13 Hours of Rain

I sat around a table surrounded by various church leaders in our city. There was mostly men present, a few women, and only one visible minority (that is, me). The pastor hosting the meeting welcomed us and showed us a video clip of a Lebanese pastor who, in spite of a small congregation, obeyed the call to assist 1,500 Syria refugee families. The command "Love your enemies" took on a real meaning as the congregation welcomed destitute person after destitute person. God equipped and provided in miraculous ways. The video clip was paused, and our host looked at us with conviction, "If they can welcome 1,500 families, we certainly can welcome a few." All of us nodded in agreement. I am pleased to confess that I was delightfully wrong. In Daunting {But Not Impossible} , I wondered if anyone in this corner of the prairies would ever be compelled to welcome refugee families to this city. I felt overwhelmed with the need across the ocean and wondered what in the world ...

It is quiet this morning. All of you are off to school. I am devoid of employment, again (November may be a zero pay cheque month). And I should do some housework. Yet I sit here, hearing the clickity-clack of my keyboard with a smile on my face. I. Am. Not. Busy. Busy. Our culture is way too busy. And any free time we have, we tend to spend in front of a screen (I'm guilty here). Times have changed. There are numerous ways that I can keep track of events at your school. Facebook. Twitter. You Tube. Website. School Newsletter. Teacher Newsletters. And a class blog. The sad thing is that many someones out there have to make sure that all the feeds, either virtual or real, are updated and kept consistent. Oh. My. Word. I guess I am more old fashion since I read only the paper updates and, yes, the class blog. Lately, I've encountered a few exhausted parents. Parents who are running all over this city or this corner of the prairies, transporting their children from here ...

Yesterday, I started to type out my family's genealogy, starting at my great-grandparents.  Within two minutes, I was frustrated -- frustrated over the lack of details including the absence of key names, dates and locations. Part of me wanted to give up and exclaim to you two children that, "Sorry, our genealogy begins with just your Nana and Nani. We'll build it from there!" Yet, my desire to continue prevailed, to somehow piece together the scanty details and display some sort of hodgepodge lineage. It seems like a frustratingly daunting task. I will try to complete it somehow. I once asked my parents why they have pathetic records in terms of their own family (I phrased it much more respectful than that). They explained that East-Indians usually don't keep such details, as it is considered intrusive and rude to ask your elders where you came from. Maybe I've become too "Western" but that seems like a ridiculous reason not to disclose your mother...