I am a fantastically bad dancer. The combination of growing up Mennonite (why don’t Mennonites have sex standing up? It could lead to dancing!), being shy when I was younger, and a natural lack of rhythm have all played a role in ensuring that I am excellent at flailing and toe stepping. Not to say,
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Liberation comes in the smallest of ways. Somehow, the normal moments of adulthood have never shown up: the deed to a house, a ringed finger, an enjoyment of driving, a bun in the oven, an understanding of RRSPs, the final of revelation of what I really want to be when I grow up. Yet in
Español Last night a bomb exploded on the veranda But sounds of birds sweeten the earth this morning. I hear the fragrant trees, look in the garden, Find two silent clusters of ripe guavas. -Lam Thi My Da (translated from the Vietnamese by Martha Collins and Tay Dinh) In days of protests and surveillance, of
The Caribbean coast is my first Colombian love. Beaches, sun, costeños, tropical air, coconuts fresh from the tree. Yet if the coast is vibrant and loud, Boyaca, the department to the east of Bogotá, is soft rolling farmland and ten thousands shades of green. I am learning to love Boyaca and you should too! All
I spent eight hours last week hiking through a páramo. It was amazing. Situated between the tree line and the snow line, páramos are a sub-tropical tundra region in Colombia´s Andes. Frailejones, which grow an average of two centimeter a year, dotted the landscape as far as we could see. We waded through bogs and
I miss my family’s Easter traditions. I miss hunting for bags full of jellybeans and chocolate rabbits. I miss eating sweet yeast bread, covered in icing for breakfast. I miss turkey dinner around the dining room table with people I love. I miss hymns and traditional greetings. When I am honest, I admit that I
I never felt like I fit in on the coast. My very DNA lacked the rhythm flowing through everyone´s blood, be it champeta, vallenato or the Holy Spirit. When I gazed into the mirror held up by my community I saw and became a pale, quiet Canadian, a sweaty, imination version of something I was
Para leer en español Every day at five am in the small rural community of Basurú, on Colombia’s Pacific Coast, a group from the local Mennonite church gathers to broadcast the events of the day. Using a microphone connected to megaphones hoisted high above the community on bamboo poles, the technology may be archaic but
A wise person once told me that advocacy means to listen boldly. I have been trying to put that into practice ever since. As a Seed group, we attempted to listen boldy by visiting Mesoamerica. We wanted to examine paradigms of power and change from the bottom up and see how Mennonite Central Committee (MCC)
I have a love-hate relationship with MCC team retreats. I always feel like I need a retreat to recover. But, I think they may be good for me. Here is why: Sometimes, you just have to go on a retreat to remember that you are on the defining line between introvert and extrovert. Sometimes, you
Anna L. Vogt 