Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

As I write this, it's not the Eurythmics song I have running through my head (though it's probably running through yours now, sorry). No, I am singing Patty Griffin's song "Forgiveness":

It's hard to give
It's hard to get
It's hard to give
But still I think it's the best bet
Hard to give
Never gonna forget
But everybody needs a little forgiveness

The other night I dreamed of forgiveness.

In my dream, I ran into my old college boyfriend in a hamburger joint in our college town. I have not idea why, in the land of dreams, we met up in that particular place; I don't think it's a restaurant we ever visited together during our year-long romance as it was a little too far from our university campus. And I don't think it's a place I'm likely to visit now, even when I head back there to visit friends when I am in Texas for the upcoming Christmas holidays, given that I am a pretty strict vegetarian these days. Still, in my dream, there we were, our contemporary selves, bumping into each other at Fuddruckers.

I saw him before he saw me, and I took a moment to take in his grow-up self. Somehow in my mind, whenever he crossed it, he had remained that angst-ridden, angry 20-year-old. But here he was, a self-assured grown man. He seemed shorter than I remembered him, though that's probably just because I had made him into such a huge monster over the years. This was one of those dreams filled with visceral emotion. My stomach knotted with nerves, fear, and dread. I didn't want to face him. I debated trying to hide from him as I had once done at a bookstore when I nearly ran into him a few years after college. But I didn't. In my dream, I did what I have not done since the nasty break-up that lasted longer than the relationship. In the dream, I faced him. I called his name - first and last - trying to sound as light and carefree as possible. He looked up, and as dawning recognition came upon him, I could see his mind taking in the adjustment of what 15+ years have done to me, just as I took in the growth in him. His response was something along the lines of, "Well, wow. If it isn't Rachel Rev."

We spent a few minutes catching up. What was he doing? What was I doing? Specifically, what was I doing there? I assume he told me about his life, though I can recall nothing of what he said (probably because in real life, I have no clue). I told him I was living in Canada, recently hitched, and that we (I nodded to Craig over at our table with my friends) were "home" visiting for the holidays. When I told him what Craig does professionally, he made some comment/joke about me and my scientists, and I thought (or maybe said) that, no, he and Craig were the only scientists I had ever dated. The conversation then went a little deeper. Was he happy? Yes. Was I happy? Yes, indeed.

Then I saw the sadness in his eyes. And he brought up the messiness and nastiness and hurt and rage and sorrow in our shared past. Again, that trepidation and worry gripped my gut. This was why I had been tempted to sneak out without approaching him. Ow, I really didn't want to go there. But I acknowledged that yes, it was there, in our past. "I am so sorry," he said. I am sorry. Words which I had never heard from him. Words which, in my memory, had never come across his lips. Most likely, they were words uttered at one point or another, but never accepted by me, since I did not wish to forgive him. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to create him in the image of a villain - an unfeeling, uncaring, heartless bad guy. You know, memory is funny that way.

But there they were: "I am sorry." It was hard to hear them. Even in my dream, it was difficult. Because accepting those words would mean acknowledging the pain, walking through it again, even if just briefly, and then, finally, letting it go. I was tempted to laugh it off, to say no apologies were necessary, to say, "You know what, I am who I am today because of all that we went through. And I really like where I am. It hasn't always been easy, but I'm a better person because of it, so no worries. No apology needed."

Yes, there is truth in such a statement - the choices I have made have led me to my current place in life and the heartaches I have endured have helped to shape me into the woman I have become. Yet despite those truths, apologies were necessary. And not just his. I also needed to own up to my faults, to the hurt I brought to him. I needed to face my shadow side and acknowledge that I had was not a passive victim in our turbulent romance. I had said hateful words to him. I had employed volatile mood swings to manipulate him. And I had schemed and connived to bring out the rage in him. Not exactly behaviours I am proud of. Definitely not the me I would want revealed on a job interview or first date. It's a side of myself I have rarely revealed to my closest friends or even my life partner. Only this man has ever really known that version of me. This was exactly why my apology was necessary, not only his. (You know, I think my apology was harder for me to accept than his apology, since it meant accepting the part of myself I have kept under lock and key for so long.)

In the dream, I was tempted to laugh off his apology, stating it wasn't necessary. And instead, I accepted it. "Thank you," I replied, "I am sorry, too." He thanked me. And he forgave me. I forgave him. And then he went his way. And I went mine. Back to my table where my Beloved inquired, "Who was that?". I replied softly, "A guy from college. I'll tell you later."

I dreamed of forgiveness. The man in my dreams was a boy I had loved, a fiend I had hated, and now a man I had forgiven. Had I actually forgiven him? Had he forgiven me?

When I awoke, I felt forgiven. But I didn't feel all light and free. I woke up feeling as if I had been crying for hours, that type of crying that sucks the life and breath out of you, leaves you gasping and dry-heaving with puffy eyes and blotchy skin. Only no tears had been shed. No, I didn't feel light and free. I felt raw. Like my heart had been scoured and boiled, scrubbed on an old-fashioned washboard, and slapped against the rocks, then twisted and squeezed and wrung out, and then strung up on a line. Clean, but whipped. Forgiveness is really hard work, even in dreams, I guess.

As I reflected on this dream, I was surprised that I had dreamed it at all. You see, I thought I had "dealt" with all of this years ago. I thought I had dealt with the pain, the anger, the heartache of that tumult. To a large extent, I had. I mean, I've developed the capacity to be in healthy, life-giving relationships. I am able to communicate like a grown-up (on most days). I have stopped blaming this man for my commitment issues and have instead recognized that perhaps my fear of commitment, concerns with the institution of marriage, and ambivalence about having children were all contributing factors in the mayhem of our love. So, yeah, I had really "dealt" with it.

But I don't believe I have ever forgiven him. Or if I have ever forgiven myself. And I know that I have never said, "I am sorry" to him.

The other night, in my dream, I did. I heard his apology. I offered my own. I forgave him. And I forgave myself. It was only a dream. But as I awoke to the new dawn, I knew I had finally forgiven him. And while I may never know if he has forgiven me, I have finally forgiven myself. And in that, I experience absolution and release.

a place for my soul to rest

In the past three years, I have moved as many times, crossing state or national borders each time. This last move was especially hard because I did not have a supportive faith community. My denomination does exist here, but it is not the same denomination I came from in the States. And most often I do not feel as if there is a place for me (a liberal, heretical, WOMAN pastor) here within my church.

This has caused much grief and sorrow as my denomination was one I CHOSE as an adult, one that allowed and encouraged me to bring my questions and my doubts, one that didn't require me to check my brain at the door, one that nurtured me and sustained me through my education and first decade of ministry. And now, I fear I may have to leave.

In many ways, the Unitarian Universalist Church would be an obvious fit for me. 1) On days when I profess a belief in god, I am more unitarian than trinitarian, and 2) If I consider the possibility of heaven, I would have to put myself into the universalist understanding of salvation. Unitarian? Check. Universalist? Check. And the UUs are so lefty and liberal. I love their commitment to social justice and to peace and the environment. And my Beloved is UU. So it should be a perfect fit. Except...

I am christian. At least, I am culturally christian. I may not take the stories in the christian scriptures to be literal truth, but they are my stories, the ones I grew up with, and the ones that resonate with metaphorical truth within my soul. Some of the christian stories I adore. And many I abhor. But they are the stories I know. I appreciate the sacred stories of other traditions, and I can find truth and meaning within them. But they are not my stories. They are not the ones which quiet the storms in my life or sing to my soul.

And I love christian liturgy, the hymns, the candles, the smells and bells, the familiar words, the stand-up-here-sit-down-there. There is a rhythm to it, and it matches the rhythm of my life. It's what I know.

When I visit the UU churches with Craig, I love the engaging conversations. I love the passionate commitment to serving on behalf of the others and the world. I love the diversity of thoughts, opinions, and perspectives (though not too diverse, not many conservative attend UU churches). But I miss the liturgy. And while the conversations are challenging and engaging, they are not engaging my stories.

What I really want is the intellectually rigorous sermons I heard preached in the churches of my denomination back in the States. What I want is to hear somebody wrestle with my stories, really wrestle with them: to explore the historical and cultural context in which the texts were written, to examine the original languages and see what might have been lost in translation, to ask whether there is meaning in these ancient texts for contemporary followers, and to empower listeners (i.e. me) to respond.

~~~~~
From my apartment, I can see the steeples of two churches just blocks from where I love (when asked about my religious views, I should give this answer sometime). One of these churches is Robertson-Wesley United Church. Earlier this spring, I knew I wanted liturgy for the first Sunday of Lent, so walked down the block, through the park, and through an alleyway, and slipped into the pews for a wonderful reflection (by both ministers!) on the idea of "journey". In the bulletin, I saw an announcement for a bible study which I attended several times in cognito. I have worshipped there on several other occasions since.

I was initially disappointed on Pentecost (my favorite liturgical holiday) when instead of the Pentecost story, the minister began a series on, of all things, the doctrine of the trinity! But the sermon was fascinating - giving the history of the doctrine, acknowledging the lack of biblical support for the concept of a three-for-one, I mean three-in-one god. It was challenging, inspiring, uncomfortable, and I LOVED it. I may not be a trinitarian christian, but I can certainly appreciate how many people find meaning in understanding divine revelation in three different ways. I personally think the number three is limiting, but I get that others appreciate it. And this is pretty much what was said from the pulpit at Robertson-Wesley!!! "We don't need to chuck the whole thing out, but let's understand why people, why our tradition, thinks this is important, and you can decide for yourself if this is meaningful for you."

Yes, this is a place where my soul can rest. After these many years and many moves, this is what my soul is needing. And I think I may have found some companions for the journey.

Banff (in photos)

Lake Louise:

Yoho National Park (BC):

Johnston Canyon & Falls:

wildlife in Banff:

"artistic" shots from around Banff:

from Tunnel Mountain:

flurries

This morning, I had flurries of white swirling around me as I walked into work. But the flurries weren't snow. They were flower blossoms.

It looks like Spring may actually be here. Finally.

Fit

On Tuesday, I began working out with a personal fitness trainer at gym in the hospital where I work. Oh boy, am I ever feeling the "ow" now. She is going to kick my rear end and whip me into shape.

I have been to trainers before. But always at health clubs and never at a health care facility. This gal is good - her assessment unlike any I have ever experienced (she was able to ask me about old injuries before I told her, just from watching me move and seeing how my body compensated). And she is tough.

These next six weeks will be excruciating. But, let me tell you, I am looking forward to it.

finally!

I walked home today without a jacket. Is spring arriving in Edmonton? I am beginning to see hints of green...

looking closely at Looking Closely

I established this blog to "look closely", to examine my world, and to evaluate if my life is indeed indicative of the world I want to live in. The Alice Walker quote in the blog title box pretty much sums it up.

Recently, I have gotten off-track. Some recent posts seem to be motivated more by anger, hurt, and despair than by love, healing, and hope. Now, I want my writing to be true and to reflect my world, and I don't want to sugar-coat serious ills, problems, hypocrisy and even evils. At the same time, I do believe that words are powerful. And they do shape reality. And as I examine my world, and record it, I have the opportunity to use my words to shape the future I am constructing.

As I wrote in a response to a recent anonymous commenter,

I don't want my world to be one where I use sarcasm as a weapon. I don't want my world to be one where my past wounds and past hurts cause me to wound and hurt others. As I "look closely" at [some of these posts], I see my writing motivated by hurt and anger. And life lived in hurt and anger is not the "future I dream of".

I intend to be more mindful with my words, to continue to strive at becoming my better self, and to construct my dreamed-of future in my everyday life.

lacking communion

How many times have I come to this table? How many times have I taken this bread, blessed it, broken it, and given it out? How many times have I told the story of Jesus sharing the Passover meal with his disciples in that upper room? My theology, my understanding of God, is centered around this table. My ecclesiology, my understanding of church and community, is centered around this table. I have preached sermons about this table. I have composed songs about this table. I have written fiction and poetry about this table. So I should be able to crank out a sermon for Maundy Thursday with no problem, right? But you know, it doesn't work that way. In preparation for tonight's message, I have been pondering this table, reflecting on this loaf, contemplating this cup, and I realize: I have absolutely no idea what it means.

So began my sermon for Maundy Thursday. Somehow it all came together for a message that the few who gathered there seemed to find meaningful. But how I struggled with it.

It's hard to preach on communion when you feel as if you are not in communion with the folks gathered, with the tradition, with Church, with God.

Don't get me wrong, I feel tremendously blessed to have such rich communion in my life - with my partner, with our friends, with our COMMUNity, with my family. But I just don't get that from the church or from religion these days. For years, my spirituality has been shaped around communion. So with the face of communion changing in my life, I need to figure out what that means in terms of my spirituality. Or if I even want to articulate my sense of communion in spiritual terms anymore.

my shoulders hurt

My new favorite blog is Unreasonable Faith, which tells of a former Christian's journey from fundamentalist faith into skepticism. Recently, guest blogger vorjack posted an amazing essay which resonated deep within me. It begins with this quote:

Most of the advanced schools of theology, feeling less adequate in a time of science's empirical miracles and permanent, mathematical truths, protected themselves with scaled-down promises and vague imitations of the scientific method....

Theology, which had once ruled all science as well as all being, was resorting to more and more elaborate shrugs.

Taylor Branch, Parting the Waters, 91.

Vorjack then goes on to describe his personal journey from "unreflective" moderate Christianity to the liberal Christianity he found when reading the writings of Spong, Borg and the like...

I have to admit, there was a sense of relief to the transition. Finally I was finding a way to be Christian that didn’t inflict cognitive dissonance. But the price of that was a Christianity that was vague and maddeningly complex. Spong called it a state of “radical uncertainty” — I called it exhausting.

Christianity had become a series of increasingly elaborate shrugs, and after four or five years my shoulders were worn out.

Wow, my shoulders are also exhausted. I have been journeying through liberal Christianity for well over a decade now. And while at times, the communities with whom I have encountered have been nourishing and supportive, right now, I feel disconnected and isolated. And I have experienced the liberal church being as dysfunctional and abusive as our conservative counterparts. I guess I didn't mind the shrugging so much when I was in the fellowship of other skeptics. Those reciprocal back rubs surely helped. But alone, my shoulders hurt.

time out

Sally at revgalblogpals writes:

Holy Week is almost upon us, I suspect that ordained or not, other revgal/pals calendars look a bit like mine, FULL, FULL, FULL........

Jesus was great at teaching us to take time out, even in that last week, right up to Maundy Thursday he withdrew, John's gospel tells us he hid! He hid not because he was afraid, but because he knew that he needed physical, mental and spiritual strength to get through...

So faced with a busy week:

1. What restores you physically? Sleep. After a night on-call at the hospital which included a two hour call at 3am, I am in need to physical restoration. Also yoga. And walking. And sex.

2. What strengthens you emotionally/mentally? Friendships. Genuine, engaging friendships. Friendships filled with laughter, authenticity, challenge, vulnerability, acceptance, and love. The type of friendship Dar Williams sings about in her song "Arrival":

My friends give me purple flowers and orange tea
On goosedown spilling quilts and turquoise chairs
We greet each other in a wild profusion of words
And wave farewell amidst the wonderment of air
And in the laughing times we know that we are lucky
And in the quiet times we know that we are blessed
And we will not be alone

This verse always makes me think of my friend Amy's dorm room in Brown Hall.

3. What encourages you spiritually? Friendships (see above). And interestingly, the myriad skeptical/atheist blogs I read.

4. Share a favourite poem or piece of music from the coming week. Six years ago, I wrote a hymn for Palm Sunday. You can find the text here on my old blog.

5.There may be many services for you to attend/lead over the next week, which one are you most looking forward to and why? If there aren't do you have a favourite day in Holy week if so which one is it? My theology is very eucharistic, centered around the communion table. So I LOVE Maundy Thursday. Fortunately, I will be preaching at one of the two Disciples churches in Edmonton on that evening. It will be the frist time I have presided at the communion table in months. I have been feeling so disconnected from my denomination, the wider Church, and religion in general these days - utterly lacking in communion with my tradition, despite frequent church attendance. So, this could be a homecoming of sorts. Or it could be an affirmation that I can't go home again. Or I could realize that I no longer want to call that space home. We'll see...

traveling through Mordor

Today, I journeyed east of Edmonton, past the land of Mordor, to the the hamlet of suburbia that is Sherwood Park. The object of my quest was a baritone ukulele I had found online. Little did I realize that obtaining the music maker would entail such adventure.

Edmonton is an oil town. To the east are the refineries. From our 19th-floor apartment, with it's east facing windows, we can see the flames of the refineries burning through the night. Craig was the one who first suggested that the land to our east was Mordor; for me, it just looked like home, having grown up as close to the petroleum refineries in Texas City as I now live to the ones here in Edmonton. We look out over Mordor at night, and occasionally, we created fantasies about our adventures to/through Mordor (yeah, we are total geeks). But today, I actually went out there...

I had not been east of town since we drove in on the Yellowhead Highway back in July, when we first moved to Edmonton. I had heard of this mythical land, Sherwood Park, from colleagues and patients alike, but never was this locale a destination of mine. But I aspired to own the uke, so I braved the rush-hour traffic, and headed east, right through the heart or Mordor.

And actually, Mordor felt quite familiar. In addition to bringing to mind the childhood trips past the refineries in Texas City when Hilary and I used to hold our breath so not to inhale the sulfuric fumes (of death!), the bleak, industrial landscape also made me think of my many drives through Gary, Indiana as I made my way to and from my Chicago. Mordor stirs nostalgia within me. Hmmm...

The real adventure came in getting lost in suburbia, between the universal Home Depots, Michaels, and McDonalds and their Canadian counterparts, Canadian Tire, HomeSense, and Tim Hortons. These landmarks are so ubiquitous throughout North America, they are hardly signposts to point one in the right direction any longer. "Turn right at the Wendy's," I was told. Which Wendy's???

It was the towers of Mordor which brought me out of Sherwood Park. I could see the flames burning into the setting sun. I knew that if the towers were once again to my east, I would be nearing my home. So I headed back through Mordor. This time with a stringless uke in my possession. And I made it home safe and sound.

Mid-Lent Check-In

Sophia at RevGalBlogPals comments that "halfway through the season we have often found it very challenging to live up to our original plans" and thus issues the invitation to "check-in" on our Lenten goals or hopes with these five questions.

1. Did you give up, or take on, anything special for Lent this year?
I gave up Facebook for Lent, only allowing myself to "feast" for one-hour on the weekends. In addition, I "took up" blogging again. I have only blogged sporadically for the past year or so, and I have missed it.

2. Have you been able to stay with your original plans, or has life gotten in the way?
I have stuck with it, though at times I have really missed connecting with people through Facebook.

3. Has God had any surprising blessings for you during this Lent?
At this point, I am not too comfortable ascribing to "God" any actions with regard to my life or journey. That said, I have experienced self-awareness, learning, and, yes, blessings during this season of Lent. I realize how much time I wasted (and continue to waste) online and how Facebook can be a tool to communicate only on a superficial level. I also have discovered that the social networking site does allow me to keep in touch with a wide breadth of people from various chapters of my life, and how I can and do use the site to maintain depth in relationships. I imagine when I return to FB after this season of fasting from it, I will do so with more intentionality in my interactions with folks.

4. What is on your inner and/or outer agenda for the remainder of Lent and Holy Week?
I plan to continue to blog. I hope to make better use of email and telephone to keep in touch with loved ones far away. And I will be returning to the pulpit for three sermons during Holy Week.

5. Where do you most long to see resurrection, in your life and/or in the world, this Easter?
I long to see new life springing forth from the ground. After months of snow, a blade of grass would be worthy of sonnets and arias. On another level, I long to find a sense of renewal in my vocation. Or maybe not renewal, since I don't know that I want to return to a former calling. Perhaps I need "newal" in my sense of vocation. Also, if I am thinking about Easter in it's pre-Christian form, then I have some hopes and desires along those lines, too, with my new niece or nephew entering the world very soon. Finally, I continue to hope for and work for peace and renewal of right relations in our world.

~~~~~
So, what about you? How would you answer these questions?

trouble in winter wonderland

Walking home from an astronomy dinner last night, I realized one of the things I most dislike about winter: when walking with Craig, I am not able to hold his hand. Gloves and mittens prohibit hand holding. And when I put my hand in the crook of his arm, I got a handful of downy and woolen layers. Walking in winter is not so wonder-filled if you can't hold tight to your Beloved.

So I think they should make mittens like this:

What do you think?

wilderness

I have always envisioned the wilderness of Lent as a desert with shifting sands. But after my commute into work this morning, I am certain it is the streets of Edmonton, with shifting snows.

Temperatures dropped over 20 degrees (that's Celsius - about a 36 degree drop in Fahrenheit) last night. And it snowed. Actual snow fall was probably only a few inches, but the wind caused snowdrifts, covering sidewalks and pathways.

Normally, my walk to work takes about 40 minutes. Today, it was an hour. It wasn't just snow I was battling, but wind and slick sheets of ice under the foot of new snow.

And my route was changed. The landscape had shifted. I was thrown off-course by thigh-high piles of snow (courtesy of the snowploughs) blocking sidewalks. And paths that existed yesterday just aren't there any longer. (the photo is the exact same park I pictured yesterday, sans pathway through)

It was quite a trek. But finally, I arrived. Face chapped. Legs sore. Breathless and exhausted. And drenched with sweat.

But, at the same time, I felt empowered, triumphant, and invincible.

You see, I realized that if I can make my way. Even as familiar paths disappear and obstacles block my path, I can find my way through this wilderness. I always do.

I love my walk to work...

safe and secure

Three years ago, I embarked on a journey of discovery and wonder, leaving behind security and relative vocational comfort (i.e. a rut) to venture into the unknown streets of Chicago and attempt to create a new faith community in Chicago's South Loop. I had no salary. I had a teeny-tiny bit of institutional support. I had very little - except hope, a vision and some amazing friends and colleagues. As Carrie Newcomer sings, I was "filled with hope and good intentions, bare to the bone."

Just prior to this endeavor, I had come through a season of great loss - a colleague died, a relationship ended, my ministry of 4+ years was cut for budgetary reasons, and my dream job had fallen through because of lack of funding. I remember feeling crushed and overwhelmed by all the pain. But I also remember feeling surprising strong and amazingly free. I often quoted Janis Joplin, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." In that time, it seemed like so much of the pain I was experiencing was caused by the other people's fear. And I became determined not to live my life in fear. "You either lose your fear or spend your life with one foot in the grave, " sings Over the Rhine. I didn't want my life to be dictated by fear, mine or anyone else's. So, I bravely stepped into the unknown, feeling fearless and feeling free. At the same time, I felt more like myself than I had in years. I realized that fearless and free was who I am.

It is no wonder that I met my life partner in this fearless, free, authentic, self-aware season of my life. Craig and I met upon my first arriving in Chicago. And as I was falling in love with the Windy City, I was growing in love with this man. Ultimately, my love for the fella that took me away from the beloved city. And eventually brought us here to Edmonton. (yeah, this Texan gal had been thinking Chicago was cold, and didn't have a clue what the northernmost major city in North America would hold).

Now, I am enjoying Edmonton. It's no Chi, but it's a nice city. And I love the community of friends Craig and I are building up around us. I truly delight in being in a covenanted, lifetime relationship with my Beloved. But right now, vocationally, I am in a funk.

It's more than just a matter of not knowing what I want to be when I grow up (the answer to that is still the same as it has always been - a world famous singer, of course). But the questions nagging at me go deeper: who am I? who (not what) do I want to be? what am I called to do?

I know, without a doubt, that I am called to be in relationship with Craig. As much as I have ever felt "called" to any ministry in the past and even more so, I feel called to this man. But beyond that, who am I? who do I want to be? what am I called to do?

Right now, I am serving as a hospital chaplain. And I like to work, for the most part. And I know that I am good at what I do. But I am not sure I feel up to doing this for much longer. I am not sure if this is the ministry to which I am "called". And see, the real issue here is that I am not sure I feel "called" to "ministry". Period.

But if I am not a minister, who am I? and what am I supposed to do? My training is all in either vocational ministry or vocal performance. I know I have myriad skills that are transferable to other fields. But my only "credentials" are in the ministry racket.

At present, ministry for me feels like a safety net. It's what I know. Its what's comfortable. But I don't like having a safety net. I feel I am my best self when I am fearless and free. I long to soar through the air on the flying trapeze or walk the high wire. But right now, I feel stuck, tangled up in this darn net. Scared to cut myself out. And scared of what that would mean if I did.

I Got Shoes!!

Well, boots actually. Yea!! This photo was taken this morning at the beginning of my 3.5k commute to work. Ah, it was good to be back to walking...

These past few months, I have been taking the bus as I commute to work instead of walking. And yeah, it's freaking cold here, but that's not why I stopped walking. I know how to layer to deal with the cold. No, I stopped in part because it was so dark with the sun rising well after my 8:00 am workday began and setting long before I set foot outside the hospital at 4:30 pm. And also because I didn't have the boots.

See, in Edmonton, they don't always usually shovel the snow. So my commute involves walking on 4-6 cm of ice and packed snow. Quite treacherous. So I needed shoes with tread that can handle the slick terrain. And having flat feet, I need good arch supports. And with these frigid temps, I need warmth. None of the shoes I owned had that trifecta of tread, support, and warmth. But these do! :)

At church yesterday, the minister was talking about preparing for journeys, both literal treks and figurative pilgrimages. He talked about having the right shoes before starting out on a long sojourn.

I am not sure where my shoes will take me. But I sure do like the feel of them on my feet.