Politics and religion and the voice of the soul

A warning. This is unfinished. It is 1:25 am and I have to sleep. I just can't sleep when I'm stuck on something, and I've run amuck in knee deep mud pondering politics and religion which are off-topic at home in the interest of sanity and survival. If I don't post it, I won't finish it... so its out there...feel free to fix it for me. I'd love to stop the bleeding.

I am tired of politics. I am tired of religion. In the story in which we find ourselves, both are causes of deep sorrow and pain for me. We have become a nation so polarized--left vs. right, liberal against conservative, "Christians" pitted against non-Christians and against themselves over differences in beliefs--that it leaves scars on the soul. And I think maybe I'm not alone and it isn't just mine that bears the wounds...and I wonder...could this be the beginning of the end? Could the widening gap between the Us's and the Them's with the cacophony of hateful words and proliferation of falsehoods be eating away at the very soul of democracy like acid rain on the monuments of antiquity? I am angry, saddened, and bewildered.

I wonder what it means to be a proud American anymore. If it means drawing a line in the sand, taking a side, and using every measure at my disposal --fear, hate, and lies-- to beat down the other side over matters of faith or government, I want no part. No part. But the alternative to that can not be stepping aside and cowering in my own little world because to do nothing, say nothing in this time is participating by default.

The cerebral hemmorage I'm having now is how one, or a group of far more than one, builds the bridge that spans the divide. I think it starts with getting it out of the heads which are playing like scratched up records, stuck in stagnant ideas, and moving it to the hearts and the inner voices of one's soul. There is value in that voice, not just mine or yours or the people with money or power or in this group or that. The song of every human soul on this whirling blue ball is worthy of being heard.

La vie en rose

Sunday morning sunrise at Bethel Beach...

 ...no place I'd rather be.

 Noah woke me early and off we ran.

Looking for another sunrise as beautiful as the last.

Kiwi, kiwi, kiwi

Noah wants a full-time job as a kiwi picker.  He picked 2 5 gallon buckets full.
Sliced fresh kiwi. Kiwi through the juicer. Kiwi and yogurt smoothies. Kiwi popsicles...Help...How do you like your kiwi?

Thanksgiving coming soon...

It's Monday.
Thanksgiving is this week.
I am looking forward to hearing Rob Bell in Charlottesville although I haven't sorted out the logistics (Noah).
Today I get a CT scan of my head.  The idea of getting a head scan has me practically rolling and I am sure Noah's dad will feel the same when he finds out (which he will because I don't ask Noah to keep secrets). I am going to digress a moment. Sorry. A teacher who was helping Noah in 2nd grade once told me that Noah shared "a lot of information about your  (my) personal life." I just smiled. Whattaya do?
Undiagnosed pain is making me a little batty.
But...I am thankful for so many things this year.
Having friends for Thanksgiving, and my neighbor, Tom...who is a real character.
Turkey.
Dressing. Pecan pie. Gravy.
My friend Sarah is cooking with me.
I only really care about the gravy.
I've been trying to fix things in my house.
It is still a masterpiece, evolving... Big smiles.
Freedom. Love. Living Loved. Knowing that there are no boxes.
Smiles on Noah's face. The way he laughs when he is alone in a room.
And gravy...

Peace and Love and Happy Thanksgiving,
Krista

Much needed peace and joy

Noah and I did the One Night Without a Home this weekend. It was cold.

Then, we went to Virginia Beach to look at the waves...and go to the aquarium...and visit Animal Jungle...

                    Noah always strikes this pose in the fake nest...

We had a great weekend...

Awake too early...

Last night I made pumpkin rolls for what I hope is the last time this season and I had my first major screw-up...which was almost much worse than it ended up...when I poured the batter into the pans, I noticed that there wasn't enough for the third pan, so I had to pour it back... and add the sugar. It runs in the family. My mom has made pumpkin bread twice, leaving out the 6 2/3 cups of flour. She baked it like that (big smiles just remembering her telling me that it would have to stay my duty because hers didn't come out right). So my mistake was relatively minor, but one of the rolls just wouldn't roll after the filling had been put on--so I folded it in half and then rolled it. It's a reject, but will taste fine for family.

I have been awake since 3:30. I moved a heater to Noah's room. I made coffee (and drank most of the pot, so will have to make anew). I have a quiche in the oven for breakfast. The dogs have been let out.

The image in my head that tells me I need a break is there almost always these days. Everything that happens during the day has that as a backdrop.  I'm sitting on a big rock at a beach. It is a beautiful isolated beach. Sand, water, trees. I'm sitting on the rock and it is misty. Sky is grey with a touch of warmth at sunrise.  In my mind this beach is on a river somewhere...my brain doesn't read it as ocean. So, I'm just sitting there. I'm wearing an old wool sweater and crappy jeans. A few gulls dart over head. There is another rock a few paces away with another thinker sitting on it. I don't know who this person is...just a misty shape on the rock next to mine. We don't speak, but I somehow feel comforted by the presence of another and I really feel that deeply. And that is all it is. The image never changes.

I started seeing all this in my head sometime last year.  It's comforting, but I  can't help wondering why the beach isn't tropical, why am I dressed for winter weather, why can't I figure out who the other person is.  And the image is quite bizarre with these two side by side boulders. It reminds me of that stupid Cialis commercial with the two side by side bathtubs on the beach. I'll never get what message they are trying to send...I always think that a better image would be two people in the same tub.  I'm losing my mind, I think...or I just got up too early.

Youth Homelessness

This is in part a repeat of a post I wrote much earlier in the year, but I wanted to post it again as the weather gets cold. Its 58 degrees in my house as I write this...and it is cold enough. I hate even the thought of youth homelessness. The larger words are today's.
I get stuck on things sometimes. The brain just refuses to let go. This is one of those times.
How did I get there? It probably has something to do with the fact that we are really cold at my house some days. There are times when the temperature hovers in the mid forties. I tend to operate from the "it could always be worse" perspective. I like to think of it as chilly, not cold. We survive. We do have some heat, and we can get a few rooms alot warmer. We have heated mattress pads that wake me in a full sweat in the middle of the night when I forget to lower the temp. It isn't so bad.
I began to think of others who endure much colder weather. It isn't much of a leap. I work with kids daily. So runs the movie in my brain.
Homeless youth. If those two words don't make you cry, read them again. Homeless youth. Homeless youth.
There are an estimated 2 million homeless young people in America. 2 million. If you have a hard time visualizing that number, try this: the seating capacity at FedEx stadium is 91, 655. Nearly 22 stadiums filled to capacity, not with Redskins fans, but with our sons and daughters. It is unimaginable.
Unfathomable. Insane.
Eight homeless young people burned in a fire over the holidays in an abandoned warehouse in New Orleans' Ninth Ward. If it made national news, I certainly missed it. Burned beyond recognition, beyond even the identification of gender. If you don't believe it, google it.
I want to do something about homelessness. I want everyone to do something to end homelessness for our nation's youth. If a mosque and a synagogue can work together in Toronto to be part of a solution for homeless Canadian youth, can we not do the same?
Yes, there are organizations who are leading the way. Check out Dry Bones in Denver, and StandUp for Kids across the country. But, in these terrible, harrowing economic times that are putting families and kids on the streets daily, funding to support outreach also drys up. Staffed centers vanish.
2 million homeless youth. 2 million. Homeless Youth.
It isn't right.
Those homeless kids are not nameless. They are not faceless. They are part of Our family.
Peace and Love, K

I checked into Seton Youth Shelters in VA Beach today while doing some research on how to designate my charitable contribution with the Commonwealth of Virginia Campaign.  They've had amazing impact. What follows is a brief follow-up to my email.

Last year 31,766 youth were served through our two shelters, street outreach, mentoring and school based counseling programs!
Our two shelters provide a safe environment with intensive counseling for runaway and homeless youth ages 12 to 18 – 4,500 Days of shelter & counseling.
Street Outreach – 28,296 contacts with youth were provided via our mobile van and our drop-in center.
Mentors were matched with 103 children of prisoners – the average match is lasting 18 months and many have been sustained for more than 3 years.

StandUp for Kids-Hampton Roads Chapter is also doing some great work and is keeping the Crow's Nest at Seton Shelter open on Saturday nights for drop-ins in need of some pretty basic living supplies. StandUp Hampton Roads is all volunteer with no paid staff. If you could help out with donations, visit them on facebook.

Avalon in Williamsburg is also providing support to youth. They're also on fb, so check them out if you can.  Noah and I are participating next weekend in the One Night Without a Home event and will be sleeping in a box alongside a bunch of other caring box sleepers to both learn about and draw attention to this issue...which really should rock all of us to the core.

Peace and Love, K. 

Falling into Grace

A beautiful, thought inspiring passage from Adyashanti's Falling into Grace.

The great spiritual teacher Krishnamurti once said,

“When you teach a child that a bird is named ‘bird,’ the

child will never see the bird again.” What they’ll see is the

word “bird.” That’s what they’ll see and feel, and when

they look up in the sky and see that strange, winged being

take flight, they’ll forget that what is actually there is a

great mystery. They’ll forget that they really don’t know

what it is. They’ll forget that that thing flying through

the sky is beyond all words, that it’s an expression of the

immensity of life. It’s actually an extraordinary and wondrous

thing that flies through the sky. But as soon as we

name it, we think we know what it is. We see “bird,” and

we almost discount it. A “bird,” “cat,” “dog,” “human,”

“cup,” “chair,” “house,” “forest”—all of these things have

been given names, and all of these things lose some of

their natural aliveness once we name them. Of course

we need to learn these names and form concepts around

them, but if we start to believe that these names and all

of the concepts we form around them are real, then we’ve

begun the journey of becoming entranced by the world

of ideas.


The capacity to think and utilize language has a shadow

side that, if left unattended and used in an unwise way, can

cause us to suffer and experience unnecessary conflict with

one other. Because after all, that’s what thought does: It

separates. It classifies. It names. It divides. It explains. Again,

thought and language have a very useful aspect and they are

therefore very necessary things to develop. Evolution has

worked very hard to make sure that we have the capacity to

think coherently and rationally, or, in other words, to think

in ways that will ensure our survival. But when we look back

upon the world, we see that the very thing that has evolved

to help us survive has also become a form of imprisonment

for us. We’ve become trapped in a world of dreams, a world

in which we live primarily in our minds.


This is the dream world that is addressed by many

ancient spiritual teachings. When many of the old saints

and sages say, “Your world is a dream. You’re living in an

illusion,” they’re referring to this world of the mind and

the way we believe our thoughts about reality. When we

see the world through our thoughts, we stop experiencing

life as it really is and others as they really are. When I have

a thought about you, that’s something I’ve created. I’ve

turned you into an idea. In a certain sense, if I have an

idea about you that I believe, I’ve degraded you. I’ve made

you into something very small. This is the way of human

beings, this is what we do to each other.


Wow...

Peace and love, Krista

 

Grace

I awoke around 2 am, shoes still on my feet, glasses snarled in my hair, and my face pressed into the book I was reading when the long nights of baking pumpkin rolls finaly caught up with me. All is Grace. Brennan Manning's poignant memoir and most recent book. If you don't know Brennan Manning, go read The Ragamuffin Gospel, and then any of his others you might find. I am not going to give a full-blown review here. I'll just say his words have given me courage to live in grace more often than I could begin to detail.

In the last few months I have struggled so much with the honest expression of self that I've not been able to put a single meaningful word to print. One case of self-doubt after another, worried I'd offend or embarrass people who care about me, people I love very much, people who are embedded in my heart. But living unexpressed creates it own sense of shame, and that isn't the life I want to live.

So, for those about to read this, I want you to know from the start that I love you very much-just as you are-and I don't need you to embrace my spiritual or political views to walk in that love with me. I do need the wide open space to walk my own spiritual path, to be free to express it, and to be honest about who I am. 

This will just have to be the feeble beginings of my story.

On Easter Sunday I awoke prepared to go to the church I had been attending regularly for a little more than a year. In less time than it took to get dressed, I undressed, pulled shorts over a swimsuit, grabbed my eleven year old son, Noah, and our dog, Ariel, and headed to Bethel Beach, our little bit of heaven in rural Mathews County, Virginia. My husband, David, attended service without us.

If we had started that morning looking for God, I think I'd have to say that we found him everywhere--in the sunspeckled rippled water at low tide, in the call of the seagulls, in the sweet smell of the saltmarsh and in the sparkle of Noah's eyes as we danced and laughed and splashed. I felt blessed. I felt renewed. I felt loved.

What a beautiful Easter Sunday. I have yet to return to church.

David has never asked why I stopped attending, and I am profoundly thankful that he hasn't.  I still can't quite articulate the response. It has something to do with too many rules and rigidity, with the expectation that we all come to church for a singular truth. It has something to do with the views that there exists only one true interpretation of the Bible, that the Jesus club and heaven is exclusive beyond measure, and it has something to do with the idea that those of us who express faith differently will spend an eternity in hell. I don't even believe in the hell of the eternal fire and gnashing of teeth, but this line of thinking has a tendancy to get under my skin despite.

My core beliefs can be summed up in two short phrases: Grace is everything. Love wins. Beyond that, I believe that the Jesus message is bigger than the customary literal Biblical interpretation allows. I believe my best life is one lived out of compassion. Love first; understand later. I believe we are our brother's keepers and that loving our neighbors should have global implications and transcend race, religion, politics, cultural heritage and economy. Archbishop Desmond Tutu said it well "My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together."

Leaving church also has something to do with too much  fundamentalist-bent religion at home. To say that it has been difficult building a life with such opposing viewpoints is an understatement. But it is not without its tender moments and laughter at the insanity of it all. David is also a political conservative and I would have to say my political leanings are to the far left...so just imagine. We don't have many dull moments, but there are often long pauses when we dare not speak. Grace gets me through the tough times.

Life finds me at a time when I am unsure of where the path next turns.  There are times when I imagine finding the church with those wide open spaces where I would be free to journey and discover, where it is okay to be different, where there are neither rules nor boxes; where Noah could learn from multiple perspectives and feel loved and at home and at peace, wrapped in the blanket of grace, knowing, always knowing, that he is loved unconditionally.

There are also times when I feel an intense need to go on a long walkabout-- just pack up the Thoreau and go. But, I am a mother and an insulin dependant diabetic. I will stay at the job and the health insurance plan for now (and the job involves working with some amazing kids... it isn't half bad). Grace will find me where I am.

One piece of the puzzle for internal peace and happiness came suddenly into place on a drive home from work a few months ago. On the radio someone was talking about retirement savings. This is the point when my gut reaction is to turn the radio abpruptly off -- I have always thought "retirement" was far beyond my wallet. Suddenly a new plan came into focus. A blessing. I share this skeleton of a plan for the first time ever: A time will come when Noah is off at college and finding his own way in the world, and I will begin again to find mine... in poverty.  And I am excited about it! A sell-all and a move  to a place where I can be of service to someone who needs a hand, a chance to care for "the least of these." When the time comes, I feel confident that I will find just the right place/s. A long walkabout of service, perhaps. This is  is the piece that I am missing now. It is the "more" I think I've been needing all along. Grace will get me there.

In the meantime, I read, I contemplate, I learn, I teach, I do. Life is beautiful. There are many people who through their writing have helped me feel less crazy than I did awhile back: Brennan Manning whose sermons on grace and God's unconditional love sustain me, facebook friends and Divine Nobodies Jim Palmer and Donna Pratt Ridge who inspire honest self-expression (my apologies for not  yet  making the Divine Nobody call), Brian McLaren who always has something to teach me thru his wisdom packed books and daily blog, and my friend Bert White who writes so eloquently on Extravagant Grace  and provided an awesome reading list when it was really needed.

So this is just the begining. More to come. :)

Peace and love, K

Pumpkin Time

Pumpkin season starts Saturday which means that this is the week I lose my mind.  I made 12 pumpkin rolls over the weekend to get us a little bit ahead. It had been about a dozen years since I last made them with my friend Debbie. We said we would never ever in our lifetimes make them again...and we meant it. It was a mess. We had ended up covered in flour, dripping with pumpkin. Our hair was frosted with powdered sugar. The cakes stuck to the pan. They didn't roll up.  

It was 12 years ago and we both decided that no matter how many our baker could make, no matter how much she charged, we would never ever even think about doing it again.  And we didn't... until now. But here is where my story merges with someone else's and I'll just have to plead the the fifth. At least I have a system. It was mess free...at least as mess free as I get. They look good, taste great. I'll be the midnight pumpkin baker this year. 

I love the whole pumpkin season...hot cider, flannel shirts, painting pumpkins, hayrides, wandering thru the maze and picking sunflowers, watching little ones search for the magic pumpkin, and just hanging out at the farm and visiting with friends.  Pumpkin season also means that my house is a bigger mess than usual and we eat too many hot dogs and BBQs. There isn't time to cook anything that doesn't have pumpkin it and we are usually pretty much worn out by the end of the month. But, October 1-31 is full of magic.                                          

 Come visit the pumpkin farm

Pumpkin time friends, I'm looking forward to seeing you on the farm! Peace and love, Krista

Belmont Pumpkin Farm 

Colorado was beautiful

I haven't had a chance to go through the pics. My Nikon lens broke beyond repair while on vacation. Pics are scattered on phones and Noah's cam.

seeing seagulls

Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you.
All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding.

Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Fireworks

Here I am wide awake after a magnificent storm. I live in an old farm house with 19 windows and a metal roof. It's hard to sleep through a storm. Amazing tonight. The thunder is still rumbling around out there, but no more bolts of lightening and brightly lit skies. Part of me wishes the storm might have lingered just a little longer to keep me company for a bit.

Fireworks tonight were beautiful in Mathews. Worth every little drop of blood sucked up by the ravenous mosquitos. Yep, forgot the bug-spray...which was not a good thing on so many levels. My son will probably ask me about malaria tomorrow. I've already looked it up because "I don't know" is not an acceptable answer. Mosquitos carrying malaria were apparently found in Virginia in 2002. Nothing newer gleaned from a quick google search. He is okay. We will live.

The storm is back. I'm going out to enjoy it on the back porch. What a beaultiful evening...or maybe not. Lightening just shook my house. How can everyone else sleep through this?

Me

I like fireflies

and the feel of the sand rushing between my toes on the back of a receding wave.

I am a dreamer.

I question words.

I place blind faith in the cinematic masterpieces of the human heart.

I am not black or white.

I drench myself in gray, the sticky gray of duct tape left too long on the dashboard and

the serene gray pools of clay from which I rise like a phoenix, burning.  I am the light uplifting gray of a billowy cloud lit from within...by fireflies.

I take my heaven with cream and sugar in the here and now.

Heaven is my son spinning round and laughing as we splash on an empty beach.

Heaven is the sparkle in his eye.

Heaven is the smile on the Dalai Lama's face in that photograph I can't forget.

I like fireflies and the scent of moonflowers.

I am a dreamer.

I am humbled by love and grace.

I am an outsider.

My peace is knowing my song.

My peace also comes in the stillness while listening for your song, longing for the symphony.
Interrupted by thunder clasps and rain dancing on metal roofs, the melody unfolds.
It's the swallow's song and the whistle of the wind through the leaves.
Heaven is the song that surrounds our days.
I like fireflies and the sweet smell of moonflowers and sand rushing between my toes;

Cool water over my feet, the song of the ocean in a seashell and the sparkle in His eyes.

Hooray for 4-H Camp!

I am so looking forward to camp...even though prepartation has had its moments. I've had no wake-me-up-in-a-cold-sweat  pre-camp dreams this year. What a blessing. Maybe its that I've been too busy worrying about so much else. I am looking forward to helping a few kids chase dreams, looking out for the I feel so accomplished, I can't help but SMILE smiles, and just enjoying the 4-H moments.

This picture shows two of my favorite camp ladies, Megan and Lauren, who help me smile when days are tough.

Find a camp. I love 4-H camp, but any camp will do. Volunteer. Make a difference. Send your kids. Send someone else's kids. Watch them grow. Camp is wonderful. Camp = no regrets.

Peace and love, Krista

Memorial Day

On Memorial Day I pull out a now 65 year old poem that my grandmother wrote to my grandfather while he was overseas in WWII. It's handwritten on old war-time airmail paper, and something about the lightness of the paper and the beauty of her words just wraps me tight in their love story. I thought I might share it, but I am really not ready to let this one go.
My grandfather died in 1992. I miss him so.

Today's book

Shame, the belief that God regrets creating you, is like a weather pattern that descends upon a mountain. I once believed I was the weather. Turns out, I'm the mountain. -Ian Morgan Cron, Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me: A Memoir...of Sorts.

What a great read. But now, I need something new. I just got this book today.
Thinking about a kindle or a nook, but wondering if the breaks in between book arrivals or the mad dashes into BN might be necessary for adequate sleep and sanity. I can't quite imagine myself with such easy access. I could be dangerous.

Yeah, she loves him like that...

...and so do I.

New glasses

My new glasses arrived in the mail today.
I can see clearly. It isn't that the prescription changed. I am hard on things. The old ones are scratched, blurry.
I put the new ones on and the world came into focus.
I often wonder what it might be like to try on "new glasses" for the soul.
What would that be like?
How might my blurry world change?
Sometimes I find myself hanging onto the scratched up, blurry pair--the ones that should have been tossed with last week's garbage.
Why do I do that?
I wonder what I might be missing. What is soft that should be crisp? What is hazy that should be brilliant?
hmmm... it's like contemplating inaudible melodies.
Time to relax. Everyone is sleeping, including the dogs...and hopefully they mosquitos. I'm going to find the red wine, and then wear the new glasses to watch the fireflies dance.
Peace and love, Krista

Just another magic Monday

It suddenly hit me today that I'm doing better at dealing with stress. I am laughing more.
Noah woke up screaming in pain over the volcano that was about to erupt in his mouth. Just behind the last molar, the smoking volcano lurked ready to spew forth pus or a tooth, but I couldn't tell which...so I sent him to school on ibuprophen with a note that said it was okay to give him another dose in the event I couldn't set up a dental appointment...and I went to work as usual...and didn't feel too bad about it.
I made the appointment. He has the best dentist anywhere. We've always been able to get in to see him, there has never, ever been a wait...not even for 5 minutes...even when I am 20 minutes early. I digress...
At work we have 50 million things going on. I could list them all out, but I don't have time for that...but there are 50 million things and now I have to leave early to get Noah to the volcanologist. And you'll never guess what happens...My bra breaks...and it is not just a little strappy problem, but the whole thing just splits in half...well in half on one side! So I have to go out to my car and rummage for a sweater on the most beautiful day yet. I actually was pretty certain I'd find another bra in there--you should see my car--but I came up empty handed. So I had to put on an extra sweater. Mondays make me smile.
I stopped home to change before I picked up Noah.  When I left the house, D. was trying to screw our cabinet/shelving system back into the wall in the kitchen because the whole thing was about to just fall off. I had the presence of mind to remove my favorite bowl from the loaded shelves before I left. I told him he could prop it up with a 2" x 4". I really wouldn't mind.
The dental appointment was smooth sailing. Dr. Huey and his office are wonderful. We are waiting on a 12 year old molar. Back at the office Jackie and I had been wondering if it was an early wisdom tooth. Shows how much I know.
Noah and I went back to the office. We had a 4-H meeting tonight. That's when Noah discovered the skink stuck on a glue trap that had been left for cockroaches. I freaked. It was still alive. I almost cried. Noah was determined to save it. It looked so pointless. My heart was racing. He just wanted it to be free before it died. He carefully lifted each tiny part, covering the glue with paper as he went along to keep it from re-sticking. It took a very long time. 'Lucky' is recuperating with us at home. Noah wants to make sure he is fit to take care of himself. We've raised alota lizards.  I love my boy. I am proud of him. He helped me make it through Monday, and that is a blessing all by itself. -Peace and Love, Krista

Photos of my Noah.

Swinging after piano lessons

Fun at the skate park even though we forgot the board

I'll go to your 4-H program if you razor with me...

Classic Noah on Super Moon day

Super Moon day at Bethel Beach

At first we were alone, but just before sunset the cars came rolling in. In Mathews, Super Moon is something to celebrate.

Obama on his faith journey at the National Prayer Breakfast

Video of President Obama at the National Prayer Breakfast on February 3, 2011.

Prayer is...

"Prayer is a nonlocative, nongeographic space that one enters at one's own peril, for it houses God during those few moments of one's presence there, and what is there will most surely change everything that comes into it. Prayer, its opal walls polished to transparency by the centuries of hands that have touched them, is the Tabernacle realized and the wayside chapel utilized. Ever traveling as we travel, moving as we move, prayer grips like home, until the heart belongs nowhere else and the body can scarcely function apart from them both. Prayer is dangerous and the entrance way to wholeness."



PHYLLIS TICKLE, Prayer Is a Place

I like this quote. What do you think?
Peace and Love, Krista

InsideToronto Article: Mosque, synagogue unite in effort to feed homeless youth

InsideToronto Article: Mosque, synagogue unite in effort to feed homeless youth

I found this article while trying to find information on how I might be able to assist homeless youth  anywhere within driving distance from my little town in Virginia. 

I get stuck on things sometimes. The brain just refuses to let go.  This is one of those times.

How did I get there? It probably has something to do with the fact that we are really cold at my house some days. There are times when the temperature hovers in the mid forties. I tend to operate from the "it could always be worse" perspective. I like to think of it as chilly, not cold. We survive. We do have some heat, and we can get a few rooms alot warmer. We have heated  mattress pads that wake me in a full sweat in the middle of the night when I forget to lower the temp. It isn't so bad.

I began to think of others who endure much colder weather. It isn't much of a leap. I work with kids daily. So runs the movie in my brain.

Homeless youth. If those two words don't make you cry, read them again. Homeless youth. Homeless youth.

There are an estimated 2 million homeless young people in America. 2 million. If you have a hard time visualizing that number, try this: the seating capacity at FedEx stadium is 91, 655.  Nearly 22 stadiums filled to capacity, not with Redskins fans, but with our sons and daughters. It is unimaginable.

Unfathomable. Insane.

Eight homeless young people burned in a fire over the holidays in an abandoned warehouse in New Orleans' Ninth Ward. If it made national news, I certainly missed it. Burned beyond recognition, beyond even the identification of gender. If you don't believe it, google it.

I want to do something about homelessness. I want everyone to do something to end homelessness for our nation's youth. If a mosque and a synagogue can work together in Toronto to be part of a solution for homeless Canadian youth, can we not do the same?

Yes, there are organizations who are leading the way. Check out Dry Bones in Denver, and StandUp for Kids across the country.  But, in these terrible, harrowing economic times that are putting families and kids on the streets daily, funding to support outreach also drys up. Staffed centers vanish.

2 million homeless youth. 2 million. Homeless Youth.

It isn't right.

Those homeless kids are not nameless.  They are not faceless. They are part of Our family.

Peace and Love, K
(I will update this when I sort out what I am going to do)

New Year

Happy New Year. May the new year find you filled with wonder as you gaze upon nature's incredible beauty ...whether it be a snowy afternoon, a starlit sky, or the simple ripples on a sparkling pond after skipping stones. May you have peace in your heart, and generosity in spirit. Let dreams soar, and face challenge with courage. Remember that Love always wins. -K

Some of my favorite pics from the last week: