I recently went to a Habitat for Humanity ReStore on Belfast Road in Ottawa to donate some items (and to check out the used tools). The store is in an industrial building which used to house the automotive machine shop I worked in for the better part of two years in the late 1970s. Whenever I am there my mind floods with memories as I look at the various doorways and loading bays, recalling the bustle of the shop and the colourful characters I worked with.
I left high school with a dismal grade point average. After enrolling to study forestry up north at the Sault College of Applied Arts and Technology and then switching after the first week into a commercial art program, I went through a difficult period of finding my way. I had been much affected by trauma related to the untimely death of my father and the instabilities that ensued. These conspired to persuade me that I would not amount to much. (It is so important to notice changes in the appearance and behaviour of children and young people, and to take the risk of asking if everything is okay.)
After a couple of months, I dropped out of college and made my way back to Ottawa. I was in a deepening mental health crisis (not something that was spoken of in those days). By the grace of God and the kindness of others, I held together and eventually found myself a job at the machine shop on Belfast Road.
The structure and routine provided by that job, the camaraderie of the people I worked with and the process of learning how to operate various machines and specialized tools—first restoring brake drums, disks, and pads, and then rebuilding clutches—calmed my troubled mind and created space for a sense of purpose to take root.
That sense of purpose led me to develop my interest in cross-country skiing. I became extremely fit, running and skiing for hours at a time, and weight training in a gym for $2 a session. I would often run home from work, with soot in my hair and blackened hands. My first big life accomplishment was to qualify as a Nordic ski instructor and teach adult classes in a City of Ottawa winter program. The next big accomplishment was to complete the 160-km Canadian Ski Marathon in February 1978.
Those years taught me a lot and enabled me to heal from things which had compromised the person God had made me to be. (It is so important to help children, young people and adults to know that bad things do not need to define who you are and who God made you to be.)
Skiing the marathon contained a key spiritual lesson. You can’t just say you are a marathoner: to ski 160 km over oftenchallenging terrain, in highly variable weather and trail conditions—knowing the clock won’t stop and wait for you, so you must keep moving no matter what— requires discipline, focus and practice.
The First Great Commandment, to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength,” speaks directly to this spiritual lesson: while the grace of God will see each of us through our journey on earth, Christ-like faithfulness requires discipline, focus and practice.
Living faithfully doesn’t just happen. You can’t be a person of prayer if you don’t pray; you can’t say you love your neighbour if you aren’t showing love in meaningful ways. You can’t trust God with your life if your sense of security depends on material things. You can’t heal unless you get into a place where you can heal.
The season of Lent begins in February. Try to attend an Ash Wednesday service and listen well to the exhortation to observe a Holy Lent by “self-examination, penitence, prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, and by reading and meditating on the word of God.” Take these words to heart and let them affect you; and then, with discipline, focus, and practice, do your best to live faithfully as your journey continues.
