hope

In approximately ten hours, the doors of a local church in Rexdale, Etobicoke will be opened to the community and just under 100 kids, youth, and highschool-ers will flood its building, parking lot, and identity. As of tomorrow morning, Camp Victory, along with the rest of UrbanPromise Toronto, will be starting our annual six week summer day camp for kids in our designated communities with the ultimate goal of sharing the love of Christ.

And with an eve of high anticipation and a wide awake supervisor who should have probably gone to bed about 2 hours ago, there is only one thing on my mind.

Hope. It's a beautiful thing.

As I reflect on the past couple months of work in the community, and envision what I, along with the rest of my team, will face both tomorrow morning and the next six weeks, I keep coming back to that one word: hope. Hope in what? Who knows? Hope that we will have a good day; hope that nothing will go wrong; hope that the kids will have a great time, or even hope that some of them will experience God in the program we lead and the relationships they gain. You can have hope in a lot of things; it can cause you to dream big, but can also act as a tracker to how fully realized these dreams become. Hope can give you strength to persevere and to power through anything that may discourage you. Hope, in its true sense, is quite a beautiful thing.

But, parallel to this, hope is quite a foolish thing; it is fairly illogical and highly inconvenient. By definition, hope generally refers to an attitude we take when dealing with something that is lacking; the magnitude of hope increases as situations draw closer to hopelessness. Hope is a state of desperation when reality does not seem to be cooperating: foolish at times because hope can cloud our vision and offer us encouragement and excitement when the tank is completely empty. Sure, hope makes us feel good, it offers us something pseudo-tangible to cling on to when we are not ready to let go. But, let's be honest with ourselves, hope is an incredibly risky, and often false, attitude to take, especially when the situations and scenarios we face which require the most need of some hope often claim victory over that which we "wish" were to come true.

And all that risk, all that chance of failure, all the doubt that obstructs the narrow path of opportunity and optimism: that, in all senses, is what makes hope such a beautiful thing. When the odds are against you, and nothing seems to be going right, when things are looking slim and all reason tells you to give up, that, I believe, is when magic happens. It is not when everything makes sense and when things go according to plan that people are motivated to do great things, be great people. No, rather, it is when the world gives up, doors are shut, backs are turned, and all reality starts to push itself away, and all that is left...is hope; this is the stuff that can inspire people to do more than they are capable of. Hope is a foolish and irrational attitude to take, realistically, a flimsy hub to stay grounded with. But no one makes a successful movie about the man with the 99% chance who prevails, but about the 1% that overcomes.

So when I think about all the kids that will be coming through those church doors tomorrow, playing the game we run, eating the snack we make, and singing the songs we lead, reality tells me its not worth it. Reality urges me to analyze the situation and cut my losses while there is still some benefits left to reap. I look at the community of Rexdale and it hurts to see how damaged it is, how cycles of poverty and violence ridden the streets and minds of its habitants and question what difference does a summer day camp have on the grand scheme of things. Reality tells me to not get too excited and to not invest or commit too much because the chance of failure and defeat is too great.

But there is hope like you wouldn't believe.

And when I say there is hope there is huge hope. I'm talking kids becoming social activists, joy filling the streets, the media rushing to the hood to discover what true peace is. Sure some of the hope myself and my other leaders have is supported by psychological and sociological evidence, some of it is even rooted in past experiences in which hope did prevail. But I would say that most of our hope is rooted in the plain, simple fact of hope itself. That we have hope because we can have hope; because 1% is still 1% and until it ceases to exist, that 1% holds the weight and potential of its 99% counterpart. Because even when the world has turned its back on our kids and our community, and it is hard to see victory from our shackles, there is a glimpse of daylight.

And that daylight, no matter how big or small that glimpse may be, to us, all we can see is the sun.


Our team of Camp Victory leaders for Summer Camp 2011

happy hour

Now if you ask any of my close friends, I don't waste my money on stupidness. What I mean by that is that when it comes to money and overspending, it's not that I am cheap, but when it comes to things I don't need, or things that I could find cheaper somewhere else, my wallet is shut tight. I think this is due to a mix of my upbringing, convictions in my faith, and just the fact that I don't think I need to drive a Lexus when most of the people I know struggle to have sufficient bus fare in their pockets.

So, Starbucks is the last place you will find me.

That is, except on Mondays. Monday is my day to get work done, rest, reflect, and just get some end and odd jobs done before the week really gets going. I have been searching for a nice coffeeshop of some sorts near my house for the last couple times but my efforts have been with little success. Of course there is Tim Hortons, but Tim Hortons has neither wi-fi nor electric outlets. Alas, until I find a nice place that is close to my house, has available resources for my laptop, and brews coffee, Starbucks seems to be my hangout for Monday afternoons.

This morning, being Monday morning, I woke up a bit more excited to go to Starbucks than usual. A few of my friends are avid and faithful followers of Starbucks and their random happy hour specials; lately that of 'Half Priced Frappacino Happy Hour'. Me being the stickler I am am usually pretty pessimistic about these things (I mean half price is still nearing on $3! Does anyone else find this only a bit of a deal?). Also to make me sound like even more of a grump, I've worked in coffee shops before and know exactly how much work and how much money goes into making something like a Frappacino, and I can tell you its not worth even close to the amount they cost, unless, of course, the polar glaciers completely melt, global warming wins, and, as a result, there is an ice shortage pandemic in the world. However, today I woke up thinking, "yeah, that's alright...a nice treat for myself in just about the perfect weather". So today, I decided, rather than getting the cheapest possible drink at Starbucks above water from the tap in my travel mug from home (my usual), I bought one of these fancy frappacinos (which I admit are good, but never, ever, necessary). Fairly happy with my purchase, and maybe a little apathetic, I sat down at a table and pulled out my laptop ready to get some stuff done. Amidst all the chaos of moving wires and fixing the ideal position for my laptop (which I'm secretly pretty picky about), I knocked over my drink having it all spill on the floor (literally all of it, I had not even put in the straw yet).

With my drink all over the floor, and just about everyone around me looking awkwardly and silently at me, I was slightly embarrassing. But then the money-saving-down-with-the-man side of me helped me come to the realization that I just completely wasted a $3 drink. Then a certain attitude towards it all came over me, one that I had never really felt before: it's cool. As I cleaned up the mess and sorta awkwardly smiled at people around me, I kept asking myself, why does this not bother me? I kept trying to prove to myself that it should and I need to be at least a little frustrated at my stupidity. But no matter how hard I tried to tell myself what an annoying and bothersome situation I was in, I just could not convince myself that it was that big of a deal. There was a peace over me, a peace over the situation, that it wasn't a big deal. In short, it is what it is and, what it is, is cool.

What does it mean to have peace over something; to have peace over a situation or to be at peace with the things at hand? I think to have peace over something is to be able to see the bigger picture, to remove yourself from the moment you are in, and see the wider scope and know that things are good. It is a completely natural, and rational, reaction for people to go through life living in the micro, analyzing every detail and nit picking at the immediate world that apparently defines their identity. We get something on sale, we are happy; we are sitting in traffic, we are sad; we buy something we really like, we are happy; we spill it all over the floor, we are sad. We live and devote our lives to how we feel in given situations; we become slaves to what's going on and lose who we are in the midst of it.

My questions is this: what does it mean to see the bigger picture in our lives? Further, what does it look like to the people around us when we start acting and living based on the mindset that we are NOT enslaved by the hi's and low's of our daily routine? Now, I am not being ignorant. I think in my line of work I see, more than most, people who do not have a reality beyond their current state; to see the big picture is not only a far off dream, but, even more so, a foolish ideal that blurs the truth. For many people, the current is everything. But, whether it's true or not, whether it's possible to live in this way, I have to believe that there is more than the current. The present, the current state we are, cannot be everything we are because life only works if there is a greater and more foundational truth to each of our lives. If there is no hope that we are bigger than "this" and that we are not slaves to the things that go on on a micro scale in our lives, then we are fighting a useless fight; we are running towards a destination to nowhere.

Our jobs, that status of our relationships, our interests and priorities, our emotions and feelings...these things define where we are at because these things change. Where we are at in our journey in life is something beautiful, don't get me wrong. But if where I am at defines who i am, I am the subject of a completely unstable and damaging reality. Now what we are, that's a different story. What we are does not change...the core of our identities and the fundamental truths, innate truths, of who a person is is something even more beautiful. These are the things that can never be changed; what we are is the defining immutable truth over each of our lives. If there is no hope that who I am is defined by what I am, and not where I am at, then I am not excited, and certainly not at peace, with who I am.

What does a revolution of people that see themselves at the core of who they are and not the labels or states that confine them look like? What does it mean to see a world transformed by each individual's realization that they are more than the things that define them; that their identities are rooted in the truth of what they are and not where they are at in their journey in life.

That would be scary as hell...and awesome.

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Song of the Week:



(Shad; A Story No One Told. Not only is Shad's flow amazing, but this song speaks poetry, truth, and life that is so refreshing to a barren and empty rap game)

March Break Camp 2011

Check out a recap of our March Break Camp 2011 (you may see a familiar face!):

Goong Hay Fat Choy!

CHINESE NEW YEAR @ Camp Victory. Trying out different chinese snacks, learning how to use chopsticks, and getting red pockets (with candy and chocolate coins inside)

priorities

another fun conversation with some of my 5 and 6'ers, and 7 and 8's:

their take on priorities:

1. God

2. Spelling

3. Friends

4. Girlfriend/Boyfriend

Makes sense, no?

tiny fists and feet

Since my arrival in September, I have been heading up a team in running an afterschool program with our children in the community of Rexdale. There are many jobs and duties that come with my role, but probably the most dominant and identifiable responsibility the position requires of me, at least in the eyes of the kids, is that of the last line of discipline. Our kids go through a system of warnings and precautions when they act out of line or misbehave during program, and in doing so, we hope we are providing them with a rare type of love that sets their self-potential higher than those around them, and even themselves, may have assumed. Out of the twenty kids in our program, every single one knows that the last thing they want to do is be sent by another leader to MC (aka me), because MC has the power to suspend them from camp. At the end of all the warnings available to our kids, the very last line of discipline means a trip to the dreaded office where I, MC, give them their final warning and let them know I will be watching them and how they behave, and if I have to talk to them one more time, I will have to take further action, usually involving a suspension or coming in some sort of contact with their parents.

It is an interesting role, in many cases, being the “bad guy”. Kids can say some pretty nasty things when they are mad at you, and, at the end of the day, although they are just words, kids can have a pretty lasting effect on your emotional state. I have been told many times by a variety of kids that camp was better when I wasn’t there, and it would be better if I never came. How much they hate camp and hate me and the other leaders is also a pretty popular option. Most of the times, a kid may be having a bad day, and it shows in his or her behaviour. And, as mentioned above, they usually end up being sent to me; eyebrows furled, arms crossed, and a big frown on their face. You could have zero interaction with them the whole day, and still you, ironically enough, embody the entire reason why today is the worst day of their life. Usually once or twice a day, I become the empty canvas at least one of my kids will project all the struggle or stress they experience in their life at home or their life at school upon.

But the question is why? Why, in a world and society where you learn at an early age that you do not disrespect your elders, your authority, would you dare take that chance? My kids are not stupid; if anything, each probably has way more common sense than the average 5-10 year old. Many of them, in any other context would not dare fight back or argue against anyone with the power to discipline them because they know the chances of their consequence being nice for them is not in their favour. So then why do they take that risk against us? Especially with myself, the one who holds the final say, and with one phone call or visit to their house, can send them back home to a very unhappy parent.

I think it is because my kids feel something different at camp; something maybe they are not as used to. Perhaps its because our kids are surrounded by leaders, by men and woman of authority and power, who are not easily swayed to give up on them. So many of our kids are given a bad rap before they can even walk solely based on the community they live in, the colour of their skin, or the history of their families. For many of them, they are used to being given up on; they are used to people telling them success is unachievable; they are used to people telling them to set their standards low. But when they come to camp, there is something different in the air: discouragement is replaced by encouragement, low standards and expectations are replaced with higher ones, doubt and skeptism are replaced by trust, and hope becomes the new banner they live under; even if it is just for two hours a day in which they spend with us.

So when they attack me (both with words and with their tiny fists and feet), I think they do so because they know I am big enough to take it. They know that no matter what they say to me, no matter how much they throw at me, they know I won’t stop loving them. I think they are not afraid to unload all their anger and frustration on me, as well as my other leaders, because they know we see beyond it all and can still see a beautiful boy or girl beyond the distractions. I think they choose to hate us sometimes because they know we are the only ones that would care.

For the past couple months, just starting off, it has been a blessing to be able to be that person for so many of these kids; to be someone they can vent to, and at the end of the day allow them to still come out encouraged or, at least, with the sense that they are loved by someone. And with every blessing, the more and more I interact with the kids, the more I see myself in them. The more and more I work with kids, who wear their hearts on their sleeves, the more and more I realize how impatient I am, how short sighted I sometimes perceive situations, how so often I need to be loved when I deserve anything but it.

The more and more my kids feel more comfortable to yell at me, the more and more they learn to trust me, to understand how much I love them. Who is that in your life? Who is big enough to “take it”; to handle your tiny fists and feet?

tune from the east

beauty in the form of a song:

Foy Vance: Gabriel and the Vagabond

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4cjCuUQUwI