Friday, May 3, 2013

The History I Never Knew...


I didn’t really know what I was going to. All I knew was that it was some type of First Nations conference and it was in Montreal. I met with my supervisor the week before and she told me that she wanted me to go to the conference not knowing anything, having a blank slate. So myself and three others that I met on the way to the conference, headed to Montreal for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

There were lots of seminar options to attend so we were free to pick and choose. Three of us decided to spend our first morning at the conference attending a showing of the film We Were Children. At this point I still wasn’t sure what the conference was really all about. The next two hours were an absolute smack in the face. Throughout the next 2 days I would come face to face with a part of my Canadian history that I never new about.

What was I attending exactly? The Truth and Reconciliation Commission, or the TRC “has a mandate to learn the truth about what happened in the residential schools and to inform all Canadians about what happened in the schools. The commission will document the truth of what happened by relying on records held by those who operated and funded the schools, testimony from officials of the institutions that operated the schools, and experiences reported by survivors, their families, communities and anyone personally affected by the residential school experience and its subsequent impacts.” So I was at a nation wide TRC event. Here's a little more info. about the issue...
  
“Residential schools for Aboriginal people in Canada date back to the 1870’s. Over 130 residential schools were located across the country, and the last school closed in 1996. These government-funded, church-run schools were set up to eliminate parental involvement in the intellectual, cultural, and spiritual development of Aboriginal children.

During this era, more than 150,000 First Nations, Metis, and Inuit children were placed in these schools often against their parents’ wishes. Many were forbidden to speak their language and practice their own culture. While there is an estimated 80,000 former students living today, the ongoing impact of residential schools has been felt throughout generations and has contributed to social problems that continue to exist.

On June 11, 2008, the Prime Minister, on behalf of the Government of Canada, delivered a formal apology in the House of Commons to former students, their families, and communities for Canada’s role in the operation of the residential schools.” (click for link)

This is the history from the TRC website. However, it’s one thing to sit and read it, it's another thing to hear the stories in person. From the moment I began watching the film, I realized that I have been completely ignorant of a genocide that happened in my very own country. The film depicts the life of two children who were sent to two different residential schools. They are stripped of their entire identity, forced to learn and speak a language foreign to them, forced to adopt a religion unknown, and made to feel shame and guilt for being born a Native. The film also reveals the horrible physical, sexual and emotional abuse done to the children by the clergy. There were several points during the film where I wanted to throw up because the treatment towards the children was so brutal to watch. At the beginning of the film it was announced that there were health aids standing by if anyone needed to talk about what they were seeing. About halfway through the film one of these health aides came down our row and sat down beside our group, we weren’t quite sure what she was doing. I glanced at her through the corner of my eye; she put her hand on the gentleman sitting in front of us. The man was large, well built and looked to be in his early 60’s, and he was also part of the First Nations community. The woman put her hand on his shoulder and it was then that I saw the tears that were streaming down his face. I watched this man for the rest of the film, and tears continued to fall from his eyes. It dawned on me that while I was watching a film, this man was reliving very real events that happened in his life. This wasn’t just a movie; this was the story of his people. I can’t get that picture out of my head.

What followed that afternoon was an opportunity to be a part of a sharing circle. A large group of people gathered, many from the First Nations community and many who weren’t. We sat in a circle of chairs. Many of us wore earpieces to hear the discussion in our own language because the conversation went back and forth between English and French. It was a time to discuss reconciliation and how we get from here to there. There was a moderator but people were free to speak, and each person was allowed up to 5 minutes. I listened intently and took notes. I heard many survivors of the residential schools speak and share parts of their stories. I heard some speak who were very angry at the government, at the church, at the white people who are ignorant of the history. I heard the message over and over again that an apology means nothing if there is not a change in treatment, if the actions of the party apologizing do not change.

The next day our group sat in on one of the main sessions where a very large crowd gathered to hear a panel of people from various walks of life discuss reconciliation. Again, I listened intently and took down notes. After this seminar we attended another seminar where we heard a survivor of the Rwandan Genocide speak. There was a short time for responses and questions afterwards.

I also took some time to walk around and look at some of the different rooms that were set up. There was one room that was called the “church’s listening area”. This was a room where the four main denominations (Catholic, United, Presbyterian, and Anglican) that were involved with running the residential schools set up tables with pictures of the classes and information available for members of the First Nations community that were trying to find and identify family members. This area was also for the churches simply to listen to members of the First Nations community.

There were areas where different organizations set up tables promoting healing and social justice. There were large boards being displayed that gave the history of the First Nations people in Canada. There were boards that showed what life was like in the residential schools.

These were a couple parts of the boards that gripped me…




A little Aboriginal boy in his uniform.

I’ve been trying to write about my experience in Montreal all week. In part I feel like I still don’t know much at all. Another part of me has been trying to work through the tension that this happened and I didn’t know anything about it. Why didn’t I learn about it? Are we even teaching it in our schools? Do most Canadians even know that this happened? I took pages and pages of notes but to summarize them, these are the thoughts and quotes that have stuck with me the most:
  • The church was instrumental in seeking to assimilate the Aboriginal race. They did it in God’s name. They taught the children to speak “God’s language”. They also raped and molested and beat and mocked innocent children. They went against their own holy scriptures. There was no love, no respect, and no justice. One native man angrily said that it’s either that your institution is evil or your God is evil, which one is it? He demanded that we clean out our church.

  • One woman said that what the residential schools created was a “diocide”. This is killing the idea of God in the child so that they spend their life looking for him.

  • One man said, “there is no one and nothing that can give us back what we lost over this tragedy. I wonder what I would have become.” 

  • The government and the church used the school as a venue to destroy the human spirit. Another woman said that there was nothing left of her when she came out of these schools.

  • “They did a good some at assimilating some of us”. “I didn’t want to be aboriginal.”
  • “I was ashamed but I forgive myself for believing what I was told about me.”

  • A non-aboriginal that has worked in high levels of government commented that if white people had the type of living conditions, limited access to clean water and education that many aboriginal people do today, there would be hell to pay.

  • Perhaps the comment that shocked me the most was that “our present life is actually built on a cultural genocide”. 

I guess there was a big realization for me that many, if not all of the issues surrounding the First Nations community today are a result of the residential schools. There were generations leaving these schools with no identity and with so much hatred for themselves and others. Many turned to drugs and alcohol and suicide. There were thousands of people who were robbed of a childhood and who didn’t know how to be parents. All they knew what the abuse. There’s a reason that things are the way they are today.

Once you know it, you can’t unknow it. One non-aboriginal woman said that this is deeply uncomfortable, but have we ever been comfortable when we grow? Another man commented that “reconciliation is not a spectator sport, it’s a contact sport…or initially a collision sport.” Both of these individuals are correct.

Several people have asked me what I’m going to do with this information, with the things that I’ve learned? I’m still figuring that out. But for starters I’m going to encourage you to watch this film and talk about it with others: We Were Children

I’m going to tell you to read about the First Nations history and educate yourself and others. Check out the TRC website. Or read articles...check out this one from the CBC website.

You see mutual respect means that we all have the same opportunities. Aboriginal children need to have the same right to life and hope that we want our own children to have. These things that happened were not dreams or myths, they were real events that occurred in our history. And unless we want this dark history to be repeated, we need to educate people on what happened, why it happened and why we can NEVER EVER let it happen again. We need to promote consciousness and social awareness. In the words of one woman that spoke “why wait for a big disaster to happen before we help each other?” Let’s start now. Let’s begin in our everyday lives, in our everyday relationships and contact with other human beings. Let’s start with educating our children, our friends and our family. Let’s ask questions.

For someone who loves the Church, it absolutely broke my heart to learn about the role that the church had in these events. More than that, as someone loves God, it breaks my heart that the church was instrumental in forming an identity about him based on lies and hatred. It’s my prayer that reconciliation will happen not only on behalf of the government and the country but on behalf of the church.

One thing is for sure, God did not do this. I believe God’s heart was and continues to be broken over this tragedy and over every single child that was robbed of their innocence and their childhood. I also believe that God is in the business of reconciliation and of putting people back together.

So may we become people who are not ignorant of our own history. May we commit to becoming humble reconcilers and promoters of peace. May we let the stories of real people move us to action and may we idle no more. 

Sincerely, 
Darcie

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Why "Waiting" Should Not Be Overrated...


The one and only year that I went to a Christian school was my grade eight year. I had a fantastic, young and passionate teacher. I still remember when one morning during devotions she talked to us about waiting. She used this Kleenex box demonstration, in which the Kleenex box represented her heart. Every time she dated a guy she gave away pieces of herself (her heart) to him. So my teacher went around to different boys in the classroom and would put piles of Kleenex on their desks that represented how much of herself she gave to each guy (for illustrative purposes). When she finally met the one she wanted to marry and give herself fully to, she couldn’t, because her Kleenex box was empty. She had given so much of herself to the other guys she had been with that she could not give her whole self to the one she was now going to marry.
I’ve never ever forgotten this illustration. In fact, I even used it once when I was speaking a few years ago to a group of Jr. High students about dating.

Moving up a few years…when I was 16 the song ‘Wait for me’ by Rebecca St. James was my anthem and Rebecca was my role model. She was the beautiful girl faithfully waiting to meet her husband, the one God had chosen for her.

A few years after that I was given the book ‘When God Writes Your Love Story’, that I read with high hopes. I can’t remember if I finished it, but I got the just.

I grew up in a family and in a youth group where I was always encouraged to wait.
Wait for what you might ask?
Yes, wait to have sex until I get married…
But not just that!

For me waiting has always been about so much more than that.
Waiting has meant a commitment to personal and spiritual growth. It’s meant learning to trust God. Waiting has made me deeper. It’s been the struggle that I go to bed with at night and wake up with in the morning.

I am a lover of Anne of Green Gables, Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. If you know me well, then you know I often refer to my future husband as “my Gilbert”. My movie case is full of love stories.
When I meet people, I always ask them how they met, how they came to love one another and of course, how how he purposed. I love to hear the stories. They move me, they give me hope and they remind me that God is really good at writing love stories.

You see, I’ve been praying for my future husband since I was a little girl. I pray specifically for his life, for the kind of man that he’s becoming, for the choices he is making, and that he will be able to wait.

A few years ago I was having coffee with a good friend. She got married in her late 20’s and she dated a few guys before she met the one she would marry. The advice she gave me that day has never left me since. She said that she wished she would have prayed early on that she would be able to just meet and date her husband because she had regrets from her other relationships. In a lot of ways, that’s become my prayer. That I would be able to wait for the right person, not giving pieces of myself away to the wrong person.

In a world where waiting has become overrated, where marriages are ending left and right and where having friends with benefits is common, some may think that this idea of waiting is rather silly.

However, I can’t think of something more beautiful, to be able to say to someone someday that I’ve been praying for your life for so many years. I wonder what would it feel like if someone said that to me? The days that seemed long and hard and lonely might be forgotten in that moment.

You see, I think learning to wait has shaped and molded the person that I am today. It has also made me realize how much a person can change and how their ideals can change too. The things I want in life now are not the things I wanted when I was 16, or 20 or 23, but I couldn’t have known that then.

So yes, I watch the love stories because they remind me to celebrate love.
And yes, I occasionally still listen to ‘Wait for me’ by Rebecca St. James, however cheesy it might sound.
And I think I’ll always refer to my future husband as ‘my Gilbert’.

But for those of you who think you are silly for waiting or you feel awkward because you are single….please don’t. Your time of waiting will make you deeper, more ready for what’s to come. Use this time to get to know yourself, who you are, what you like and what you don’t like. Learn to be a good friend. Find movies with stories that fill you up and remind you of the kind of story you’re waiting for.

Cause the truth is, YOU are worth waiting for!

Yours truly,
The Kindred Spirit 

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Round 2 of Coffee...


I can remember the night like it was yesterday. The air was warm and yet slightly crisp for a fall night. The lights glistened and the noise of traffic and people filled the city space. I was downtown Toronto with two of my most favourite people in the whole world, my parents.

I realize it’s not everyday that you hear someone talk this way about their parents, but then again, you probably don’t know my parents. I will admit it a thousand times, I’m a very lucky girl. Living independently over the past two years has only served as a big reminder of that. I love my parents but not just because they me life and raised me but because they’re just two of the best people I know. They love to have experiences, they love conversation, they like to travel and they’re bent on not getting set in their ways. They like to think about things, especially their faith. They love to meet interesting people. When we’re together we laugh and we tell stories and we remember why life is such a gift. They are the people who I desperately seek advice from on almost everything, because what they think matters to me, and because too often than not, the words they give me change my perspective on life.

So this past September, on the weekend of my 25th birthday, my parents drove to Toronto for the evening to take me out for a special birthday dinner at Marche. If you’ve never been to this restaurant you really need to go, it’s one of those places you have to experience at least once. So we went and we sat at a cute little table under a large skylight, surrounded by white lights in green trees. And for the next few hours we ate food that made our taste buds spring to life, and by candlelight and white lights we talked and laughed and shared stories. And a while after the first round of dessert coffee, they decided it was time for the second round of coffees. I love having coffee with people; it’s actually one of my favourite things to do. I’ve been on enough coffee dates to know that there are only certain people and certain circumstances that make you entertain the possibility of a round 2 of coffees. And so on this perfect night, we enjoyed round 2 of coffee because there was nowhere else we wanted to be than right there, in that moment, with each other.

This is the memory that I can’t get out of my head. It was everything about that night. It was being in the city, it was the pizza my Mom and I shared, it was watching my Dad’s eyes light up while he ate one of his favourite desserts, it was the feeling I got inside when my parents stood up to go and get round 2 of coffee. It was the realization that there wasn’t anywhere else they had to be; they just wanted to be there with me. Tears come to my eyes as I think about this night and as I consider that this is what it feels like to be loved. This is what it’s like to be fully present with someone. This is what it feels like to all of a sudden realize that those people are not just your parents; they’ve become two of your closest friends.

And when my counselor tells me to close my eyes and think about a memory that makes me feel safe, and seen, and heard, and loved, this is what I think about.

And when my mentor talks to me about Jesus just wanting to be present with me, this is the memory that I compare it to. Because if this is what it’s like for my parents to just want to be with me, then what might it be like for my Heavenly Father to just want to be with me?

I don’t know if my parents know just what that round 2 of coffees meant that night, but for me that second cup of coffee was a spiritual experience in every way.

Utterly thankful,

The Kindred Spirit

Monday, November 5, 2012

Sometimes You Need to Leave…


As I sit here and write this I am flying high above the clouds, on my way home to Toronto after a wonderful weekend spent in the South.

I’m a firm believer that sometimes in order to remember why you love a place, you have to leave it. Even if you leave for just a short time, for the good of your heart, and your mind and your soul, for the good of your story you need to go. As I look out the window and see the moon shine on the clouds beneath me, and every now and again catch a glimpse of the land below, I am reminded that I am so small and insignificant. Yet here I am surrounded by gifts, starting with the very blood that runs through my veins and gives me life.

Airports are one of my most favourite places. I know, I’m weird. People from all over the world in one place, everyone on the go with some place to be. I sit and I watch them. I wonder about their lives. Where do they come from? Why do they dress like that? What is their story? Why does she look so sad? Why is that man wearing a dress? I listen to the accents, to the languages, I hear them talk on their cell phones and wonder where their homes are? The men and women in uniform walk past and I look in their eyes. I can’t help but wonder where they will serve and if one day they will give their life for their country? Are they afraid? All of a sudden I can find myself sitting beside someone from across the world and if only for a 2 hour flight, isn’t is strange that our stories will collide for such a small amount of time, probably never to intersect again? There is no other place like an airport.

I blink and I’m in another country, and it seems like another world. I’ve been here many times before but it always feels different. The culture is not what I know and yet I’ve seen it in the movies. I’m shocked that the portrayal isn’t that far off. And as I’m swept into the south, I am also swept into the presence of people that I love so dearly. And for one weekend we laugh and cry and watch hours of Dr. Quinn Medicine woman. I spend hours holding the most precious baby that I’ve ever laid eyes on. I shower him with kisses and hugs and whispers of “I love you”. We make fun of each other’s accents, we reminisce about times past, memories that feel like they were just yesterday and at the same time seem so far away. We celebrate new life and the heartaches that have brought us to this place. We aren’t who we used to be. Time has made us deeper, scarred us in a way but if we could, would we choose to go back?

At the end of the day, I lie in bed and check my phone. I read updates of home. I think about my life there and my present reality, they are so different. My heart can’t help but feel overwhelmed with thankfuls. How can I be so blessed? Why me? I have been showered with gifts and so easily I forget them. I’m sorry. Illuminate my sight; I don’t want to miss what is all around me.

The moon is beautiful tonight. I’m closer to it up here but it still seems so far away. Where did this weekend go? I blink and I’m in another country and it is indeed another world. This is why I love to travel. This is why I love the rush and the hustle and bustle and newness of a different place.

Because sometimes you have to leave to remember what you have.

Sometimes the money that it takes to get you there just doesn’t matter, because your soul needs those people, needs that place, needs to know what it’s like to come back. Sometimes your eyes need to see the moon from the other side of the clouds. We need to “awe”, we need to “wonder” and be overwhelmed with our own smallness.

Sometimes leaving isn’t just about going; it’s about opening yourself up to the God of the universe who is bigger than we can comprehend. It’s about letting Him amaze us. It’s about letting Him make us feel small, so we remember how big He is.

So, maybe you need to leave, even for a short while, so you can remember the things you don’t even realize you’ve forgotten.

And the funny thing is, sometimes the leaving makes the staying all the more richer.

Yours truly,

The Kindred Spirit