yet more pictures...

I will post with actual text soon, but until then, have some pictures of:
a) snow on the mountains behind Vancouver (Friday afternoon)


b) snow on the rest of Vancouver (Saturday morning)

variable skies

These were all taken this Friday through Sunday from my back deck. Did I mention I'm living in a house with a great view?

being Americanadian, hey?

I've started to say "eh?" at the end of sentences. It's over. I'm doomed. You cannot resist the power of the "eh?" (Except, real Canadians don't say "eh?", they say "hey?".)
It's funny to move to a different country where the culture is similar to your home country. If I had moved to a place like, say, Hungary, the "moments of belonging" would be more obvious and profound: I would understand what someone said, bravely ordered something at the meat counter, given directions to a native, etc. Being here, with no language and fewer cultural differences, feeling like I belong in Canada is much more subtle. Thank goodness for hey, hey?

It's funny, but my recent trips to the States revealed to me that I have in fact put down some roots in Vancouver. While I loved my trips to DC and the Midwest (both places that are very dear to me), there was a certain anxiety to "get back home." When I flew into the Vancouver airport, I knew that I was back where I belonged.

That said, my travels to the States also revealed to me how very American I am. Because I've moved around so much, I don't think of myself as from a particular place, but now I know I'm definitely from the U.S. When I came out of the Metro in DC (on the national mall), I looked at the people around me and thought, "These people are Americans too!" and it blew my mind. How great to be among people who grew up in the same country I did, with a shared identity (no matter how small)! In Canada, whenever I talk about my past, there's a tug, a desire to explain my country so that people understand it and know what it's all about. That doesn't mean I think America is perfect. It definitely has a lot of problems. But I *care* about my country and I want to make it better.

So here I am, sandwiched between my surprisingly strong patriotic identity and my growing roots in Vancouver. I'm not totally moved in yet, "homey" feeling notwithstanding. There are still bits of my life that need working out. Last week (or the week before), I heard Jeremiah 29:28 ("Therefore build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.") referenced multiple times and as my fellow student said, "You might want to think about that."

I am thinking. And I have realized, first, what a miracle it is to have put down roots. I've only been here for two and a half months now. That's a short time! Of course I won't have everything squared away. And this led to a second realization: even though I may be leaving Vancouver sooner rather than later, I don't need to rush the process. The important thing is to take each day as it comes, committed to the place and people it presents. I'm not always so good at this...but like everything else, it's a work in progress. :)

P.S. Dear Canadians: why do you shoot off fireworks on Halloween of all holidays? I understand that your national holiday may not be as enthusiastically celebrated with explosives as in the States, but Halloween? What's up with that?

just desserts

Today marked the exciting occasion of the Old Testament Foundations midterm. It's the first major test at Regent for most of us new students. We were told to study hard and I think most of us did. Before the exam, our professor remarked that the real value of the exam had already occurred by the time we were all sitting in the chapel at 1:00--we'd been sufficiently intimidated to put in the time and energy to think through our lectures and reading. Unsurprisingly, the exam is just an afterthought in terms of learning.

For all its anxiety, exam preparation is a great communal bonding experience. There's actual studying together, the exchange of random questions, and our fabulous review tutorial, where three teams (self-named "Babylonians," "Israelites," and "Anti-Theonomists") squared off, jeopardy style.
However, the greatest part of the test-taking happened afterward. When I emerged from the chapel with the first wave of finishers, there were pieces of paper (seven, to be exact), saying C-O-O-K-I-E-S, with an arrow. In the atrium there was a spread of cookies and a sign congratulating us on completing our first Regent midterm, organized by a group of kind second-years (mostly), who were in our shoes not too long ago.
If that isn't Regent (and Regent students) in a nutshell, I'm not sure what is.

Significant encounters, part 3

My last encounter is much less charged than the previous two and involves me being a lot less tongue-tied, which was a nice change.

I was walking around UBC with a UBC student as part of a part-time job I've picked up. I explained that I go to Regent and, before we ducked into the library, managed to clarify the venn diagram of Christianity and Catholicism for him (although I'm not sure he got it entirely. It is confusing).
Later, though, we were talking about how expensive things are in Canada and it opened up a discussion of why things cost so much, why taxes are so high, and why people who are homeless can't get jobs. He claimed that the best job in Canada is being a beggar, and this time, I managed to affirm that yes, while there are probably some street people who are working the system, there are probably many others who are just getting by. I pointed out that it's hard for homeless people to find work because they haven't slept, haven't showered, don't have "appropriate" clothes. I somehow managed to work the idea of the cycle of poverty into the conversation as well. We talked about education and he told me his mom's advice: if he didn't want to go to school, he could always be a gangster, but--if he was going to be a gangster, he had to be the top one. Otherwise it wouldn't work out. I think his mom was a very wise woman.

Our dialogue was good exchange of ideas and assumptions. It made me realize that my understanding of poverty (and related social issues) is rare. I'm no expert on poverty--my understanding of the various theories and explanations of, say, homelessness, is rudimentary at best. And it should be noted, in the world of social understanding, there is no one "right" answer because people are complicated, data is incomplete, theories are approximate. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't have all the answers--and neither does anyone else. Of course we can generalize reasons and come up with working theories (I think we have to, for mental organization) and of course there are wonderful social scientists doing excellent research that goes a long way towards explaining our social ills and how we could possibly fix them. Ultimately, like my conversation with my co-worker, it has to be a dialogue. We have to keep sharing what we know and figuring out which ideas make the most sense, but we need to start with the certainty that we don't know the answers.

Most importantly, however--this is a theme I see in all three of these conversations--I have to remember that all this theorizing, all this discussion is about *people.* In some sense, I stumbled over my conversation with my homeless friend because I cast the encounter in terms of roles. It was Michael the homeless man vs. Christina the child of privilege, instead of person to person. In my talk with the neighbor, it was old vs. young, not woman-to-woman.
Relating to people as people is a fuzzy, fuzzy thing. I can only think of it as an exercise in humility, that virtue that is notoriously tricky to define and acquire--as soon as you realize you're humble, you're not humble any more, because humility, at heart, is self-forgetting (NOT self-degradation, it should be noted). How does one become humble? I'm going to steal the punchline from President Wilson's talk at the first chapel service here. He cited someone (I think Thomas Merton), whose definition for humility was something like this: the proper posture of standing before God as his creature, a sinner and a saint. That's the starting point.

Significant encounters, part 2

Then there was the woman I encountered in the alley as I was coming back for a run. We were chatting and in the course of the conversation, she asked if I had heard about the girl who was recently murdered in Surrey. I had, but she filled in the details and then said that she hoped they caught the perpetrator and sentenced him to death. She continued to say that she thought all people who committed serious crimes like that should just be taken care of--because there's no changing them and they shouldn't be allowed to be set loose in society. I must have looked slightly shocked, because she followed that up with, as a religious person, what did I think of that?
Cautiously, I said that I would like to believe that it's possible for anyone to change and that even if it doesn't happen very often, that's not something we should take away from people. And while I agree that those who are dangerous to their society should be removed from it, I'm not sure that means they need to be killed.
She looked at me pityingly. "You're young. You're idealistic. I used to be that way."

And I didn't know what to say. Of course, afterward I remembered the many "smart" things I could have said: that jails are not crowded because of murderers and rapists, but because of injustice, misfortune and a whole set of complex causes; that no justice system is perfect and would she want her grandchildren wrongly convicted and then lethally injected?; that I know a whole lot of "old people" who still held their youthful idealism.
But in the moment, I had no words, for two reasons. First, as someone who has been fortunate to experience very little prejudice (I feel like I've managed to miss a lot of the discrimination and harassment that can come with being a woman), it was jolting to be judged by, of all things, my age. I was no longer a person; I was a demographic. I felt utterly objectified.
Secondly, I was profoundly saddened because this is what the world looks like to someone who has no God. As a Christian, I can affirm that while people are born in sin, we are also made in the image of God--even murderers. I can affirm that I too am someone who deserves to be judged--and thank God I've never been in a place to be judged by the law. And most importantly, I can affirm that even as the world is a crazy, broken, confused place, there is still hope. I don't think I have idealism--I have hope.

Significant encounters

or, three people I've met who have made me think. In the interest of making these thoughts slightly less overwhelming, I'm going to break this post into three separate posts, one for each person.

At a (very crowded) informational lunch about small Bible study groups, a rather scruffy looking man asked if he could join us at a table. From his clothing, and the fact that he was carrying a weather-beaten resuable shopping bag, I gathered that he was probably homeless. He loaded up his plate with food and I, again, guessed that this would probably be the most significant meal of his day.
He asked what the lunch was for and I explained about small groups. He looked at the list and asked if he would be welcome at them. I mumbled something vaguely affirmative. Then he said to me, "They say that I could come, but they don't mean that. I wouldn't belong there. I don't have a place in the world; I wouldn't belong there."

In a perfect world, this is when I would have confidently proclaimed the welcome of all people into God's family; in real time, I was speechless. Would he be welcome? Even if a group welcomed him, would he even able to feel welcomed, this person who has no place? How can we give a place to people who have no place? (These are questions very close to home for someone who, when asked where she's from, has no one place.)
I realized later that I didn't know what to say, because I was so worried about me I was thinking about what *I* could say or do that would be right, trying to figure out how *I* could "fix" the situation. I feel foolish now, because if I learned anything at all last year, it was that service is not about "me". It's about "you" and then "us."
I'm glad I had this conversation, to hammer home that even when I'm not working with people on the margins every day, I'm still responsible for this outward orientation, this attitude of humble service.