It was the last day of the final trip of the summer in Dominican Republic. I woke up with great expectations of finishing this trip with excellence and enjoying the community party to the max. However, the sky did not look promising, and I was trying hard not to stress about the what if’s: What if I forgot something? What if it rains? What if no one shows up at our party? Worse yet - what if no one can get to  our party and we just blew all that money on the two roasted pigs and all the rice and beans? But, there was absolutely nothing we could do about it, so we just watched and waited.

When the time came for the party to start, it was pouring rain. So, because of this, we decided to go ahead with the party anyways! As we were trekking up with steep mountain roads towards the village we were hosting the party in, I was reminded of how this location ever came to be for us. Last summer, at the beginning of August, in the last days of her short life, we met a little girl named Danica. Danica’s life was lost to a totally preventable disease. She was 18 months old and was stateless, too poor to be helped in time, and basically abandoned. Her death rocked us to our core, and it actually was what provided the inspiration for the clinic that our friends, Phil and Donna Williams, have built in her name. It is called Danica’s Clinic and it is a clinic of hope in a poor community where health care is often a pipe dream and rarely attainable. Danica’s Clinic now provides this community and the surrounding area with a compassionate doctor and quality health teaching, and a stocked pharmacy, and all this is made possible because of people like the ones that joined us on this particular Hero Holiday. Because of all of this, this community seemed like the perfect community to celebrate friendship and solidarity…and really,  what says “I love you” better than a couple of roasted pigs?

As we pulled up and fishtailed up the mud hill beside the clinic in the pouring rain, I smiled as we saw a group of young boys out in the rain playing percussion on the five gallon pails and with a stick…it was festive, if not soggy! After spending the first two minutes trying to not get wet, we all gave up and stood in the rain and laughed. This is what memories are made of! Our roasted pigs were skillfully chopped up with a machete by Garcia, one of the our Dominican friends, and some rice, beans, and casava finished off the menu. Within moments, word had spread far and wide that we were serving the meal, and people came hurrying up the hill through the mud and sludge to get their meals. We set up a sound system and just began to celebrate life and love and friendship, and it was a beautiful thing to behold! Children laughed and danced and sang with the music, and many of our team laughed and danced right alongside of them.

In my mind, I had fully believed that by some stroke of divine intervention the rain would eventually stop and we would have a little time to just stand outside, but it never did. In fact, it only seemed to rain harder and harder the longer we stayed there. However, that meant little in a moment like this where for just a short time you can indulge in the gift of great food, great company, and great entertainment!

To all the Danica’s Dream Team, I would like to say, “Thank you”. You made that party a success, and your gifts made that clinic possible. The world needs people like you to do things like this. Thank you for giving of your time, your talents, your passion, and your love.  I think a little girl would be very proud of you right now…

This trip with our Hero Holiday nursing and medical students has been non-stop learning, understanding, and memories. Each day I joke with the teams that it is just another day at the office as we march through mud, walk on trails through the jungle to get to the garbage dump, we hand out food to people and watch kids eat pizza for the first time, we paint and mix cement by hand, and we see countless patients through our clinics…quite the office environment if you ask me Today we were out at the garbage dump, working among the people, and something happened that caused me to stop and think…

There were about 20 of us at the garbage dump today working with the people there who collect bottles for income and scrounge for food and provision. We are honored to be able to work alongside them, even if it is for such a short time. Today, while working, Smith, my translator and friend, walked toward me, laughing, and said, “I have to tell you what the people there are talking about. They have a theory on Creation, and I thought you might be interested to hear it: they say that when God made people, He had two piles, one with paper and the other with sand. The paper was white people like you, and the sand was people like the Haitians. The paper gets to learn and grow and become something else, but the sand has to work hard and nothing ever seems to change.” I stopped walking and looked at him. “Is that really how they see it? Do they really think that it is because of my skin color that I can move ahead?” Smith, who is Haitian, said, “People have no answers for their hurt and hard times, and it just seems like it would be easier to be you.”

This afternoon, some of the participants joined me as we brought out rice, beans, and oil to our friends in the village that work at the dump. As we pulled up, it started to rain really hard, so we jumped out of the car and followed them to where it was out of the rain to get organized for delivering the food. We ran under a tiny tin roof on a porch that was held up by sugar cane stalks, and everyone followed us. So here we were:  4 Canadians  and  about  55 Haitians jammed together listening to the rain pound on the tin roof. I don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden the hilarity of the situation struck me and I couldn’t stop laughing as chickens were dodging our feet (I guess they didn’t like the rain either) a dog was leaning up against me, a little boy was holding my hand, and I watched our translator wrestle with a Winnie the Pooh umbrella (that someone handed him) that wouldn’t open and probably was a ‘treasure’ from the dump. Just another Saturday at the office, I guess! To the people that lived there, this was life as normal, with the exception of a few extra Canadian faces in the mix. As I kept looking at my watch and wishing the stupid rain would finish because I had other places that I needed to get to before the day was out, they patiently waited in the rain for the food that they desperately needed to feed their families. We really do live worlds apart in so many ways, and I could really learn a few things from these amazing individuals who have lived through more than I can even comprehend.

I have to admit, I guess I can see how my friends’ theories on Creation could seem to be more real than either of us care to acknowledge. Here I am, sitting at my laptop, trying to get my work done, but knowing that in a few minutes I am going to have food, that tonight I will get sleep and be safe, and that for me, the garbage dump is a place to visit, not the place where my existence currently depends on. Nothing but mere location of birth truly separates me and them, and today, after sharing our rainstorm moment, I am even more keenly aware of it.

As we drove back from the village, the car smelled like a wet dog, but we all had a great laugh at the seemingly random moment that we just experienced with total strangers. One of the students with me in the vehicle said, “That’s it - this is definitely what I want to do with my life.”  I assumed she was referring to working with those less fortunate and experiencing change, not standing in the rain with humans, dogs and chickens all vying for dry space, and so my response to her was, “Then if this is what you want to do, I think you should definitely make it happen. This experience can not only be a memory, but it can be a major moment in your life that you will look back on as the moment that changed your way of thinking.”

So, on behalf of changed lives everywhere, I need to thank the dogs, chickens, and humans that shared today’s experience with us. You people are what make it worth it all! Thanks for making this Saturday at the office another great moment in my life where I can learn and make a memory with you. You give so much meaning and perspective to who we are and you inspire us to want to grow to be able to help you grow and move ahead as well…Thanks!

Property tycoon Frank McKinney’s extreme birthday party

Jacqui Goddard in Miami
As the creator of some of America’s most opulent mansions Frank McKinney knows a thing or two about luxury. So when it came to marking his 45th birthday, the flamboyant tycoon was likely to treat his guests to an extravagant party.

Indeed, a tour of his latest construction — a $29 million (£15 million) affair in Manalapan, Florida, with glass staircases, fish swimming in the ceiling, indoor waterfalls and two wine cellars, one for red and one for white — proved a perfect start to the three-day celebration. Then came dinner and champagne at his beachfront estate near by.

But there was barely time for the maverick millionaire’s 55 guests to sleep off their hangovers before they were whisked away for the next phase of his $5,000-a-ticket birthday experience — a sobering trip to the festering slums of Haiti. The Tour of Extremes took them from Florida’s Palm Beach County — among the nation’s wealthiest communities — to Cité Soleil, the poorest suburb of the poorest city in the western hemisphere’s poorest country.

There, Mr McKinney has built more than 500 homes for 4,000 people living in abject poverty through his charity, Caring House Project Foundation. His guests’ ticket money will fund the construction of 55 more.

“It’s not everyone’s idea of a birthday, but it is mine,” he told The Times. “I’m a modern-day Robin Hood. Here I am providing property to the world’s most wealthy; should I not be providing it to the world’s poorest and homeless too?”

Mr McKinney, who started working life with $50 to his name and who now creates properties worth up to $135 million, is a regular on the motivational speaking circuit, giving tips on how to succeed in real estate.

A brazen self-promoter, he even sells $250 talking action figures of himself — in aid of his charity — which come complete with his trademark long blond hair and which spout his mantras: “Make it big!” and “Don’t let fear stop ya!” His favourite, though, is: “Be sure to share your blessings with others.”

With stomachs still groaning from their birthday banquet, Mr McKinney and his friends — largely business owners and real-estate entrepreneurs — toured the Haitian capital, Port-au-Prince, passing roadside stalls that sold cakes made of mud to fill the stomachs of the starving.

In Cité Soleil, a squalid shantytown where 300,000 people live without running water, electricity or sewage disposal, violent crime and gang wars are commonplace and few outsiders will enter without an armed United Nations escort. But to those he has helped there, Mr McKinney is known as “Bon Papa” and greeted as a hero.

“Here in the US, people miss one episode of Desperate Housewives and they have to go and see their therapist. In Haiti, they have so little yet they are a faith-filled and happy people — they are desperate, but also full of hope,” he said.

“When you take care of sustainable needs like housing and water, they flourish. It has an impact on generations, not just the here and now.”

Angel Aloma, executive director of Food for the Poor, a US charity whose feeding centres in Haiti have received thousands of tonnes of rice from Mr McKinney, said: “His contributions are nothing short of huge.”

In a final cultural twist, Mr McKinney and friends wound up their tour with a night at Haiti’s five-star Hotel Montana, where they ate birthday cake and partied to a calypso band.

“You can have maybe a handful of epiphanous moments in your life and the Tour of Extremes was one, for almost every one of those 55 people who came,” he said. “When they shared their reflections afterwards, not a single one mentioned the mansion or the hotel. They spoke about Haiti.”

Mr McKinney says that he takes his inspiration from “biblical wisdom”. A parable in the Gospel of Luke, is paraphrased into a personal motto: “To whom much is entrusted, much will be expected.”

I have to be honest: it was a little hard to look her in the eye when she was pouring out her heart to me. I felt weak, helpless, and I felt the sting of injustice in a whole new level; it was as if I was seeing my life for the first time from someone else’s perspective…and I was entirely uncomfortable.

Hero Holiday DR was over, and Vaden, myself, and three others had taken the long trek to the southern border with Haiti and now found ourselves in the middle of the poorest neighbourhood in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. The area was called Cite-Soleil, and my life was changed by what happened that day. As we crossed over the foot bridge that spanned over a river of deep black sludge, human waste, and rotting garbage, I held Vaden’s hand, and tried to imagine what a place like this could look like if it didn’t look like this. In truthfulness, it was a very difficult image to conjure up in that moment. As we walked up to the group of people staring at us, she caught my eye almost immediately.

Her name was Analiecia, and she looked so tired. Her eyes were sad, her hands weathered, and her clothes looked like they were doomed to be eternally filthy. She was a single mother of 7 kids, and but it was what she said when she looked me in the eye that struck me: “We have nothing and no one cares. We watch as our children starve to death in front of us, with no hope of feeding them enough to survive. Yesterday, 15 of us put our money together to buy one pound of rice between us for our families. Why does no one care?”

I had no answer for Analiecia, only the silent tears in my eyes as I bowed my head in recognition of her intense need. I didn’t even have money on myself, as we were too scared to come into this dangerous neighbourhood with anything of value, and I wondered what it would be like if, in that moment, her eyes were mine and mine were hers. What would I see differently? What would I view as important and worth giving my life for? What would I be willing to do for what I loved?

This past month I have spent many hours and days with incredible people in a very bizarre set of circumstances. With Hero Holiday, we have the privilege of leading Canadians on a journey of self-discovery and global awareness. Through the course of time that our trips take, I am always in awe of one thing more than anything else…Everytime I hand out food, or shoes, or reach out to a hand that needs to be pulled up, I am struck by one simple truth: there is nothing except birth that has separated my hands from theirs-my eyes see life from this view purely because of where I am born, and not because of anything I could have ever done to deserve it.

Analiecia’s eyes held mine that afternoon because they were eyes that reminded me to keep going, to keep believing that something can change, to keep joining hands with those who love the poor and reach out to the exploited.

Analiecia, your eyes have told me of deep truths that I needed to be reminded of and they have stirred a compassion that is not letting me sleep at night. I can’t not become a voice for you; I can’t not see your pain as my own. I can’t not want to be changed by what I now know.

Thank you, Analiecia for having the courage to look me in the eye. It was what I needed to realize that I need to look back into yours and recognize that which I can do to begin to change things for all of us.

“What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step.”
C.S. Lewis

I had seen him around the garbage dump for the past 2 years, but not thought much of it. There are a lot of faces that I see here every day that I come out to this place that has come to be a place of understanding, compassion, and friendship. Today, I saw past his scars on his eyes, past the sweat and grime, and heard the voice of the man who has impacted my life.

We pulled into the garbage dump with our team and were blown away by how much smoke there was; they were burning it off (no points for environmental friendliness there!) and wouldn’t officially allow any workers in. The dump here is huge and covers many acres of land. Normally there are about 50-60 workers picking bottles, scrounging for food and clothes, and just trying to survive. However, today, there were quietly about 7 men working behind one of the hills when we finally found them. Luke looked up from his work of trying to find some food for his family and waved when he saw me. He walked over and kissed me on the cheek. I asked him what was going on and he told me they were the only ones working today, as the rest were too scared to come for fear of the police being upset with them for being there and them being deported. Luke explained to us what that could look like for them: being immediately taken to the border and dumped off without anything to get you anywhere. Did I happen to mention that Luke himself has been here in Dominican Republic for 25 years, but because he is stateless, he has no protection for him or his family? The world can deny his existence, but after this, we know the truth.

Luke was a wealth of understanding for us as we sat on that hill and allowed understanding to direct our compassion, and today, in the middle of the stench of the garbage and the buzzing of the flies, Luke was our motivational speaker.

He spoke to us of what it is like to dream of educating your children, of being able to provide for your family, of feeling like you belong. He spoke to us of dreaming about the ability to afford simple necessities and of being treated as an equal. And then, Luke spoke to our hearts, as he told us that there is something different about the Hero Holiday groups that come out to this desolate garbage dump: they work alongside of them, and they make them feel valuable. He turned to me and told me that the workers at this garbage dump have come to value what we do to help them, and they trust us and want to welcome us into their world. Without knowing it, Luke spoke to the deep place in us that can often wonder if we are doing enough or if we are making any difference for them, and he reminded us that we have allowed them to know that they matter. Though the world may not know they exist, in our hearts and memories they are now a face, a smile, a hand stretched out to be embraced, and a dream to be cherished with hope for a better future.

Luke, the 34 year stateless Haitian man at the garbage dump has become my newest favorite motivational speaker. As I work alongside of him and the other 50+ people from his village at this garbage dump, I can only hope to make a difference, and today, Luke taught me that it starts with this simple kindness.

Thank you, Luke. I don’t know if you can even read or write, and I know you will never have the chance to read this brief tribute to who you are, but you have touched my life and sharpened my focus. You have allowed me the privilege to hear your story, and every day that I see you when I bring out the teams, I see your shy smile and am reminded of the depth of character that lies beneath.

I, too, believe in your dreams for a better tomorrow, and like you, I hope to see you succeed in all that you put your hands to. Your dreams deserve to be heard because you exist in our world, and we want to hear your voice.

My alarm went off this morning at 5:30. As I hauled my sad little pity-consumed body out of the bed at 5:45, I was focused on one thing: the cherub fluff.

A strange thing happened when Vaden and I got married 12 years ago: it’s like we created this whole other way of communicating that doesn’t involve the use of common terms. In fact, it more involves the continual referral to random moments that we have shared and found funny (only no one else would probably think so!), and one of those is the cherub fluff.

The cherub fluff concept came from me trying to describe to him why I wanted to really get aggressive with working out. The only way I could define it was by alluding to the fact that I kind of felt like the fluffy little cartoon-like, Michaelangelo-esque cherubs that were cute but slightly plump around the middle. So now, in true Vaden-fashion, whenever I reach for the cupcake or want to sleep in, he reminds me of my referral to my cherub fluff, and lets me know that if I am choosing to embrace it, I need to shut up about it, and if I am choosing to do something about it, I need to haul my ass out of bed…

Which leads me to why I am thinking about this. This morning, I took my multi-vitamin and my greens, and then I experienced the luxury of deciding what I was going to eat for breakfast. As I left for my office, I filled a mug full of coffee that I forgot is a luxury rather than a desperate morning ritual, and I jumped in my car that was given to me by some incredible friends and filled with diesel that I miraculously was able to pay for. As I walked down the stairs into our office, the truth hit me: my cherub fluff is a direct result of being rich and being able to indulge. For me, health is an option that I sometimes make fun of, and food is a luxury I get when I want it.

There is a crazy paradox that will always exist on the earth: the polarity of the rich and the poor. We are in a global crisis right now and all over the world, the crunch is being felt. For some, it is the huge hike in fuel prices that is causing them to have to re-think their family budget; for others, it means burying their four year old who just died of starvation. For all, it means we are inexplicably linked across the miles and barriers and held together in a precarious position as we wrestle through what it means to be a global community. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even know for certain where the best place is to start, but I know it has to start somewhere. I can’t sleep at night without the peace of knowing that at least I am doing something to contribute to the solution, rather than the problem.

We have decided that one of our solutions will be tightening things up and giving towards the orphans in the world. Vaden and I have chosen to support a children’s home, independent of anything else we do with Absolute. My actions have to be louder than my empty words. The food crisis is leaving many more orphans in the world, and we have to do something to intervene and leverage what we have.

Tomorrow, my alarm will go off at the same time, and I will have the same inner turmoil about not wanting to get up…and then…I will whisper a prayer of thanks that I have another day to be healthy and work to make a difference. Truly, I am rich.

By the way, as I am typing this, the great tribute to our pop culture is on the tv in the background: “What Not To Wear”. And as I see them handing the poor fashion victim a visa with $10,000 so that they can right the horrific injustice of poor taste once again, I am thinking, “I wonder how I would explain this tv show to my friends that live in the garbage dump in Dominican?”. Never mind-it would be too embarrassing to even try to explain it.

When we pulled up to his house, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I think that in my mind, someone who is 80 should look a certain way: tired, frail, contemplative…but not this dude. In his slippers, jeans and a great retro snowflake sweater, he marched down the front steps of his house, walked towards Vaden and I and grabbed our hands in a firm handshake. His eyes were bright blue, warm, and perceptive…I instantly loved him.

Gerrard lives in Glovertown, Newfoundland, and he has become another face and story in my ever-growing list of personal heroes. Along with his 50 year old Thai wife and his 15 year old son, Gerrard has traveled the world, lived among the poor, and helped to generate the resources to build over 650 wells to bring clean water to the villages where the wells were dug–all in the last 20 years! This man is definitely no slug: when he was 61, just before he met his wife (!) he decided to hitch hike across Australia and into Asia. While he was traveling, he found desperately poor mountain villages in remote India, and realized that if he didn’t do something, who would? So, in response to what he saw, he returned to Canada with his new wife and started H.A.V.E (Help a Village Effort). Through his own network, Gerrard organized fundraising walks, awareness events, and advocacy efforts for the people he had met who had no voice. Every year he would go out to the field with his family and see the projects, meet the people, and live among them for a few weeks, in order to better understand how they could be served.

On the coffee table in his house were some light reading material, such as Global Economics books, National Geographic, and Social Justice works. His organization this year has a goal of 200 wells, and the oversight of the project is all run from a little rickety photocopier, one late model computer, and a lot of passion!

People like Gerrard remind me that there is never a time to stop believing and dreaming; there is never a time to let go of hope and vision. As we sat in their small living room, I was humbled by his praise of what we did and feeling a little convicted of not doing more. Gerrard represents a remnant that I believe can become a wave of help, hope, and mercy, and he reminds me why we need to keep pushing forward.

Last year, on May 28, on my brother’s birthday, I wrote about losing him, and why the limp that I walk with has turned into something beautiful. It was May 27 that I met Gerrard, and as we were sitting in his living room, I thought about how much has happened this past year that has helped to shape and mould my life and perspective. When I watched Gerrard’s animated face as he described the people that he laboured to help, I thought of how much more of life there is to give away-that there is always another opportunity if we are willing to take it.

Thank you, Gerrard for who you are and what you have done. In this lifetime, you won’t fully know the lives that have been helped because of your kindness and compassion, but you can rest well each night knowing that you are doing your best. You have challenged me to get creative again and dream even bigger, and for that, I am eternally grateful!

I had the craziest dream last night. I dreamed there was this string attached to my tongue, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t pull the stupid thing out: it just kept growing and growing! Try as I might, it still kept coming.  I would cut it and keep pulling, but I could never get to the end of the source. Weird. Creepy, actually. I woke up thinking about this dream, and thinking that maybe I could learn something from it, or maybe I was thinking about something so much that I just dwelt on it the whole night in my subconcious.

I think I know what it is: it’s the longing for a do-over. You know what I mean: like when you are playing golf and you totally screw up the shot, you give yourself a do-over. Or when you are shooting hoops and you totally mess it up, you give yourself a do-over. Or if you are Christal, and you are playing tennis with your husband, you often serve the ball and then frustrate him because you beg for a do-over!

How much different would life be if we could all take a do-over every now and then? Like the ‘get out of jail free card’ in Monopoly-you don’t deserve it, but you get it anyways. There are countless moments in my life where I wish I could just snap my fingers and get a do-over: when my mouth runs away on me (daily), when I get busted for speeding (annually), when I forget an important appointment (weekly), when I wish I would have been wiser with my money (my whole life) or when I wish I could get the time back and have done something different with it.

However, a do-over only seems to exist in the pretend world. Life is about taking responsibility for my actions and determining who I choose to be no matter where I find myself. Sometimes I can beat myself up for hours or days, when I think about something stupid that I said or did. I can even blush when I recall something years later, because I just wish I could have done things differently. I am a public speaker. I am on a stage continually, and no matter how often I step up there, when I get down and walk away, there is that vulnerable moment where I wished I would have done something different, or I wonder what people are thinking. It can be emotional hell just wondering if you are going to be loved by the audience and if they are going to be affected by what you say. Many moments, walking down those steps and away from the platform, I wish for a do-over.

But alas, this is not reality. Do-overs only exist in childhood games and cheating golfers - it is not how life really works. In some ways, reality is better than make believe, because we can choose the do-over before it needs to be done. When I think about what the world would be like if we took this approach, it is a beautiful picture: slavery wouldn’t exist because people would have enough foresight to realize that exploitation in any form only causes deeper rooted problems the longer it is left unchecked. Injustice wouldn’t have the same weight, because we would realized that the only way for there to be true peace is by truth and justice.  The simplest of all acts, forgiveness, would eliminate wars and allow children to grow old.  And the greatest of gifts, friendship, would never be jeopardized, because we would realize that friends always choose to prefer each other and that love covers over a multitude of sins…

Today is Monday, and I just got back from an awesome early morning run with my friend, Nettie. I actually hauled myself out of bed and kept a commitment to something that I know I need to be doing. It feels good to be wide awake and not lying in bed, staring at the clock and wishing for a do-over.  At this time of the day, life can seem quite clearly laid out before you, and you can stay objective about what the day can hold. I wish that I was always this clear-headed, but I think it might be the caffeine that I am currently ingesting, to be honest with you!  The best part is that so far, I am not yet wishing for any do-overs…yet.

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!