Magpie Musings

The Oasis Game

2011-01-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

Our Triple Win Network Meetings are always good, but this week? It was great!

The speakers were two young kids from Youth Initiatives Program out of Sweden, and they told us about a project that involves something called the Oasis Game.

Now these guys are committed to creating positive interaction in the world, and so they go to places where there is a need and they assemble the people.

But instead of asking them what the problem is or what they need, they ask the people what dreams they have for their community.

One project comes out of the answers. The YIP boys facilitate, so they state the rules. In completing the project, only the resources from the village can be used. Nothing can be solicited from outside the community.

The projects vary from erecting playgrounds and revamping schools to building bridges to replace those destroyed by floods. The participants have a time limit (5-7 days) to complete their project.

"The amazing thing is," said Peter, "it works every single time."

Jesus once said,(and I'm paraphrasing) "If you think something, you have already done it." The Youth Initiatives Program proves it over and over again.

Froggie in the milk barrel

2010-03-02T19:31:00.000-08:00

Wow. Time is flying by and I feel like the frog in the milk barrel.

You know the story. He fell into a big barrel three quarters full of milk and couldn't get any purchase to climb out. All he could do was swim around and around. But he didn't give up or quit, he just kept kicking and splashing, wondering how in the world he was ever going to get out. It seemed pretty hopeless. The barrel was big and he was very small. So he just did the only thing he could think of to do, he just kept swimming.

That's me right now--just putting one foot in front of the other, feeling overwhelmed and under-prepared, just moving forward to the best of my ability which doesn't feel like much under the circumstances. Three major projects require my full attention, and then there's the house, dinner prep everyday, and the writing I'm not getting done. And commitments to family and friends.

I remember reading Marcus Aurelius years ago, and being astounded when he wrote that we should not ever say we don't have time for someone or some thing. We should simply have confidence that of course we have time. A man who ruled an empire,who had a million constraints and claims on his time. And here I am worried about writing an essay, catching up the bookkeeping, preparing a presentation, and keeping clean sox and underwear in the drawers. It kinda puts things in perspective.

So like the frog, I'll just keep swimming, just keep going through the motions, pretending I'm confident it will all turn out.

What happened to the frog? He swam around so long, he churned that milk into butter and hopped right out on top. I only hope I have a similar landing!

Invictus

2010-01-02T11:17:00.000-08:00

This is a powerful movie and as a writer, more specifically, a poet, as I watched the movie, I found myself becoming afraid. No, I wasn't afraid for Nelson Mandela, the courageous man who spent more than 20 years in prison, and was finally freed and became the democratic leader of South Africa. Nor was I afraid for Francois Pienar, the captain of the Springboks rugby team. I was afraid for me.

The movie is fairly fast-paced and there is a lot of suspense, which Eastwood is a master of. But what I found most fascinating about the movie was the fact that a poem written over a hundred years ago resonated so strongly with Nelson Mandela that it inspired him to not just survive, but to excell in his captivity. As a poet, I wondered, could I ever write such a poem?

When I got home, I looked up the author of the poem "Invictus", which the movie is named from. I learned that the author, William Ernest Henley, knew about challenges. He was born in 1849 and contracted tuberculosis. By the time he was sixteen, he had his leg amputated just below the knee. When he was 18 his father died, and Henley, who had just written his exams had to give up his education.

This poem that inspired Mandela to keep his vision of a free and democrratic South Africa alive, that inspired him to maintain a strong spirit in spite of physical deprivation and mental and physical suffering,
this poem was written while Henley was confined to hospital for two years. He was young--just 26 at the time.

The poem makes no allowance for self-pity or blaming others. It makes no allowance for caving in or giving up. It was written from the depths of despair in a show of strength and courage, and that is why the words, the thoughts expressed were able to consistently inspire another man in a desperate situation.

So I wonder, I have to ask myself, have I lived the kind of life that would enable me to write such a poem? have I been true to myself? to my convictions? True enough that I could write the words that someone hundreds of years hence could find sustenance and peace no matter what their circumstances?

I really don't know the answer. Only time will tell.

This is for you, Frank

2009-12-30T09:42:00.000-08:00

It was late when I returned my daughter, Sue's phone call. Her roommate, Brandie had left me a message saying that Frank was not doing well.

Frank had been suffering from cancer for over a year, and the hip replacement necessitated by the crumbling of the bones that formed his hip socket, had not gone well. Hardly surprising, since he was still taking chemotherapy. Frank and Sue had been a couple, living together for a number of years before the relationship stale-mated. They had remained friends, and Sue and her friends had been Frank’s support system after he stopped in at the hospital for tests one day, and three weeks later, found himself still there. He had been home recently, and Sue had left our Christmas celebrations here early Christmas Day to make sure she could have Christmas Dinner with Frank on the Island.

I dialled her number.

“Hi, Mom,” her voice had an adrenalin edge, a self-imposed will to keep going in spite of exhaustion.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Frank left us today.”

A collage of images swept through my mind: Frank making jokes in Sooke in a little roadside cafe with Sue, my husband and I; Sue and Frank chatting with Sue’s uncles at a family gathering in Revelstoke; Frank lighting the fireplace, smoke billowing out into the living room in their house in Saanich, the three of us collapsing in laughter; Frank at our old house, discussing a rewiring project. But most of all, I remember Frank at a Beach party in Metchosin, relaxed and cheerful, Sue looking calm and happy. He called me “Mom” right up to the end.

His passing was unexpected, triggered by a stroke. He died in hospice, holding Sue’s hand, surrounded by friends.

This is for you, Frank, from one whose heart you touched and warmed. Safe journey, my friend.

volunteers can create powerful change...

2009-12-25T14:39:00.000-08:00

Christmas cards don't have to be fancy to touch your heart. Take the hand-drawn picture of a tree we recieved from a first-grader in Ghana. The card features a tree inside, a tree growing in a grassy mound. The tree has no leaves, and the branches are all severed at a certain point. Each bare branch is topped with a circle, which perhaps represents Christmas ornaments. Beside the tree, he has drawn a book. The drawings are striking in their simplicity.
This child has someone, perhaps a volunteer who writes for him. I say this because I do not think it was the child who wrote "Happy Christmas" across the front with felt pen. Surely a grade one child would not have the foresight to enclose the Christian Children's fund catalog page with a picture of five baby chicks. I have often wondered if the family would prefer a goat or chickens or mosquito nets. I now know what this family needs, and thanks to that volunteer, and a pencil-crayon card, the child will soon be chasing, feeding and petting chickens.