I have been blessed in my life with many opportunities to touch other people’s lives, and to be touched by others.

Years ago, when my daughters were ‘tweens’, I did a lot of research on teen prostitution. The why’s of how I got involved are quite simple. I was in a time and place where I had an opportunity to learn something about a state of being I knew nothing about. And, I wanted to make a difference — in fact, I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t want to make a difference in the world.

At the time, I wrote a play with a group of teens who used an outreach program for street youth. Every Wednesday night I would go down to the storefront where the outreach program operated and meet with whomever turned up to talk about what they wanted to say. I’d then go away, write something, come back, talk about it and continue the process until three months later, we had a script. Another three months and the kids were ready to perform the play at a benefit concert I produced on behalf of the agency that ran the outreach program.

It was gruelling, exhausting, exhilarating and fulfilling work.

At the time, the kids and I shared a dream for what we would do with the play. We’d raise funds for a school tour. We’d take it across the country. The possibilities were limitless.

And then, I fell into the arms of an abuser and I let my dreams go. I forgot about my capacity to make a difference as I fell into the belief I didn’t make a difference, to anyone, to the world, to myself.

Fast forward 4 years 9 months later, to May 21 2003 when I am released from that living hell by a miracle that drove up in a blue and white police car and I am suddenly presented with the possibility that — I do/can make a difference.

I get busy.

Remembering.

Who I am.

Who I was.

What I was capable of, doing, being, achieving. I get busy remembering the limitless possibilities of my life in freedom.

And part of that remembering was to remind myself of what I had accomplished in the past that had made a difference in my life. In those moments when I felt like I simply could not carry the burden of my pain, shame, sorrow, or whatever else I was working through, I reminded myself of what I had done in the past to make a difference in the world.

And I began again. To take one step at a time, to remember — I make a difference simply by being present in the world, exactly the way I am, because I am my difference.

Just as you are yours.

Sometimes, it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing, ‘I don’t really make a difference’. ‘There’s not much point in my difference.’

You do make a difference. There is a point in your difference in the world because your difference is unique to you. Without you, the world would be less one beautiful, unique and important difference — YOU and your light.

We never know when our difference will resonate with someone else.  Shortly after being released from the darkness of that relationship, I was at a business meeting when a young man came racing across the room, hugged me and said, “Louise! It’s me. Dan! You saved my life!”

He had been one of the youth in the play. Since being part of the play, he had gone on to get straight, reconnected with his family and was now working, had a home of his own, a family, a dog and was thriving in life.

I demurred and reminded him that he was the one who saved his life. I just happened to be there. “No,” he insisted. “You gave me a stage to find my voice, to speak up.”

And in that moment, I was reminded, “We are all connected. We all make a difference.”

Dan’s difference resonated with me that day. It reminded me of the power we each have to be a light in this world, to hold the light in the darkness when others are lost. Many people held the light for me while I was lost — and I am grateful to be able to pay it forward, to continue shining brightly so that others too can find their way through the darkness.

Small Gesture 1

I am sitting at my desk in the late afternoon sunlight, working on a report I need to have ready for a client next week. Outside the window in front of my desk, I see a woman sitting in the shade of a tree across the street. Beside her, two dogs lay on the grass, panting.

I wonder if I can do anything, offer water perhap,s and go to my front step and call out to her. “Would you like some water for your dogs?”

She quickly accepts and leads both dogs across the street to the shade of my front yard. Ellie, who is standing inside the screen door watching all of this unfold is somewhat curious. “Why is my mother taking my water-dish outside and sharing it with strangers. Hello? Why can’t I come out too?”

The reason she’s inside is simple. Ellie has attitude around other dogs sometimes. She’s incredibly possessive of me and is not good at sharing. I know. I know. I’ve tried to train the trait out of her but it prevails. Plus, the woman thanks me for leaving Ellie inside. “This guy,” and she rubs the deep coat of her German Shepherd, “he doesn’t like other dogs very much. Especially large ones.”

I laugh. Ellie doesn’t like small dogs. She’s actually not all that bad with big ones but, why test her?

The woman and I chat for a while. I give her dogs a couple of treats and she continues on her way. She only has four or five blocks to go but her senior dog in particular was feeling the heat and needed the break.

She is grateful and my heart is joyful for our encounter.

Small Gesture 2

Yesterday morning, my cousins’s daughter, Elise, who is here visiting from France, came into the kitchen and offered me a white paper bag. “It’s from Zac’s mom,” she tells me. Zac is the 16-year-old son of my friend RS who, along with a friend, took Elise to the Stampede grounds for the day. What generosity of spirit. What graciousness. Elise had a blast. And truthfully, after a week with her cousins who are all older, she really enjoyed the opportunity to spend time with people her own age.

I open the white paper bag and inside is a beautiful heart rock. A gift from RS who on a trip to the States recently, saw the heart rock and thought of me.

In her gesture, my heart is touched, my spirit soars and I feel my wings expand.

Small Gesture 3

Recently, at a meeting with three very caring and enlightened people, one of the individuals talked about her feelings of hopelessness. How, in the instance of helping young men heal from a tragic accident, she felt like she could not do enough. Did not do enough. They were so despairing I don’t know if they even heard me, she said.

And I shared with her the story of the police officer who, while I was in the depths of that relationship that was sucking my life dry said to me something I never forgot, even though, at the time, I ignored him and went back to my abuser. “This isn’t love,” he said. “Love doesn’t hurt like this.”

At the time, I disregarded his words because I was too deep into the despair and sickness of that relationship. But when the abuser was arrested and I was set free, that police officer’s words sustained me. They carried me through those dark moments when I wanted to scream at the stars and moon and sky and ask “Why? Why? Why? If he loved me why would he do this?”

Because it wasn’t love.

I told my friend last week what I often share with police officers and victim assistance workers when they ask, ‘What can I do? Why can’t they hear me?”

“They do hear you. It’s just, at this moment in time, your words are blocked by the fear and anguish and tears and pain of where they’re at. We never know when or how what we say or do will affect another. We can’t. All we can do is continue to do our best. To share what we can, whenever we can, and know, it is enough. The rest is up to them, in their own time.”

My friend was touched and moved. My words resonated and in that moment, I felt our hearts sing together in hope, faith, love and joy.

We do not know when or how what we do will affect another.

All we can do is keep doing the best we can to create a world of beauty all around.

All we can do is listen, watch and respond in loving ways to the world around us so that our hearts can sing together as the world around us vibrates in love. Because no matter the size of our gesture, our impact is great when we share from loving hearts.

It is Guest blog Sunday.  Today, we’re going to try a little bit of a different format.

I met today’s guest blogger, Julie Goyder, in a comment she made over at Diana Schwenk’s blog — Talk to Diana. The story she told about what she learned from a man with Alzheimer’s whom she ‘agreed’ to marry touched my heart. In its telling, I got a glimpse of the heart of Julie — deep, caring, compassionate.

When I connected with Julie to ask if she would be willing to share the story here, she quickly agreed and today, Julie is the guest blogger.

What’s different about the format is that I am only sharing the opening of her blog about ‘Joe’ and then, it’s up to you to click the link and head over to Julie’s place for the rest of the story.

It will be worth your effort. Julie is a good story-teller. Her story about Joe, a patient with Alzheimer’s for whom she cared in a longterm facility, is touching and inspiring. and, if you stay and visit awhile, her sharing of her journey through Parkinson’s Disease with her husband Anthony will touch your heart.

Please, do click the links below to read the whole story.

And… once you’re at Julie’s place, do check out h the rest of her blog.  I’ve never met a woman who owns peacocks and hens and ganders and who has a son who creates music sitting in the middle of a paddock!

And thank you Julie for sharing your story and your heart. You have touched mine and made a difference.

May we all have a Julie in our life!

THE JOE STORY

(excerpt published with permission from JM Goyder)

I first met Joe several years ago, when I began to work in a small nursing home in Western Australia. I’d been nursing for about ten years and had looked after a large number of people with Alzheimer’s Disease before meeting Joe, so I didn’t take much notice of him at first. He was just another Alzheimer’s patient sitting in an easychair, mostly silent but sometimes yelling out in sudden anger. I changed his trousers when he was incontinent, I showered him when he was on my list and I fed him his dinner. In the daily reports I would write “Joe, no change”.

Things did change however.

One afternoon I was in the panroom which was directly opposite the entrance to the dayroom. Joe was always seated in the chair facing this entrance. As usual, he was slumped down in his chair so I went over and hoisted him up into a more comfortable position. He suddenly lashed out and punched me in the side shouting, “Leave me alone, you bastard!” – which, when he did speak, was a fairly typical coment from him.

Please click the links to read the rest of the story. There are four segments — all quite short — and all worth reading….  The Joe Story – Part 1,     Part 2,    Part 3,      Part 4, Part 5.

In a city of 1.1 million people, there are many, many heroes. Yesterday, heroes rode up like cowboys in a wild west movie ridin’ in to save the day.

It takes 5,000+ volunteers to stage the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth and yesterday their hard work, dedication and commitment paid off. The parade was spectacular and later, going to the exhibition grounds and taking in all the free activities was a blast. From Cattle Penning to miniature horse chuck wagon racing to Superdogs, to Recycled Percussion (WOW! — if you’re here in Calgary, don’t miss their free show on the Bell Stage — WOW!)  to Hoop Dancing — the day had it all. And, once the nominal fee of $16.00 was paid to get through the gates, it was all free!

The Calgary Exhibition & Stampede — you’re all heroes!

When we got to the spot we wanted to sit to watch the parade, it was already pretty busy. We were fortunate, we found a spot right at the front for our two chairs, settled in and got ready for the spectacle to begin. We only had two hours to wait — beside us were two men who, eager to get ‘the best seats in the house’ set up chairs for their families and friends at 5am!  They packed all the chairs and paraphenalia for about 15 people down and waited it out (Starbucks around the corner doesn’t even open until 6:30). What’s amazing is that all along the parade route, there were hundreds, if not thousands of others who did the same thing. Got there early, set up the chairs and held the space for their family and friends to arrive.

Those who organize community spaces along the parade route, get there early and sit out the pre-dawn chill are heroes!

After watching the Hoop Dancer at the opening ceremonies for the Indian Village which, along with the Stampede turns 100 this year, my cousin’s daughter, Elise, my daughter Liseanne and I wandered through the teepees, watched a bannock cookout in process, listened to stories of our First Nations and, Elise and Liseanne had their photo taken with a Royal Canadian Mounted Police (mountie) all dressed up in his red serge uniform. They were not the only ones. People kept coming up to him and asking to have their photo taken and he graciously complied. His patience, good humour and grace were inspiring.

The mountie in red at the Indian Village is a hero!

The grounds are kept swept and cleared of debris throughout the day through youth from the Boys and Girls Club of Calgary. Where ever you go on the exhibition grounds you see them in their green shirts, bags and garbage picker upper sticks at the ready. A million people will go through the grounds throughout the hottest ten days of summer — and you will barely notice their passing because of the hard work of these youth.

The Boys and Girls Club of Calgary and the youth who keep the grounds clean are all heroes!

Calgarians are amazing. Friendly. Open. Willing to share information, give directions, offer assistance when needed. I saw it throughout the day yesterday. It didn’t matter where we were, walking to the parade route to set up, meeting my daughter for lunch at a local restaurant on the way to the exhibition grounds, standing in line to purchase our entry tickets to the grounds, walking around the grounds, enjoying just a small sampling of all the free entertainment on the grounds — there was someone smiling, offering up information, pointing out something to someone, taking photos for guests, just generally being of service. Wow!

Calgarians are heroes!  Yahoo!

Who are your heroes today? Be on the lookout where ever you go and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. Heroes are everywhere!

It’s Yahoo! time in Calgary once again. A time when blue suited executives and office clerks take off their business wear and don blue jeans and cowboy boots to kick-up their heels. It’s a time when every hostelry, every drinking post is chocker-block full of smilin’ cowboys and cowgirls edgin’ up to the bar to grab them some cool libation and partake of down home, country-style fun!

It’s the kick-off to the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth, the Calgary Stampede Parade and I am off to the parade.

My cousin’s fifteen-year-old daughter is here from France and I am taking her down to the parade this morning. And… I slept in.

Most unusual for me. I know. I know. 6am is not really sleeping in, but when you have to be out of the house by 7 and have meditation, writing, and getting ready to jam into an hour and are accustomed to getting up at 5, it’s late!

The way I figure it pardner’, this parade will be different than the Pride Parade C.C. and I watched in San Francisco.

This parade will be filled with horses and cowboys and Indians (and yes, I’m being politically incorrect but when it comes to parades and First Nations in full regalia and horses prancing and all that jazz, political correctness takes a back seat to the spectacle of the parade!)

This parade is a two hour extravaganza of floats and western heritage and civic pride rolled out along two downtown avenues. It wends its way west then turns up three blocks to find its way back in the East Village two hours later.

My cousin is excited.

My daughter, Liseanne will be joining us, but first, I have to stake out our turf, set up camp and wait it out for the parade, and my daughter to get there. She has a course from 7:30 to 9 — seriously — a course on parade morning!

So, really, today’s blog has little to do with ‘making a difference’. I’m out of time!

And perhaps, that is the message.

Sometimes, we have to give ourselves a break.

Sometimes, we have to let ourselves deal with what is in a way that says — it’s okay not to…. and then let go of whatever the shoulda’s, coulda’s, woulda’s are that would have us feel we’re not doing our best.

This  morning, there’s a parade to watch.

This morning, I am letting myself off the hook of writin’ this here column. (and yes, I know I did write it– but ya’ know what I mean!) I’m givin’ myself a break from ‘makin’ a difference’ and gettin’ into the difference of what makes this city so different.

Yessireee. I’m ready for the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth — The Calgary Stampeeeede!!!!!!

See ya there!

Yahoo!

I have written often about the power of a smile to make a difference and, if I were writing a book on what it takes to make a difference in this world, step one would be — it begins with a smile.

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store to buy some things for a Canada Day dinner I was preparing for my daughter, her boyfriend and some friends. At the deli counter, the woman behind the counter was efficient and courteous. But she didn’t smile. Don’t get me wrong. She said all the right things. “What can I get you?” “Will there be anything else?” “Have a nice day.”… But, there was no smile. I felt, cheated. Unseen. As if, she was going through the motions, being in service, but not ‘of service’. Not connected to the act of ensuring every customer had a good experience shopping there.

At the check out it was a different story. The young woman ringing through the groceries was also efficient and courteous — and she smiled. Her smile made all the difference. The man in front of me left with a smile, and the man behind me, whom I let go before me as he only had two items to my several, also left smiling. As did I. And we were smiling because the cashier shared her smiles and good spirits generously and effortlessly. “What are you doing this Canada Day,” she asked the man in front of me. And he told her about the BBQ he was hosting with his wife for his 75-year-old mother whose birthday coincides with Canada’s Birthday. “Wish her Happy Birthday from me too!” she asked him as he collected his bag and took his change.

When it was my turn, she commented on my letting the man behind me go through first. “That was nice,” she said.

It is the fact she was present, paying attention and connecting with the customers through her smile that made all the difference.

On Friday, I met a girlfriend for a movie. As I stood in line to purchase popcorn (I can’t go to a movie without it even though I only eat a few handfuls — it is so part of the ritual!), a man in the line next to me looked at me and said, “I know you. You work at the shelter. You taught me a course and helped me with my speech.” I remembered him immediately and chatted about those days in his life when he found himself, homeless, jobless, penniless and lost.

“I’m doing great now,” he told me. He’s had a good job for the past two years, rents an apartment in a neighbourhood he likes and is saving for a trip.

We laughed and smiled and when I reached the counter and ordered my popcorn and water the young man behind the counter commented on how ‘happy’ I was. “I have no reason not to be happy,” I told him.”I’m meeting one of my best friends for a movie, it’s a long weekend and the sun is shining.”

We joked and chatted and as I took my goodies he invited me to come back, anytime. “It’s nice to see someone smile. You make me feel happy too!”

Try it. Spend today sharing smiles where ever you go. Consciously pay attention, connect with the people around you and see what a difference smiling makes in your day and the world around you.

Making a difference in the world is easy when we SMILE!

I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone. Edith Cavell

I am Canadian. I don’t wear my flag on my sleeve or have it tattooed on my chest just above my heart. I keep my patriotism tucked inside my back pocket between the pages of a well-worn blue leather passport stamped with the Canadian shield. My identity is forged in the hard rock of this nation carved out of the mighty forests and stones and ice that once covered this great land. I don’t roar. I don’t leap tall buildings and plant flags upon every roof. I don’t scream out ‘my country, oh my country’ from river valleys and mountain peaks.

I wear my patriotism quietly. Serenely. I wear it as my badge. Of honour. Of respect. Of duty. I don’t seek out confrontation. I don’t seek out fame. I seek to be a peacekeeper, a mediator, a consensus maker. I seek to find the common ground, the peaceful way. I seek to find that place where we can live together, in harmony, side-by-side, creating a mosaic of our faith, our cultures, our traditions.

No matter what I do, or how I do it. No matter my state of grace, of war or peacetime, I state my patriotism quietly and unequivocally. I am of Canada. True north strong and free. I am Canadian and I am proud of my country.

It is Canada Day. A day for every Canadian, where ever they be to stand tall, to stand proud, to state with conviction and pride, I am Canadian.

And no… I am not a beer.

And I’m not American either, eh!

That’s the thing about we Canadians. We take our nationhood with a grain of barley. We water it down with the sweetness of self-effacing maple sugar and gobble it up in a beaver tail. We know who we are not, but defining who we are — we shirk labels in Canada. We shy away from speaking up about the greatness that defines us and prefer to stand in the shadows of our neighbours to the south.

I am Canadian, eh! And proud of it.

Sure some of us sit on the ice in the dead of winter, swilling Canadian Club and singing, ‘I’m a lumberjack and I’m ok’ while dangling a line into a hole in the freezing water below in the hopes of hooking the big one.

And yes, some of us really do live in igloos and ride dog sleds to school or high-powered Ski-doos.

But no matter where we live, or what sport we play, or vehicle we drive, being Canadian means living peacefully under the sheltering colour of the maple leaf forever.

I am Canadian.

Liberated. Free.

I have the right to vote and the freedom to express my opinion without fearing for my life.

I drive on the right side of the road. I have a car. I have a home. I have a job that I love. I have the right to oppose my government. I have the right to speak out and to run for office if I so choose.

I don’t carry a gun. I carry a passport that promises me safe passage anywhere in the world I choose to go.

Because, as a Canadian I have choice.

Being Canadian is not about not being American. Being Canadian is about claiming my right to live in a country where tolerance and justice share equal voice with compassion and the right to a fair defence.

We don’t have the death penalty in Canada. I’m proud of that.

I am Canadian and I am proud to celebrate Christmas and Easter. I am proud my neighbour is free to celebrate Hanukkah or Ramadan.

I am Canadian means I live in a land where the tapestry of nations woven together in our vast and varied lands creates a rich and vibrant world of colour. It is stitched together across a land where every voice is equal. Every individual has value.

I am Canadian and I stand proud before the Maple Leaf, shoulder to shoulder with my brothers and sisters, no matter our skin colour, no matter our religious beliefs or cultural practices as we sing loud and clear, “O Canada, my home and native land.”

And then I realize in my oh so Canadian conscience that the very words of our national anthem deny the truth of one-third of our population who do not claim Canada as their ‘native land’.

Oh dear. Best we change the words so everyone feels they belong in this amazing land called Canada.

I am Canadian. And more than proud, I am tolerant and accepting of all who call this land their home, no matter where they were born. It is the Canadian way.

And…. as promised, here’s a unique version of Oh Canada! by rapper Classified