C.C. is cleaning the garage and so I move my car onto the street. It’s about the most help I can provide given my back is still ‘fragile’.  As I come down the street and wait at the corner for a van to pass before pulling a u-turn to park in front of our house, I notice something fall onto the pavement across the road from our house. It looks like a bird and I wonder if it was hit by the van that just drove by.

When I get out and cross the street to see, I discover it’s not one bird but two. What looked like a large bird flapping on the ground is actually a momma bird frantically trying to get her chickadee to fly. Momentarily, as I approach, both birds lift up and fly, but quickly crash back to the pavement. Frightened of my presence, the momma bird flies up into an overhanging tree branch. She clings to the branch, hopping from one stem to another, squawking furiously to her child on the road to fly away, fly away, fly away.

I call for C.C. who comes out to help, but as he crosses the road, a van pulls up the curb and a woman gets out. In her hands she’s holding a plastic container with a lid.

“It just flew straight into my windshield,” she says as she approaches where I am standing beside the bird. C.C. bends down and picks up the chick. It is breathing. There is blood on its beak. It’s tiny heart is thumping wildly in its chest.

It is so tiny. So delicate. So fragile. So beautiful.

“I came back so we could take it to the SPCA,” the woman says. In the backseat of her van a young boy sits watching us, his eyes wide. “I promised my son we would take care of the bird. “She pauses. Looks at the tiny body lying in C.C.’s hand. “I didn’t think she’d fly straight into my window. they usually dart away when you drive by. I didn’t realize it was just a chick.”

And she tells us of rescuing a hummingbird at their cottage. “I didn’t think it would live, but it did,” she says.

And I am grateful.

And I am sad.

She will take care of the chick.

But we can’t do anything for the mother who has not stopped her incessant squawking in the tree above us. She is frantic.

There is nothing we can do for her. Nothing we can say.

We have no choice but to put her chick into the plastic container and let the woman take the chick to the SPCA.

And I wonder about the momma. Even if the chick makes it, will they ever be reunited? Will she ever see her child again?

I try to talk to her in the tree. I tell her we are trying to save her chick, but she flits to a branch further away from me, her fear of humans real and palpable.

And the woman drives away with the chick and the momma bird stays in the tree and we return to our backyard.

It only took one moment for a bird to fall from the sky. And in that moment, its life was made different at the intersection of its world with our human existence. The woman could not have avoided contact and in the end, she did the right thing, the only thing she could do that would make a difference for that young chickadee. She rescued it.

And still, my heart is heavy. My heart knows a mother’s heart is broken when her chicks fly from the nest and fall. And even thought my heart knows the only difference we can make is to help them get back up again, I wonder how that mother’s heart will mend.

I watched a mother bird desperately try to get her chick to fly after it crashed to the earth yesterday. I heard her entreaties, watched her frantically try to get her chick to fly again and I was reminded of the fragility and the sacredness of our lives and the sacred trust that is the bond between mother and child.

We are all like that little bird learning to fly free. Sometimes, we fall. And when we do, sometimes what we need most is a helping hand to get us back up again.

As you go through your day, are there people you meet who only need a gentle touch or soft voice to help them fly? Share what you can and know you are making a difference.

It is Saturday, and while everyday is a day to celebrate heroes in our midst, today is the day I name just a few of the heroes I know.

Last year at this time, I felt the sadness of the passing of one man who had made a difference in our world. It wasn’t  because he gave his money to charity, or had built an empire. There are no streets named after this man, or buildings erected in his honour. This man was a humble man. A man of little means. A man for whom making a difference meant sharing his time as a volunteer as much as he could at the place where he lived – a homeless shelter. Terry Pettigrew passed away on May 30, 2011. For the months prior to his death, he spoke up and for, those for whom society is not always a welcoming place. In the final weeks of his life, Terry reconnected with a brother he hadn’t seen in 34 years. And in that connection, a family was reunited, history was redirected, and hearts were healed.

Terry Pettigrew and his brother Larry are heroes.

On Thursday, the one year anniversary of Terry’s death, Sean French of the Community Action Committee (a group of 140 agencies working together to end homelessness every day in our city) posted a link to the MacLean’s article that was published last year about the life and times of Terry Pettigrew. I was touched to see that Sean remembered. And, in Sean’s remembering, I was reminded of the depth of the heart and soul of those working to end homelessness. While shelters play a role in keeping people safe, we must never accept them as ‘the answer’ to homelessness. We must never accept that shelters are the only way. Through the effort and commitment of people like Sean who work tirelessly to ensure there is a way home for those who have lost their way to the streets, it is possible that one day, in the not too distant future, we will be able to say, “Homelessness died today. It’s had its day.  It is done.”

Sean French and all those working to end homelessness are heroes.

A young family died last week on a lonely stretch of road along the Alberta/Saskatchewan border. A father, mother and 18 month old son were tragically lost in what is being called a murder suicide. As happens in these situations, we wonder – how could this have happened? How safe are our families? I am currently working part-time as the interim director of communications for an amazing place – Calgary Counselling Centre. If we are to stop family violence, stop depression from taking lives, stop abuse and the breakdown of our families, we need places like CCC so that when people need help, it is available. No waiting. No economic constraints. No judgments. In the wake of the deaths, Christine Berry, who heads up the Family Violence program at the CCC, provided media with insight about  depression and family violence. She dispelled myths. Provided facts and ensured everyone knew – there is hope and there is help. We may not be able to stop all such tragedies from happening – though it’s an important goal to strive towards – but we can breakdown the stigma of mental health. We can ensure people know there is help and it’s okay to ask for it.

Christine Berry and everyone at CCC and all those working to end family violence and domestic abuse are heroes.

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My internet at home is sporadic and until Wednesday when Shaw is coming to fix it, will continue to be so. It’s interesting being without it — interesting and enlightening. It is nice, and good, sometimes to disconnect!

See everyone tomorrow.

Have a beautiful and wonder-filled Sunday.

My Internet is down, my back is out and I am typing on my IPhone. Shaw can’t send someone to fix my Internet until Wednesday and I can’t comfortably move around until my back calms down!  But… I have written today’s Heroes in our midst a d will post once Cc is up and we go off to a coiffed shop with wi-fi!

Be back later. In the meantime, watch out for heroes. They Are everywhere! And they make the world a better place.

Naneste

I was expecting an interesting morning.  A morning filled with information and insight into story-telling.

And I got it. And then some.

Yesterday, I attended the Calgary Foundation’s, Community Knowledge Centre seminar on building an online community for charities to ‘show-off their stuff’ (my description, not theirs!) using story-telling. For three hours we were given insight into the power, art and imperative of story — and a look into how to tell story through video.

I’d heard the first speaker, Patrick Finn, once before at the Calgary Foundation’s Vital Signs Community celebration last year. He was engaging, entertaining and filled with valuable insight into how story is “the operating system of the human mind”. Patrick is a powerful speaker – even though he claims that because he’s an academic, he’s not. I pace. I look back at my slides. I fling my arms about, he told us. Apparently, that makes him a bad speaker. I thought it made him human, and engaging, and charming.

Patrick does what every great story-teller does. He connects with his audience through our shared human condition by being vulnerable and real. He shared a story of one of his not so inspiring moments that actually, because of the story he created from that moment, propelled him into a life committed to helping others find and tell their most compelling stories yet.

When we engage with story better, he said, life will be better.

I believe when we engage with each other better, life is better. And sharing our stories is how we engage, heart to heart so that our minds can dream and scheme and conceive and create possibilities for more of what we want in the world — Love. Peace. Compassion. Joy….

Story is the most effective means we have of passing along information — because through story, we touch eachother in the most vulnerable of places — the heart. And when we touch the heart, we ‘see’ eachother as human beings. Flawed. Imperfect. Hopeful. Possible. and…. Magnificent.

We all want to be ‘better’ at being human. We all want to make a difference that counts in the world. (except for that small percentage of ‘not so nice’ who really don’t give a damn about anyone or anything other than themselves.)

And that’s the thing. If we focus on the 10%, we miss the 90% of amazing human beings all around.

I spent a morning deepening my understanding of story yesterday. And in that learning, I was made different through my knowing that we are all connected — and story is the thread that weaves the tapestry of my life to yours and his and hers and theirs.

There is only one story I want to tell in this world — and that is of our magnificence.

In each moment of the day, there are opportunities for me to be ‘made different’ and to make a difference. From laughing with the man behind the counter at the Passport office, to sharing a smile with a stranger on the street, to buying a coffee for the person next in line at the drive-through at Starbucks, opportunities abound to create a story that speaks to the wonder and beauty and awe of our shared human condition.

We are our stories, Patrick Finn told us yesterday. And I agree.

My dream is to create a story of wonder, of joy, of beauty. My desire is to share in the story of this world of such incredible and immense possibility that we are in awe of all that we do, be, have, see and create.

What’s your dream of making a difference? What’s the story you want to create today?

Patrick Finn at TEDxYYC April 2011

I was touched by grace yesterday. My spirit gently kissed by the whispers of compassion, kindness, forgiveness.

I was moved by grace’s beauty. Her softness. Her stillness.

I felt her presence when I came home. There in the mailbox was a book with a card tied to it with a silky white ribbon. Not sure who had left it, I eagerly opened it and was surprised to see the sender’s name at the bottom of the message.

Really?

Wow.

What grace.

The book and card were a gift from a woman with whom I’d had a falling out about a year ago. I’d done something. She’d done something. We hadn’t agreed on the value of our respective somethings and agreed instead to part ways. We both had our ‘stories’.  We both had our higher ground and lower perceptions of what she did/I did, what she didn’t do/I didn’t do, to create the discord. And, regardless of our respective positions, we both lost a connection we valued. I missed her presence in my life. I missed  our conversations, the way she challenged my thinking, not to mention the fact she is one of the few people I know who needs to constantly read and learn from as many similar books as me.

Over time, however, I’d let my regrets of the discord between us go. When we occasionally saw each other at an event, we’d smile, say hello, be polite and go our separate ways.

Occasionally, I’d think about contacting her, but pride, ego, ennui, the chatter of my critter telling me ‘she doesn’t want to talk to you’, ‘she doesn’t even like you’, ‘you don’t need that kind of drama in your life’, blah blah blah, kept me from taking steps to attempt to repair what was broken.

And then I arrived home to find her light envelop me through the gift of her words and thoughtfulness.

I am blessed.

One of the invitations we are extending through the upcoming Summer of Peace Calgary 2012 initiative is to encourage people to ‘make peace’ by healing rifts, discord, broken threads in the tapestry of their lives.

This relationship is one I had registered in my mind to heal. I had not yet determined how I would reach out and extend peace, and am grateful this woman had the grace and courage to do so now. Sooner is better than later. In her offering, I am graced with peace of mind. I am blessed with knowing, what was broken is forgiven.

There is value in these situations. For me, back when the discord happened, I learned a great deal about my boundaries and about my lack of grace in setting them. And in her gesture today, I learned a great deal about grace and courage.

Yes. I am truly blessed.

In leaving her gift in my mailbox, she has made a world of difference. In reading her words, I too am made different by the knowledge there is value in all situations, there is wonder in all happenings. Letting go of discord doesn’t mean picking up where we left off. It means, continuing on free of the burden of regret, anger, resentment, sorrow — all the things we humans carry around with us when we do not make peace with what we’ve done, or how we’ve been in relationship to others that caused pain or sorrow, or anger and resentment to grow. Free of the negative, we can both move in the beautiful light of love knowing, all is well in our hearts.

Is there someone you need to make peace with today? Is there someone to whom you can extend forgiveness?  Try it. You might like it! You might even feel touched by grace.

She thought she was ugly. Fat. Gross.

She thought she was the only one in the world who felt like they were unworthy. Undesirable. Unloveable.

She thought she was all alone.

She’s learning. She’s not.

It’s been a tough journey. A difficult, and long and winding, road to come to a place where she can see and feel and know — she is not alone and she is beautiful, just the way she is.

Several years ago, when I was first coming out of the relationship from hell, I met once a week with a psychiatrist to talk about ‘my stuff’. At one point I said to him, “I know I’m an experiential learner and I really like the place I’ve come to, but seriously… did I have to take such a painful route?”

“It is the path you took,” he replied. “That’s all. There were a thousand paths you could have taken and this is the one you took.”

In his comment, my judgments of my path fell away and I began to appreciate the journey without bemoaning each painful step of the way. In his words, I found the beauty of my strength and courage, and let go of my  self-criticism, denigration and judgment.

It was a powerful moment. A moment that made an enormous difference in how I moved into freedom to be open, caring, honest and true in a world of wonder. In that moment, I felt the gentle touch of self-compassion and love embrace me and I knew — I am not alone.

My eldest daughter has struggled for many years with an eating disorder. Yesterday, she called to tell me she’d done it. She’d posted her first blog about her journey. She is determined to heal and to share her journey publicly so that others can join her on the healing path.

I am in awe of my daughter. I am in awe of her courage, her strength and her commitment. (and a tad envious of her incredible writing talent! She’s got soul.)

Like Lisa at Lisa W. Rosenberg who writes on Body Image and Identity, my daughter is courageous and open and willing to share her experiences to offer strength and hope to others.

Like Alyssa at Journeys in Lyssy-Land who writes about her explorations of her creative world and ongoing journey from survivor of childhood sexual abuse to joy-filled thriver, my daughter believes in the power our stories hold to connect each of us, heart to heart, soul to soul so that our minds can be set free to see and know the beauty of this world we live in.

And like Nikky and CZ and Marilee and countless upon countless others who write it out and connect and shine their light to illuminate the path out of the darkness into the light of Love. Peace. Harmony and Joy.

I am in awe.

It has been a painful path to come to this moment. A difficult journey for my daughter. Yesterday, she called me to tell me she’d posted a blog. I cried when she told me. Not because of ‘what’ she’d written but because she had written and shared her journey. —  As her mother, I would have wished for anything else than the pain of what she’s experienced. I cannot change her path. I can celebrate her courage and strength and be grateful she is alive and learning to thrive in a world where she is making a difference through being present, exactly the way she is.

And I am grateful. She is stepping into the light and the world is shining through her beauty, love and grace.

Her blog is:   How I Survived Myself

On the road to the west

I went greenhouse exploring yesterday. A girlfriend and I drove an hour south of the city to her favourite greenhouse in the small town of Turner Valley– Vale’s — a delightful oasis of colour and greenery spread out along the joyous sound of the creek flowing through the land.

The drive out was glorious. This is ranching country.  Rolling hills unfolding in spring greenery rolled westward towards the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies. Young foal and calves gamboled in the fields while their patient mothers munched on grass. Houses dotted the countryside. Sprawling fences marched along the horizon, a long thin line marking my land versus your land.

There is no line. There is no my land, your land.  There is only our planet.

At Vale’s I spotted a robin’s nest tucked into a piece of copper garden art, a proud mother sitting on the nest, protecting her chicks.

“What do you do if someone wants to buy that piece of art?” I asked the woman working there.

“We tell them to pick another piece,” she replied without hesitation.

I liked her response. I liked that nature took precedence over commerce. That Vale’s acknowledged the bird’s right to roost over the human desire to acquire, to own, to possess.

There is no line. There is no my land, your land. There is only our planet.

I wandered the greenhouses, loading my cart with annuals and perennials, a metal leaf sculpture, a plaster lion’s head, a bag of earth.

“What’s your colour scheme?” my girlfriend asked.

I laughed. “I don’t have one. I just go with what pleases my nature.”

And when we were done, we drove back to the city, the car laden, the scent of greenery wafting around us, the vibrant hues of pansies and daisies and snapdragons and viola floating in a riot of colour all around us.

I don’t like wearing gloves when I garden. I love the feel of earth in my hands. I love the sensuality of dirt rubbing up against my fingers. The sultry, fecund smell of earth assailing my senses.

Beneath the canopy of the crab apple tree bursting in blossom, I spent the afternoon digging and transplanting, filling pots, moving pots, and arranging them to create splashes of colour on the deck.

And when I was done, I sat back and admired my work and whispered, ‘job well done’.

I am pleased.

Digging into nature is divine.

I spent the afternoon, hands deep in dirt, my mind peaceful in the work of experiencing nature’s beauty unfolding.

I do not own these flowers. I do not own the birds flitting amidst the blossoms of the crab apple tree, pecking at the seed in the birdfeeder, hiding in the hedge. I do not own the grass growing rapidly in spring rains, or the gentle breeze caressing my skin as I work. I do not own nature’s expression — but I can revel in it, experience it, enjoy it and honour it. And I can let my enjoyment and appreciation of it make a difference in how I treat it. I can give way to robin’s nesting in art. I can make room for beauty all around.

There is no line. There is no my land, your land. There is only our planet.

I do not own this planet.

When we let go of owning nature, the world unfolds its wings and opens up in the glory of planet earth’s evolutionary impulse to create beauty in riot’s of colour and birdsong and the simple act of building a nest where life is cherished and protected in a world of wonder.

When we let go of possessing everything we want in the world, we make a world of difference in how we express our appreciation, and awe, of the world around us.

I have never met my blogging friend Nance in ‘real life’, only here, in the virtual world of blogging. I have met her on the page, however, not just on the screen. Nance has a giving nature. One day, a couple of years ago, she invited a group of us who have an ‘informal blogging circle’ to participate in a ‘travelling poetry journal’ project. Each of us was invited to create a poetry journal, write a couple or three or four poems in it and then, send it along to the next person in the circle. In total, there were six or eight of us participating. I sent my journal off, and a few days later, someone else’s arrived in my mailbox. I entered a couple of poems, some artwork and sent it off. And the circle continued. A couple of times the circle got stalled, and Nance tracked down the wayward journals and gently coaxed them back onto the path.

I loved that circle of travelling journals. The unexpected whimsical nature of the new arrivals. The anticipation of my returning words and the sharings of others. And while my journal got lost somewhere out there on the road of life — I do not regret joining the circle. Because, in Nance’s tender ways, I always feel cared for, acknowledged, seen. It is what I notice most about Nance. She ‘sees’. Whole people. Light. Darkness. Shadows. She sees beneath the surface to the heart. I experience her ‘seeing’ whenever I visit her blog, A Little Somthin’,  read her words, see her photos. She is whimsical. Light. Airy. She touches down upon the page, gently. She never presses hard. Never carries a stick to pound her senses into someone’s thoughts. She always touches, gently.

Thank you Nance for the difference you make in the world. Through being a light and gentle touch upon the earth, and my heart, you soften my senses and create openings of wonder and joy all around.

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Make My Heart Different

a guest blog by Nance

When my friend, Louise, asked me to write a post about making a difference, i decided to give it a try. Though at the time, and even now, i’m not sure what to say about it.

I know that everything makes a difference, being born, and not being born. Everything makes some kind of difference.  Though i really can not see all  that makes a good difference or a bad difference all of the time.  There are some things that people do that show immediate results of something that looks like it helps another person, in some way, or seems to help.  As there are things that seem to hurt.

I don’t go out of my way to save someone’s life.  And actually, i know that i’m quite self-centered and unaware.  And yet in my faith, i am called to be compassionate (together suffer).  I know that there is all kind of suffering.

I have seen darkness up-close.  But, it is rare that i realize that i stand with someone in their suffering.  But, i know that i must see it in this life, more than i do.  I must not run and hide from it.

I think that if my heart is in the right place at the right time, then a good difference can take place, even if i don’t realize it.  I think that a special connection happens that allows the transfer of Love.  That kind of exchange is probably the most important kind difference that could ever happen through me.  I would go so far as to say that it’s the most important kind of difference that takes place in life.

I can only hope that my heart will be transformed and that i will be able to see the good difference in the end.

I encountered a lot of heroes this week. And in each connection, my life lit up in the beauty of their presence. Thank you everyone for all that you do every day to make a difference!

I don’t often go into the bank — I like ATM’s. But yesterday, when I mis-entered my PIN enough times incorrectly, I was forced to enter the bank to get it reset. A lovely woman at the Service Desk, whose name tag read, “Carol-Anne”, helped me so that I wouldn’t have to stand in line at the teller. As she punched in codes and typed on her keyboard, we chatted about the forgetfulness of  ’our age’. “I’m hoping I haven’t forgotten too much about raising children,” she said at one point. “I’m about to do it all over again.” I was a tad surprised. She did look a bit over child-bearing age… I think it might have been the look on my face that caused her to laugh and explain. “I’m adopting my grand-daughter.” And she went on to tell me more of the circumstances drawing her into parenting ‘at my age’.

At any age, what she is doing is noble. My daughters have a beautiful friend, Jenn, whose grandmother raised her and her siblings because, like this woman’s daughter, their mother lived a ‘at risk’ lifestyle that did not provide the stability children need. “I have to do this,” Carol-Anne said. “I’ve tried to help my daughter but I can’t stop her hurting herself. What I can do, is stop my grand-daughter from being hurt.”

Carol-Anne is a hero and so are all the other grand-parents in the world who take on the role of parents to ensure children are cared for by  families who love them.

Earlier this year I was invited to sit on a Communications Advisory Board for the United Way of Calgary. This week I attended my first meeting and was in awe of the energy, commitment and openness of the group. From bankers to oil and gas communications professionals, everyone on the board willingly gives of their time, talents and treasures to help the United Way deliver targeted and impactful communications. It’s an easy job. The work the Communications group at the United Way does is exceptional — and their willingness and openness to hearing and receiving the feedback delivered by the advisory group is integral to their spirit of working together to create meaningful engagement tools that inspire Calgarians to get involved, take action and make a difference. We all win when we unite in our desire to create a great city for everyone.

Bryce Paton and the communications team at the United Way of Calgary are heroes and so are the volunteers who lend a hand with such open hearts, minds and spirits.

Can I indulge in a bit of motherly pride?  Today is the second annual Why?Race being held by the United Way of Calgary. My youngest daughter, Liseanne, began working part-time for the United Way in 2010 during her final year of University. She’s now working full time and loving it. As the BeCause coordinator, she’s played a vital role in this year’s Why?Race — and that’s a big undertaking!  To all of the volunteers, participants, standers’-by and recipients of the furniture that will be built as part of the race, today’s events are more than just a fun day — they’re a fun day that makes a difference.

Liseanne, (and yes, I know it’s not politically correct to name my offspring — but heck, it’s my list!  I get to call it as I see it… ) the team at BeCause, the volunteers and participants are all heroes!

I first met the amazing team at INVIS when I was working at the homeless shelter. Every Christmas, as part of their “Angels in the Night” project they’d arrive wearing yellow capes and Santa hats, bringing with them a truck laden with winter necessities for the clients of the shelter. And, every summer, they hold a

giant garage sale

to raise funds to buy the mittens, jackets, boots, underwear that they deliver at Christmas during “Angels in the Night” Homeless Shelter Project.  Today’s the garage sale day!  Click on the link to find out more .

All of the team of Angels in the Night and INVIS Inc. are heroes.

So…. what are you waiting for? Got any heroes you want to celebrate today? Just do it!