I have a scratched up record that has been played so many times it no longer works but I can’t seem to throw it out. Snoopy’s Christmas is still one of my favourite songs.

The song was a hit for the Royal Guardsmen in 1967 and it’s about how Snoopy had to go out and fight the Red Baron on Christmas Eve but the two enemies set aside their differences for that night. In the end, they share a holiday toast and then Snoopy and the Red Baron fly their separate ways, “Knowing they’d meet some other day.”

The idea that two enemies can show each other grace for a night still amazes me. Obviously the song is fictional but the idea behind the lyrics are actually rooted in fact.

During World War I in 1914, an event known as the “Christmas Truce” took place between the Germans and the British. It was started by the soldiers themselves who exchanged tobacco and beer rather than bloodshed. Most astonishing, the troops from both sides shared pictures of their families with each other and used “No Man’s Land” to play a friendly game of football a.k.a soccer.

Around Christmas, grace becomes a popular topic especially when the family rolls into town. I am someone to whom much grace is given and who often conveys the absolute opposite.

Still according to Judeo-Christian traditions, there is a current of grace weaving through our patterns of existence. Sometimes it smacks you in the face. It’s the moment when you don’t get fired for screwing up at work or that time you didn’t get that speeding ticket you deserved. It’s often much deeper than that.

Some of us get hints of grace – when we admire a view, listen to music, fall in love. Some people seem to live out grace in a way that is almost incomprehensible.

I can’t help but think about Nelson Mandela. He was imprisoned for 27 years; most expected that when he emerged, he would be riddled with a lust for retribution. But the world has been amazed; instead of spewing calls for revenge, he urged his own people to work for reconciliation -- and invited his former jailer to attend his presidential inauguration as a VIP guest. It’s inconceivable.

I also think about Gordon Wilson whose daughter died in 1987 in an IRA car bomb. He heard his 20-year old daughter Marie say, “Daddy I love you very much,” just before she died in the rubble of a bomb blast.

The next day he told the media – “Marie’s last words were of love. It would be no way for me to remember her by having words of hatred in my mouth”

It’s heavy stuff and I don’t know how I would respond in the same situation. We are given so many examples of ungrace, The test papers come back with errors – not correct answers – highlighted. All this helps prepare us for the real world with it relentless ranking, a grown-up version of the playground game 'king of the hill'.

Maybe that’s why the stories of grace and forgiveness emerge so brightly. We want to be accepted despite our shortcomings, we want to be shown grace. It’s a crazy concept and goes against the very nature of ourselves.

Still in the words of the Royal Guardsmen, I learned a bit about grace from a cartoon character.

--
The Baron made Snoopy fly to the Rhine
And forced him to land behind the enemy lines
Snoopy was certain that this was the end
When the Baron cried out, "Merry Christmas, my friend"

The Baron then offered a holiday toast
And Snoopy, our hero, saluted his host
And then with a roar they were both on their way
Each knowing they'd meet on some other day.

Into the Wild a hot topic

It seems that every time I turn around someone is talking about Chris McCandless, a young man who starved to death 15 years ago in an abandoned Fairbanks city bus.
Although he didn’t know it at the time, McCandless’ story would eventually inspire the best selling novel “Into the Wild” and a Hollywood film by the same name. Both tell the story of a 24-year old honours graduate who died alone in the Alaskan wilderness. They paint a picture of a young man determined to live free of the trappings of modern society.
McCandless called himself ‘Alexander Supertramp” and donated his $20,000 plus trust fund to charity after leaving his family no word of his whereabouts. Much of his story was chronicled through journals during his two-year journey through 30 states with almost no money and little food.
The story isn’t a Walt Disney affair. McCandless’s survival skills are an indication that he was a middle class boy who memorized Thoreau but failed read his Boy Scout manual. Still McCandless was extreme – he was counter cultural – and we are addicted.
It seems a bit ironic that some obscure student has become the fodder of Hollywood. In his quest to live the unmediated life, McCandless has become an economic driver. His bus in Alaska is now a pop culture attraction and Hollywood has come calling. But there must be a reason his story is so fascinating.
McCandless’s journey seems to have a dramatic effect on people. It questions the line between heroic martyrdom and psychopathic self-destructiveness. The meaning of his life has been fiercely argued and the debate seems to exist in two camps. Either McCandless was a visionary seeker who dared to dream or he was a selfish unprepared fool who fundamentally misjudged the wilderness.
If the amount of pilgrims who visit the McCandless bus is any indication, we want the idealistic portrait to be true. We want the Shakespearian tragedy rather than a black comedy of fatal errors.
I reminded of an essay by Bono, U2’s singer and campaigner to end Third world debt. He admits to being a fan of the psalmist David. He calls him a star, the Elvis of the Bible. He also admits that it’s not clear how many psalms David really wrote.
“Some scholars suggest that the royals never dampened their nibs and that there was a host of Holy Ghost writers. Who cares? I didn’t buy Leiber and Stroller – they were just his songwriters. I bought Elvis,” Bono wrote.
For many people McCandless is their Elvis rather than a naïve American kid. McCandless’s story presents us with an alternative to the middle class life – his life was lived counter culturally. For Whistler’s Marc Paterson, McCandless is his proverbial King of Rock and Roll. Paterson recently retuned from a pilgrimage to the Alaskan bus fueled by a 10-pound bag of rice and his thumb.
The story seems particularly poignant in Whistler because many residents are on their own McCandless type journey. From the 30 year old ski bum vowing never to give up 100 days of skiing a year to the organic farmers. Whistler is full of people living alternatives to a life within the system.
So people talk about McCandless because he dared to live differently – an anti-materialistic rock star. I admit that I’m drawn to the people who live outside the norm, whether it’s the Christian who walks out the gospel or hippy growing organic vegetables.
We are attracted to the difference because somehow we can sense there is more to this life than Britney Spears and McDonalds. We want to buy Elvis too.

Beauty

I spent last week with some beautiful ladies – the types that draw you in with their smiles. She would never admit it but my grandma is one of the most beautiful women I know.

Each woman is a matriarch of a family tree. Ladies of significance. They’ve lived through a Depression, a World War, and cell phones. Their stories are so rich – they were ravishing.

We spent hours around a small kitchen table, drinking tea and telling stories. My Grandma sat with her sisters talking about life on the farm, Scotland, and childhood.

The sisters were teenagers again - talking about first dates. Other times they were older – planning for the future. It was a privilege to watch – I wanted to soak it all in.

Sometimes they would just sit and hold hands.

My Great Aunt has dementia. Her sister came from Alberta to share a cup of tea. Her mind has become a puzzle- leaving her thoughts in fragments. Within the confusion there were a few moments of clarity. Sweet minutes – never to be forgotten.

A week later, I can’t stop thinking about those ladies. About the laughter piercing through a hard reality. It was a celebration of life. Perhaps we need to celebrate life more.

Cheesewiz and Marshmallow Cream

The radio in my car recently gave up its fight for survival, leaving me with a lot of time to think. After a rather silent drive to the Vancouver airport this weekend , I started thinking about lifeboats.

I’ll admit that spending three hours pondering the nature of lifeboats is a little strange but it’s amazing what lengths I will go to keep myself entertained. I just finished a book called, Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller. Throughout the book, he makes an interesting analogy between life and a lifeboat.

When you think about it, existence in a lifeboat would be pretty challenging. Can you imagine being stuck on a floating piece of rubber with a bunch of people you do not know? What if provisions were limited and you had to convince others that you were worthy of a spot on the boat?

I can picture it now. All the survivors are gathered around our minuscule provisions; one can of tuna, a few stale crackers and a bottle of spring water. A debate is raging about who deserves to stay in the lifeboat. I figure if I stay quiet, no one will notice I am hanging out in the raft. Suddenly the spotlight shines on me and the guy next to me pipes up.

“Aren’t you the one who tried out for the every sports team in Junior High School but got cut for being too small? Now that I think of it, you also eat marshmallow cream and Cheesewiz straight from the jar,” he says.

I have been discovered and the tap dance begins. I feel that I need to prove myself and establish my spot on dry land. I quickly go through my list achievements trying to think of something great but I am grasping at straws.

“I spend a lot of time writing down ideas and well (I stammer) my Mom thinks I am pretty funny,” I say.

From the looks of my fellow survivors, they are unconvinced so I keep talking. I tell them I used to be a synchronized swimmer and have run a few marathons. Still nothing but to my horror a decision is made. Since I know how to swim, I am chosen to walk the plank.

It might be a stretch but I agree with Miller’s idea that life in North America is similar to a lifeboat. Sometimes I find myself chatting about my activities in hopes that people will take notice and think I am cool. I am constantly searching for approval in almost every aspect of my life. I dare say that if you stop for a moment, you might discover the same.

The funny thing is I believe we were designed to need acceptance and live in community. I think it’s easy to get caught up in lifeboat culture, thinking that others or ourselves are somehow better. According to Judeo-Christian traditions, there is a fact I often miss, we are all equal and there is enough room in the lifeboat for all of us.

I know for some people it is hard to grasp that they are in fact worthy. After years of struggling to survive in the lifeboat, it can be exhausting. For me life is more than a lifeboat full of achievement because one look at the design of a leaf and I am convinced there has to be more to it.

Lifeboat or not, my challenge for myself and others is to look beyond the lifeboat for truth. If the search is in earnest, I believe you will find it.

Ever feel like this?

I just like this picture of Kade. He makes me smile.

Dangerous Thought

I got an email from a friend in Liberia tonight and it made me think. It’s a scary thing to stop and think.
He’s on this thing called a Mercy Ship, which is part of a global charity that has operated hospital ships in developing nations since 1978. It’s a Christian organization so the motto is to follow the example of Jesus - bringing hope and healing to the forgotten poor, mobilizing people and resources worldwide and serving all people without regard to religion, race, or gender.
The roof of a remote orphanage in Liberia was blown off in a storm, creating thousands of dollars worth of damage. My friend said the children cried like someone died when the roof disappeared. He admitted it’s hard to justify the contrasts between the Whistler Bubble and Liberia.
“It’s like we don’t even live on the same planet,” he wrote.
It makes you stop and think, which is uncomfortable. This whole trend toward thought got worse when I read a quote from an obscure pastor in Michigan. His question was simple but lead to thinking and I started to sweat.
“Can you imagine what would happen if a group of people with untold resources, passion and energy started asking the question, “How do we hear the cry of the oppressed?” What if they were actually willing to wade into the cultural, economic, racial, global and personal issues involved without fear with the confidence that no matter how painful, messy and volatile it got, Jesus would guide them the whole way? You’d have some church on your hands.”
I know the word Christian often conjures up images of plastic people too judgmental to be authentic. It’s a dirty word but let’s get past the stereotypes. Regardless of your gender, sexual orientation, religion, or race – there is value in the idea of wading in and trying to see beyond ourselves. It’s messy, it’s human but every once in awhile something good happens.
It’s Easter this weekend. For Christians it’s sort of a big deal. When I was a kid, it was the only time my family would show up at church. I would sit uncomfortably in a dress – wondering when the Easter Bunny was going to show up.
Easter was originally a pagan celebration of renewal and rebirth. It was later merged with the Christian belief of Jesus’s resurrection from the dead. For some people it’s a time of reflection, celebration, and thinking.
Regardless of your views, again there is value in reflection. Tonight I thought about Liberia. I thought about the Whistler Bubble. I thought about my tendency to be plastic.
Does thinking inspire movement? Does thought somehow absolve any responsibility to wade in – to attempt authenticity?
What if thought inspired some holy mischief in Whistler? I am not into 12-step schemes toward personal or spiritual wholeness. But some writers at Geez Magazine came up with some practical ideas around social justice. Take it or leave it but don’t be scared to think.
1.Give your winter coat away to someone who is colder than you are. 2. Try sitting in silence for 15 minutes a day. 3. Kill your TV. 4. Get a World Vision child. 5. Go to a retirement home and ask to visit a few old folks who don’t get any visitors. 6. Eat locally 7. Buy only thrift clothes for a year. 8. Seek truth.
Tons of people in this corridor are creating mischief with Slow Food Cycles, serving in Africa, volunteering at Balding for Dollars, and taking care of animals. It all started with thinking. It’s a dangerous thing.

10 Random Alberta facts...it's where I'm from afterall

1. Alberta has the world's largest lamp
This monument burns bright at 12.8 metres tall and lights up the town of Donalda, which has an oil lamp museum.
2. Alberta has the world's largest Western Boot
This monster-sized footwear was stitched out of firbreglass in Edmonton in 1989 at a cost of $200,000 to promote the shoe factory it stands in front of.
3. Gretzky played for the Edmonton Oilers the very first year the team joined the National Hockey League in 1979, when they amazed everyone and made it to the Stanley Cup playoffs.
4. It would take three full 24-hour days to visit all of West Edmonoton Mall's 800 stores for just five minutes each.
5. Alberta is Canada's only rat-free province. It's been clean since 1905.
6. Alberta has the best overall weather of all the Canadian provinces.
7. The hottest day on record in Alberta is 43.3 Celsius, shared by Brooks, which hit that high in July 1931 and Fort Macleod which hit the same high a decade later in 1941.
8. About 5.5 million cattle can be found in Alberta, outnumbering people by almost 2 to 1.
9. The World's largest pyrogy is in Glendon. Otherwise known as a Ukranian dumpling, the pyrogy is spiked onto a giant fork, stands 6.2 metres tall and weighs 2700 kilograms.
10. Canada's first ever food bank started in Edmonton.

Knit Night 2007

Knitting is an extreme sport. That's right...the adrenaline was pumping the sweat was pouring and the hands were shaking.

That's right I had a knitting party and people showed up. Yes..... It was actually a pretty intense session of knitting. After three hours exhaustion set in. The guys put in a valiant effort - Nate can now knit - Dave made a...rectangle and Matt made a toque. He's Scottish so knitting must run in the blood. Jill and Abbie were just plain experts and Jodes served as the TA. So Knit This! Thanks to everyone who came..perhaps the "Kegger" is next time - maybe we can decorate it.

Why I live in Pemberton

I live in a place known as the Spud Valley, there’s a hitching post at the McDonalds, and the nightlife consists of a trip to the video store. My Whistler friends scratch their heads trying to figure out why I live in Pemberton.
I’ve heard every comment. The road is a death trap. That 25-minute commute must kill you. What do you do for fun in Pemberton? Isn’t that where people go to have babies? Are you pregnant?
I keep meaning to move to Whistler but it hasn’t happened yet. The Spud Valley seems to have a death grip on me. Unlike most Pemberton residents, I have never been a Whistlerite. I planned on six months and it’s been almost four years.
I don’t know why I stick around Pemberton. In my first couple of months, the bridge washed out during the biggest flood in memory. We were stuck in the village for over week. Perhaps it was a sign of my fate.
Pemberton has a way of weaseling into your heart. It’s a little bit Red Neck, Hippy, and Yuppie rolled into one community with 2,563 residents.
Mount Currie looms over Pemberton as nature’s overstatement. Skiers spend hours picking out heart-pumping lines, children draw pictures of its jagged peaks, and developers dream of a gondola. No matter where you stand in Pemberton, you can see Mount Currie. It always looks different.
During the winter, Pemberton residents tend to hibernate with the exception of pizza and beer night at the Pony Espresso. They make the best pizza on the planet. I recommend the “pizza yet to be named” I am salivating at the thought. Last time I attended pizza and beer night, I was greeted by a half naked child and a relaxed vibe.
You can’t beat the rent prices in Pemberton. It’s pretty cheap compared to Whistler’s closet for a “grand” rate. It’s also pretty easy to save money in the Spud Valley because there’s not much to spend it on. With the exception of dinners at the Wild Wood and extravagant trips to the grocery store.
Pemberton also brings out diversity. Whistler is great but do farmers and extreme skiers share a coffee every morning at the local coffee shop? It leads to some lively discussion. After all isn’t life about shared experiences?
The village has its issues, I am not going to lie. The Village of Pemberton budget is smaller than most businesses and infrastructure is weak. I don’t think I’ll be swimming laps at Pemberton’s pool anytime soon, unless someone discovers oil.
Still Pemberton is the only place where the council meetings are standing room only and residents get fired up about municipal issues. It’s encouraging. You also meet a lot of characters with the sparkle of someone who doesn’t watch a lot of television. It’s rare.
Pemberton’s not perfect but community is messy. It’s not about what we can get but what we can give. I see it everyday in the people who live here. Whether it’s starting a community garden or the Slow Food Cycle – residents dig deep and give back.
Others are thinking about Pemberton lately. In fact, the village is the topic of discussion at an upcoming Dialogue Café. Sheldon Tetrault and the Imagine BC Sea to Sky conversation partners will be discussing “Why I live in Pemberton – The Importance of Sense of Place” at the Local’s Living Room, Tues. March 27.
Eventually I will leave Pemberton because the world awaits discovery. But then again I might be writing the sequel to this column in 15 years. Scary thought.

Sister Times!

Aside from getting the flu, this week has been awesome because my sister is hanging out in Pemberton! She brought with her many stories about New Zealand, which have been super encouraging. We've been cross country skiing and generally creating havoc in the Spud Valley. Here's the highlight reel.