horror.

Horror.
A haunting shriek cuts through the gloomy moment of silence and echoes shrilly off a long cold corridor.  As the cry subsides into eerie stillness, the brown light from a single lightbulb suspended high above flickers and  my corner of the room-like hallway feels colder and darker than just a minute ago. I huddle, seeking the strength and comfort the chipped cement walls give me. These cold walls are my mama. I go to them for  hugs when I need refuge and comfort. They are where I pour out my anger; when I am alone for a moment I recklessly pound and kick on them, giving them my emotions for safekeeping. Because they sympathize. They see the things that happen in this place. The pain inflicted by the stick-wielding  People (although they don't deserve to be called that) who beat me when I can't follow their rapidly barked instructions. The shouted virulent insults they rain down on me in moments of my failure. The way my self worth, my culture, my personality, the people and things I love, and even my body are jerked from my tenuous grasp and buried deep deep under the way they make me be.

My imagination runs wild as I walk through the cold wide hallways of the school where I teach. Usually I see the ancient block walls as opportunities for posters and bright paint colors and things to make it a friendly fun place for children to enter and learn. But  when the Carefree Children go home and the night is approaching and I'm the only one left in the cold shadowy school I think about what other things these walls have seen; to me  the cold foreboding unfriendliness of the building and its bleak surroundings are the picture of Canada's shame, the residential school system. And although I have no proof that it actually was once a place of horror, my imagination, maybe my intuition tells me it was. And if something good can come from the horror of those, it has, making me a better teacher.
That haunting picture of a small one crouched by the icy walls crying for home and love and comfort inspires me to do anything to make this building a happy place, even a shelter from some child's unhappy home life.  That child's scream will echo often through my mind, reminding me to pull my children even closer, to keep them safe and make them feel secure. And When in my mind I'm the sobbing small one hugging the wall because she has no mama, I instinctively love my students a little more, not wanting to think that could happens to any of them. And when my heart is cowering under  imagined insults and cruelty of a piously clothed but wicked hearted human, my inside cries, giving me courage to push aside my impatience and say an extra word of praise instead of reproof.

I have no connection and no scars from the residential school era and am not First Nation myself, but because I know and love people whose lives have been rerouted through horror as an effect of these schools, I feel a tiny bit of their pain.  I wish I could be part them, of their mourning  and overcoming. As it is all I can do is give them support, share a tinybit of courage, and always prayers for them. I silently mourn their losses, love a few of their children, and do my best to make sure none of these horrific things happen to anyone I can protect.
I have a challenge to anyone who reads this. Can this be a Generation of Peace? A Generation of Kindness? A Generation of Acceptance? A Generation of Understanding? And most of all, a Generation of Love? One Generation with *so many names.*
I'm going to be one of that Generation.

says the Sunset Watcher

courage

Be strong and of a good courage. 

Be not a afraid neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest. 

It was no coincidence that the first Sunday in my new church in my new town my favourite verse was the sermon. God totally knew what He was doing. He knew that although at that moment I was  vibrantly full of courage, it wouldn't be many hours before fear would threaten and courage would be only the whisper of this verse in my heart. I didn't know that but i soon found that out.

Be strong were the words that prompted me to walk in front of the crowd of strangers, head held high, acting confidence I didn't have. 

Be of good courage were the words that inserted hope when I looked ahead to endlessness. 

Your God is with you wherever you go are the words that kept me brave enough to walk on, through fear. 

I have no doubts that This verse will be my stability throughout the next 9 months. I have no doubt that God wants me hear and no doubt that although this looks daunting and terrifying sometimes, God wouldn't have sent me here if He knew I couldn't do it. 

6 Hours and a LifeChange

1 giant decision made months ago resulted this week in:

2 sisters and 1 mum
All my transportable earthly belongings
6 hours in my Andromeda car
And arrival to the gently rolling prairie country.

A life change.


Sadness because goodbyes
Anticipation because Future
Fear because 200 new people
Excitement because changes
Courage and peace because
My God is with me wherever I go
Joshua 1vs9

Because I'm Old Now

I just became 21years old not 2 months ago. Which means I'm old enough to have learned some wisdom already. And since I am so old and wise I accidentally made a list of life lessons I wish I could insert into my little siblings' lives to make growing up easier for them. Since life doesn't work that way and humans really like to learn by trial and error not by being told, I just buried this list in my diary and forgot about it for weeks. Now, reading back through diary entries for inspiration, I came upon this again and decided I need to keep it near me cause guess what. I still have mastered all these perfections myself.

Advices to Littler Ones* **
*not a comprehensive list; sporadic accidental inspiration is all this is
**because this advise is directed at me I must be littler than myself??



➡Don't fight the truth.

➡Be absolutely certain the people you trust are the right people. To my sibs: your parents (/family) and your church will always be the right people. Not everyone else will have your total happiness in mind and not everyone else will tell the truth. But your mum and dad, they always will.

➡Something I wish to never forget is that everything I do will affect someone else in some way. Everything. Don't hurt the ones you love.

➡Being kind, being merciful, showing grace, forgiving. You can never do too much of these things. Always be kinder than necessary.

➡Fighting things by yourself or fighting yourself by yourself is lonely. Share your battles; usually that makes them easier.

➡There's always someone who has life harder than you. Truth.

➡Think more about others. Right now I can hear 4 year old sister asking "how's school [brother]?" And even after his grunted answer continuing with "how WAS school? Was [your friend] there? Did you play hockey? Huh [brother]?" How sweet of her.

➡Let the other person win. The argument, the discussion, the reprimand, any conflict, any time you are tempted to fight back. Winning will never make me happier especially if I made someone else sadder by doing so. Never.

➡Feel pain. But shut out useless angry feelings, injustice, unkindNess. Feeling pain and sadness for good reasons is a good thing just...

➡Don't let sadness be who you are. Rise above your past, your regret, other's cruelty. It just wastes time you could spend being happy and having a good life.

🌅from the Littler Sunset Watcher

of GIANT encounters

Last week in my thankful stories (which I wrote exactly a week ago even though I didn't publish them then...I'm not too good with timelines) I wondered why I was afraid when I met giant Goliaths in my life. Well that was a good thing to wonder but since I wondered that I have came upon several giants and shivered in fear in front of each one, needlessly. For some terrible reason I failed to immediately ask for power to fight goliath but instead cowered for long minutes in front of him, fearful, until he sensed my fear and began to chase me back to the safety of dismissal. He would go away for a while but then suddenly, through the valley, would ring his loud taunting cry "are you afraid to fight!?" And I would begin the scared cowering circle all over again. But God is endlessly merciful. And when I decided I needed help He helped me fight goliath. Kill him til he was so dead that all his friends ran in the opposite direction; this time it was them who were afraid.
I don't don't don't deserve the kind of mercy God showed me, the kind He was waiting all week to extend as soon as I asked him for it. Why do I let my fear for goliath control me instead of my love for God? God has so much more to offer than Goliath.
Off to another week of Goliath-encounters. And this time I'm going to let God do the fighting.

It's been a rather difficult week, mostly emotionally, for me. I've cried I've sighed I've ranted. And one night courage overcame and I learned from the difficult things I was facing.

The Things I Learned This Week:

•always be kinder
•just when I think I know a person they surprise me
•make the best thing of whatever happens to you. There's always something to be happy about.
•don't allow Satan to control me. He doesn't deserve the power I give him over myself
•the Bible is more alive than I am
•be a humble hero (derived from bs discussion)
•I might have been happy and content yesterday but that doesn't mean I am today. Every day I have to choose faith over fear.
•learn from the negative things people say about me (cause they might be true) but don't let them break me
•popular. Typical. Trendy. Normal. Labels don't matter. Be my strange self but always be kind. In the end it doesn't matter whether I'm like everyone else but whether I'm a kind person.

(And it's only Wednesday)

>>sunset watcher, watching the clouds set tonight; not the sun

Tiny Stories of my Life

First, a background. I often make lists of things that make me smile or that I'm thankful for and send them to my friends who do the same to me. This is my latest compilation;

Little stories that are my life or that I observe are the things I'm thankful for this time around.

I watched someone young helping someone old, listening to his garbled unintelligible words; understanding that person's needs when he couldn't even voice them. And I was in awe because that is a good picture. A picture of how life should be. The able helping the unable. The strong helping the weak. The young honoring the old and wise.

In contrast: I also watched someone older bending down to help someone smaller, listening to the child's little voice, understanding it's needs and focusing on the child more than on himself. I was in awe because that is a good picture of how life should be be. The able helping in the incapable. The learned helping the small innocents.

I walked the lengthy path through the cold air after hockey expecting to get into a chilly car but to my happy surprise I found that some kind anonymous had turned it on for me so I could happily climb into a cozy vehicle. I like being the recipient of anonymous kindness. Or any kindness really. Thankyou, Kind Anonymous. I hope I chance to do something kind for you one day.

The brave boy sat there and calmly admitted that he'd stopped doing that (something none of us had even thought of Not doing) because he'd heard questions about it at conference.

Another story I didn't want to forget to add to a thankful list and almost forgot now: The happy event of the biz Christmas party wherein my employers treated their employees (6 of us) to Brazilian deliciousness and gave them sumptuous gifts and let them fail miserably at archery to their ♡s content. Beautiful singing on the way back to town and then a cup of tea completed a perfect evening.

The story of this busy week of singings and meetings and hockeys and out-4-suppers and pancakes&swatgames every night and an after party at papa&grannys with AllTheCousins (⬅a very nice chapter, this one) is too long to narrate but let it be said, it is a good story.

A child sleeps in the bed across from mine, perfect and beautiful and in, her sleepingness, totally angelic. I love her and every night before I go to bed I look at her in awe that God lets us have her. Her story didnt begin very happily but I pray for the following chapters of her story to be better, so much better.

I read a good story today, about a boy fighting a giant very bravely with only his faith in God and some tiny stones to help him win. I was supposed to be teaching this story to young children, telling them about this superhuman feat and that God can help us overcome any giant, if we ask Him. Somewhere in the story, or maybe in the things the children said about the story, I learned new things about God and the courage and power He will give anyone who asks Him and I wondered why I am ever even afraid of Goliath.

I like stories. I like writing the (true) stories of my life but also I like hearing the stories of your life. I hope you are living a happy story today.

From the Sunset Watcher