Adjustin

Justin is a buddy I met through Choices, which is a whole other blog post. He's the one on the left. All of these boys got tight (and a wee bit foolish ; ), but Justin and I have remained close and I thank God for that. Justin's raw, honest, smart and seeking. And his questions and his honesty constantly challenge me. Recently I've been challenged to ask & answer some questions I've had all my life, and didn't realize it till Justin asked it. Thanks fella.

PleaZant Surprise

I have a friend, a good friend. His name is Isheanesu Charumbira. In greeting I often revel in his strong surname with a hearty "Mr. CharumBIRa". I enjoy his last name because it embodies the strength of a man raised by strong, Godly parents in the ravaged country of Zimbabwe. I have shared laughs, sorrows and true Godly fellowship with my Zim brother.
He recently moved to Ontario. It was in a rush, so I never really spent much time thinking about it. Then, a week later, he walked into my workplace unannounced. I'll never forget the joy I felt at seeing my friend again. I realized at that moment how great a friend he is and how much I'll miss him. It was a fleeting experience (I was in the middle of a staff meeting, and he was on his way to the airport having flown in for the day to clear up unfinished business), but it was a powerful one. Epiphanies usually don't last long. But this one lasted long enough for me to cherish it. Cherish yours.

Mums

For me, this past weekend was a blessing because I could reflect on the strength and love of a mother. In particular mine... and hers. My mum got an award for the best school administrator in Canada and her mum's sporting a cute short hairdo and her angelic smile, despite recovering from a nasty fall.
But deeper than that, I believe that if we didn't have mothers, we'd never quite understand the love of Christ. It's a determined love, a tenacious love. It doesn't matter how much we reject, berate or hurt them. They'll always return; tenacious, scarred and bleeding, with arms open wide.
To Grama and Mom...Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.....

Friend of Wit and Whimsy

Hilary inspires me. For two reasons. First, she's set a big goal and is currently smack-dab in the centre of achieving it. She's a historian, doing original research on the effects of the atom bomb... in Japan. That's her above (on the right ; ) under the world-famous cherry blossoms.

Hilary also inspires with her stories and staggering use of the English language. All the stories she tells should be posted somewhere online so that everyone can listen to them. Her ability to draw hilarious details out of mundane occurences is a constant source of joy and cackles for me and her friends.

Soldier on Hil, thanks for sharing your pictures, your laughs...And your inspiration.














More inspiration from Hilary's lens.


This picture is here simply because I like the older man's face. I'd love to look like that in old age.

True Canadian Home

Yes it's true, Canadian's DO live in igloos. My Pops and I recently built one using a handy contraption pictured above. After many hours of packing sugar-like snow (the most difficult to use), this 8-ft beauty was ready to be slept in. I did that very night (we fashioned a door "flap" from an old rug) and nicely endured -15 C temperatures. Pops is starting on a second one soon, this one will be larger and have a deeper base so that we can build a trench in the centre which will have the door at the end. This way, you'll sleep above the trench on either side inside and all the cold air will escape out the door and the hot air will be trapped inside the dome itself. It was truly a blessing to awake that frigid morning knowing that I was probably one of the only white men in all the world who slept in an igloo that night!

Pops

If all the men in this world had a father like mine, here's how it would be different.

Boys would grow up secure, knowing that Pops will teach him, praise him, never leave him.
Young men would venture out confident, knowing that Pops will cheer him, coach him, always enlighten him.
Men would wrap a wife and children in love, pledging that he will comfort them, entertain them, always sustain them.

And the world would be blessed, as am I.

Grampa

My Sailor. My Popeye. The strength, the tatoos, mementos of a vanquished foe and past. The twinkle that becomes a sparkle, then quickly disguies itself as a deadpan face for a dead-on delivery of mirth and mayhem. He sacrificed, endured and continues to endure trials, so that I may live and live better. And I WILL.