A quinoa moment.

As I'm sorting through the accumulation of five years of my fairly rural New York life, I'm experiencing an odd sense of weakness, relief, and new strength. I walked to my favourite coffee shop this morning, and on the way was recognized by one of the refugees I had taken on an appointment. It was a gentle reminder of what I'm taking away from this year - I'm leaving Buffalo, but it is Burma I will miss. Seeing the people that only last year I had no idea existed, now walking past me with waves and smiles, is a balm that staunches any building bitterness towards my old workplace.

It certainly doesn't take a week to pack a car with stuff, as the American border guard reminded me, but it does take a week (or more) to say goodbye. At least for myself. Even when we moved houses 10 minutes south from the location of my childhood, I needed to mourn the shift in my life. Leaving Buffalo is more than just ending a hard year, it is also moving on from 5 years of friendships, discoveries, questions, college lessons and city lessons. I don't want my exhaustion to turn into cynicism against the huge transformations that my time here has given me. Having this last week has been an unexpected blessing. I did not think that returning to the place that had drained me emotionally, spiritually, and physically would also be the place that offered some healing and new perspective.

There is a video made of my sister's wedding showing some short clips of the details that we had collected - the 'well-wishes & prayers' antique box, the Playmobil characters on the coconut cake, the multitude of mason jars with pretty ribbons. All of these details were like our other guests; they too helped create the atmosphere of simple celebration, beauty, and fellowship.

As I spend this week without any expectations or nagging responsibilities, I can feel my energy slowly returning, infusing my mind with a positive outlook, making my hands look for work and my spirit hunger anew for truth and understanding. As I let go of the guilt so strongly associated with my service in Buffalo, I realize how many details I've missed. I made a batch of quinoa today, and as I rinsed away the bitter coating that encases the tiny grains, I sunk my hands deep into the gritty mess just for the fun of it. Just as the details in Ali's wedding were significant to the atmosphere and the memories, the same is true in my daily life. I hope and pray that as I enter my new living quarters, my new school, my new community, I am able to live out this lesson with humour and grace.

As I lingered over my 'quinoa moment', I felt like I was washing away my old attitude and replacing it with simple joy. Perhaps this is what Christ wants us to experience in an even deeper way - washing away our bitterness, our exhaustion, our sins, to see the details of His grace again.

Canucks, Christ, and running with the saints.

Possibly because this year has been too heavy to process normally, I find myself living cathartically through the Canucks. And there are some valuable life lessons to be had. My emotions run alongside their need to rise above degrading circumstances, to be supported by their fans, and to celebrate small goals while in pursuit of the real victory. What would hockey be without the energy of a united front of people? Hockey, like any sport, is much more than physical talent. It takes character, hope and a strong spirit, and this is why affirmation is so important.

In my journey to become a competent, independent adult (will it ever happen?) I've begun to see how critical the church and fellowship are in creating a strong woman out of me. I've lost some confidence this year, missing my college years of receiving grades, encouragement from professors, and constant Christian fellowship. Where is my affirmation now? It is promised to come from the church - our fellowship is more than worship to God, it is also His calling on us to 'run the race well' together, to affirm each other.

I really believe we downplay the role of affirmation in the Christian worldview. It is easy to train ourselves to refuse admiration or encouragement in order to avoid pride, or that being a servant of Christ somehow means we never need praise. I've struggled with this need for affirmation my whole life... for silly reason like wanting to be in the spotlight, and for deep reasons like wondering if my life-work has any purpose. The words in Hebrews and Romans offer some comfort and clarity.

"...but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance; character; and character, hope." (Romans 5:3)

"And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds..."

"So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere..."

"But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved." (Hebrews 10: 24;35;39)

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."(Hebrews 12:1)

For the Canucks, I like to think that we are a 'cloud of witnesses'; a source of affirmation with our extravagant car decals, our painted faces, and our enthusiastic white flags. And it's something I so desperately need in my life - to be affirmed, to see the mysterious cloud of witnesses that are cheering for my perseverance and hope.

When I look at the Canucks, I see myself. I see how easy it is to lose confidence, to be criticized, to have no explanation. But what I want to see prevail, in the Canucks and in myself, is a character of integrity. To 'throw off what hinders'. To play the game well. I want the Canucks to win the Cup not just so we have a reason to party, but that it would be a celebration of good character prevailing through the long, hard road.

While the hockey season will end, and the Cup will continue to be available to win, and the fans will continue to jump on and off the bandwagon, our own lives are not so cut and dry. We don't have a timeline of games, of minutes left to persevere until the timer goes. There is no way of knowing when the next victory will be. But there is a cloud of witnesses. There is affirmation to be had. There is a holy promise. And it is worth our suffering and (seemingly misplaced) confidence.

Run with the saints.