by Heather Plett | Sep 27, 2007 | faith
If you want to know where I am (or where I’m about to leave, since I’m currently sitting in the airport), you can find all the clues you need here. Unfortunately, those pictures were taken on the only evening I had a chance to wander. The rest of the time, I was stuck in a boring hotel in the industrial wasteland near the airport. (Sorry Karla – no chance to hook up this time.)
But it’s been good. So good. Surprisingly good.
I’m at a Christian charities conference, and the last time I came to one of these, I felt like a fish out of water. As much as I make a continuous (or perhaps I should say repeated and sometimes sporadic) choice to be a person of faith, I do not speak the language of religion well. In fact, I wouldn’t even say that I “do” religion well. I’m a bit of a faltering Christian without the same sense of a box in which to place my faith as many people seem to have. Especially people who tend to gather in a place like this. The shape of my faith is a little less like a box and more like a loosely woven basket. (I know some of you are smiling right now, because you’ve got baskets too. And some of the holes are even bigger than you’d like, right?)
So when I’m in a context surrounded by hundreds of people for whom the language is as natural as breathing, I get a little antsy and often feel inclined to run from the room. Sometimes I envy them their boxes and their common language, but I just know it doesn’t work for me. (Like, for example, the guy who delivers the “spiritual challenge” – a mini-sermon – each morning, who says “God bless you” every time he steps out of the elevator. I seem to share an elevator with him every time I go to my room. I don’t know how to respond. “Um – yeah thanks?” Good thing he hasn’t noticed that I’ve managed to skip the “spiritual challenge” part of the morning every day since the first day.)
You can see then, why a place like a “Christian charities conference” leaves me feeling a little like an impostor. And an alien. A stranger in a strange land.
But this time, it’s been different. Not because I’ve conformed to the box or learned the language – quite the opposite. I’ve been having the most amazing conversations. I have found lots of other baskets in rooms I assumed were full of boxes. I’ve had pleasant surprises. I’ve had to readjust my perceptions of people. I love that. With one person in particular, whom I’ve known for a couple of years, a person who is a leader in a Christian relief and development agency – someone you’d assume almost certainly fits in the box category – I’ve had a couple of truly remarkable conversations. He’s faced the same doubts, the same anger at organized religion, and the same shaking of a faith he thought was fairly secure. He’s had to climb out of the box too, and is still trying to figure out the shape of his new faith. He is now my friend on a very different level than he was two days ago. What a lovely surprise!
And I’ve gotten to attend two sessions with one of my favourite writers, Brian McLaren. And after each workshop, I got a chance to chat with him one on one. He’s even more cool in person than in his books. Definitely a basket kind of guy. A basket guy who doesn’t pretend he’s got a box. My kind of guy. I’ve even got an advance copy of his new (not even released yet) book that he’s asked me to pass on as a surprise to a mutual friend of ours (but I get to read it first on the airplane on the way home). How cool is that?
There have been other great sessions too. I’ve definitely been refreshed. And I have some great ideas floating around in my grey matter.
I never expected I’d be this glad I came.
by Heather Plett | Sep 24, 2007 | Fall, travel
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This morning, we watched the last outdoor soccer game of the season. It was a disappointing 1-0 loss for Julie’s team in the semi-final round of the city championship (b-side). It’s over. The end of another season.
It’s time to put the lawnchairs away. Today didn’t feel like summer was over – it was a beautiful day. But the leaves are changing, and we’ve already had the furnace on once or twice in our house.
Fall has arrived.
In other news, I’m sitting in a stinky hotel room. No funky bed and breakfast this time – it was just easier to stay where the conference is being held. I’m stuck in one of those rather boring corporate hotels close to the airport where there isn’t even an interesting place to walk, and unfortunately I booked a little late and there was nothing left but a smoking room. Bummer. Plus I just had a very disappointing greek salad from room service, so this isn’t shaping up to be a particularly memorable place to stay.
Oh well. At least the bed is comfy. And I have a new book to read, so I’m going to curl up with it right now. I took Lucia‘s advice and picked up Infidel in the airport. It looks interesting so far.
by Heather Plett | Sep 20, 2007 | Thursday thirteen
(yes, I’m feeling spinny today)
Alternate title: A day in the life of my brain at work
- Should I order more newsletters, or will 18,000 be enough?
- Did I catch all the mistakes on the design proof of the brochure, or will someone point out a glaring error the moment 10,000 of them arrive in my office from the printer?
- Is there something I committed to doing tonight that I’m forgetting?
- What should I take along to read on my trip next week?
- When will I find the time to prepare my speaking notes for Monday’s meeting? On the airplane?
- I hope the band they hired for the conference I’ll be at next week won’t be the same country gospel one they had at the last conference I attended. (Please don’t hate me if you happen to like country gospel – it’s just not my thing.)
- When will I get the first phone call from a disgruntled supporter saying that we shouldn’t have mentioned the connection between fossil fuel consumption and climate change in our newsletter?
- Do they REALLY want 29,000 copies of the brochure? Just how many trees did that kill? Can I use recycled paper?
- How will I replace one of my key staff members who gave his notice this week? Yikes!
- Will we be ready to launch our big new program by early next month? Will I have an aneurysm before then?
- After three years of monthly conference calls with my team, WHY haven’t I learned to ask the questions so that I’m not met with stone-cold silence almost every time I ask for feedback on something?
- Oooo… the new website is going to look SO lovely! Why didn’t I get this done years ago?
- Will the designer hate me when he gets my email for 35 picky little changes to the document?
by Heather Plett | Sep 19, 2007 | Abby
The laundry didn’t get folded last night,
but I sat and rocked a little girl to sleep for the first time in about three years
I didn’t get started on the wall that needs painting,
but I watched my oldest daughter change her first poopy diaper and I marveled how quickly she has gone from the “pooper” to the “changer”
I didn’t sweep the floor or wipe the dirty fingerprints off the fridge,
instead I dutifully obeyed every time my 22 month old niece said “Hah-her come” (after all, when someone learns your name, how can you resist letting her wrap you around her finger?)
I didn’t pay the bills or change the sheets,
but I sat and read “Good Night Little Sheep” to an appreciative audience when it was nearly time for bed
I didn’t “accomplish” anything last night, nor did any of my children,
but for a short while we played the roles of doting auntie and cousins and we let our world revolve around a little girl who’s got a firm hold on our hearts.
by Heather Plett | Sep 16, 2007 | Africa
I think hearing Ato G.’s story of dying girls left me feeling a bit of survivor guilt.
There’s something about the nature of the type of travel I do in developing countries that makes me feel a little voyeuristic. I wander from village to village, get access to their homes, their schools, and their farms, they let me take pictures of their lives, I take a few notes for some stories and for my journal, but then I return home to my comfortable North American life, and they are left with the pain that I cannot share.
A lot of times – like the case of the young girls in the Afar region – I don’t even get a chance to ask many of their names. It all happens so quickly and many of them don’t speak English, so I leave feeling like I haven’t really learned who they are. I am an observer. A watcher. I take back their stories, and I try to honour them the best way I know how, but I can never really be part of their pain.
While I was sitting with that thought yesterday, a little gift fell in my lap – just the kind of moment I needed to remind myself that I am doing the best I can, and that sometimes real connections do happen.
Daniel has recently arrived from Kenya. He’s working in our office as an international intern this year. He’ll be traveling across Canada, connecting with youth in schools and churches and sharing his story of growing up with hunger. You only need to look at his grin to know that it is not hard to fall in love with Daniel. He’s got a bright light shining in him and I’m lucky to be close enough to be touched by it.
Daniel sat in my office yesterday, and I showed him my pictures of Kenya. In earlier conversation, I’d found out that he’d grown up in one of the regions I’d traveled in a few years ago. As I flipped through the pictures, his eyes lit up when he spotted familiar landmarks and even some faces that he recognized.
Then we got to this picture, and he burst out laughing.
“THAT’S MY SISTER!” he nearly shouted. Sure enough – this is his younger sister Agnes.
I remember Agnes. We were sitting at the table under the acacia tree on the farm where we’d tented the night before. It was the afternoon, between outings, and I’d found a shady spot to rest. I remember how she approached me and, in a bold yet quiet way, sat down close enough to brush her shoulder up against mine. It was clear that she wanted to be my friend.
The older women were busy cooking food for us on the open fire pit, but Agnes and one or two other young women clearly had other ideas in mind. They wanted to befriend these Canadian visitors. She sat down and we talked. For nearly an hour. She told me about her life. She was a school teacher, teaching in a village some distance from her family. She boarded with another family in the village. She talked about her family, and I’m sure she even told me about Daniel, though I had no inkling at the time that I’d meet him some day.
I am so glad that I remember Agnes, and that I can learn of her life two and a half years later. I cannot name the other girls in my last post, but somehow, remembering Agnes makes me feel a little less sad.
And I am even more glad that I get to spend the upcoming year getting to know Daniel.
