11 PM - Christal Earle’s Blog

It’s really hard to imagine what it feels like to be someone else. I have watched political leaders and wondered what it is like to carry the weight of a nation’s representation. I have watched Olympic athletes and wondered what it is like to feel the eyes of your nation as they place their hopes on you, willing you to not crack under the pressure. I have sat with street children and listened to their stories, trying to understand what their world looks like and I have also sat with many Canadian teenagers, listening as they poured out their struggles, hopes, and dreams. Now, I watch with the world as a nation tries to survive, one minute at a time, desperately trying to cling to one last hope for survival. What is that like? How can I understand that level of pain, that level of loss? What is life like through their eyes and through their experience? There is so much to be gained when we reach out to people where they are at and choose to try to understand their lives and their journey; to listen to what they are saying, not just hear their voice.

The ability to process pain and trauma is sometimes only the luxury of the “rich”, such as you and I. We are blessed to live and function in a world where, although pain and loss exist, we are afforded the ability to be able to pull ourselves away from it to a certain degree, regroup, and decide how we will function from that point forward. We have access to professionals who are trained and available for us to draw strength and resources from and we can begin to process how life is going to have to look from this point forward. This is one of the luxuries of living in the developed world that few of us ever consider.

Many of us in Absolute and probably many people reading these words right now have experienced pain and loss. We have felt the sting of the finality of death and we have walked through many crises. But always, we have had someone around us who cared, someone around us who was able to help us through it to a certain degree because they were not affected in the same way. And though they may not understand completely, they are still a source of strength to us. But what if you are surrounded by loss, destruction and pain? What if everyone you knew, in your 5-mile radius that you have lived your entire life in, is now walking through the same level of loss. Where do you turn? Who will understand and help you give a voice to those you have lost? Who will reach out with a hand on your shoulder and say, “I am here for you. I love you and I believe in you.”? Who is going to search out those children who are wandering the streets, now orphaned, and maybe not yet even aware of the full extent of their loss? Who will protect them and make sure that they have a future?

Since last week’s earthquake in Haiti, our phones, email accounts and facebook walls have been flooded with questions and concerns for our Haitian friends and family. Thank you! David and the children are all miraculously okay. The homes are still intact, the 65+ kids are safe and we are thankful. However, we still have friends and translators whom we have not yet heard from and like many, we fear the worst. The magnitude of loss and devastation is beyond words and there are moments when it can seem like it is beyond hope. But it isn’t. There are still people whom we work alongside of and whom we are proud to call our friends who are in the middle of the chaos and working to bring at least some glimmer of hope and order back.

The world needs you and it needs me. Though we may never stand on a stage in the international arena at attention and though we may never know what it is like to stand on a podium and be hailed a hero for our physical accomplishments, we can still take our place. Our voice, our contributions, our tears, our prayers and our actions are what can turn this around. There are miracles of hope yet waiting to happen and to be celebrated. Together we can do this.

The most recent reports are now claiming at least 200,000 deaths from the immediate effects of the earthquake. It is being claimed as the worst catastrophe in the Western Hemisphere in the past 200 years. To be silent is not an option for those of us who claim to want to make a difference. Absolute is responding to the Haiti crisis by currently accepting donations to be used where most needed. We have volunteers who are currently on the ground and assessing where our efforts are best directed. As a small, grassroots Canadian charity, we are able to ensure that the money collected is used in a very direct manner.

Our priorities include supporting and developing our current Haiti projects, including the orphanage, Kay Papa Nou and it’s expansion in light of the new orphan crisis and any other determined immediate relief needs. If our funding exceeds what we are currently capable of facilitating in Haiti, then we will redirect the monies to other Haiti relief efforts. If you would like your donations to go towards this, please go to our online form at www.absolute.org/donate and specify “Haiti Disaster Relief”. In the event of overfunding, if you prefer us not to send money to other charities, please specify “Haiti : non-restricted” and it will be used towards where most needed in Absolute. Also, any money that is collected and designated for Haiti relief by February 12, 2010 is going to be matched by the Canadian Government and will make that much more of a difference!

“When you begin to touch your heart or let your heart be touched, you begin to discover that it’s bottomless, that it doesn’t have any resolution, that this heart is huge, vast, and limitless. You begin to discover how much warmth and gentleness is there, as well as how much space.”

~ Pema Chodron

Hey Everyone

Just wanted to let you know that our Absolute people who are on the ground in Port au Prince, Haiti have confirmed that our friends at the orphanages we work with are in fact, all alive and accounted for. However, they have all suffered much loss as they have lost friends and family in the rubble around them, not to mention lack of proper shelter, etc.

Today, our Absolute members helped people who were still trying desperately to reach their family members who had been buried deep beneath the rubble. There is little hope of any survival at this point, but one can always hope for a miracle.  We have two nurses from our Hero Holiday arm that have taken it upon themselves to get there and are now on the ground, helping out where they can.

Our hearts are grieving with all of our friends who have lost those closest to them. Frantzo, one of our Hero Holiday Dominican Republic translators has lost 5 members alone and yet he is beside our team, helping to dig through the rubble. This is what it is to be the hands and feet of compassion and we are honored to work alongside of so many Haitian people such as him.

There is great need for tarps, mosquito nets and basic needs of survival for thousands upon thousands of people. If you want to help us, you can go to our homepage and donate at www.absolute.org/donate.

We are also encouraging people to give to the Red Cross, World Vision and St. Joseph’s Home for Boys.

We will continue to keep you updated as we much as we are able to. Thanks for your support, encouragement and prayers.

A lot happens when you take in a breath. That breath is warm, it is full of the source of life, and in the fraction of time that it takes to take it you are granted just a little longer on this earth. And when that breath ceases, the silence that is left behind can be deafening and overwhelming.

There is a Psalm from the Bible that says our life is but a breath. Against the timeline of earth the length of our lives can seem so short, so insignificant. But up close, each life is not only significant - each life is interconnected and interdependent. Within each rise and fall of the sun, that life has a circle within which it operates. There are events, moments, relationships, accomplishments, successes and failures that make that life worth living; that life matters because it was lived. It matters because we need each other.

This past Tuesday, as each of us were moving about in our lives, the lives of millions of our friends were changed forever. For countless thousands, life stopped. With one breath everything was okay and with the next the world had literally crumbled around them. The giant earthquake that had been feared but forgotten about for years was now here and it was insatiable. In less than a minute the destruction was indescribable. Only the empty screams of the lost and wounded could paint the picture for what was left behind.

But pictures can only tell so much. A picture cannot tell you about what was loved or what was lost. A picture cannot tell you about hopes, dreams, successes, or failures; nor can it tell you about the relationships that matter or what had been important to that person. A picture captures the space of time it would take to draw in a breath – even if it was your last one.

My friends, whom I love deeply, now have many precious things under rubble that might never be moved: spouses, children, parents, friends, money, resources, shelter, and for many, a reason to live. It has all disappeared, never to be brought back as they were. This can’t be captured in a picture; it can’t be conveyed in a moment. It took an entire lifetime to accumulate and it was gone in one breath. How quickly we seem to take so much for granted when it is ours and how quickly our world can change and leave us in the shock of loss and pain. The reality seems more than any one person can handle, and no one should have to handle that much pain alone.

My friend David, his wife, and his family of 60+ orphans are still unaccounted for. They are not just part of one of our projects. They are a part of our family. Over the years, we have watched and done our best to walk alongside of them in the struggle for survival and now we wait and pray to hear word that they are safe. David’s wife just had a baby two weeks ago. In a safe and just world, she should be resting and bonding with her new child, not fighting for survival and feeling the burden of orphaned and terrified children. Our translators from Hero Holiday live in the area that was struck and we are still waiting to hear word from them. Like millions of people all over the world, those of us in Absolute have loved ones in a tiny Caribbean island that we are anxiously hoping and praying for, and a small group of helpers have been sent out on our behalf to add their hands, their voice and their compassion.

Sadly, Haiti has known and endured decades of pain and heartache. But the destruction they now sit in is indescribable. Not only do the days ahead hold suffering, pain, loss, hunger and disease, but it also holds incredible fear for those who will be left without family or protection. Without intervention and help, slavery, exploitation, hunger and disease will skyrocket. Please don’t be silent. One of our staff members made a declaration this week that is ringing in my heart and causing a trail of tears to continually fall: I may be Canadian, but today I am Haitian.

Absolute will be posting updates at www.absolute.org on what we are doing and how you can help. Our voices and lives make a difference when we choose to use them.

It was super hot and the smell was quite bad. I was surrounded by loud music and laughter. I closed my eyes and listened to the mix of familiar and unfamiliar voices that tickled my ears with their chatter and I remembered a memory I had from when we first started Absolute.

Ten years ago this week, Absolute began to officially exist. We were 3 people and we were broke, but we had a dream. What if there was something that existed in our Canadian high schools that was edgy, relevant and, most of all, something that offered hope and perspective? What could a group of passionate people become capable of accomplishing? What would you do if there were no limits?

Since those days, we have had over 225 people travel across Canada into High Schools with our road teams, we have had over 2000 people join us on our Hero Holiday trips and have spoken to well over 1 million students in schools across Canada and internationally. Each life we reach represents a life that is powerful and full of incredible potential. Each seed of hope that is planted makes it all worth it.

Over the years we have received countless emails, messages and phone calls that have continued to serve as a source of encouragement for our staff as we continue to forge ahead. We are not perfect and we have made many mistakes…but we are still here.

I remembered where I was when we determined that no matter what, we were going to see this thing through and we were going to do whatever it took to reach a generation with hope and love. Now here I was many years later, standing in the most unlikely of places: a garbage dump in Dominican Republic. Together with the Hero Holiday participants, we were hosting a party for the stateless Haitian people that worked there. It was an honour to be welcomed into their world and in that moment I realized that I could have missed out on all of this if I had given up – if we had given up on Absolute. But we didn’t, and we won’t. We are going to carry through as an organization into this next decade ignited with passion and a fervency to see a generation become instruments of love, hope, and change.

Whenever I am leading a workshop or speaking to students and adults, I like to ask them one simple question, “What would you do to help change the world if there were no limits?” It is hard for us to be honest when we hear those words because we have a hard time thinking of possibilities without limitations. We live in a world that is continually putting limits on our thinking: media ads tell us what we “need” and we listen, friends tell us how to act and we conform, life experience leaves us jaded and we allow that experience to shape our view of the possible, societal expectations push us to lean one way, and our attachment to money can cause us to limit our willingness to take a risk. Taking the easy road may be less risky, but a life that is lived without risk is a life that hasn’t really had a chance to live. Loving people is messy and reaching past judgment and comfort zones can seem scary, but it is always worth it. Our lives here in Absolute are a testament to that. Over the years we have loved, we have lost, we have taken risks and we have fallen short; but always, we have known that we wouldn’t want to live any other way. This is how change happens and that’s why we choose to be a part of it.

What would the world look like if more of us were willing to take a risk, willing to jump over the edge, and willing to make our voice be heard? It would look very different, and it would look more like hope. We hope that you will join us in Absolute in some way, that you will add your voice to ours, and that together we can help the world to look more like a world of hope and possibilities. Together, we can make 2010 the year where we lifted off the limits!

Saying goodbye is hard. Airport farewells never get easier, letting go of someone that you love is painful, and even change can be difficult. There are many times on this journey that we have been on in Absolute when we have had to learn to say goodbye. Faces have changed and positions have shifted over the years, there have been some painful separations of distance and time, and there has even been loss that we have had to support each other through. We have had to wave goodbye to families as our truck is pulling out of a community for the last time, wave tearful goodbyes to kids we are leaving behind in a children’s home and we have had to let go of little hands that we knew we wouldn’t hold again. But through it all, one thing has helped me to hang on: knowing that I am not alone.

Almost anyone will tell you that one of their favourite parts of an Absolute Hero Holiday is at the end of the day. Not because we are done the hard work and not because we get to escape back to our comfort zone. Rather, it is because it is when we sit down and connect with each other and have a debriefing on the day’s events. It may not seem like much to you, but when your world has been rocked and you are realizing that there are way more questions than answers in life, sometimes it is really great to be able to have someone that has shared the experience with you to walk alongside of you and challenge your way of thinking.

This past Christmas, we had two Hero Holidays happening: one in Mexico and one in Dominican Republic. In Mexico a family received a house for Christmas and it changed everyone’s life that was involved in the process. In Dominican Republic we helped two families get solid foundations on their homes, as well as worked in garbage dumps, helped at an orphanage and had a Christmas Fiesta with a community that had never had one before. I was in Dominican Republic and something happened that came up when I was talking one evening with some participants. On Christmas Day, we went to a village and played soccer with the community in the afternoon. It was a lot of fun and we made some great memories. But the memorable part for me happened when the sun went down and we set up the big white sheet on the front of someone’s house.

Right there, in the middle of that little village full of stateless, impoverished families, the evening became magical as we all stood around together and watched Ice Age 3 in Spanish. For many of the people there it was the first time they had ever seen a movie, and as Sid the Sloth bumbled through his adventures with the woolly mammoths and saber toothed tigers, the crowd tittered and giggled non stop, elbowing each other and pointing at the screen. Children gasped in surprise when the action got intense and all eyes were glued to that transformed white sheet for a full 90 minutes. There was no crunching popcorn, no beeping cell phones, and no whispers, only rapt attention as each person wanted to drink in the whole experience.

As I stood there among the crowd that night I was reminded of why I love to go to the movies at home. Entertainment is not about critiquing someone’s performance or about always needing to see the latest film. Entertainment is a privilege and it is a gift to be able to get lost in a story for a while, no matter what your situation is in life. In some ways, entertainment is as much of a human need as many other things. It may not have seemed like much, but to be able to offer that community something that gave them a lift out of the normal tedium of survival, it was a gift worth giving. As the movie finished and the crowd began to disperse in the dark, one little boy was walking by our team and they heard him say in Spanish, “This is the best Christmas ever!”. We didn’t come with gifts or anything fancy - we had no gifts left to bring. We came with our friendship and with something for all of us to experience together and that alone made that night special for him and for us.

As we sat around later that night, debriefing over the day’s events and processing what we had experienced, each of us saw something different in the evening. We each appreciated different aspects of the day and how much this Christmas would be one for all of us to remember. And the next day, while many of our family back home would be fighting their way through the boxing day sales and finishing up their third or fourth Christmas meal, we woke up and smiled and laughed at the gifts we had received on Christmas: friendship, laughter, and a new appreciation for the value of spending time with people that are important.

Today is the beginning of the rest of our lives. Each day is a gift and each breath is a blessing. What we choose to do with our time, energy and resources becomes both our offering and legacy that we give to the world around us. Saying goodbye to another year is bittersweet for me as 2009 was a great year for us in so many ways and we each experienced moments that we will cherish forever. But 2010 is full of exciting possibilities and you can be a part of it!

From all of us in Absolute and on behalf of every participant and beneficiary from each of our programs, we wish you a Happy New Year! Together, we can make 2010 a special year for countless lives around the world!

I only knew her briefly, but my friend, JK, told me all about her. She was 17 and ever since as long as anyone can remember, she was passionate about anything that was pink. In fact, although her real name was Bu-Tomb, she quickly got the nickname of “Pink” when she was first found on the streets as a young child. She was one of the first children that Kru Nam had ever rescued out of the horrors of the brothels, and she had been at the home since 2001. She had a mom who was still on the streets and recently made it through a drug rehab program. She had three other siblings, yet she had no official existence. She was stateless, she was at risk, and she had a smile that would melt your heart.

It had gone unnoticed for quite a while, slowly and quietly stealing her strength, her health and her future. Like a stealthy thief it may have laid dormant in her body for years, but no one will ever know for how long. She was one of 3 kids from the children’s home to ever make it to the 11th grade and she was sponsored by kind foreigners who cared about their future. She loved school and she had hopes of what she wanted to be when she graduated. Although she owned nothing of any material value in this world, she was loved, she was valued and she was among her family in that place. It was a large family full of other kids like her and full of caring adults who worked tirelessly to help them let go of the past and embrace a future that could be free from exploitation and shame. Her life was a bright light and that light was stolen by an enemy that no one saw coming: cancer.

Pink was diagnosed with leukemia earlier this year. By the time she received the official diagnosis, the cancer had begun to spread to her stomach and she was unable to digest food normally. Her young life was quickly slipping away and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Because she was stateless, there wasn’t a lot that anyone cared to do about it -anyone except her family at the children’s home. Together they located her mother, found support to help cover the medical costs and together they made her last time on earth beautiful and full of dignity. Different staff members would stay beside her bed. Although she wasn’t supposed to be there according to the hospital, her birth mother would come and sleep under her bed each night, trying to be as close to her as possible. Kru Nam made sure that Pink was treated like a princess. Despite the fact that she shared a hospital room with 8 other patients, she was in her only little world of pink: pink headbands, pink pillowcases and even a pink robe.

Pink’s birth mother was Burmese and Catholic, and as the priest was located and brought to give her her last rites, they hooked her frail body up to adrenaline. Her heart monitor steadily beeped as the priest prayed and her mother started to cry and sing the songs of the dead. JK and a small group of friends stood by in silence. Slowly the monitor went flat, and as Pink’s spirit left the earth JK’s cell phone rang. It was Kru Nam. “What just happened? I know that something just happened.” She somehow knew. I think a mother’s heart always knows, deep down inside, no matter how many “children” she has.

Pink was a gift to the world and her life was worth the effort. She left the earth knowing that she was loved and that there were people who cared deeply about her. Like countless millions of young lives at risk around the world, she needed to know that there was a safe place to grow up in and there was a safe place to live out her dreams. Pink’s memorial service was sweet and beautiful; just like her. She was dressed in her favourite pink shirt.

Kru Nam is one of the heroes that Absolute has had the privilege to support and work alongside of through our Hero Holiday programs in Thailand. We need your help to be able to continue to do so. We are returning to work with Kru Nam in August of 2010 and we would love to have you join us. Your life can be a part of the picture of hope that we are endeavoring to draw for kids such as Pink who need to know that someone believes in them. Please consider playing a part in creating that picture.

The stage lights are coming back up as Jon walks out to the centre of the stage. Flashing a smile, he puts the microphone close and begins: “Me da mucho gusto estar aqui con ustedes, ojala te diviertas y te esta gustando la presentación! My name is Jon and I am a drummer for the band Hundredfold. It’s really great to be here today with all of you.” Seeing his confidence and hearing it in his voice, you would never guess the story that lies beneath it all.

Racism. It’s ugly, it’s offensive, and as a Canadian, I want to believe it doesn’t happen in my country. But to our shame it does happen and often in the place where a generation should be safe to be free from it: it happens in the schoolyard, in the hallways and even in the classroom.

Jon was born in Santa Cruz, Bolivia to Mexican parents. When his family returned to Mexico City, he quickly adjusted to his new life by playing soccer. Within a very short period of time he and his brother were discovered for an elite team that was famous around the country. Traveling to compete all over Central America, becoming a young celebrity in the world of soccer, he even began to do TV commercials for products, enjoying public admiration. His future in the world of soccer looked extremely bright. He was young, he was promising and he was loved. But when Jon was 10 years old, his family decided to move to Winnipeg, Manitoba to start a new life - and everything changed. Their parents needed to find better employment opportunities for the future of their family and John and his brother had to come to terms with leaving behind their dreams of a bright future of professional sports.

As he entered junior high in the public school system in Winnipeg, Jon went through extreme culture shock. Not only were the city, the weather, and the language all foreign to him, but he quickly realized that there was something he had never considered: that “Mexican” was a dirty word. Each day became a routine of torturous racism and bullying as Jon was victimized in the schoolyard, in the hallways and in the classroom. Jon recalled moments of being held down, kicked, spat upon and being viciously verbally assaulted – all because he was different. In the midst of all the shock and pain, he began to withdraw, turning inward and entertaining dark thoughts.

In their vulnerability, many students like Jon search desperately to silence the pain - and he was no exception. Fueled by pain and self-hatred, he began to spiral down into a haze of drug abuse, depression and suicidal obsessions. Dreaming of escaping the pain seemed so much more comforting than crawling back up. After a failed suicide attempt, Jon had a reality shot. He needed help. His brother recognized that Jon needed an outlet to express himself and talked his parents into buying Jon a drum kit. A drum kit may seem like a random thought, but it turned out to be just what Jon needed to let out his frustration and discover something he was really gifted in. As he began to realize his abilities and passion for music, Jon also began to trust again. Shortly after he received his drum kit, Jon met Gord, a middle aged man who ran the local youth centre. Gord began to give Jon opportunities to be a part of something he could feel excited about and something that helped him find his way out of the pain of rejection and school violence. Through his kindness and encouragement, Gord gave Jon the ability to believe in himself and to believe that he could do something significant despite his history.

Today, Jon is touring with Hundredfold, a band from Winnipeg, Manitoba that tours in high schools with our Absolute road teams. Jon has the opportunity to stand in front of students every day, sharing his story and his heart. Through his courage to be honest with students about racism, pain, and rejection, he is able to give them an even greater gift to hold on to: the gift of hope.

Because Gord took the time to believe in Jon, thousands of Canadian high school students have been given the chance to hear about hope. There are many youth like Jon in our schools and communities, but there are also many “Gords” - the adults who are willing to take some time out of their own lives to believe that they can make a difference. I may never meet you, Gord, but I want to say thanks for all the long hours and love you put into that youth centre. Many lives are changed because of your willingness to see the potential in someone else. You are a hero.

Absolute has the privilege to meet thousands of students across the nation each year, and each of them is unique and full of incredible potential. Many of them are like Jon and many of them just need to know that someone believes in them and they are going to get through the pain that they are feeling right now in the middle of their circumstances. You can be a part of what we do! Check out www.absolute.org to see how you can get involved.

It would have been hard to see what was really going on that day. It didn’t look like much more than a group of people standing around a kid with a bleeding nose, wondering if he was going to be ok, and then slowly turning around and going back to work. Only he wasn’t really ok, it wasn’t a regular group of people, and we were all standing beside huge mounds of garbage overheating in the Caribbean sun. Not really a typical scene after all.

His name is Ganasse. He is 10 years old. He lives in a quiet little village that I have many friends in. His dad died when he was only a baby. He has an older brother that works out of town and his mom is “in the hospital” two hours away. He is Haitian and he is without any proper identification papers. He works in a garbage dump and he is as tough as nails. I don’t really think his mom is in the hospital - I think she is never coming back to him. She has been “in the hospital” since I have known him and I think no one in the village has the heart to tell him she isn’t coming home. In all reality, Ganasse is a stateless orphan, and his future is largely determined for him at this point in time.

One of the Hero Holiday students with me that day at the garbage dump brought me over to see him when they found him sitting to the side. He was trying to make his nose stop bleeding. Sitting down beside Ganasse with a pile of tissue and wipes, I tried to help him understand how to stop the bleeding. With one hand I held his tiny, dirty hand and with the other I wiped his tears that were streaming down his face. Liquid brown eyes searched mine and I could see the fear in them. He wasn’t just a kid with a bleeding nose. He was young boy who didn’t know what tomorrow would hold. He was a child without a mother or father and this garbage dump was almost all that he knew of life. He had spent most of his life being on the outside and looking in: wondering what it was to have a family, dreaming of what he would someday like to be and having to figure out how to survive today.

As I held his hand, he leaned his head against my shoulder, never saying a word. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. Finally, I raised my arm around his shoulder and hugged him close. He snuggled in and didn’t move for a moment, soaking in the human contact. This was something I had failed to realize: the power of human touch to heal the heart. When was the last time he had been hugged? Did he have any memories of human tenderness and touch? Did he crave being noticed? Had he ever felt he was someone worth holding on to?

His nose had stopped bleeding, and he had stopped crying, but my heart was broken. Sitting on the side, watching everyone around us working, I saw life from his perspective for a moment: adults rushing to find food and supplies to provide for their own hungry families, loud dump trucks roaring past us, flies buzzing frantically around the heated refuse, two lone palm trees with leaves barely moving in the near stagnant air, and the anxious faces of Canadian teenagers who were continually looking back and checking to see if we were all right. I realized how high the mounds of garbage looked from this angle and how focused and determined each of the adult workers were to find what they were looking for. This was no place for anyone to have to work in, let alone a ten year old boy. Like each of these workers that I saw in front of me, Ganasse deserves more. He deserves a future.

Like me, the Canadian students with me that day learned many life lessons. Some of us are probably still processing those lessons even now. But that tender moment with Ganasse left us with something more than questions and frustrations: it deposited a resolve in each of our hearts. The resolve to continue to be a voice, the resolve to recognize the power of each of our lives and choices, and most of all, the ability to see how we can make a difference one life at a time. Today, there is a school in Ganasse’s village that we helped to expand to include more kids such as himself. Ganasse is in a home with a family and he is being taken care of. And today, like the Canadians that joined me in that garbage dump, I am determined to work harder than ever to make the world a little less scary for the Ganasse’s out there.

You can join us on a Hero Holiday in Dominican Republic in July of 2010! To find out more, check out www.heroholiday.com.

Our obligation is to give meaning to life and in doing so to overcome the passive, indifferent life. ~ Elie Wiesel

“My real name is Johnston Ho but you can call me Jo Ho. People know me as an outgoing, friendly, funny and random individual, which can be proven on numerous Hero Holiday trips. From dressing up as a girl, to dressing up and singing as Taylor Swift, to dancing with the father of the family who I helped to build a house for, to creating my own secret handshake in the community I built a house in, I love life…”

Social anxiety sucks. What if fear plagued you every minute of every day? The fear of the unknown, the fear of people, the fear of new situations. Every day you feel the same pain coupled with sweaty palms, a racing heartbeat, and nerves worn raw and thin. What if the simple act of taking the next step forward seemed too difficult? When you are paralyzed by depression, anxiety, or any other number of mood disorders, the pain of feeling judged or isolated by others can sometimes be so intense that there can seem no way out but to end the pain at what you perceive to be the source: you. But there can be relief from it, there can be hope, and there can be freedom. Johnston is living proof.

Johnston can point back to the summer of 2007 as being where things had reached their worst. By the time he had reached his 16th birthday that day in August, he felt so alone, so rejected and so paralyzed with depression and anxiety that there seemed no hope left. His list of options seemed to grow thinner. But somehow, at that lowest point is where he began the climb back out. As he sat home, alone on his 16th birthday, out of desperation to find help, Johnston began to research his problems. Slowly, through what he read and studied, he began to realize that he suffered from social anxiety. He wasn’t the problem, nor did he bring it on in any way. Life happens with or without our permission, and he now recognized his feelings for what they were: a mood disorder.

But recognizing something and following through with a game plan can be two very different worlds. When we suffer with mental health issues, it can be very difficult to separate ourselves from the disorder. It’s hidden inside of us and quite frankly, it would prefer to stay that way. That’s how it thrives and succeeds at convincing its victim that there is no escape. But like any lie, sooner or later it must be exposed for what it is, and Johnston found out how to do that.

One week after his birthday, Johnston found himself on a bus, headed towards Vicente Guerrero, Mexico. Having already endured the two hour ferry ride to Vancouver and arriving at the hotel in Abbotsford by himself, Johnston was at a bit of a loss. Could he handle being away from home for two weeks? Could he handle being around 15 other strangers and what he was about to encounter on this trip that he was unwillingly signed up for?

“I was late for the bus and when I got on I said absolutely nothing to the person beside me for about 4 or 5 hours. Then someone started a poker game at the back of the bus and somehow I began to relax and had the chance to be myself. I won the game and I actually started to relax and felt my SA (social anxiety) slipping away. During the trip I started talking more and didn’t stop; I got to be myself and not what my SA wanted me to be. And that was just the beginning…”

During his time on Hero Holiday, Johnston was a part of a 15 member team of participants who built a house for a family that desperately needed it. Together with that family, nail by nail, they forged a new future and hope for each other. For the family it was about shelter, safety and being lifted out of paralyzing poverty. For Johnston it was about a hand up to hope and freedom. Both came empty handed and both left full of promise. This is what Hero Holiday is about: succeeding together.

“I have battled with anxiety most of my life. This trip has changed my life, but probably not in the way that the organizers thought it would change me. I used to keep all of my emotions inside and after this trip everything changed. I even wore a sombrero from Abbotsford to Victoria on the ferry! I would have never done that before.
I used to get extreme anxiety using the phone, going on msn or Facebook, knocking on people’s doors, saying hi to anyone, walking down the hallway at school, going to social events, using instructions, getting responsibility, and many other things. Now, I am not the same.
The reason why I am so open about my past mental problems is that I lost track of what was most important: the value of life, what every day means, what one day can bring and what you have to show. Your potential is limitless. Risk everything for what you truly want. You only live once so stand up, speak loud and live your dream.”

For more information on how you can be a part of a life-changing trip like the one Johnston was on, check out www.absolute.org. We would love to have you join us. You belong here!

I hate my contact lenses. I hate that I have to remember to take them out before I go to bed, that I have to wrestle with them on early mornings, that I sometimes put them in backwards (yes, you can put them in backwards!) and most of all, I hate that I can’t see hardly anything without them. But if I had to be honest with myself, I should count myself fortunate to not have to worry about my vision. They are called corrective lenses for a reason: they are able to correct my vision impairment. Like you, I have the gift of sight.

The night that Vaden and Charles met with the group of parents from her school, they were preparing for the regular questions for Hero Holiday: how much does it cost? Where will they stay? Will they be able to call home? But they weren’t expecting her parents to ask what they did. Kelsey’s* parents came forward after the meeting and asked them one last question. They wanted to know if we would allow her to join us on our Dominican Republic Hero Holiday trip the following summer. Of course we would, why not? And then they pointed out which daughter was theirs: the one quietly sitting down, staring straight ahead, with her hand on the collar of her guide dog, both of them patiently waiting for the answer. The simple question, “Would it be possible for Kelsey to be a part of the trip?” was met with a simple answer, “We would love to have her join us!”.

That summer was a first for Hero Holiday. We started building our first school that is now the education centre for almost 100 young children, we began a life long friendship at a garbage dump with a group of people that we have grown to love and respect, and for the first time, we had a new pair of best friends, Kelsey and her dog, Kaylie. Together they helped carry cinder blocks, apply mortar on the bricks, mix cement, and most importantly, play with the crowds of kids that surrounded them in fascination, eager to learn more about what life was like from their perspective.

Guide dogs for the visually impaired have been recorded as being used as early as the 16th century; they are not a new concept. Yet, like so many other limitations or disabilities, those with impairments can be held back by perceptions, lack of opportunity, and even by public stereotypes and stigmas. That year, Kelsey proved to us and to the people that were a part of the experience that not only was she a true hero, but there are many around the world who are capable of doing far more than anyone thought possible, if only they are given the opportunity. We were proud to have Kelsey as a part of our trip, because she was Kelsey and because she belonged there.

Chances are, if you are reading these letters right now, you are part of those of us who make up the population that have our sight. Many of us may never know what it is to be limited by stereotypes, perceptions, and ignorance, yet that means that we can reach and dream even harder of what can be done to make the world a safer place for all of us, without exception.

Absolute welcomes people of all ages, backgrounds, and abilities to join our Hero Holiday trips and experience the power of making a difference. We are able to do what we do because of our staff, volunteers and participants, and because of the finances raised through our fundraising endeavors. Currently, we have an exciting way for you to help and have something tangible in return: purchase our 2010 Calendar, “Together” and help us to continue to see lives changed at home and around the world through compassion, love, and action. Go to http://www.heroholiday.com/calendar to purchase yours.

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others” ~ Jonathan Swift

*names have been changed