Peace Treatments

The first time some one suggested that I, as a white female settler person, experienced an inherent privilege, I was offended. My instinctual defensiveness rallied to assert that I came from a broken home, a violent home, certainly not a well-to-do cushy home.  The circumstances of my childhood and teen years led to poor choices, including substance use and not finishing school; for a period I was homeless - not roofless - but homeless nonetheless and unemployed and living off the good graces of family and friends.  How did that make me privileged? Several years later, when pondering my violent history in comparison to the violent histories of my First Nations female friends, I came to the conclusion that my whiteness lent my experience of violence and sexual abuse a different, more positive, more strengthened outcome. You see, in my case the violence and abuse were not systemic; I may have been caught in the quicksand of  familial violence and sexual abuse, but had unlimited, un

Was in an Alternative to Violence community circle not that long ago. Talk about a mixed crowd. Talk about a smack up the side of the head kind of learning experience. Talk about walking out of a room never quite the same. I met a woman who most would label a crack head. She told me a story about how when she was on the streets, one day she felt an overwhelming sadness and despair. She sat on the corner of Hastings and Main and cried and cried and cried, and people walked past. She said if just one person had of stopped and looked at her, seen her person hood and ask her how they could help, she would have felt like she was not so alone. She would not have attempted to take her life that day. Now many years later, she has found her purpose, and the love of another, is in recovery and struggling to recapture the dreams she once held, intentional about making them come true. I thanked her for honoring me, for letting me into her circle and telling me her story. From now on I will ste

This week things got ugly in Charlottesville, NC, less ugly in Boston and Quebec City, and only slightly ugly in Vancouver. All 3 cities had alt-right, white supremacist rallies, allegedly spurred by the removal of confederate and/or colonialist monuments (so then why the shouts against Jews?),  and immigration. These protests and counter-protests got me thinking about being white, about being an egalitarian white woman who "prides" herself on appreciating the diversity and uniqueness of each human she meets, regardless of where they were born or the colour of their skin. But is that true? Am I really that? Having been born in 1962, in a decidedly  WASP neighbourhood, my first recollection of "others" were the Italian new immigrant family that moved next door. While I played with Anna-Maria and her brother Joe,  I recall my step-father saying what seemed like mean things about their father, but as a 6 year old, had no grid for standing up to him or up for ot

She hears His voice He says she is dreaming That's not how God does things You have it all wrong Confused Second guessing Heart pressing In On old wounds She discerns a call He says she is wrong God doesn't call women And if He did it wouldn't be you Hurt Second guessing Heart pressing In On old angers She was a high school drop out, sexual assault survivor, who spent years in the healing trenches, living life severed and scared, but nonetheless Raised two children who are vibrant and life and love and laughter Built a career that gives and gives and gives Went  back to school the late bloomer that she is...becoming Completed graduate school Jumped before any nets appeared Intent on being an instrument of the sort that brings life Not much by way of grand accomplishments but something she cherishes nonetheless And yet... He's never read one of her papers, essays, short stories or poems. Has never said she looks pretty or that he thi

You ever get a single thought that pops into your head during the most mundane task, and suddenly you're downloading an entire theme seemingly out of no where?  This morning, while coiffing for church, the idea of a king's court popped into my head... followed by a barrage of thoughts that suggested today's present way of gathering for church emerged directly out of the king and court culture of Christendom, and beyond. Hope you can track with me here... Picture today's typical evangelical church.  There's a head pastor, surrounded by a team of associates, surrounded by a team of elders and/or board members, surrounded by a team of engaged, involved volunteers and supportive members, surrounded by church-goers, the common folk who remain, for the most part, relatively disengaged, more like spectators in an audience. Generally speaking, evangelicalism emerged out of the Reformation. Picture yesteryear's typical European  country where the Reformatio

I'm a silversmith. By hobby, not trade. By trade, I'm a conflict management specialist - coaching, training, facilitating reconciliation, mediating and just coming alongside people in conflict and out of conflict are what I like to do. And not just conflict as people think of it - disputes, fights and discord - but also the inner conflict that arises up within one's being from  adversity and trauma and other things that catch us off guard and unawares. So, what does silversmithing have to do with conflict - or adversity and other things that press in on us, for that matter? A lot actually - if you follow the metaphor. See the picture here? Those are rings that I made out of the raw plate silver that you see underneath them. Raw plate silver isn't very pretty. Nor does it have much of a purpose.  As plate, it just sort of sits there. But when I take a saw to it and cut it down or into patterns, then a hammer or a mallet to shape it into place, something

Nothing prepares you for the sudden realization that things don't always turn out the way you hoped, expected or thought you deserved. Nothing prepares you for loving a person for who they are one day, only to have to learn to love them all over again for who they are not, the next. Nothing prepares you for the unbearable idea of possibly loosing and grieving someone who is still alive, or the even more unbearable fear of wondering if they'll be alive when you come home from work today. Nothing prepares you for the utter and complete surprise of mental illness; for the chaos it brings to your marriage, for the pain of watching a loved one suffer, for the nasty voices in your own head that tell you it was your fault, for the fear and uncertainty. Maybe nothing prepares you but once you're in where you were never prepared to be, there might not be a way out, but there is a way to be there that isn't quite so  hard. At least sometimes. To sound cliche, welcome

Life has a way of whipping on past with barely a notice. That's what happened to 2016. Started the year with a new position in a new company, feeling sheepish to be going back to the marketplace, and now the year is gone. The sheepishness is too. Not sure what's replaced it though. This was a tough year. Not half as tough as it was for some of my loved ones, but tough enough. I lost an uncle.  That hurt, mostly because of what he represented to me...a safe loving male adult. Having not seen too many of those growing up, his was a special kind of role,  modeled well. He is well missed, and while I'm sad for my aunt and cousins, am happy for the surety that we will indeed see him again. I lost sight of a goal and a dream. That hurt, mostly because of what that represented to me...as one who has struggled all my life with starting and not finishing, was this just another abandoned "project"?  But I am realizing that timing for things like vocations, dreams, a