My dad's grandmother was the embodiment of hospitality. She raised her family of thirteen children in the tiny farming community of Wicklow, New Brunswick. She had no washing machine, no dishwasher, no indoor plumbing. But that didn't stop her from creating a home marked by generosity.
Last week my wife and I visited the National Gallery of Canada to wander through the new display, Canadian and Indigenous Art: From Time Immemorial to 1967. I'm always inspired to stand or sit in front of Tom Thomson's Jack Pine (below) or something by Emily Carr. This time I saw Yvonne McKague Housser's piece entitled Rossport, Lake Superior. I've seen it before but I was
In the last couple of years I have been deeply inspired by a group of people who have chosen to see themselves as part of the same story. Through MCC’s Indigenous Neighbours work I came to know of a reconciliation effort now known as Reserve 107.
I have a hard time admitting I’m wrong. I can’t help it. For some reason it feels cataclysmic. I often catch myself trying to avoid it at all costs. I have lied, I have deflected, and I have sidestepped responsibility in order to avoid owning my transgressions. I also happen to not be alone in
There are currently two different stories playing out in North America. One is a story of a nation that seeks to reconcile with its oldest relatives, the First Nations and the land itself. The nation-to-nation relationship
The CPR saved my people’s life. Okay, maybe that sounds a bit dramatic. Anyway, the story is: A century ago, as World War I was grinding on and the Russian revolution flared up
Injustice is something I’ve become convinced that Jesus cares deeply about. His heart is with those who have no power or privilege and have been given a raw deal. And, I think He expects the same from me. Two years ago, as I continued to sift