Photo credit: Adriana Durian Photography

As I prepare for my baptism on Easter Sunday, Pastor Loren Stark asked me to share the story of how I came to faith with my church last Sunday. The following is my testimony.

My journey into faith began when I walked through the doors of L’Arche Greater Vancouver in the fall of 2008.

Growing up in Ottawa, as a baby I was christened in the Anglican Church. By the time I was old enough to know what was going on, my family had long since stopped attending church.

My eldest sister Margaret, who has a developmental disability, would throw herself into a vocally and physically violent temper tantrum at the sound of traditional hymns being sung. Any “sad” sounding music like hymns accompanied by an organ, or slow songs like Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” would cause such emotional responses.

In any case, her behaviour would so disrupt the congregation that it became difficult to stay. When my parents separated and later divorced when I was four years old, the struggle they faced as single parents made looking after three young children plus calming down a fourth temper-tantruming child was too much. So, I grew up in a family that shared Christian values but was non-churched.

My first exposure to faith was in grade 7 when I attended a Catholic High School. Throughout my 6 years there I took the required Catholic religion classes and participated in school masses for the major religious celebrations like Christmas and Easter. I never gave much thought to the tradition or language or intentional spirituality except to maintain to whoever asked that I was not a Catholic.

When my parents got back together and remarried in 2002, they started attending a local Anglican church in Ottawa. My mother is now on the lay team that serves wine during communion. My father is superintendent of the parsonage which the church has converted into a shared rental home for university students. My parents are also active in the L’Arche Ottawa community, where my sister Margaret lives, and consider their involvement a ministry.

By the time my parents started getting involved at church, I had moved to Vancouver to attend UBC. I watched their journey from afar but didn’t give much thought to God during my time at university.

After graduation, I accepted a fundraising position at L’Arche Greater Vancouver. I was familiar with L’Arche because my sister Margaret lives at a L’Arche home in Ottawa. What I was not familiar with was the Christ-centered work of the non-profit organization. It is at L’Arche that I learned about giving and receiving the love of Jesus Christ.

After the remarriage of my parents and their love for me, coming to L’Arche Greater Vancouver to be Sig’s assistant is the second greatest blessing in my life. In the last couple of weeks we have heard Pastor Loren say, “God meets you where you are.” I believe with a fully open heart that God met me in the place of L’Arche and in the person of Sig.

As she has with all of you, Sig shared the love of Christ with me. In her own quite and purposeful way, she helped me build a faith-based foundation. Watching Sig live her life in Christ inspired a great deal in me. It eventually led me to make the very important but very difficult decision to leave L’Arche to go on a missions trip.

I knew that if I wanted to fully commit myself to a life in Christ, I would have to go meet Him in a place where I would learn to love Him because he is our Almighty God, and not because he blessed me a loving family or friends like Sig. (Though I am eternally grateful for those blessings.) God met me at L’Arche. Now it was my turn to meet God… in the Caribbean.

In July and August of 2010, I traveled to Trinidad and St. Lucia, two island countries in the Caribbean, to volunteer with a Catholic lay organization called Living Water Community. I lived with men and women who chose the religious life as their vocation. I served with them in the soup kitchen, food bank, at worship and at a children’s bible camp. But it wasn’t until I became ill that I prayed in earnest for God to help me to accept Him as Lord and Saviour.

I was not yet four days into my missions trip that I got a virus (likely from drinking bad tap water) that had my temperature at 103 degrees and reeked havoc in my body. That night, utterly vulnerable and feverish, I begged God to help me learn to love and serve in His son’s name.

The next morning a doctor came to visit. I got a prescription and was ordered to stay in bed. I spent the rest of the day and night waking only to drink filtered water and take medicine.

In the morning I felt much better, good enough to accompany the others to the beach for an afternoon swim before worship. It amazed me that I could recover so quickly and fully, but then I recognized that my recovery had been propelled by more than bed rest and medication.

After that episode my prayers took a whole new shape. My heart became much more intentional in seeking Christ. Even though I had so much to learn about faith, God accepted me. For the remainder of my missions trip, I felt deeply resolute that I should continue seeking Christ upon my return to Canada. This weighed quite heavily on my heart, so I knew it was serious.

The first Sunday I had in Canada was in Ottawa with my family, so I attended my parents’ Anglican church. When I returned to Vancouver, the first Sunday I had I attended Pilgrim Baptist. It was here that I felt quite sure God was calling, so I have listened and stayed. Now I stand before you, anticipating my baptism on Easter Sunday.

I wish to be baptized because I want to publicly declare my faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour. I want to be held accountable to God, my family, and you all, and to live a faith-filled life. I still have a lot of spiritual growth ahead of me, but I am comforted by the book of Acts. Over and over we see ordinary people who believe and are immediately baptized. They do not profess to be spiritually mature. They profess their faith. So I too follow in their footsteps.

Some of you may wonder how my parents feel about me being baptized in a Baptist church. My parents say it is an awesome gesture of faith. They are proud of me. They are happy that I have found a place of worship to call home.

Pastor Loren says, “Under God, we are all equal.” So on Easter weekend my mother will be flying from Ottawa to attend my baptism. So will my Aunt who lives in White Rock. So are some friends from L’Arche who come from different Christian denominations. And so are some of my non-Christian friends who recognize the significance. And I didn’t invite any of them.

God is good.

Photo Credit: Adriana Durian Photography

It was a busy and happily attended two week camp. In the first week 40 children aged 5-8 filled the hall. In the second we received 65 children aged 9-12. In all 105 children attended the camp. They kept us going all day long! In addition to Lisa and Roger, the two sisters of Living Water Community and myself, we had the help of six members of the Soufriere Youth Group and Young Adults.

Your gift helped finance 525 craft activities, 50 award prizes, 20 plastic lawn chairs, 525 lunches, and dishwash, handwash and other cleaning detergents.

Everyday the Living Water Community missionaries taught a biblical story and an accompanying craft activity. The children used buckets of crayons to colour paper cut-out Jesuses, bags of cotton to imitate the wool of a lamb, tubes upon tubes of white glue to paste it all together… They made paper bag and construction paper puppets, hanging banners, chariots, caves… All excitedly. “Mees! Like this?” “Mess! Do you like mine?” “Mees! Pass by us!” (meaning, come sit and assist us with the activity).

Craft of Balaam and his goat.

"I am the Good Shepherd" banner.

There is a growing number of children participating in Living Water Community’s children ministries in Soufriere. St. Isidore Hall, where we held the camp, does not have its own furniture or exceptional facilities, so this meant Living Water Community needed to provide more chairs for children to sit on. The new chairs purchased with your gift were well used during the craft activities and snack and lunch times.

Chairs being used during a craft activity.

Me beside Living Water Community's new brown plastic chairs.

A fair majority of children in Soufriere are living at or below the poverty line. Recognizing that most of the children at our camp would come each day with little or no lunch, Living Water Community prepared a lunch daily for each hungry child. Your gift helped to purchase buns daily from a local bakery that we ourselves filled with a homemade cheese paste filling. “Cheese Paste” is a dip-like Caribbean spread made of white cheese, cooking peppers (not sweet), carrots, mayo, mustard and hot pepper sauce. On the Friday of both weeks we provided a hotdog lunch. The children ate and asked for more. If we had leftovers, seconds were provided.

Buns from Purity Bakery for sandwiches served daily at camp.

Lisa and Roger making sandwiches in the kitchen area.

A number of the Bible Vacation Camp’s participants live in Baron’s Drive, the poorest neighbourhood of Soufriere. Yesterday afternoon I accompanied the missionaries of Living Water Community on one of their home visitations in Baron’s Drive. Baron’s Drive received its name from Baron Micoud who gave this part of his land to his slaves when slavery was abolished. Baron Micoud was a French army colonel and former Governor of St. Lucia. Most people who live there today are descendants from those first emancipated Lucians. We went to see Ricky a 14 year old boy who is disabled and housebound.

On Baron’s Drive most homes do not have plumbing or electricity. They are small, stuffy and one beside another, and often house more than one family – grandmother, mother, children, cousins… Ricky’s house is about the size of my parent’s living room. Fathers tend to be absentee. Abuse and drug use is high.

Baron's Drive from a distance. I chose not to take photos of Ricky's house or his neighbourhood during our visit.

Meeting Ricky put a huge lump in my throat. His personal affliction, the state of his home, a culture that misunderstands disability and illness, the cycle of poverty, lack of government intervention… I don’t know how to talk about it.

Knowing that the children I’ve met over the last two weeks live in this part of town made me ever more grateful to each of you who donated towards the summer camp. You helped bring a smile to their faces. Thank you.

I have not prayed as fervently in St. Lucia as I did in Trinidad, not because I am not close to God but because I am giving of myself differently here. When I was in Trinidad I was far more contemplative and introverted. Despite the pace of life there – it was constantly busy – my volunteering happened quietly. My befriending of God also happened quietly.

In St. Lucia it is very different. Taking a faith journey at a children’s camp can be distracting, especially when feeling exhausted from a day of assertive crowd control. Where I found peace in silence, God is challenging me to find peace in the excitement of children. I am learning that God is as much a part of noise as He is of quiet.

This lesson is possibly the most important I can take with me back to Canada. God is helping me see faith in the everyday. The truth is that this journey happened outside of my reality. Everything but my relationship with God is foreign and I, the foreigner.

For six weeks I have been seeking God in Trinidad & Tobago and St. Lucia but I call neither country my home. I have been living in a Catholic religious community but I am not Catholic. I am not even confirmed in my own denomination.

I have learned from people who welcomed me, the stranger, into their lives knowing our paths may never again meet. Through them I have experienced the blessing of a life in relationship with God. God is so awesome and so humble that He chose for me to learn about Him by pulling me out of my “reality.” He has blessed me with the gift of being the stranger.

As much as I am grateful for the journey, I cannot begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to coming home. The next part of my journey (because it’s not over yet) will be finding a place of spiritual belonging. I know God will guide me there.

At the top of the Gros Piton. It's twin, the Petit Piton, in the background.

You can’t live in Vancouver and not be drawn to hiking the Gros Piton. It is the bigger of the Twin Pitons, St. Lucia’s two “volcanic plug” mountains. The Gros Piton is 2,619 ft at top elevation. Grouse Mountain, on Vancouver’s North Shore, is about twice the size. The average ascent time for the Gros Piton is two hours. The trail is quite rugged and steep, and requires a guide because, save for a few sections of railing, the trail is not ear marked. For my final weekend in St. Lucia (and in the Caribbean for that matter) myself and Roger, Lisa’s husband, agreed to a 7am climb, early to avoid the heat of the day.

It so happens that I have come to the Caribbean at the height of Hurricane season. When it rains in comes down in heavy pelts that soak you in two minutes and flood the streets. It causes the river to rise and force its way towards the sea. Friday night it rained so badly the heavy water took out a bridge and caused a mud slide. Roger and I left early Saturday morning, hopeful the rain hadn’t made the trail along the Gros Piton dangerous.

Luckily when we arrived the guide seemed confident we could make it. He took us through the village of Fond Gens Libre, whose name means “valley of the free people.” During the slave rebellion of 1748, Brigands, or black freedom fighters, built a settlement at the foot of the Gros Piton as a secure haven. The Gros Piton trail was originally used by banana and mangos farmers who grew their crop at the top of the mountain. At the time it was the only safe place for run away slaves to grow food.

The rain cleared up by the time we started our climb. It continued to rain off and on, but the shelter of the rain forest kept us dry (relatively speaking). It was a not-so-hot day but still I must have lost at least a litre of water during the climb. I was thoroughly soaked. The view at the top, along with the total sense of accomplishment, made it worth every sweaty drop!

Coming down the mountain was almost more difficult than going up. We made it to the top in two hours. With fever stops we got to the bottom in an hour and 45 minutes. Wet steep rock is surprisingly difficult to navigate going downwards.

Steam from the Sulfur Springs in Soufriere. Delightful egg smell.

On Sunday I visited Soufriere’s Sulfur Springs. The springs bubble from a volcanic dome (the top part of the volcano) that collapsed some 40,000 years ago into a seven acre depression (called a caldera) that present day vents sulfur into the air and heats pools of water to well above boiling. The tour took us only meters from the volcano. The steam was hot and smelly!

A couple of hundred yards downstream from the springs, the water temperature is still hot (around 45 C), but cool enough to bathe in or have a mud bath. The high content of iron, sulfur, copper oxide, calcium oxide, carbon, magnesium and other minerals in the water of the spring as well as the mud is famous for its healing properties.

Dipping my feet in the sulfur springs. It was hot!

I didn’t bathe (hot air and hot water are not a comfortable match for me) but I couldn’t resist dipping my feet. The heat of the spring turned my feet a dark purple, but afterward they felt wonderfully tingly.

Monday was a holiday is St. Lucia. Emancipation Day. Lisa and Roger and I went to Castries, the capitol, for the day. Castries is north of Soufriere and far far more fortunate. Most of the island’s resorts are located in this area, as are some very big houses and golf courses.

Pigeon Island, view from Rodney Fort to Martinique, visible on the horizon.

We took a picnic lunch to Pigeon Island, a national heritage site. In the late eighteenth century Pigeon Island became a British garrison. The island has two bigger-than-hills-but-not-quite-mountains sized peaks. A fort was built at the top one so that the English could observe (spy on) the French naval base in Martinique, an island country to the north of St. Lucia.

The fort, soldier’s barracks and other buildings are now ruins but the beach that surrounds Pigeon Island calls tourists and locals alike. While Lisa and Roger sat in the shade of a palm tree and swam in the warm sea, I explored the ruins and climbed to the peak of both non-hill-non-mountain mountains. Returning a while later I went for a quick swim and then retreated to the shade for fear of the UV exposure. On the way back to Soufriere we stopped for gelato. It was a delicious treat!

Sitting on the observation platform at the fort on Pigeon Island.

Living Water Community Bible Camp campers aged 5-8 (though some were 4 and 9).

As a special treat for the last day of camp Living Water Community took the children (and the helpers!) on a field trip to Morne Coubaril Estate. It’s been nearly a decade since my last field trip, so I thoroughly looked forward to it.

Built by a French family in the late 17th century Morne Coubaril Estate used to be a fully functioning cocoa and sugar cane plantation. The family restored some of the old machinery and slaves’ quarters to create a living museum for tourists and curious locals.

The two girls who held my arms captive on our outing. Beside the slaves' quarters.

I was given charge of the first bus load. There are no yellow school buses in Soufriere, so we divided the group in half and took two 25 seater van-bus-thingys to Morne Coubaril Estate, a quick 10 minute drive up the mountain side. In my group were four of Soufriere’s Young Adults and myself, with 20 children.

When I began this week I spoke Canadian. By the end I’d adopted some key Lucian-Trini-Carib wordage to more effectively communicate with the children. These include “Eh eh eh!” (not the soft “eh” of Canada but a forceful “eh” that has no “a” sound) meaning “Stop!” and “We good?” meaning anything from “Please sit down” to “Behave yourself.”

Drinking coconut water. Behind is the stone oven where coconuts are steamed.

After several “Eh eh eh!” the children climbed into the van-bus-thingy. I shouted above the excitement “We good?” and heard a resounding “Yes Mees!” and we were off.

At Morne Coubaril we remained in our groups for a guided walking tour. The guide took us through the old slaves’ quarters, the sugar cane mill (driven by a mule), the cocoa bean hut (harvested and processed by hand and foot) and the coconut stone oven (steamed in a giant outdoor stone structure).

Campers swinging from giant vines that draped from a tree. The vines are strong enough to support an adult.

Weaving through the estate I found myself more drawn to the children’s reactions to the outing than my own personal interest. Like any kids they moved together in groups of two and three, excitedly distracted and curiously mischievous, and when the opportunity presented itself, hanging off the arms of the Young Adults. Two young girls latched on to me and we walked together hand in hand. Others came to my waist requesting a hug.

One child brought a camera and was snapping pictures along the way. The camera was an “old” 35mm lock and load film camera, purple for kid friendly use. It reminded me of the first camera I owned and all those trips to the one-hour photo processing store. While we were on the tour, the child lent her camera so that others could take a photo.

I overheard some of the children saying the camera wasn’t working, so I approached to see if I could help. The older of the two opened the camera to fix it, exposing the film cartridge. I was about to stop her when I noticed the camera had no film. The child blew into the empty space like we blow into our DVD players, closed the lid and confidently said it was fixed.

Neither knew the camera needed film to take a photograph. I realized this meant that neither had had “photographs” they’d taken developed. It was the most beautiful game of pretend.

Children helping me at the registration table.

I am two days into Living Water Community children’s bible camp and feeling only slightly the wiser! Like most children aged 5 to 8, the campers are excitable, noisy and full of energy. They are kind to each other and helpful. Yet they are very different from Canadian children who, in general, have experienced the nurturing of parents who can afford to provide and an education system that is well-funded.

The town of Soufriere lives in poverty. Some Lucians are fortunate to live in houses with running water, most are fortunate to have a roof above their heads. Ramshackle houses, no toilet, fowl living in the same place as children… Against the backdrop of the lush Twin Pitons and the Caribbean sea, it is unlike anything I have ever seen. Knowing that this is where some of these children come from is both heartbreaking and deeply moving. With so little, they still smile so big.

The children and I look on as others finish out a game of musical chairs.

On the first day the children were rambunctious. It was a day for all of us to settle into one another and the rhythm of the camp. Today they were a little more subdued though the hot sun helped… We all move a little slower when it’s hot. The kids were less apprehensive around me and I around them, so this morning a few of the older ones helped me with registration, attendance and name tags.

Some of the members of Soufriere’s Youth Group and Young Adults are helping all week long. They lead praise and worship first thing in the morning and act as judge and jury when the kids are playing musical chairs or “pass the parcel” a game similar to “hot potato” except it’s with a prize that has been wrapped several times and slowly makes its way around the circle getting unwrapped until the lucky child, finally, unwraps and wins the prize.

Helping with craft work.

Part of the day is spent learning a bible story and completing a craft related to the story. Today it was the parable of the lost sheep found in Matthew 18: 12-14. The story was read with some simple teaching and then the children made sheep with paper plates, cotton balls and white glue.

During games time the children gather on the steps leading up to the stage to receive instruction and then as the place to be once they’re “out.” The games are never met with bickering between children. Once they’re no longer in the game, they focus on cheering each other on. These children certainly have a wonderful sense of sportsmanship.

Sr. Bernadette of St. Jospeh's Convent in Soufriere came for a visit. The nuns of St. Jospeh's Convent wear a lavender habit and sandals. There are only three sisters living there at present.

I enjoy sitting with them during this time. Some who are no longer bashful sit beside me, or drape themselves on my lap, or otherwise seek a soft back rub or pat on the head. And I am happy to oblige. Children, no matter where they come from, ultimately want to be loved.

After one gentle pat, a young boy began touching my arm with genuine curiosity. He liked watching it go from yellow to “normal” after applying slight pressure to my skin. I am not sunburnt but because my skin takes on a slight reddish hugh when hot, the colour change is a bit more dramatic. (Such is the plight of the fair skinned, freckled and red-headed.)

The boy squeezed the flabby part of my upper arm and said “Miss! (pronounced “Meeeeees!”) It soft!” And I smiled with him.

Several little girls scooped up my other free arm and began patting my bare skinned calves. They said in chorus “Mees! You got a lotta meat!” Another chimed in “You must eat a lotta meat!”

I laughed out loud and said “Thank you my dears.”

The house I am calling home for the next two weeks in Soufriere, St. Lucia.

Have you ever heard of an ice cream truck that plays Christmas carols all year? The one that passed by the house I am living at does. It’s the familiar jingle of an ice cream truck except to the tune of “Santa Claus is coming to town” and other silly carols.

We were at the end of lunch when the red van turned the corner and slowed to see if we were interested in a cone or two. I chose vanilla and pistachio swirl though it tasted more like marzipan. I am told this particular ice cream vendor gives a good amount of ice cream for the price but not to trust the flavours…

This morning’s mass was Baptism Sunday at the Church of the Assumption, the Catholic Cathedral. I witnessed six baptisms and one first holy communion. Sunday Mass is very important to those who live in Soufriere. They wear their very best – colourful dresses, pressed hats, shiny shoes, dress shirts… And mass itself is long. Two hours. My housemates joked that a priest normally makes one homily. Soufriere’s makes three.

Roger putting up a poster board of Jesus healing the lepers.

In the later afternoon we went to St. Isidore’s Hall where camp is held to do the final decorating. In several car trips we brought over all of the material for the camp including material for games and crafts, markers, pens, name tags, water bottles… Together we arranged chairs to accommodate the 60 children aged 5-8 years expected this week and hung poster boards on the walls.

The poster boards illustrate stories from the bible that will be taught throughout the week. Since many of these children are illiterate, the corresponding craft activities will be especially important for their learning.

A view of the statue of St. Isidore and several of the poster boards we hung this afternoon in St. Isidore's Hall.

Tomorrow (and most days in Soufriere) will begin just after 4am. I will dress and have a cup of tea before morning prayer at 4:50 and then attend mass at 6:00. Breakfast is after mass. Although camp begins at 9:00 we’ll get there most days shortly after 8:00 to set up for the day and welcome the children as they trickle in. Camp ends at 3pm and then it’s home to an early dinner and bed.

Starting a journey to faith, however, had to be bold. I needed to get out of my comfort zone. To do something meaningful while learning about God. Such were my goals: to find God and to learn about a culture through volunteer work. The journey to God was not all sunshine and beaches as some teased before I left. It was much deeper and much more difficult than I expected.

As I mentioned in an earlier post it can be hard to journey with (and confide in) people who intimidate you, especially if you feel a little out of place. It can also hurt to feel left out, though this wasn’t done intentionally. It can be tough to watch friendships build and not participate in them. It made me feel lonely. There were times I felt less special, less worthy, less…

In this time of feeling “less” I gave it to God and, for the first time in my life, truly sought Him. In prayer God reminded me that every person is following a path that He created uniquely for them. Those around me are following theirs and I am following mine. He said that my purpose on this trip was to “make friends” with Him. And so I trusted in that prayer and quieted my heart.

God does not need to make His presence known for any of us to know He is with us. But He does send blessings to remind us in His perfect time. Throughout this journey God has continued to bless me and uplift my spirit. These blessings always came after a time of struggle and I would smile to myself thinking, “God, you have a real sense of humour.”

After one particularly discouraging evening, I found myself volunteering at the food bank the following morning. You can read about my first time there here. I arrived early and started filling bags of rice. After a while I stopped to ask the person who runs the food bank (who is a grandmother and the very person who jokingly said I’d had “a holy water bath”) how she was doing.

She paused and said, “Today I bare a cross. But I love my Papi.” (Meaning God the Father.)

It was only her and I in the food bank. I offered what I could, a smile and my condolences. After a while she sat down beside me and told me in a hushed whisper what she was baring. Her story was a familiar one. Because it was the kind of struggle I too had experienced, we spoke at length.

I said, “The cross you bare is a blessing to the person you bare it for. There is greater purpose in this. God created a world in which excuses are possible. It is up to us to bare the cross of choosing not to make them.”

She said, “Praise Jesus. I know.” And then, quite thoughtfully, “Your spirituality is deep. Like a nun, but you are not a nun.”

And I, having felt discouraged the evening before, inwardly thanked God for reminding me that He is always near.

I have a collection of stories similar to this one … all coming at just the right time from relative strangers, all helping me remember that I am here to find God. I used to say “Listen to yourself and you will know what to do.” Now I say “Listen to yourself and you will know God.”

I think God decided I was ready to try when He sent me to Living Water Community’s Hospice Home for the Dying. The Hospice has been providing care for nearly 30 years and until recently was the only hospice in all of Trinidad & Tobago. The hospice provides palliative and spiritual care for those dying of cancer and other terminal illnesses. The youngest person they’ve cared for was six years old, the oldest in their nineties.

With just over two weeks of quiet prayer, I arrived to learn that my task was to visit and pray with the patients. My first instinct was to go hide. My second was to grab my bible and look to the Psalms for help.

Some months ago I began reading the bible from beginning to end. The more I read the more I come to know God’s love. I’ve just started Deuteronomy one of the earlier books in the Old Testament. Psalms is several books later but I figured God would be ok with me jumping ahead.

I screwed up the courage and brought a chair to the first patient, a bedridden elderly woman. Her eyes were closed and she could not speak. I was told me that the last sense to lose is hearing, so even if I sit with someone who is non-responsive, he or she could still hear what I was saying. So I introduced myself and asked her to forgive me in advance if I rambled a bit. And then I prayed aloud what I pray in my head, except that instead of seeking God for myself, I sought Him for someone else.

I talked about my journey to Living Water Community. I talked about what I was grateful for and what I imagined she was grateful for. I talked about how God is with us even during our most difficult struggles and that our lives are part of His greater purpose. While I spoke her eyebrows lifted and her lips pursed as if she were entering into prayer with me.

I paused to flip through Psalms to read aloud whichever one my eyes rested upon. After reading I attempted to do a little reflection on a sentence or two that struck me. I find the Psalms deeply comforting – they are both a guiding light and beacon of hope.

At the end of my visit I screwed up some more courage and asked her permission to offer a blessing. Although she could not respond I guessed she would allow me to do so. I laid my hand on her forehead. At my touch she moved her head towards my hand. It was then I knew she was listening. I gently blessed her.

I had always assumed blessings came in the form of an action. As the saying goes: “Actions speak louder than words.” I thought a blessing was something I did that was thoughtful for someone else. For the patients I visited with that day, blessings came as something I said. Words gently spoken that reached out and touched a stranger.

L to R: me, Phil, Fr. Jason, Gussie, Fr. Chris.

Myself and Phil, the other volunteer at Living Water Community, caught the tail-end of the annual summer holiday for the consecrated members of the community. We joined the others at the home of a friend of Living Water who gives it to the community free of charge.

This is the house were we stayed in Tobago. It had a fantastic view of the ocean.

We spent three beautifully sunny days on the beach and snorkeling in the sea. Never thought I’d swim with the fish I see in tanks at the pet store! In the evenings we were invited to dinner at friends’ homes and we ate delicious home cooked meals. Mass was held everyday in the living room. The trip was wonderful.

The water was so clear at this beach you could see all the way down to the bottom, well after you couldn't touch.

Back in Trinidad, Phil and I were taken on a guided boat tour of the Caroni Swamp Bird Sanctuary, a protected wildlife site about 45 minutes from Port of Spain. We went one afternoon with one of my favourite consecrated members of Living Water, a man in his 60s who loves to laugh.

Phil and I on the boat during the Canori Swamp Bird Sanctuary tour.

The two hour tour took us through a network of swampy canals and lakes that smelled like hot wet sulfury mud though not too too overpowering. We saw mangroves, snakes, iguanas, and the Scarlet Ibis, the country’s national bird that appears on Trinidad & Tobago’s coat of arms. It was absolutely spectacular.

Mangroves at Canori Swamp. Mangroves are trees where the roots grow up and out of the water.

And another afternoon myself and the very same consecrated member went to Maracas Bay, arguably the most beautiful beach on Trinidad’s north coast. We had mid-afternoon Shark & Bake, a deep fried fish put in a deep fried bun and topped with all kinds of dressings like garlic sauce, pineapple, pepper sauce (though none for me, it’s way too hot) and tamarind sauce (a savoury sweet fruit sauce). Yum!

Dressing the Shark & Bake.

Eating the Shark & Bake. Drool.

The water at Maracas is quite wavy and the current particularly strong. It’s perfect and slightly dangerous for body surfing. The waves crash against the surf at half the height of an adult and in water at shoulder level, they lift you right off the sandy bottom.

I went head first with as many big ones as I could, getting flipped, tossed and turned by the current. I would emerge at the shoreline hair in my face, clearing salt water from my nose and laughing hysterically. For his part my friend laughed along with me. He preferred to duck under the waves saying he was too delicate for body surfing.

Sunshine at Maracas Bay.