boost, part 2

For those of you in the know...

Shameless plug for Boost and for the company I work for, Yield, who came out with this spot:

charity

Webster's Dictionary* defines charity as:

1. Benevolent goodwill toward or love of humanity.
2. a) Generosity and helpfulness especially toward the needy or suffering; also: aid given to those in need, b) An institution engaged in relief of the poor, c) Public provision for the relief of the needy.
3. a) A gift for public benevolent purposes, b) An institution (as a hospital) founded by such gift.
4. Linient judgment of others.
   

Other than a vague association with Charity Churchmouse (from the 80's "Psalty, The Singing Songbook"...anyone? anyone?), I haven't often run into this word. It seems archaic. Cheesy, even. Charity. Wasn't the art of charity lost around the turn of the coloured television?

Even so, I'd have to say that I find myself regularly practicing #1, #2 (a, b, and, indirectly, c), and #3 in its entirety. #4 is still something that I'm working on...forgive me... But isn't charity more than just "benevolent goodwill"?

In the same way that I dislike the term "hiking" and prefer "a long, meandering walk in the woods with no particular destination in mind", I wonder if I'd take to using the word "charity" if it sounded more like this:


"That's the problem with charity: you have to mean things. You have to mean things to help people. Like the time I volunteered to help out at a soup kitchen...and very nearly made it."
- Will, About a Boy

* Andrew looooves it when people quote from Webster's. Shout out to you, La!

a study in curly haired boys

It's no surprise to most that I tend to develop crushes on pianists. Like him, him, him and, of course, him.

But, I'd like to take a moment to mention my first piano-man crush. I think I was about four years old. His name was Keith.

He was, in my mind, the perfect man. He liked animals. He had an amazing voice. He had passion. He loved his wife and kids. He was funny ("Would one of the angels like to go out and get the Lord a hamburger and a Coke?"). He was feisty ("Jesus came to your door, you've left him out on the streets."). Plus, my dad loved him.

The other day, I realized this childhood crush may have influenced me to crush on other pianists. Namely, my husband. Notice the following:

The similar album covers:

The similar plaid shirts:

The similar hair:

What strikes me as most similar about these two pianists, however, is their pure, unadulterated, passionate love of Jesus. My opinion may be considered biased but I can easily say that I haven't known anyone who loves Jesus more than my husband. It oozes from him. He reads scripture about Jesus and and is moved to tears. He reads poems written about Jesus and is moved to tears. He talks about and to Jesus like he's in the room. Jesus is the last person he talks to before going to sleep (although sometimes I try to give Jesus a run for his money). Jesus is the first person he consults before a major decision. And he has passion. Lots of it. Like Keith. Like Jesus.

Come away, come away, come away with me, my love
Come away from this mess, come away with me my love.
- Keith Green

Take me away, take me away with you
Take me away, take me away with you.
- Andrew Gazaneo

80's elves...why not?

The legend continues.

have yourself a merry little christmas

I've been feeling a little sentimentalicious recently. In light of this, here's a little tally of my favourite and not-so-favourite Christmases through the years.

Worst Christmases Ever
1990:
My first experience with illegal activity. I was in grade four, miserably failing the chapter on Roman numerals, and plagiarizing my parents' signatures to fool Miss Hamilton into believing they had checked my homework. Then the Parental Unit found out. Not only did I learn the word "plagiarize" that year but I experienced the fear in believing that this exempted me from receiving Christmas presents...thankfully, my assumption was unfounded. Also, I later won a "Most Improved in Mathematics" certificate after my parents kicked my ass bum.

1996
This year scored both worst and best in an unparalleled, pubescent, angst-ridden Christmas. My worst memory comes from performing in the Pep Squad (it's what you think) at Malvern C.I. to "Sleigh Ride" by TLC in outfits straight from that scene in "Mean Girls". *hangs head*

2005:
This was my first and only Christmas spent away from home. Which would be bad enough, except that it was spent in Korea - a country fond of mixing Santa, Hello Kitty, Jesus, and Chinese New Year into one very confusing holiday season. I went to church on Christmas eve with friends and we sang Christmas carols together. While Jack Snot nipped at my nose.

Best Christmases Ever
1980-1998:
Any Christmas involving my aunt Dodie seriously rocked. She owned a miniature town including miniature EVERYTHING that you would find in a town. Ice rink, chapel, school house, carolers, and nativity with oversized baby Jesus (he was from a different set than the carolers...kind of like a Hulk Jesus in comparison). Also, she used to take me to the Bay on Queen to see the Christmas windows. Also, she attended St. Paul's cathedral on Bloor which still has the most beautiful Christmas eve service I've ever experienced. Also, she had Christmas crackers and I liked the paper crowns. Also, she used to wear a brass brooch that was a jingle bell. Also, she won at Christmas.

1984:
I was four years old and wore two Christmas stockings on my feet, which came up to my hips. I can vividly remember taking to stockings, going into the hallway, pulling them on, and thinking, "This is funny. They're going to love this." It was the first time I can remember doing something conscious of my audience. They loved it, by the way. And took photos.

1996:
Little known piece of blackmail fact: my brothers and I used to dress up as Santa's elves to help divvy up the presents on Christmas morning. Grandad = Santa. Sarah, Simeon, and Seth = "Strawberry", "Blueberry" and "Plumb", respectively. The details of how committed we were to these characters isn't necessary, nor is it flattering, but I will say that in 1996 I tried to be Sarah for Christmas morning and there was an insurrection. Blueberry and Plumb left me threatening notes, gave me withering looks, and confettied my bedroom with hundreds of hand-decorated strawberries in an attempt to bring me out of retirement. They won.

2001:
There was an brilliantly organized (due to the social coordinator) yet poorly attended (due to the snow) Christmas banquet for the Erindale Varsity Christian Fellowship that does not warrant going into, but driving home in Nik's car with Dan, Thea, Joey and Lina to "Song For a Winter's Night" was a mini Christmas miracle. I think it was the last time all of us were together for Christmas.

2003:
After finally (and begrudgingly) repaying my parents for outstanding university tuition, handing over what little I had saved for my first apartment in favour of becoming debt-free, I trudged to meet the landlord to let him know I couldn't afford the first and last month's rent and he'd have to give the apartment to someone else. When I met him, he handed me a card with my name on it. It was from my parents, who had visited him first, and paid for first and last month's rent on my behalf.

2007:
Being engaged at Christmas was the equivalent of drinking wine in a vat full of kittens. Or, if you don't like wine or kittens (as much as I do), picture two of the most wonderful things in the world and combine them. Andrew and I were double- and triple-booked with events to attend and suffering from epic head/chest colds but none of it mattered. We amused ourselves with emails like this:

2008:
If being engaged and celebrating Christmas at the same time was epic, I can only imagine how being married at Christmas will register on the scale of epic-ness. Highlights so far have included picking out a tree at IKEA, decorating said tree, and, of course, prepping, posing, and snapping the above holiday portrait (which has, at this moment, 49 comments on Facebook). Now that Andrew has shaved his moustache (must be pronouced: "moo-staaahh-sh" with dirty, French accent), let the married holiday fun begin!

peace on earth, good will to men

Economic downturn. Layoffs. Terrorist bombings in Mumbai. Disgruntled parliamentary coalitions. Child soldiers. Inner city shootings. International war.

I am prone to like the world I live in. I am prone to believing the best in people and situations. I am prone to expecting the best...even if I read, watch and experience the worst.

I am prone to take this verse literally:
"But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound." (Romans 5:20, good ol' King James version)

Or, for those who don't use "abound" regularly in conversation:
"But sin didn't, and doesn't, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands down." (bite-sized Message)

Or, my personal favourite:
"But then Law came in, only to expand and increase the traspass [making it more apparent and exciting opposition]. But where sin increased and abounded, grace (God's unmerited favour) has surpassed it and increased the more and superabounded." (Lois and Jessica's favourite, Amplified)

And, so, Frank Sinatra reminded me today:

And in despair I bowed my head
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men."

- I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day

also

For other similarities, click here.