DON'T QUIT!

Being in Edmonton on a Sunday gave me a chance to worship at a different church. Sometimes the change in scenery is good because it's easy to start feeling that there's only one way of spiritual feeding. J, D and I went to City Centre Church, an abandoned movie theatre in the heart of downtown Edmonton converted into a sanctuary. Elements were familiar: good worship band, coffee break, gifted communicators, communion. Some things that were unique: live webcam feed from one of their missionaries in Slovakia, a backpack drive for the upcoming school year. But, the thing that touched me the most was this...


From "Facing The Giants"

GOOD BYE, OLD FRIEND...

Almost eight years, one masters degree, numerous digital pianos carted to happy customers, countless trips to mountains and hills of various heights, one big accident, 275,000 kms and many hours risking getting crushed by her underbelly, I bid a good friend farewell. Good bye EL.

Hello TSX.

CLOSE ENCOUNTER OF THE SECOND KIND

It was the second long ride of the season. I relished the break at my usual turn-around point, the little hamlet of Bragg Creek. I slowly savored the Triple Threat Power Bar and washed it down with the still-cold water from my bottle, while sitting at my usual picnic table. The town was just getting up as the Chinese lady wheeled out the decorated horse in front of her Ice Cream Shop.

For some reason, the ride back always seems faster, which is a good thing, because it's on the way back that my sore legs and butt do their most protesting. I'm getting into a good cadence, contemplating whether or not to get into Aero position.

A brown blur, hidden in the grass, scurries in my peripheral vision.

There are some leftover shards of nuts in my mouth and I play with them a bit before dry swallowing them. I think they're remnant nut bits; could be unfortunate bugs for all I know.

Now the brown blur emerges. I can't believe my eyes: it's a brown bear! It's clearly not an adult bear, but certainly not small by any means. And he's crossing the road from the opposite shoulder, dashing over to my side.

At that moment, I am all reflex. It doesn't seem like I'm processing any of my thoughts, but the fact that I can write it down now means that I did have them. As it approaches, it doesn't appear to be aiming at me, but it does appear a little agitated as if it were lost. I am not that used to the gearing system on my road bike but, somehow, I remember how to gear down. I am slow enough that I can clip out, but then I have to make a decision. Do I ditch the bike and try to outrun it? Or stay clipped in and try to outride it? Retrospectively, staying on the bike seemed to be a better option because I realize now that I probably couldn't have run very fast on hard-soled cycling shoes.

The bear cub crosses my path less than 5 feet away. He scurries pass and ducks underneath the barb wire fence beside the shoulder.

Relief doesn't set in yet, though I'm staring at the vanishing bear in awe. It's been pounded into me that, in bear country, when there is a cub brown bear present, momma bear isn't that far away. I'm now scanning both sides of the road erratically, all the while trying to build up my cadence again for a quick get away. After about 5 minutes of sprinting, I'm convinced that I will only have one bear encounter today.

I've always told people that I've never seen a wild bear before and I prefer it that way. Every year, more than a few hikers and bikers are killed by bears here, so the dangers are real. Now that I'm safely back on my patio, blogging, I can say that this was just an indescribably amazing experience, to see an uncaged bear that close. I had no bear spray, nothing to protect me should that bear have decided that I was its next meal. I think the feeling of that vulnerability is what is magnifying that experience for me.

ADVENTURES IN MOVING

It's summer time. It's a good time to move and, with the Calgary housing market cooling down a bit, a few of my friends are moving. I believe that helping someone to move is one very practical way of serving others.

So, after much tortuous indecision, S finally took the plunge and bought himself a townhouse on the edge of town. It couldn't have been a nicer day to move, as there was a break from the heat wave Calgary has been enduring. It just so happens that, a few days later, I had committed to help out with another move. This time, it was for a senior lady that I didn't know, but which was arranged through the church who often spearheads emergency moves of endangered women into shelters. Having done two moves in less than a week, I have discovered some muscles that have been recently neglected and they let me know with much enthusiasm that they were still there.

By all accounts, one would think that moving S, a single bachelor guy, might be more challenging. Guys typically don't pack very well, if at all. Plus, in an effort to save some money, he opted with the cargo van from U-haul. But, everything fit and it only took us one trip, a relatively painless move.

The move for F was not so painless. She had nothing packed and what was packed was done so rather inefficiently: half empty boxes, some boxes that were extremely heavy while others were extremely light, and all the small items were in the doorway leaving us with no choice but to pack the little things first before getting to the large items. As well, she had some paranoia about having the bed disassembled, so we had to move the frame as is. The U-haul van used for this move was a 14' truck, more than twice as large as the cargo van. By looking at everything she had, I was worried that there wouldn't be enough room. And it wasn't the physical labour that grieved me most about the move. IT WAS THE FACT THAT SHE HADN'T DUSTED HER PLACE IN 8 YEARS. I'm typically not allergic to dust, but very shortly, I was sneezing and my nose was sprinting. The walnut cabinet where the TV sat was the worst: the dark brown shelving plank was solid white with a layers and layers of dust. I believe I now know the worst way that anyone can die, and that is suffocation by dust.

Anyways, this doesn't deter me from wanting to serve this way. It was just interesting contrasting the 2 moves. In fact, I am loving this "manual labour" thing so much that, from October 20 to November 12, I will be going to Masoyi, Mpumalanga (about 200 km east of Johannesburg in South Africa) to assist Hands At Work in building a new facility.