multi-dimensional that we can’t fathom it.  God the entity itself tells that he/she is the same, yesterday, today and tomorrow – unchanging.  We can no more separate Old Testament God with New Testament God.  Yes, Jesus came to bring the new, but that doesn’t mean that God will not judge (and we are told he/she will) separate the goats from the sheep in the end.  Even Jesus, didn’t accept everyone and everything.  He called his own disciples, “thick and slow.”  He called out the church leaders of his time, the Pharisees, and many others who did not speak the truth.  And when he was gone, his disciples chastised and admonished congregations who were behaving badly.

She professes to preach “love.”  So, is it love that prompts her to threaten to sue the United Church? Does one sue or use legal means for love’s sake? Is it love that allows her to tear our church in two?  I don’t think so.  Love is an instrument for building up, for encouragement.  What Ms. Vosper is doing is self centered, narcissistic and ego driven.  What is ego based is certainly not love.

When one no longer believes in what one is doing, one usually leaves.  So, what might we think is keeping Ms. Vosper where she is, and in a place that is garnering scads of publicity?  Well, for one thing, if she were to leave, where would she preach?  If she were to leave, she would lose her pension.  Could these be the reasons she has chosen to dig in her ego filled heels and cause such consternation within our church?  Only she can answers these questions.  Only she knows what is truly in her heart, but we have been warned of false prophets throughout time.

Do I judge her opinions, or her beliefs; certainly not, but I do draw the line at her remaining in the church as a leader, and tearing it apart!

Our greatest commandments are to love our God with all our mind, heart and soul, AND love others as ourselves.

Each side can pull Scripture to defend their stance, but in the end EVERYONE knows that if you no longer believe in the Creed of your church, you can no longer lead a flock.

If you really love us all Ms. Vosper, you will simply step away.  Give up the lawyers, give up trying to desperately hang on to brick and mortar.  For the love of God and church, just stop.

I am amazed by how much inspiration, agitation, anticipation, exculpation, inculpation, participation and preoccupation I derive from Facebook.  (If you don’t know what some of the “ations” mean – look them up – I did!  Lol)

As you all know, I have been on a Facebook fast.  The first week was absolutely brutal!  I felt so disconnected – duh, I know, but I mean totally cut off.  Our crazy spread out world becomes so much smaller, so much more manageable on FB.  It brings everything into pinpoint magnification and clarity.

Usually, I don’t have to think very hard in order to find something to write about once a month.  I mean, there’s just so much meat out there to chew on – (in your case, Taylor, hummus and veggies,) but I really struggled this month.  No input, no output!

I also miss my social media community.  Hope you guys miss me just as much, but what’s one person when you have 790 plus friends?  Right?  Lol  – Well, don’t completely cut me lose, I’ll be back Easter Sunday!

On the other hand, the deprivation factor has done its job.  Each time I can’t twitter, or tweet, or like, or share, or comment, it reminds me of what this time of the year is all about. Each time I see Brad smile over a post, laugh about somebody’s comment, aww, over somebody’s baby pic., my heart sinks, but for those of us who are Christians, it reminds us of the greatest sacrifice, God or man (depending on your beliefs) mankind has ever known.  Whether you believe in the Resurrection or not, Jesus still died for YOU, for US.  There can be no Easter without Good Friday.

For me, Lent has also been magnified, and while giving up FB is hardly like giving up one’s life, it is a symbolic gesture simply to remind myself; pretty much hourly of the last forty days of Christ’s life.  It brings to mind and heart the ongoing and unimaginable suffering that continues to thrive in our world. It reminds me daily that we can’t and shouldn’t turn our backs on each other.

We got a new car recently – a Hyundai Sonata hybrid with the licence plate that reads, “BELOVING.”  While we simply considered it a plate that spoke a message about ourselves, I have noticed that impatient drivers who would normally zoom around us in frustration, give us the Bronx cheer, or remind us we’re #1, are refraining.  I think our plate is making a difference in the way others treat us.  It is a reminder to be kind.  Sometimes, we all need that.

In a week and a bit, my suffering will be over; I will be re-connected with people that I love and care about, and I am looking forward to being resurrected to my friends and acquaintances.  In the meantime, I will have to console myself with March Madness; that’s right 48 hours of college basketball beginning noon Thursday and running through to midnight Sunday, (and that’s just the first weekend!)

I hope your Lenten journey has been insightful, introspective, significant and meaningful, and like myself you await the joy that is Eastern morning!

As I am away from Facebook during this time of Lent, I would appreciate receiving comments at:  kim.lionheart@compuaid.com. I hope your Lenten journey is meaningful, thoughtful and eventually, fruitful.    As always, I hope my blog informs and entertains. See you Easter Sunday!

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

In my October blog, I said that I was sick to death of talking about black woes.

The universe not only heard me, but immediately sent me several things to educate me, and prove that deep prejudice and systemic injustice was still going on; perhaps it was even worse than ever. No more hangings, separate water fountains or segregated schools, but there it was just the same, under the guise of beatings, unjust imprisonments, and racial profiling by law enforcement.

The first thing that came my way, almost immediately after posting the blog, was a Super Soul Sunday episode that I will never forget. It was about an Alabama born and bred lawyer, discussing his book, “Just Mercy.” His name is Bryan Stevenson, and he broke open my heart. Watch it! Here is the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcL9ebsqYNc.

I sobbed.

I began to see how systemic hatred of blacks is still blatantly prevalent in society, and if you think it doesn’t exist in Canada, think again. One need only look at last week’s headlines about a black minister of a United Church in Ottawa to see we still have a problem.

The paragraph below was taken from an Ontario Human Rights commission report.

“The Commission has consistently stated that the purpose of its racial profiling inquiry is not to prove or disprove the existence of racial profiling. It is the Commission’s view that previous inquiries have considered this and have found that it does occur.

Moreover, as discussed above, racial profiling is a form of racial stereotyping. As racial stereotyping and discrimination exists in society, it also exists in institutions such as law enforcement agencies, the education system, the criminal justice system etc., which are a microcosm of broader society.

Racial profiling has long been acknowledged to exist in other western nations, most notably the United States and Great Britain. In the absence of proactive measures to ensure that profiling does not take place in Ontario, there is no reasonable basis to assume that we are immune to the problem.” To read more: http://www.ohrc.on.ca/en/paying-price-human-cost-racial-profiling/existence-racial-profiling.

The parade of stories continued; black woman dies in prison, black man beaten to death, black teen shot and killed and most recently, an Oscar boycott by several actors who cited reasons of inequality of colour and gender in Hollywood.

I am being awakened in a way that I’d never been before, and I’m listening . . . intently!

How can this still be going on, and why is it still going on? If my daughter, Taylor was writing this, she would provide a plethora of how’s and why’s, but for the purpose of this blog, it is simply a rhetorical question.

As I have personally never witnessed discrimination, and generally speaking, for most of us, if it’s not in our purview we don’t think much about it. We’re involved in our own cultural issues, and there’s plenty of them; Savchenko still in prison, murdered Aboriginal women and school shootings, Syrians fleeing their country.

It’s difficult to be aware of every injustice in the world. The sheer scope and overwhelming enormity of it all is simply staggeringly difficult to comprehend. Being on social media can also be overwhelming, as it brings to light many issues we would normally not have been aware of, back in the day. Simply put . . . too much news!

While I take full responsibility for my words, and without attempting to make excuses, I think I became so overwhelmed that I simply wanted to escape it all. I don’t often throw my hands up in the air, and bury my head, but apparently in October, I did!

The next time I slip up, (and I will!) I know the universe will cuff me in the back of the head and remind me to keep an open mind, and even more importantly, an open heart.  I know it will remind me that we all share this planet, and therefore, HAVE to find a way to get along. The only way this can happen, is to bring to light any and all injustices that still plague us all, and then find a way to do something about them.

I’m not a politician, or a law maker, but I know this; we need a drastic overhaul of our justice and education systems.

You might not be a lawyer or politician either, but you can make a difference! If a cause is near and dear to your heart, do something about it! Write to your M.P., volunteer at a community center, donate to help a refugee, build wells and schools, take a turn at a soup kitchen, read to a child, distribute blankets downtown, buy a homeless person some lunch, and if you witness an injustice, do something about that too! Every little bit helps.

As for me, I will take responsibility for my ignorance and try and do better.