Be more than rich

Do you ever have moments that seem to smack you upside the head? Bringing you back to reality and reminding you to stop self-obsessing. The world is bigger than Whistler, than my leaky car, my job, and my social life.

I sound like a World Vision commercial but how often do we glance at the swollen bellies and change the channel in favour of The Simpson’s? It’s easier for me to believe that my “world” is the world.

It’s sad but most of us don’t think about the world at large until Christmas. Perhaps it’s a throw back for sentimentality. I heard an interested fact the other day – that America spends $40 billion on ice cream every year. It’s an amount that could put a significant dent in world hunger.

Did you know that 852 million people across the world are hungry? Every day more than 16,000 children die from hunger related causes – one child every five seconds. How much money do you have in your pocket? More than one billion people live on less than one dollar a day.

While every country in the world has the potential of growing enough food to feed itself, 54 nations currently do not produce enough food to feed their populations, nor can they afford to import the necessary commodities to make up the gap. Most of these countries are in sub-Saharan Africa.

I also heard that eight per cent of the world’s population owns a car. When the other 92 per cent looks at my beat up Dodge Shadow, they think rich. The Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of the poorest 48 nations is less than the wealth of the world’s three richest people combined. About 20 per cent of the world’s population live in developed nations but consume 86 per cent of the world’s resources.

It’s easy for me to preach while sitting at my desk in my warm office while snacking on Christmas cookies. I can spout of facts about world hunger like I’m actually making a difference to the hungry child in Africa. But it does remind me to seek perspective. I can let the facts bounce off my capitalist armour or I can react.

Do you consider yourself rich? Blessed? There is nothing wrong with wealth in itself but with it comes responsibility. We are stewards of our wealth. I’ll admit I feel a bit sheepish about my Chai Latte. I’m not saying we throw on our sack clothes, walk barefoot to work and give all of our savings to Africa. Let’s be realistic.

What would our world look like if we stopped, realized our wealth, and tried to live with generosity? When a lot of the world looks at us, they think rich. How was that drink of water? Rich. That bed? Rich. Rich. Rich.

This is the point where we look for the sales pitch. Who do I write the cheque to? What’s the latest cause I can sign up for? That’s just it – the whole issue of richness is deeper than the latest craze.

Here’s a question that I am trying to ask myself. What would Whistler look like if we lived generously? What if I tried to live more generously? What if we were known as a community of generous people?

humbled...

Do you ever have those nights? The tears come, and you leave shaking because you’re walking away from a moment of significance.

Last Monday I sat in my car feeling totally humbled and excited. I feel like God gave me a glimpse of perspective. I realized He’s been here all along – unfurling a plan for me – sustaining me – using my weakness – paving the way with grace. It kicked my ass.

The night started with the girl’s bible study. To be honest I was tired and feeling overwhelmed. We talked about Mary and how God makes the impossible possible. It’s not rocket science but seemed significant at the moment. Kayla said we needed to pray for healing in our youth – ourselves – for Pemberton. So we prayed…

Youth group went by as usual with games, laughter and organized chaos. Shy-Anne gave her testimony and God answered prayer. She talked about her parent’s separation and how she’s relying on God’s healing touch. One statement struck me. She said, “ I am not okay but God is beside me – he is healing me everyday.”

That’s when I looked around the room and realized that divorce is a reality for over half our kids. A few of the girls were crying quietly as they listened to Shy-Anne. After the story one of our guys prayed, with a hand on his younger brother. He said…”God thank you for this group because I don’t where we would be without it. Our parents are separating and it’s really hard. We need your healing.”

He started crying and the tears started to run down my face because at that moment I felt so humbled and comforted. God answered our prayers. He rushed in. It was a moment of significance.

I wanted to share this story to encourage you. That this faith thing seems real. . .

“We know there’s something more. We sense it, we feel it, we know it. And we want it. We want an authentic spirituality.”

Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis

Freeze your niblets

Aussies are huddled in corners and long time locals are stuffing foot warmers in their ski boots. The alpine low on Tuesday was minus 25 degrees and flesh freezes in 15 minutes or less. Welcome to Canada.

I overheard a few Whistler imports moaning that the cold weather is inhumane. If you stand outside naked freezing off your "niblets", then yes the cold is torturous. Otherwise grab another sweater and learn to enjoy the feeling of frozen snot against your cheek.

The West Coast has been coddled in warm temperatures for decades so the rest of Canada is having a good chuckle. I’ll admit that it was tough to get out of bed this morning but it could always be colder. The coldest wind chill ever recorded in Canada happened in Pelly Bay, NWT, where the wind took an already -51 C down to a "niblet" disintegrating -92 C.

Flesh freezing weather has some benefits. Firstly it’s a good excuse to eat more. If someone asks why you keep stuffing your face, look them square in the eye with crumbs flying and say one word – insulation. Then shake your head in disgust and get back to work. That pie isn’t going to digest itself.

The cold is also a great time for the fridge to break down. When your freezer shudders for the last time, you can laugh and start carting the frozen perogies outside. Not only is outdoor refrigeration free, you’ll have a chance to share your food with some furry friends. Bambi lay off the sweets.

The Roundhouse on Whistler Mountain is a great place to go on frostbite patrol. It’s a great activity if you can’t afford cable television and it’s better than pay-per-view. Frostbite occurs when the skin and body tissues are exposed to cold temperatures for prolonged periods of time.

Frostbite is distinguishable by the hard, pale, and cold quality of the skin. The area is likely to lack sensitivity to touch, although there may be an aching pain. Any part of the body may be affected but hands, feet, nose, and ears are the most vulnerable. Look for skiers and snowboarders with white patches on their cheeks.

If only the skin and underlying tissues are damaged, recovery may be complete. However, if blood vessels are affected, the damage is permanent and gangrene can follow which may require amputation of the affected part. You should see eyes widen and jaws drop when you slip that fact into an Aussie’s conversation.
If you’re having trouble dealing with the cold, here are a few tips. Wear clothes, sit in the Meadow Park hot tub, and suck it up. The old idea of cold showers or baths and “washing in snow” to toughen up against the cold does indeed work. Try it first and I’ll watch from the hot tub.

Illusionist David Blaine, once spent 62 hours in a block of ice. He has an interesting cold weather philosophy.
“One great way to beat the cold is to accept it and even challenge it. Treat it like a fight you are looking forward to. Resisting pain can only make us stronger. Remember soon enough you will be in the warmth. I would even say try to trick your mind into liking it,” Blaine once said.

So embrace the cold, grab your toque and for heaven’s sake stop whining or we’ll ship you off to Nunavut.

Reflections on an epic winter

Early mornings, new addictions, laughter, tears, and quiet alpine thoughts. If life is best remembered in moments, those words were my winter.
The inevitable has happened, the clock kept ticking and a warm breeze blew through Whistler. The nearby Green River is flowing with newly transformed snow and the ski out is slipping back into the soil. My sandals are out of the closet and I received my first sunburn. One million more sit-ups before I bust out the bikini.
It was an epic winter. Again let me state the obvious, it was an epic winter. A fat line of skiers and snowboarders are waiting at the Peak Chair. We are cheering and jeering the adrenaline junkies seeking attention on Air Jordan. We are spoiled with powder days.
The snow is hitting my face and my cheeks hurt from smiling too hard. I realize I am hollering like a kid with a sugar fix. Suddenly I am tumbling through the snow, leaving my skis behind but I am still smiling. Pass the sugar and keep skiing the fresh line.
I’m talking about the snow and tossing around weather reports like a meteorologist but folks understand. It’s the never-ending conversation in Whistler. Some say it’s shallow but life makes sense in the alpine and this conversation leads to something deeper.
Sitting in the snow on Cowboy Ridge, a friend shares her “uber” stoke for the outdoors. It reminds my friend of her journey toward God, the creator of her playground. With wide eyes she says she is made for this. She is so certain of her purpose before carving a sweet telemark turn. It’s a good day.
I’m focusing on the gaps and not the trees while chasing the genetically superior through gladded runs. My quads are flexing, the sweat is pouring, and I’m not a super hero. While watching the gaps, I am "clotheslined" by a fallen log. The wind leaves my chest and the f-word makes an appearance. These are not mellow trees.
Skinning up Flute, working on a goggle tan, and looking forward to lunch. It’s a weekday and I’m alone feasting on an unquenchable view. Is this place an accident? Can something this beautiful be a coincidence? Snacking on cold pizza, nature is pretty sweet. Stop thinking, it’s time to shred.
I’m watching my Dad tumble or “Tomahawk” down a steep face. His gear sticks haphazardly out of the snow, marking his descent. I don’t know whether to laugh or review first aid procedures. He claws the snow, stopping breathless but manages to wave. We take it easy in the afternoon.
Everything is better with fresh snow. I understand the race for a few turns in the deep stuff. Tracks turn the mountain into a meandering road map within minutes. We search for the secret pockets of powder. The quest is rewarded and I discover an addiction.
The sun slips behind the mountains creating an unmistakable alpine glow. I’m slipping into a bikini after all and soaking my bones in hot water. The moon reflects off the remaining high alpine snow during the first of many summer nights.

If life were a box of cereal

If everyone were a type of cereal, what kind would you be? Thanks to the big wigs at Kelloggs, Quaker and General Mills, there are many varieties to choose from.
At first I wanted to be Lucky Charms, complete with delicious frosted oats and coloured marshmallows. Lucky the Leprechaun would be my guardian, devoting his life to make sure I was magically delicious. Kids would scream for me with outstretched arms from the grocery cart while Mom and Dad grabbed another box of All Bran.
Life as a box of Lucky Charms would be all about the glamour and the high from a shot of sugar. Like any good artificial trip, I wouldn’t last. I’d be cool with the younger set but let’s be honest I’d lack substance. My energy fading before noon, leaving my fans disillusioned and disappointed.
Perhaps oatmeal is the ticket, I wouldn’t be flashy but I would stick to your ribs with a nutritional zing only capable of a hearty bowl of oats. Besides oatmeal appeals to my Scottish heritage and it’s cheap. What a second does that mean I’m cheap? I’ll admit the Re-Use-It is my stomping ground and I drive a car cheaper than my computer.
You might be a Cocoa Cocoa Puff, crazy enough to enjoy life but teetering on the need for a straight jacket. You were born in the early 60s and your best friend is Sonny the Cuckoo Bird who goes “cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.” Life as Cocoa Cocoa Puffs is wild and you eventually became a slang term for a mixture of marijuana and cocaine. If you’re smart, you spent some time in rehab and everyone gets a kick out of your random drug flashbacks.
I suspect the road cyclists between Whistler and Pemberton live life as a bowl of Vector cereal. You are a meal replacement in a bowl with protein, carbohydrates and 22 vitamins and minerals. You’re a mixture of great tasting crunchy flakes and granola clusters. You complete Iron Man Triathlons in the blink of an eye. You’re extreme and you know it.
Froot Loops cereal is reserved for the adrenaline addicted Whistler Bike Park rider. Mild mannered tourists think you’re a little fruity after your tail whip in the Boneyard without a helmet. You’re made with corn, wheat and taste good with or without a splash of milk. You’re more expensive than oatmeal and don’t mind dropping a few thousand bucks on two wheeled transportation.
A balanced life is the catchword of modern culture. Oprah always talking about it and magazines are dedicated to it. It makes sense because Mini Wheats are pretty popular with the Feng-Shui, Vegan, and Yoga types. You’re a whole wheat biscuit with a frosted side, making you delicious and nutritious. In Red Neck terms, you’re a mullet – business up front and a party in the back.
I’m still not sure what type of cereal I am but I received a revelation of sorts after a poignant sermon at church. Instead of trying to slot everyone into a type of breakfast food, we should look beyond the cereal. It’s about seeing people as having value before making any judgments.
It’s easy to focus on someone’s Lucky Charms attitude or oatmeal nature instead of trying to discover inner qualities. I don’t really like the taste of some cereal but breakfast food serves a purpose. That’s my challenge; maybe we should start seeing people as inherently valuable and full of purpose. Who cares if you’re a wicked mountain biker or a skier anyway?
You don’t have to be a Mini Wheat, just be yourself and rejoice because you are valuable my friend.

Getting back to the basics

Go back to the land. Slow down. Take it all in.
That’s what over 1,000 people did last weekend in honour of Slow Food Cycle Sunday, a back-to-the-land bike ride through the beautiful Pemberton Meadows. They came from all over, some with 10-speeds and others with bikes complete with radios and streamers.
It was a picture of something beautiful because people were coming out just to appreciate the miracle of farming. Cyclists explored the farmlands of Pemberton Meadows in order to meet local growers, sample fresh-from-the earth produce, and partake in the culinary talents of local chefs. It was a 50-kilometre bike ride that connected participants with more than a dozen farms.
The whole event, which started around a conversation between Lisa Richardson and Anna Helmer, is inspiring. Did you know that the Worldwatch Institute reports that the average food item eaten in North America has traveled anywhere between 2, 500 to 4,00 kilometres from farm to table. Last weekend riders were brought straight to the farms.
To be honest, I never gave my food sources much thought until I moved to the rural town of Pemberton. I was happy to sit back with my tub of Cheese wiz and crackers. Sure those apples from Fiji tasted a bit like cardboard but I never noticed. Growing up as a city kid in a city with the world’s biggest mall, I never gave farmer’s much thought.
As consumers in the “global market”, we tend to look for the best buys, with little thought of the true nutritional, environmental and social costs of what we purchase. If we care about our health, the environment and our farming communities, then we need to become better consumers and choose our groceries with care.
I think it’s easy to spout off ideals and much harder to live as good stewards of this planet. As a kid I started a environmental club for kids called Our Future. I lobbied the local MLA, made it on television, hit puberty, and tossed it all aside for the latest designer jeans. I’ll admit I walked away from a pre-pubescent crusade but it seems life has come full circle.
When you live in a breathtaking part of the world, there is a spiritual sense of appreciation. One of my favourite days this summer was hunched over in a strawberry bush. My fingers were stained red, the sun was brilliant, and I was eating the best strawberries ever to pass my lips.
I planted a garden this summer after receiving inspiration from Jordan Sturdy’s Community Garden Crusade. I’ve spent many hours in my tiny patch of land behind the house. Growing vegetables is not an easy task, it involves weeding, preparing the soil, and a whole lot of watering.
In the midst of the summer my seeds are now thriving vegetables. As a bonafide city kid, I am humbled by the miracle of growing. My friends will attest that everyone who visits my house gets a tour of the lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, carrots and beans. I am a bit enthusiastic.
I guess that is why I found the Slow Food Cycle so encouraging. It has challenged me to think about what I am buying and what I am eating. I am not saying we should all go Vegan but small steps of stewardship are possible. It’s both the effort and result that is redemptive and beautiful. Eating locally has become a bit trendy but why not try it for a while. It’s not easy but nothing worthwhile is.