wind blows deeply

Oculus Dei means “Eye of God.” If I am able, I hope to use my photography to help me, and others, see the world the way God sees it. I hope to be an advocate of the poor, the orphaned, the abused and neglected, those displaced by war and famine and other tragedies. Our Western eyes are often quite capable of scanning over scenes like the ones described above, but if we were to see the world through God’s eyes, then perhaps we would not overlook those in the nooks and crannies.

But, the oculus dei is also a technical term from architecture. In ancient cathedrals and other structures, the walls needed to be solid enough to support the weight of the roof or dome. This didn’t leave much room for windows, so to provide light, an opening was left in the ceiling. This Eye of God provided illumination for the worshipers below. It is my hope that my photography will serve in such a way: illuminating, shining light on those we might be able to over look, or who are invisible to us, because they are living in the shadows of our world.

Greg Kendall-Ball

I wrote about Matthew five years ago. Matthew is one of my many, many cousins. He also has Down Syndrome. I have heard people describe how some cultures view individuals with Down Syndrome as being a divine miracle, having vast spiritual insight, being revered by the entire community.

This weekend one of my other many cousins got married. I spent a good portion of the evening sitting back and watching their friends on the dance floor. But then there was Matthew, dancing with the rest of them, joyfully happy to be part of the crowd.

This evening I received a phone call from my father. Matthew is in the hospital with sepsis and pneumonia. The doctors say it does not look good; prayer might be the only option at this point. I found it hard to believe that the same person I Saturday night had taken such a drastic change in less than forty-eight hours.

I am left with possibly saying goodbye to the only person who may have been able to see God so perfectly.

My mom is so cool. She sent me a package in the mail and it looked like all the other packages she sends. Mainly it's just mail from places where I haven't changed my address. So it was after I picked it up the second time (off the dining room table) that I realized it was squishy. I was confused but as soon as I opened the envelope I laughed. My mom sent me SpongeBob boxers. One cheek has SpongeBob and the other cheek has Patrick. It made my night.

So as I've mentioned, I went home for a bit over the long weekend. Lots happened, and since I'm so good at procrastinating, I think I may have forgotten a whole bunch of it. But here it goes...

My brother and I came to the conclusion that the grad celebration our parents had for us was quite similar to a wake. There was a memorial board depicting our childhood and accomplishments. Our friends and family were in attendance. People read tributes about us. Some people cried. And there was lots of food. The bro' and I got a good chuckle out of it all. (And a big thanks to all who came - it was wonderful to see you.)

Shannon and I had a good talk about how things were. I admit it's hard without a 'community', but I shouldn't use that as an excuse. At one point Shannon mentioned the fact that manna in the desert filled the need but not all of the desires. The point of the comment is that maybe I have all that I need right now. There was a guest speaker in church on Sunday - "doing more with less" ... with the example of Gideon's army. So everything together seems to kind of hit me. God does that sometimes: tries to hammer something into my head.

There has been so much going through my head lately. Did I make the right decision in coming to Winnipeg? Is my gut right that maybe it was a good decision, but maybe not the best one. Should I have postponed this residency and gone on that missions trip? Should I have gotten a 'real' job? Am I really supposed to be a pharmacist?

Then again I was pretty sure this past year was supposed to be about fasting. And perhaps it was. But maybe I didn't get it, so God extended the year a bit. To show me what was distracting me from Him: the community which I held onto so tightly needed/needs to go. And I keep thinking that I really just can't do this. I also feel that I don't have the time to fall apart right now and let God build me up. I need the permeation of God.

In my devotional today (Matthew 14:23-33) Jesus says to Peter, "Come". So then I question what I was really supposed to be doing this year. But Jesus also says, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" So maybe this is about faith.

To begin this whole blog thing, I thought I'd simply copy entries from a previous online journal. Enjoy.

Thank You Lord for cucumbers.

Yes, they are not much - and they are mostly water - but still, thank You from the bottom of my soul.

All it took was the first cucumber from the garden to bring a smile to my face. Fresh, juicy, full of flavor ... that cucumber was part of what it took to bring me back to meet with God.

I felt horrible at work. The perpetual bad mood wasn't something I enjoyed - yet there I was, choosing to stay there. Even the sun glinting off the leaves outside my window didn't bring me hope.

Still, I knew it was a choice. So, sitting at my desk, I began to plan my date with God. I wanted to run away and spend time with the One who was always by my side. The same One I had been taking for granted, even ignoring.

So arriving home and deciding to look through the neglected garden before running away, a large garden cucumber lay before me in plain view.

God enabled the seed to grow. Yes, I did plant the seed, and water a few times, and remove a few weeds. But despite my neglect, God made it grow. And then I ate it.

First God gave me the simple joy of a cucumber. Then He took me in, showed me my wrongs, and set me back upon the Rock.

Amazing love, how can it be,
That You, my King, should die for me?

Sometimes I dread family get-togethers with my dad's side of the family. I'm not sure why. When I was younger, I think I really looked forward to the times when all of us would be together.

Now the dad's side of my family is pretty large. He has 11 brothers and sisters - most of whom are married and have several children. The grandkids have also begun to get married and have their own children. So a typical family thing ends up being at least 35 people - Christmas is a whole other thing entirely.

So tonight was a celebration of my paternal grandma's birthday - she's 82. I really want to be like her when I'm 82. She doesn't move very fast - which is probably a good thing ... the world moves fast enough as it is. She really likes to cook - which is also good because some of my cousins can eat a lot ... especially mashed potatoes and pickles (not together - some eat potatoes and others eat pickles). And she's always excited to see everyone - truly, deeply and from the bottom of her heart. She really makes you glad to be there.

So why don't I really like these family gatherings? Maybe I've become too much like the world and am growing too cynical. (They always go too long. It gets too cliquey. After four hours, the little ones can get really cranky ... the big ones too sometimes.) But when I think about it, I'd have to say that I'd miss those times together if I couldn't go one day.

Take my cousin Matthew. I think he's 15 now (ages are hard to remember when you have so many cousins). He also has Down's Syndrome. Sometimes it's frustrating because he acts differently and requires a fair bit of supervision. But like my wonderful grandma, he simply moves at a different pace than the rest of us. Tonight he was playing with a cloth napkin in front of a fan. The most basic elements and yet it had him captivated.

That worries me ... when was the last time I've ever been captivated? When was the last time I studied something to discover it to its fullest? When was I last amazed? I need to get that again.

Then there are the older cousins who bring a significant other to the gathering. Sometimes the other comes to one or two gatherings and then fades into history. But sometimes, they become part of the family, and end up sharing their unique perspective as dinner turns into endless cups of coffee. And with so many people, it's easy to see why these gatherings end up lasting so long. You have to meet everyone, catch up on their lives, and they on yours. The cousins have to play together. The babies have their naps. This dishes need to get done, and more baking brought out from its hiding places to go along with all that coffee.

And that is what my family is. A whole bunch of people, as far apart as they may be, coming together as one family - who care and love and pray for each other.

What more could a girl want?

I can't remember the last time a laughed really hard.

It happened last night. I went home to see my parents and my brother while waiting for a worship practice at church (and to get a free supper).

It all began when my parents suggested we all play tile rummy. Now tile rummy is a very complicated game for both my brother and I. Eat turn takes at least 8 minutes, during which every single piece on the table is rearranged in just about every possible permutation possible in order that just maybe one of our pieces can be played.

I suppose every family has one of those games that become fiercely competitive and full of humour all at the same time.

During the course of the game, it occured to me that the rest of my family would begin to mock me during my turn.

Example: I was trying to free a yellow 6 which I earnestly was trying to get so I could play my yellow 4,5,7 and 8. After about 5 minutes, it appeared as though my complex tile moving was not going to accomplish my goal. So I set about at returning the respective pieces to their original locations. Only 2 plays after did I realized that my yellow 7 was still on the table, and yet all the other pieces were back. Had I removed 2 pieces from the table in error?

Thus on future plays, my family would 'help' me by moving a red 4 to a red 2, 3, 4 run and then moving the 2nd 4 to the 1st 4's location - a complete mockery of my complex strategy (if I happened to have any that turn). Of course my mother had to say just then that they all were sharp as bananas. I don't know where that comment came from, but as I tried to picture it (sharp bananas) I laughed so hard I began to cry. And of course, my family laughed at (with?) me.

Well, so the afternoon progressed - and the game skills recessed into a faint memory.

It's been a long time since I've laughed with my family. When we do get together, someone is in a bad mood and someone else gets defensive - part of the reason why I moved out a year ago. I couldn't handle that stress.

Yet, I'd forgotten all the time we tended to spend together. Not needing to go out and spend money. Content to stay home and, together, simply be - not needing to do anything. Open to discussion, ready for a good long laugh, and sleeping the night away with smiles on our faces.