I make it a habit to look back through my blog posts,
Facebook posts and other writings… It usually takes approximately 10 minutes
before I begin to feel ashamed of my past self for sounding childish or for
using the term “butiful” (which saves you all of two letters, by the way…
hooray for modern efficiency!). And then I remember… No matter how I embarrass
myself, all of my shameful turns-of-phrase, rants and Internet lingo came from
a very sincere part of my adolescent, hormonal self.
So, let me walk you through this blog post really quickly. I
am unashamed of how quickly the tears come when I think of Kenya and all that I’ve
left behind. I don’t mind that I still hurt for the careless words and actions
of people there that broke my heart. I am a little ashamed of the hysterics
that marked my last couple days in Kenya and my first few weeks in Canada. I
am, however, unashamed that my first source of comfort these days is a cuddle
with my two beautiful retrievers. I celebrate exuberantly the moment when my
exam marks appeared and my mother and I lost our wits in a moment of pure joy. I
am unashamed of my newly gained IB knowledge that translates into crash courses
in Statistics with the family and a knowing nod while reading through judges
comments in a magazine’s poetry contest (syntax and meter are good friends of
mine).
I am unashamed of how loud I am. Seriously, all you people
who give me weird looks as I sing, blabber and rant my way through life… Give
it up. Your disbelief will not contain me. Still, I do get kind of bashful when
I remember all the weird looks I have earned from waitresses/waiters in the
first world. It’s a steep learning curve, people! I freely admit that the week
I spent with my dear friend Carrie on PEI was one of the most bittersweet and
beautiful memories of this journey of mine. I am unashamed of my childish
delight in all things Anne of Green Gables, no matter how touristy. And, Sara,
I’m so glad you were around to scream and do 360 turns at Sandspit in the rain.
I am unashamed of my running commentary on life which is equal parts obvious,
sarcastic, random and annoying.
I have learned to lose any sense of shame as I worship. I
don’t know why it took me so long to learn this particular truth. Honestly,
that whole “worship in spirit and in truth” should have stuck a little earlier.
I celebrate that God’s presence overwhelms the senses and fills you up with a
warm, fuzzy feeling that even a cup of tea can’t touch. I am unashamed that my
first concert was Oliver Jones, a Canadian jazz pianist of legendary fame, and
I was riveted to the complexity, skill, rhythm and beauty of an art form that
doesn’t often coincide with my daily life. I am unashamed that tears formed as
he began a Gershwin medley with “Rhapsody in Blue”. I am still less ashamed of
the river of tears that flowed down my cheeks when his guest vocalist, Ranee
Lee, began to sing Joni’s “Both Sides Now”. My world continues to expand as I
learn that spirituality and the divine’s presence are not just confined to worship
music or words that originate in a religious context.
I am a little bit ashamed that I continue to walk barefoot
on a part of our path down to the shore where rose bushes have been mowed down
recently and the 20 rose thorns that have ended up in my feet have not taught
me to do otherwise. I am unashamed of the number of times I have ended up in
the ocean without my actual bathing suit on. I apologize to my clothing that
has endured the frigid salt water of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. I delight in
watching my puppies learn how to swim and grabbing their paws when they come
anywhere near me so they don’t scratch my skin off with their frantic doggy
paddles.
Finally, as I look towards my fast-approaching brush with
collegiate-ality, I am unashamed of my very real fear that covers everything
from maintaining my academic standards, to fitting in socially, to finding a
new place to get my eyebrows done to learning how to apply my lifestyle and
beliefs to a mob culture. It’s a wee bit shameful how excited I was to hear
that I may be able to take second year calculus (for the first and last time, “THANK
YOU IB”).
To close? An anecdote that really accomplishes nothing of
value. I am unashamed that my brain reverts heavily to the thought processes of
an adolescent girl. When I was a little smaller and we still lived in Mozambique,
the Mercy Ship Doulos docked in Beira and we attended a service on board one
Sunday evening. I remember nothing notable except that we sang a hymn of sorts
that took some words and ideas from that one verse in the Bible… Which verse in
the Bible, you might ask? How on earth is this relevant, Davita? You crazy,
girl? I understand completely if these thoughts are running through your head.
You and me both, friend! But here it is…
ROMANS 1, baby. “I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it
is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.” It sounds all
very first century martyr-like but then I remembered that the primary feeling I
attach to things that make me look foolish in front of my peers is shame. Maybe
this blog post is all about trying to convince myself that I am indeed not
ashamed of the many things I listed. But maybe my writing it on an Internet
blog means I’m really not… Unleashing my soul on the two or three people who actually
read this… Whatever, it is 11:29 at night now and my inspiration is wearing
thin.
Instead of my usual quote, I leave you with this… Listen to
at your own risk. It may stir the soul.
