11 PM - Christal Earle’s Blog

Last night, as I was about to fall asleep, my Blackberry made that little ring: you know, the one that says, “I dare you: open this email! It could be spam, but it could be something that will change your life!”. Of course, I succumbed to the curiosity, and opened it. What I read has become another moment in my life that will shape me for the days to come…

It was from my friend, David, who is the founder of a children’s home in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. We often email back and forth: me from my laptop in my office in Hamilton, and he from the internet cafe down the street from where they live in Port-Au-Prince. We are seemingly worlds apart, yet our worlds keep colliding in times of destiny. David, his wife, and another couple have taken in over 50 street kids: some were household slaves that ran away, some were sexually exploited, some were simply abandoned or thrown out, but all are now safe and loved in the home. Education is a priority for them, and they go to great lengths to make sure the kids are eduated and get opportunities that will set them up for the future.

However, life in Haiti is harsh, desperate and often violent. It is the perfect breeding ground for corruption and exploitation. This past few weeks, there have been riots in the streets and people have actually died trying to do something about the quickly catapulting prices of food staples in their country. To add to this, in their city, mudslides regularly destroy homes and take lives, violence birthed out of desperation threatens peace, and a deep cultural social depression has given way to hopelessness. Last week, I was worried about my friends there, and was sending frantic emails to them, trying to find out if they were ok. As I was about to send the email, I felt strongly convicted that it wasn’t enough to just worry and check in on them-I needed to put my money where my mouth was. Vaden and I decided, along with another couple, that we would send them money the quickest way possible. It wasn’t much in the North American standard, but it was really all that we could send, and I knew that we had to do it…we did it and moved on. And then, last night, my Blackberry sings out to me…

“Dear Christal, thanks so much for the gift. Because of the situation here in Haiti, we had to lock our house for the past three days for safety, and didn’t allow anyone to step outside. We had been praying with the children that we would be able to find a way to feed them, and then I got your money. This morning, we took them to the market and bought food for the first time in a while. You became the answer to their prayers. Thank you for remembering us in our time of desperation. Much love, David.”

As I read it, re-read it, and then read it just one more time, my heart sang out a small song of thanks. How incredibly humbling it is to be a part of something so beautiful…and how heartbreaking to realize what life is like on a daily basis…

Then, I found the newscast about the riots in Montreal last week…no, it wasn’t over the price of food that is driving the two-thirds world to starvation, no, it wasn’t over the injustice of war and poverty, and no, it wasn’t even over racism or hate-crimes: it was over the hockey game that Montreal had won. Excuse me? Has the Canadian spirit become so shallow that we are actually willing to be such complete idiots and (insert other expletives here) that we think that this is ok and acceptable? Perhaps, the most shocking part for me was when I heard the bystanders at the riot being interviewed, and their biggest concerns with these fools was that they weren’t even ‘real hockey fans’. WHO CARES? Hockey, like any other sport, is a game…not the real world. People do not live or die because they see a sports game. The future of children at risk is not hanging in the balance because a favorite team won or lost.

There are moments like this that make me want to hang my head in shame because of what ‘my people’ are willing to deem as priorities. It actually grieves my heart to think that in a country such as ours, with all opportunities at our fingertips, we are willing to allow our own humanity to be insulted by shrinking our way of thinking to only be consumed with instant gratification. Because we exist, we can do something, something that can add to the beauty of life, rather than cheapen it by our selfishness.

I realize that I can’t necessarily change everyone’s way of thinking. I realize that I can’t point a finger at the disregard of society without accusing myself in the process. I realize that not everyone will be convicted of the same priorities as I am. However, I truly wish that they could experience what I did last night when I read that email: the realization that although it may not have seemed like much, it made a difference for someone else. It was the power of kindness, and it is the power of the realization that if I want to, I can choose it every day and no one can stop me.

I am just finishing up my coffee and about to rush off to my office, which by the way the way is in a basement in an open space with about 6 other people. (Did I mention we have never had windows? We have had basement offices since 2004, and we are finally moving this year to a place with windows, which we are all still in shock over!) So, here I am, looking out my kitchen window of my condo on the fourth floor, and glancing down the street. It is at this point that I see him…again. I probably run into him about once a week, and I am always amazed that he is still alive, to be quite honest. Normally when I see him, he is walking down the middle of my street, into 3 lanes of oncoming traffic. As he is walking, he is shouting at all of us because, clearly, we are the bad drivers who should know better!

This morning, my little friend is down at the intersection, directing traffic…only he is not a cop. In fact, he is more like a flasher in his trenchcoat and long beard. He marches out to the middle of the intersection and starts pointing in different directions at cars and telling them which way to go. At this point, (and I have also been in a car at an intersection with this dude) drivers are momentarily stunned as they are trying to figure out if this guy is trying to help them avoid trouble up the road or if he is clearly missing the top-up on his sedation medication for the day. Chances are, it’s the latter of the two.

I think people have given up honking at him now, and are just thinking to themselves, “Hamiltonians: you can’t beat them, so you might as well join them.” This is why we live in this city-not because of mentally disturbed flasher-like characters, but because life here is painfully real. People here are honest, friendly, and there is an atmosphere of gentle acceptance for things that are just a little off centre line…From the mullets to the electric scooters, from the little old Portuguese guys sitting on their porches every evening to the up to the minute hip foreign students that hang out at all the hot spots, it is a microcosm of the world as a whole, and so this morning, I am choosing to love this city.

…besides…there’s never a dull moment, either! Whenever I am in need of a little bit of humour and perspective, I simply step outside my door and wait for it to pass by!

This past Sunday I was in a church where one of my Hero Holiday students calls home. She was up at the front, talking about what she is doing this summer with us, and the pastor wanted to pray for her. When he prayed for her, he said something that I can’t stop thinking about, over and over again. He thanked God that she was not going to be the kind of person who was dead at 30, but buried at 80. As soon as he said that, my head jerked up, and I looked at Vaden. Both of us said, ‘That’s an awesome line and I’ll race you to see who uses it first!’…I win.
Often in life, it is easy to associate the idea of youthful dreams with the actual physical dimensions of youth: young in age, vibrant and buoyant, irrepressible conviction that they can change the world, and passion to see it happen. For many, dreams seem to grow dimmer as time passes, and before we know it, life seems too complicated to interfere with the steady and progressive rhythm that we can find ourselves in. There may be moments of tragedy or triumph where we get a glimpse of what we can accomplish, but largely it seems to roll forward with the sensation that passion has waned, vision has dimmed, and the only choice there can ever be is the ’safe’ choice.
Mmmm…the safe choice. I wonder if that means ‘Safe for me, and I hope it works out for the rest of the world’ or ‘Wow, I wish I could help to make this situation better for someone else, but I really can’t afford the time right now, and my finances are really better spent on myself and my future.’?
In the movie, ‘The Sixth Sense’, the little boy turns to Bruce Willis, and in an effort to explain his predicament he blurts out, “I see dead people!” Well, I hate to ruin the plot, but so do I. I see them everyday. I take the elevator with them. I park next to them at the mall. I even chat with them at my favorite little schwarma joint. They’re everywhere: People who had a dream, but chose the path of least resistance. The reasons are innumerable,but they are substantial nonethelesss. Reasons and excuses to not do something…anything. So, instead of embracing what could be, they settle for what will always be and wonder why there is that dim awareness that there is something more to live for.
Why is it so hard to see past ourselves? We are like little Doozers from Fraggle Rock (my fave Sunday night show growing up). Doozers were wee little construction guys obsessed with being busy, and always building and doing business. When a fraggle would come along and eat their creations, (which was inevitable), they would just sigh as if to say, ‘What can you do? Just get busy and get back to work’. But we were meant to be so much more than mere little doozers. We were meant to be a gift for this world, and everytime we take a chance to make something better for it, everytime we begin to dream of what can be and act on it, we are honoring the gift.
I once read that during the Roman empire, the average human lifespan was 32. That sucks, because I guess I would be on borrowed time (!). Today in North Amercia, it is almost 80. Times may have changed, but the compelling pull to live with purpose will never change. I don’t know about you, but each day I choose to be more fully alive than the day before. After all, this is what life is for, and the world needs the gifts that we possess.
This past Sunday I was in a church where one of my Hero Holiday students calls home. She was up at the front, talking about what she is doing this summer with us, and the pastor wanted to pray for her. When he prayed for her, he said something that I can’t stop thinking about, over and over again. He thanked God that she was not going to be the kind of person who was dead at 30, but buried at 80. As soon as he said that, my head jerked up, and I looked at Vaden. Both of us said, ‘That’s an awesome line and I’ll race you to see who uses it first!’…I win.
Often in life, it is easy to associate the idea of youthful dreams with the actual physical dimensions of youth: young in age, vibrant and buoyant, irrepressible conviction that they can change the world, and passion to see it happen. For many, dreams seem to grow dimmer as time passes, and before we know it, life seems too complicated to interfere with the steady and progressive rhythm that we can find ourselves in. There may be moments of tragedy or triumph where we get a glimpse of what we can accomplish, but largely it seems to roll forward with the sensation that passion has waned, vision has dimmed, and the only choice there can ever be is the ’safe’ choice.
Mmmm…the safe choice. I wonder if that means ‘Safe for me, and I hope it works out for the rest of the world’ or ‘Wow, I wish I could help to make this situation better for someone else, but I really can’t afford the time right now, and my finances are really better spent on myself and my future.’?
In the movie, ‘The Sixth Sense’, the little boy turns to Bruce Willis, and in an effort to explain his predicament he blurts out, “I see dead people!” Well, I hate to ruin the plot, but so do I. I see them everyday. I take the elevator with them. I park next to them at the mall. I even chat with them at my favorite little schwarma joint. They’re everywhere: People who had a dream, but chose the path of least resistance. The reasons are innumerable,but they are substantial nonethelesss. Reasons and excuses to not do something…anything. So, instead of embracing what could be, they settle for what will always be and wonder why there is that dim awareness that there is something more to live for.
Why is it so hard to see past ourselves? We are like little Doozers from Fraggle Rock (my fave Sunday night show growing up). Doozers were wee little construction guys obsessed with being busy, and always building and doing business. When a fraggle would come along and eat their creations, (which was inevitable), they would just sigh as if to say, ‘What can you do? Just get busy and get back to work’. But we were meant to be so much more than mere little doozers. We were meant to be a gift for this world, and everytime we take a chance to make something better for it, everytime we begin to dream of what can be and act on it, we are honoring the gift.
I once read that during the Roman empire, the average human lifespan was 32. That sucks, because I guess I would be on borrowed time (!). Today in North Amercia, it is almost 80. Times may have changed, but the compelling pull to live with purpose will never change. I don’t know about you, but each day I choose to be more fully alive than the day before. After all, this is what life is for, and the world needs the gifts that we possess.