It's a lifestyle. Live with purpose, on purpose.

I think it all began when I was a child living in the Old Atkinson house on the fourth concession.  It was a big white farmhouse that had been abandoned for a few years when my parents decided to move in.  The landlord kept the rent cheap and said that we could stay there, as long as we did the renos and refurbs.  At least, that’s how my memory plays it out.

There was a Christmas in the 1980’s that stands out.  We had three extra house guests.  Three men who were invited for Christmas from a London outreach centre.  I don’t recall their names, although one was called “Stretch.”  As gifts they were each given a bible, socks and a pack of cigarettes.  

I can’t really say why this stands out, but it is well embedded in my memory as a significant event.  Looking back, I think it spawned in me a desire to serve.  To serve those in need of material needs, basic needs, emotional needs, and need to know Jesus.

In 2008 I traveled on my first “missions trip.”  As a part of a team of 10, we went to Russia to do some construction work.  We spent the week working exceptionally fast at framing and dry walling an apartment for an orphanage.  We spent two weeks in Russia, tucked away between Mongolia and Kazakhstan, just above China.  There was a moment in time as I walked down the dirt road on a cold September morning that it struck me.  I was on the other side of the world.  Walking on a dirt road, forgotten, even unknown, by much of the world.  And in that moment, God knew where I was.

I took advantage of a day off to venture into the inner city slums with a group from the church that brought us over.  This area of town was known for heroin use.  There were needles on the children’s playground.  It was a world that I had never seen before.  I walked through the apartments with the Pastor and met with various residents.  They welcomed us in, knowing we were from the church.  One family was kind enough to put the bag of heroin in the small oven while we visited so it was, well, out of sight I suppose.

We met a man who was a sniper and daily relived the memories of the multiple lives he took in the name of service to his country.  He lived a dirty, tiny apartment with rotting floors that had deteriorated from leaking pipes.  But he saw the hope that was offered through Jesus.

In 2009 I traveled to Cuba with my son.  People were so caring, so loving towards us.  We blessed them with material goods for ministry, but left with far more in our heart and memory.  The efforts they took to make us feel welcome was so unnecessary, yet they poured our their love to us.

I climbed a homemade ladder to cut coconuts from a tree.  We helped paint a home.  We gave children animal puppets and watched their faces light up.  

We left with more that we came with.  We came home with a change in our hearts and attitudes.

Last weekend, we took a different sort of trip.  We loaded up the van and headed to Columbus, Ohio for the weekend.  The Ohio Central chapter of the Heaven’s Saints Motorcycle Ministry reach out to the homeless once a month with material supplies, food, friendship, and prayer.

I haven’t seen in our city what I witnessed in Columbus.  Men and women living in tents, some held together with duct tape.  Some living in plywood shacks, ones that they call home.  I expected to see a level of greed when it came to giving out blankets, clothing, and food.

But there was none of that.

These men and women were all polite, humble, and engaging.  They were a community, a sort of family.

Tattoo, Angel, Ron

We met a women, Angel, who lived on the streets and struggled with addiction.  She found salvation in Christ through the outreach ministry of the Heaven’s Saints who led her to a new understanding of Jesus.  Angel is now off the streets, living in an apartment, has a job, and has been clean from drugs.  She knows it’s still a struggle, but there was a genuine smile and glimmer in her eye that you just knew she was the real deal.  A success of sorts.

We met Dale, a homeless man who was cutting trees to make some money.  Last week he was cutting a tree when the chain saw kicked back and seriously injured his legs.  He received 181 stitches, a prescription for pain medication and sent back to his shack with a walker and a wheel chair.  Dale had no money for medication and was suffering excruciating pain.  The Heaven’s Saints came along side him to help carry his burden.  Together, we took him to the pharmacy to have his doctors prescription filled.  We prayed with him.  He later told us that he had been laying in his bed in the shack in the woods, praying that the Heaven’s Saints would arrive because he knew they would help out if possible.

We met Mike, a homeless man living in a tent by the railroad tracks under an overpass.  Mike lost his job last December.  He lost his home and was staying in hotels until last month when he was forced out to the street.  Broke.  Homeless.  Mike hasn’t lost hope though, he will keep looking for work.  We were able to bless him with a blanket, pants, batteries, propane, and food.

We met another man named Mike.  He was just a young guy with incredible art skills.  I looked through three of his books and papers that he had compiled.  Bob, who was ministering with us that day, has strong connections in the arts community and he was able to give suggestions and make connections for Mike.  We wish him the best.

Finally, we met Frank.  He moved to the US from Germany over 20 years ago.  Due to job loss and health problems, he has found himself homeless and living in a tent.  Frank has nerve problems in his back that his in undergoing surgery for in the coming month.  The procedure he is having costs roughly $1200 twice a year, and needs to be done repeatedly.  He has been able to get the cost covered for the first two years, but is then on his own.  Fortunately, he has a friend who recently landed a good job and is able to bring Frank on board to the company in two months, after his surgery.  I asked Frank if he would be looking to leave the tent community after he started his new job.  His response spoke volumes to the closeness of the community, the family.  “No.  Not for a while.  I want to stay and help the others out with their needs.”

Sharing another’s burdens.  Not taking them away, or carrying them for them.  Helping carry their burdens.

I believe that each of us who serves selflessly ends up receiving more than we give.  Whether we volunteer in social services working with young children, helping to mentor a young mother to build her skills, when we secretly give much needed money to a friend in need, or travel the world doing work on the ‘mission field.’ we are blessed with a satisfaction of doing the things that we know we should do.

Tattoo, Sam, Ron, Me

I continue to come back from these sorts of trips with a real sense of blessing.  And a better understanding that all of our belongings are just, well, just stuff.  We really need very little to get by and be happy.  Relationships are what sustains us, above our basic physical needs.

Relationships.  People who care about each other.  People who come alongside one another and help carry their burdens.  People who can sit and talk, and care, and pray.

Relationships.

What began in the 1980's in the old white farm house, has crept into the fabric of our family.  Missions.

Everyone has a story.  No matter how down and out any person may seem, everyone has a story.  Missions is a lifestyle, not an event.  Live your life on purpose, with a purpose.

Hitler? I don't see it.

This morning.  That’s when I decided I would vent a bit about this particular, shall I call it, “trend.”  For years, I have had a goatee, or a beard, or a soul patch, or some sort of facial hair.  Everyone has a preference to the look they choose, and certainly not everyone is accepting of it, nor do I necessarily expect them to.  Our appearance, that which we create is part of our identity and can be changed as we see fit.  If I shave it all off, you can see both chins and the main one feels funny, so I keep a little blanket on my face.

But over the past few months, I have encountered an increasing number of people who feel it is acceptable to make comments about my appearance.  These range from “What’s that on your face?” to “When are you going to shave that off” to “Are those pubic hairs” to “I don’t know if I should call you Hitler or what.”  Really.  Pubic hair and Hitler?  Understand, please, good natured ribbing amongst friends is entirely different than mere acquaintances making such statements.  It’s the dynamic of a relationship that changes the way a message is received.

I wouldn’t consider walking up to someone and saying, “Your butt is looking particularly large today,” or “That hairstyle really compliments the road kill you peeled it off of,” or even “Do you have a nest of baby vultures living amongst your follicles?”  I wouldn’t say it for a simple reason.  It’s rude.

I am quite comfortable with who I am.  I like the way I look, with the exception of a few pounds but I am working on that.  I am me.

Basically, I am sorry you don’t like the way I look, but I probably have a few comments to make about you too.  The difference is, I have the respect to keep it to myself and accept you as you are.

Everyone has a story.  I am the main character in mine, perfect for my own story line.

Memories

When someone dies, we mourn.  We mourn the loss of their life, but we feel the loss in our life.  It’s like a small part of us ceases to exist except in the recesses of our mind.  

It is said that scent is the strongest trigger for memories, and I suspect it’s true.  There are a few smells that bring me back to childhood, like the smell of the dump.  We used to live near the dump in Dorchester. My friend, Russell, and I would treasure hunt there all the time, before it was considered trespassing.  The smell of the swamps where we used to capture salamanders, frogs, and turtles.  The smell of cedar reminds me of an old trunk that my grandma had in her house.  The fresh aroma of harvest takes me back to growing up in the country and riding in the combine with the landlord.  Certain smells, specific memories.

Sounds also cause memories to creep back into history.  There are songs from the 80’s and 90’s that take me back to school dances and the days when my wife and I began dating.  Our wedding song takes me to a specific date with beautiful memories.  Sadly, these songs are now considered classics...and I didn’t even know I had aged that much.

But there are clear memories that have no mystic trigger, they are just memories.  When someone dies, the memories come back, for some it’s like a flood.  Some may feel they are drowning in the flood of memories.

What do you do with the memories?  If you happened to have grown up with someone who went on to fame, you have a direct connection to the sorrow that everyone is supposed to feel.  If you don’t feel the same sorrow, does it make you a lesser person?  Maybe a bit heartless?

In 2011 we have seen the loss of NDP Leader Jack Layton, Shawn Tompkins (MMA trainer at Tapout in Las Vegas), Amy Winehouse (Singer), Kelly Thomas (homeless man), Betty Ford (Former American First Lady), Saif al-Arab al-Gaddafi (son of leader Muammar Gaddafi), Serge LeClerc (Canadian pardoned criminal and politician), and Shrek (New Zealand celebrity sheep), as well as hundreds more.

Your level of mourning depends on your relationship and experiences with each of these people, even Shrek.  We live in relationships so we are inevitably impacted by loss and suffering, but context is required.  I was active in the local NDP and union issues at one point so I felt a degree of loss for Jack.  I went to school with Shawn Tompkins so it was closer to home and he was my age.  I didn’t care for Amy Winehouse’s music or the image she represented, but her family is left to carry on without her.  Kelly Thomas, well, that’s a sad story.  Saif al-Arab al-Gaddafi was a celebrated death by many in the journey to Libyan freedom. And so it goes.

Although we may not appreciate someone, may not agree with their political stripe or their past actions, we put aside the negative and understand that there are those who were close to the deceased who will have to move forward without them.  Yes, even Shrek.

Our memories will remain with us.  Does sharing the negativity of the past help in the healing?  I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think the celebration of someone’s loss and suffering is intended to be a positive experience.

Everyone has a story.  How will yours be remembered?

Destination: Unknown

My father-in-law and I had planned a motorcycle ride along the north shore of Lake Erie.  We were to begin in Port Stanley and work our way over the next few hours to Niagara Falls.  We booked a hotel on the American side where we would spend a night and would come back to Embro after a second day of riding.

As plans often do, they changed.  He called me just a couple days before and explained that his wife had been in a car accident and felt he should stay home with her.  Good call.

Since I was on vacation for the week, my wife was working and my kids are enjoying doing almost nothing on summer vacation, I figured I would still take a day trip.  The hotel in New York state was cancelled and I was just going to enjoy a day without a destination.  All I knew was that I would head east.

I mentioned this to a friend, Terry, who has over 200,000 km on his 1999 Harley Davidson Ultra.  He too was off for a day so we agreed that he, his wife Cathy, and I would take a day trip.

We started off shortly after 9:00 a.m.  I had no plans, just that I wanted to stay as close to the lake shore as I could.  I have ridden the roads in the area for many years, so I wanted a new experience.

East of Port Burwell, a portion of the Lakeshore Road is closed.  Years back it was determined unsafe for traffic due to the erosion, so there is a detour before coming back onto the main road.

We stopped in a the ever popular destination for bikers, Port Dover.  This is the location of the Friday the 13th rally.  I have only been here twice when it wasn’t the rally.  It’s a town of about 5000 residents that embrace the beach culture.

We continued east on our ride.  It’s easy to end up back on the main roads, it’s as though the rural stretches squeeze vehicles off of the back country and out to the highways.

Somewhere east of Nanticoke we ended up on a long stretch of road with a maximum speed of 50 km/hr.  The road hugged the lake and weaved it’s wave between cottages and summer retreats.  If you find yourself on this section of Lakeshore Road between Highway 53 to the west and Highway 49 to the east, slow down; there’s much to enjoy.  Families sharing in memories, sailboats in silence, geese with their babies, and minimal traffic.  Just don’t expect to get anywhere quickly.

We eventually made it to Niagara Falls, riding along the Niagara Parkway past million dollar homes, now up for sale.  The excess is ridiculous.  I don’t understand how anyone needs that much.  Maybe it’s me.

When I was preparing to leave on the one day trip, I mentioned to my wife that I might chronicle the day and write up some sort of nice travel blog for bikers.  As often is the case with my writing, nothing goes as planned and the story actually began at the Number 11 Bridge in Allanburg.  

The Niagara region is packed with rivers, the shipping lanes for cargo vessels and the thoroughfares for sailboats and motorboats.  We rode into Allanburg shortly after 5:00 p.m. and soon found ourselves parked for at least 20 minutes as the bridge was raised for a cargo ship passing through.  Terry and Cathy rode up to the bridge to watch the spectacle while I stayed back to hold our spot.

While I stood around, a man who was parked behind me came up and mentioned that my rear tire looked flat.  Indeed it was.  I had just spent $282 on a new tire only 6 days previous.  I was choked.  I pulled off to the side and strolled up to Terry to let him know the situation.  

At the Bridge 11 is a family run restaurant called Indian Flame.  The owners, Rika and Asha Bhagria offered up some suggestions and offered me the use of their phone book to track down some options.  The problem I quickly found was the timing of the incident.  It was after 5:00 p.m. so most everything was closed.

Back at my bike, I noticed a guy riding his Harley Davidson just across the road waiting to turn.  I waved him over and his came over to offer assistance.  Jeff rides a beautiful bike.  I think it’s a street glide with a light bar.  He has it chromed out fully with mag rims and a perfect custom paint job.  Spotless.  He called around on his cell and found no luck.  Getting a CAA membership would cost me $189, include 200 km of free towing, with additional mileage at $3 per km.  Steep!  I was more than 200 km from home so this would cost me.  This was without a repair still!  Jeff is a constable with the Niagara Police and he went above what he needed to do, making call after call to get the job done.  Still, though, no luck.  I gave Jeff my card and a testimonial DVD from Barry Mayson.  Thank you Jeff for stopping to help out.

Terry returned shortly afterward.  He rode up to a garage and they offered him a compressor to see if we could get enough air in to ride down to the shop and leave it overnight.  No luck.  Air leaked out as quickly as it went in.  We eventually found the source of the leak too - roofing nail.

Cathy suggested we rent a truck and load up my bike to go home.  I called U-Haul.  After much confusion, nothing.  They had only one one-way truck available.  It was about 20 minutes away from where I was at and the shop staff wouldn’t stay open to wait for me.  It was now 6:45 p.m.

Rika had come outside to check on us in the mean time.  He and his family had only been in the area for about 16 months, but spend most of their time at the restaurant.  He was apologetic that he couldn’t have been of greater assistance.

I decided to spend the night in Niagara Falls and get my bike towed to a shop in the morning.  I asked Rika if he had a spot to store my bike for the night.  He readily allowed me to park on the restaurant patio and chain it to a post.  This was the first thing that went well.

Terry, Cathy, and I had dinner at the restaurant.  Rika said that he knew the owner of the Howard Johnson motel up the road.  He called and got me a cheap rate - Niagara Falls in the summer is not a cheap place to stay.  It cost me $52.20 for the night.  Our discounted hotel in New York at $113.00, but I am sure it was nice place.

When dinner was finished, Terry and Cathy headed for home.  They didn’t need to stay as long as they did, but that’s what friends do.  Stay to the end.  “Heaven’s Saints Don’t Quit.”

Rika drove me up to the motel and made sure that I was all set before he left.  He didn’t need to do that either, but he did.

Originally, there were no standard rooms, only a suite that I was able to get for $80 (regularly over $120), but there was a standard room available.  The staff explained that it is a dark room, window faces a concrete wall, might smell like smoke since the last person failed to comply with the rules and wasn’t in an ideal spot.  If I wanted it, it would only be $40.  I figured I’d stay there since I would be forking out more money in the morning.

Aside from the poorly painted door and the blood stain on the bed, the room was fine.  What could I expect for such a cheap space right?  The motel staff gave me a toothbrush and deodorant for the next day, but they were out of toothpaste.  

I walked around to a couple stores looking for a good motorcycle magazine to read that evening, but found nothing worthwhile.  I bought my toothpaste and some snack food and went back to room 117.

In the morning, I mentioned the blood stained bedding to staff and called myself a cab.  $27 plus a tip to get me from the hotel to the restaurant, a trip of just 7 km.  Should have called Rika!

When I arrived at the Indian Flame, Asha served me up a coffee.  They only charge $1 for a cup of coffee, and it’s good coffee too.

Rika is from India.  He moved to Canada with his family when he was 13.  Now, 47 years old and married with four children, he explained to me that this restaurant is his dream.  They bought place 16 months ago and sunk a lot of money into restoring it to as a restaurant.  Everyone helps out at the restaurant, except their youngest child who is in public school.  Each member of the family that I met was very polite and friendly and helpful.  Rika’s son made sure that he unlocked my bike before he left that morning for his driver’s test.  True to his word.

Rika and Asha practice Hinduism.  I am a Christian.  We have different beliefs, and I am sure we don’t fully understand each others’, but we talked over coffee about our beliefs and values.  He spoke strongly about the Hindu value of non-violence, unless there is no other option.  He shared that over the past 50 years, India has never initiated violence against another country.  He seemed proud of that.

I learned a bit more about their gods, Lord Brahma (The creator of the universe), Vishnu (The preserver of the universe), Shiva (The god of destruction).  Different than the trinity that I place my faith in, Father, Son, Holy Spirit.  I asked whether Jesus Christ fits into their beliefs anywhere and Rika advised that they believe in all beings.

I seem to get stretched during these encounters.  Not regarding tolerance, but rather understanding.  Again, through our differences, we co-exist and share in conversation and can talk respectfully about beliefs and values.  I offered Rika a testimonial DVD as well, which he readily accepted.  Thank you Rika and Asha for looking after me.  You went above and beyond!

I had earlier called Clare’s Cycle to ask about a repair on my tire.  I only needed a tube replaced since the tire was fine, except for the small hole.  Corey came to pick me up with a trailer.  Still cost me $30, but cheaper than calling a a towing company to get me.

Corey seemed to be a young guy, but he’s been at Clare’s for 16 years and knows his stuff.  He is proud of working for a Honda, Suzuki, and Yamaha dealer.  I trusted him right away, and I am often skeptical of mechanics.  I had mentioned to him that there problems with the lights since I bought the bike in 2007.  He offered to take a look.

After 45 minutes, Corey had my bike back together, tire on, tube replaced, axle greased (the shop that put the new tire on last week did not do this), rewired my lights, soldered the connections, and had me on my way.  They guys in the shop were great.  Respectful and professional.  Including the trailering to the shop, my bill was $134.90 - Checking out my electrical was complimentary, except for the $2.99 light bulb.  Thanks Corey!

I made it home later in the afternoon and reflected - my plans aren’t always the plans that are laid out before me.  I tried to get a truck, I tried to get a shop.  No luck.  What was before me though, were people who were gracious in caring for me - Rika and Asha at the Indian Flame, Constable Jeff - off duty Niagara Police officer, Corey and the others in the shop at Clare’s.

Had I gotten my way, I wouldn’t have met these people and shared in their lives, to hear some of their stories.  Everyone has a story.

30 Days of Blessing - A Summary

Well that's a wrap.  I am a day late getting this posted, but I was out on July 1st, spending the day on a ride in support of the Bravery Beads program that the Optimist Club of East Williams operate.  The run covers 240 km throughout three counties.  At the conclusion of the ride, a barbecued rib dinner with beans and salads was enjoyed by all.  

Once we were home, it was time to load up the van and head to Canada festivities and take in the fireworks put on by the Kinsmen.  Through all the joy of children and glow of fireworks, I was once again reminded of the blessing of family.

June was the month that I reflected daily on the small blessings in my life, and a few more seemingly significant ones as well.  Maybe it's that I noticed it more, but the month of June seemed to be filled with sorrow and pain, as well as blessing and thanksgiving.

Have you ever been faced with the experience that so much bad news has come your way, you almost want to start laughing because there's not much more you can do?  

Let me summarize what has happened in the past 30 days:

My wife's aunt Laura who had been battling cancer was given just two weeks to live.  My wife made the trip up to Angus to see her, and a week later, Laura passed away.  We then traveled back up to Angus for the funeral and were going to stay overnight to attend the new charter celebration for the Wasaga Beach chapter of the Heaven's Saints M.M., but their Vice President took a bad fall and the party was cancelled.

Family friend, Pat, who has lived one of the cleanest lives I knew and had been diagnoses with cancer, faced treatments and was though to be clean, was found to have cancer throughout her lungs and now into her liver as well.

My grandma's husband who has fought and survived cancer three times, was found to have a spot on one of his lungs.

My wife's friend, Anne, called her and advised that she was suspected of having ALS and wanted to see my wife. Within a few days, it was confirmed, ALS was the diagnosis and she was given just three to four months to live.

Our friend Nancy took a fall at a baseball game and was taken to hospital with a concussion.

Our friends, Dave and Dori, received news that their 27-year-old son, Greg, had passed away.  He had health problems as a child and wasn't expected to make it into his teen years.  Nonetheless, it was a surprise.  His funeral was on last Tuesday.

One of my co-workers took a leave of absence from work to undergo cancer treatment while a second co-worker also faces the prospect of cancer treatment, although the course of action is still unknown.

Add to these major events, I came down sick and fought it for over two weeks, lost time at work due to training seminars (including the trauma training that made me re-evaluate my career path), and a workload unlike anything I have experienced in recent years.

There is a song by Mercy Me called Bring the Rain, and it captures how many people around me have felt this month.  If have the time, take a listen and reflect.

As I look back, June's daily record of blessings may have been the ideal time, and the ideal coping strategy, to get through a month that was plagues with problems.  The problems surrounded our family.  If I hadn't paid attention on a daily basis, I wonder if I could have maintained perspective.  I'll never know.

Here's a list of the blessings from June, despite the trials listed above:

1. Acceptance

2. Freedom to choose my ride (car, van, motorcycle)

3. Trees

4. Quiet time

5. Smiles

6. Safe and loving family

7. Encouragement

8. Not to have a drug addiction, to have a clinic that helps those who do.  That I contribute to the lives of children and families.  For a cup of tea in the quiet times.  That I am bigger than mosquitoes.

9. Monotony

10 and 11. Quality customer service, a son with patience.

12. Music

13. Not being a sports fan

14. Appreciate small events in an ordinary day

15. The love of others

16. Refreshing hope that 'good' is out there

17. My employer

18. Bug repellant 

19. Quiet, honest conversation with family

20. Teachers who are patient and compassionate

21. Health, and the medication that helps through challenges

22. To be a friend

23. Local public library

24. Memories of a positive childhood 

25. Relationships

26. To ride with a group who can enjoy the ride as a pack

27. Safety

28. Naps

29. Coffee, a humourous joke, a visit with a friend

30. Ordinary days

With that, I reflect and see very few earth shattering moments, but I don't think that's what it is all about.  Being able to find the small blessings in a typical day that helps us to manage during the difficult times when life surrounds us with a sense of hopelessness.

Thank you to those who joined me on the month long journey.  It was the most popular post on my blog over the past month.

Keep looking for the small blessings in your life.  Everyone has a story, without the blessings, no story is complete.