Moving day was relatively painless. It was the third Saturday of October, 1985. I was twenty-nine. The weather was mild, partly sunny. I did not like my new landlords. They were well-off Hong Kong Chinese who didn't live in the building. Which made it like an unsupervised playground. Ouch.
The apartment was near Burrard Street on Robson in a refurbished old building upstairs from the stores and shops. It was a long narrow one bedroom apartment and I suspect the apartments had once been offices. I was not used to living downtown, with the noise, the activity and the occasional crime. I opted to live there because of my ministry downtown. I felt called to live, pray and intercede in the heart of the belly of the beast, as I tended to visualize the downtown core of my city. I was dedicated and devoted to a life of prayer and intercession, of servanthood and of actively caring for others. When I wasn't at work I was walking and praying in the neighbourhood, developing friendships with locals in the bars and often landing in very awkward situations.
I took prayer walks, often circumnavigating on foot Granville, Davie, Denman and Robson Streets, or walking on the beaches and seawall, or in the forest of Stanley Park where I constructed a series of stone cairns. I frequently visited the cairns, to pray over them, restore the ones that had been destroyed and to pray for the wellbeing and healing of all who passed by them.
Meanwhile I prayed, I worked, I walked, I visited people. Daily mass was still a reality. Looking back at it all I marvel how I coped with the stress and danger I was often flirting with. in my paid employment of caregiving in the Downtown Eastside and ministry in the West End, and I also wonder why I didn't do anything to have what I could call a life. But my life was so fully dedicated to living my faith I couldn't imagine having any other interest or activity. Apart from reading. I read voraciously. And kept a journal.
No comments:
Post a Comment