Well, here we go.  We’re a week away from the pay-what-you-can preview in Lethbridge.  Whatever this tour is, for me it’s somewhat surreal.

We’ve worked so hard to bring this story to tour.  When I say we, there’s many to name, but I certainly speak of the team at Burnt Thicket that includes the indispensable Alida Lowe and Artistic Director James Popoff.  And also the incredible creative team led by director Stephen Waldschmidt.  And of course the team of actors, whose talents I have to pinch myself above the elbow to believe.

What a thrill to have such people – wonderful souls – engage with incredible commitment and energy some of the words I’ve written down on the page. Bring them to life.

I was really encouraged last night by the words of a friend who wrote to me from a far-away place.  ”Everything’s going to be alright.” Calming words amidst the momentum toward tour launch.  I don’t doubt them.  I just need to hear them. Absorb them.

(And if I need to hear those words in a creative, professional endeavour, how much more then do those precious lives caught in real stories like this imagined one need to hear those words and for those words to be not only said, but also brought to life in their circumstances.)

What things, words.   Churned through the lungs of this world like air.  Said and unsaid at all times.

It seemed appropriate to note the power and pull of words while at the computer I sat down. And to affirm that whatever this story is for others, for me it began when a word fell down.

I was thrilled to learn last week that She Has A Name was selected to be in the 25th Victoria Fringe Festival, August 25 – September 4, 2012.

The tour is becoming more and more real.  It’s an incredible experience, really.  Stepping out on that limb to bring it to life, with an amazing team of talented people who believe in the story and all that it means.  We’re excited about producing powerful and meaningful theatre.

We’ve set a critical deadline to raise $120,ooo by February 29.  We see this as a must-meet funding goal by this deadline.  If we don’t reach it, we can’t move forward.  I’m pleased to report that we have raised $55,000 toward that goal.  We’re nearly half way there.  I’m amazed, but not surprised, at the generous and incredible support of audiences, friends, family who are believing with us and working alongside us to make the tour a reality:

Insert the thermometer graphic here. No, we are not the United Way.  But we have our own graphic.  Look at us go!

Thanks for walking with us, believing in me, and championing this play.  I can’t wait!  What a Spring, Summer and Fall it will be.

This is how the tour is shaping up (stars beside the place and date indicate we’re pretty darn sure we’ll be there – for sure at the Montreal, Winnipeg, Calgary and Victoria Fringes!):

Lethbridge | May 23 – 27*

Saskatoon | May 30 – June  3

Ottawa | June 6 – June 10

Montreal | June 14 – 24*

Halifax | July 3 – 8

Winnipeg | July 18 – 29*

Calgary | August 3 – 11*

Edmonton | August 16 – 26

Victoria | August 24 – September 3*

Vancouver | September 6 – 16

Kelowna | September 17 – 30

Red Deer | October 1 – 6*

It’s that time again, for a year in review.  I have so much to be thankful for and so much to reflect upon.

Click the image below to get a small glimpse of my 2011 (PDF-style).

If you have a reflection on your year, please send it my way!

Much grace to you in 2012.

If you want to go all retro, here’s some past years in review: 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 |

1. Give Much Away, Expect Nothing in Return - Acrylic

In July I started to work away on a new play. I left the world of war-torn Europe (where much of my creative thought had been throughout the winter when I drafted a full length play, an exploration of Nazi occupied Holland during the Second World War).  I moved my imagination behind the Iron Curtain.

Brother Andrew led me there, really. I returned to his book God’s Smuggler, which is a must read.  It deeply impacted me when I was younger and was just as resonant, perhaps even more so (who can measure such things?), today.  Reading stories of risk for faith, suffering for belief, and how beautiful and missed things are in perception when they are gone (whether a friend, a sacred text, the sound of a hymn) surely can stir the heart.  And I found reading this book, and others as a result, a sort of catalyst for a new work that I’m currently shaping.  It’s a play that I shouldn’t talk much about quite yet.

Oh the places you will go is how Dr. Suess said it.  I’m at a point where I need to catch up to some research so I can get far enough in and away from what I’ve written to decide from here where to go.

And what treasures I have found along the way!  A discovery I’m grateful for is the story of Jonathan and Rosalind Goforth who were missionaries to China from 1888 onwards.  The more I learn about their lives, the more amazed I am.

I have a number of Rosalind’s books on loan from a library out of town, and am waiting with expectation the arrival of bundles of microfilm from an archive in the States: documents concerning their lives and work  (one reason to love your local library is the access a $10/yr membership grants you to such troves of material!).

Stick with me, this is all just the set up.

As I’ve ventured forth (ahem) learning about their lives, I stumbled upon some interviews with one of the Goforth children years after her parents died.  The impact the missionary couple made in China is immeasurable.  Do a little digging and your skin will tingle with the tales.  Something that impacted me from reading the delightful interviews of the Goforth child was a list of seven principles that Jonathan Goforth lived by.

Archives are incredible.  And because I’m sort of lost or disoriented with all of the information I am absorbing and wading through (all the while trusting that the research will also reveal the writing) I decided to take some pause and absorb the principles, which I find so profound, into my life.  So that I don’t just pass them by.  So that I can reflect on their meaning and integrate them into my life.

My way of doing it was to do a series of paintings. An acrylic archives of sorts.  I have never painted before.  But why not?   Perhaps this isn’t really considered painting (whatever painting as an art form is), but let my own self critic by damned (and art critics be gracious)!

Whatever the result, I found the process meaningful.  A way to concretely, as in physically, engage an abstract concept.  For me the point, though I desired some aesthetic enjoyment, was to have something tangible to look at to prod my memory to remember the principles.

The painting photographed above is a representation on a small canvas of Jonathan Goforth’s first principle for Christ-like living: Give much away, expecting nothing in return.

It’s a provocative statement, for we like to hoard, even save, and if we save we do it to spend, often on ourselves.  I’ve had the fortune of living with communities of people who practice this principle in small and large ways.  There’s a certain power unlike any other when people give not only out of their abundance but also in their need. When people give sacrificially.  When we give with joy, attaching no strings to our gifts, from willing hearts.

For me, this painting represents that sort of giving an is my attempt to capture some of that mysterious exuberance.

On October 1st, I am going to ride 70km on a really uncomfortable bike seat. On October 2nd, I am going to be glad it is over.

Raise Their Voice, an organization I am a part of, is joining the Ride for Refuge to raise funds for the North American tour of my play  She Has a Name. Produced by Burnt Thicket Theatre, the play has already touched the hearts of thousands of Canadians, but is a story I hope many more will experience. The play deals with the realties of child sex slavery and the devastating nature of the exploitation one of millions of children in the world face.

Raising awareness is the beginning of the journey for individuals who want to help bring restoration to the trafficked and exploited. That is why I am riding. And that’s, ultimately, why I wrote the play. The  2011 Ride for Refuge is a cycling fundraiser that supports over 150 charitable partners who in turn support thousands more who are displaced, vulnerable or exploited – refugees, orphans, widows, street kids, the urban poor, homeless, victims of human trafficking.  The list is extensive.

This fall 6000+ other riders and volunteers in Canada and the USA will raise $1,300,000 for some of the most marginalized people in our world. The ride I am a part of takes place near Gull Lake Alberta and will be beautiful. There is an option to ride 20 or 70 km, or if riding isn’t your thing, others are simply joining to raise funds or volunteering. If you want to take part in any way to support Raise Their Voice and Burnt Thicket Theatre please hit the link at the bottom of this post.

She Has a Name will help shape change and begin a release of freedom for many stuck in impossible conditions most of us can’t even imagine. 70 kms on a bike is really a small sacrifice, and it isn’t the last I and many others will personally make to play a part in reshaping the culture that currently allows such awful realities.

Please help me meet my personal goal to raise $500 by giving a $5 or $10 donation right here. Or, join the ride! Bike with me by joining my team – KooMen.

Please ride, donate, and believe with us that the goal to tour the play and, most importantly, to abolish the modern day slave trade, will occur in our life times!

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With thanks for KooMEN team captain Matthew Kooman for some of the wordsmithing on this post.

I don’t know about you, but all the bad news of the day, reports of suffering and strife from around the world, is overwhelming and difficult for me to digest.  What a blessed life to have the luxury of being overwhelmed by hearing bad news, rather than being overwhelmed by experiencing famine, rioting, or financial disaster first hand.

One thing the 24/7 connection we have to news today does, be it through traditional media outlets or newer social media, is prove to us how small we are.  We, with our superior technologies so able to ‘know’ what’s going on in the world, don’t necessarily know what to do about the quantity of information constantly streaming toward us.

The reported headlines du jour can be numbing: famine in Somalia that only intensifies, madness in places like London as it burns, turbulent global economies causing unrest, cruelty of regimes like the one in Syria sending tanks upon its populace.

With our near-omniscience of human events what do we do about our seeming powerlessness amidst all the bad news? I guess we do what good people always have done: what we can.

I was encouraged this week when I received a document from a kind archivist at Wheaton. He sent me a copy of Rosalind Goforth’s first published article entitled “The S.O.S. Cry of China’s Starving.”

The article has convinced me this week that I need not be swallowed by the enormity of whatever bad-news issues I face, but in my smallness, just do what I can.

The S.O.S. Cry of China’s Millions c. 1920

Working in China in 1920 during one of the worst famines the country had ever seen, Rosalind Goforth was on a sickbed on the mountain of Jigong Shan because of a terrible bout of sprue (chronic dysentery).  Most of her friends were doing what they could to help people affected by the famine which afflicted much of central China.  Those in the know were predicting some 60 million people could die.  The toll on human life was unthinkable.

Weak and in terrible health (she lost some 40 lbs during the sickness) word spread through the village that Rosalind Goforth had received money in the mail from supporters at home.  The villagers surrounded the house, throwing rocks, and demanding the money for food in their hungry desperation.

"Giving Out Corn to the People, During a Season of Scarcity.": Chinese officials engaged in famine relief. Detail of engraving by G. F. Sargent.

Threatened by her sickness and the mob, Mrs. Goforth got off her bed, dressed, and faced the angry crowd, demanding calm.  She promised them that the next day she would spend the money so the village could eat.  Appeased, the mob dispersed and that evening Goforth got on her knees. She could help one village for one meal.  What about the countless others down the mountain pushed to the brink?

What else could she do but pray?

Years later, reflecting on the time, her daughter Mary recounted what agony of soul her mother had been in over reports of the suffering in the famine.  Families were throwing their children into the river so they would drown and no longer suffer from their hunger.  People were surviving by eating leaves, grass, and mud.

Mary Goforth Moynan recalled that:

It was a terrible situation. She had all these facts in her mind from letters. Well, she prayed, “Oh God, what can I do to help?” And the answer came like a voice, “Use your pen. Use your pen.”[She] sat down at her desk and she wrote an article. And it was just one page. She called it “The SOS of China’s Millions.” And it was translated into at least ten different languages. It hit the front pages of the biggest newspapers in the world. Now who but God could do this? He answered her prayer. She really wanted to help. And this is what God did.

The desperate prayer, answered so quietly, so simply, led to the letter which was read around the world.  It was a honest plea from one woman for help in any way that people could give – people who otherwise would not have known about the situation.

Moynan continues:

And all that winter she had stacks of mail come to her bedside, and in each one was a check. And she was able to give checks for five hundred dollars, a thousand dollars. And in the end, I forget the exact amount, but it would come to…close to the value of a million dollars that came through her hands alone. There’s no way of estimating how much money came in response to that appeal from the countries of the world, but it was wonderful how [it] did. It was tremendous the help that came to China at that time.

What is most striking about this story to me is that it was out of her desperation and her state of being overwhelmed that Rosalind Goforth was brought to the place of impossibility which brought her humbly to her knees in prayer.  The money that helped to save millions of lives arrived in China through a practical act.  Mrs. Goforth did what she could.  And others followed suit.

Not every life was spared.  There was unthinkable human suffering still.  But there was also unexpected, transformational relief for millions of people.  Her example challenges me to take my attention off the fact that there’s not much I can do, and through the humble lens of faith perceive what I can do and then do it.

Oh God, what can I do to help?

It’s on the wings of such prayers that redemption comes.  Food for the hungry.  Letters for the page. Relief for real people we’ll never even see.

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Rosalind Goforth’s SOS was graciously provided by the fine people at Wheaton.  The quoted passages and anecdotal information come from an interview with Mary Goforth Moynan also available via Wheaton’s archives.

Want a practical way to create good news?  I, personally, was grateful for the opportunity to give a financial gift through Hope for the Nations to relieve some of the current hunger in Somalia via a food convoy organized in partnership with Amanda Lindhout’s Global Enrichment Foundation.  You can donate here.

I recently slipped this note behind the teacher’s back while subversively typing of facebook.  If you’re not my FB friend (what!?) I thought I’d include you here too.  As we gear up for the tour of She Has A Name, I wanted to ground myself in some context and perspective, and to bring you into that space too, since it’s no solitary endeavour.

On climbing mountains and flowing streams.

We have a big mountain to climb, and that’s a good thing.  It sort of feels, to me (at this point) like I’m entering the realm of the impossible.  This is another good thing.  Because it makes me dependent.  On God.  On people.  Decidedly not on self.

The mountain, in this metaphor, is the proposed 2012 tour of She Has A Name.  You  may have heard me mention the show before (ironic laughter).  You will hear me mention it again (a promise).  If the play name-dropping annoys, deters, or overwhelms you I A) relate B) understand if you drop my facebook friendship like a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes and C) actually don’t apologize.

Because I believe in this story.

Writing that line is a bit of self-talk.  But it’s true-talk.

But if the play name-dropping doesn’t annoy you but excites you, I’m thankful.

Having spent time writing, reading, researching, and sharing about the realities of human trafficking and a gamut of other horrors (however limited and imperfect my knowledge of the issues are) I was aware that my heart and conscience can become hardened by the facts:  It’s too ugly, it’s too dark, I’d rather be on a beach or in a coffee shop, or maybe even hit by a bus than to have to look at the ugliness and darkness….  So the internal monologue can go.

The whole She Has A Name thing started the way many stories I’ve had the privilege of imagining and telling begin: with an impression so strong I can’t ignore. This one being of a river that was breaking forth, moving with power, getting deeper, even deep enough to swim in.  A river that symbolizes justice that breaks emphatically, even violently, to change what needs to be changed.  But from where?  The image is so biblical and loaded.  Where is this river from?  The throne of Heaven? The threshold of Earth?  Or is it from the throne abdicated of self; the threshold of tears.  Both, I think, simultaneously.

If you’re still reading (and I haven’t lost you) you amaze me.  It’s easier, believe it or not, to say such things in a story. It’s much of the why of writing such a play.

It’s difficult (practically speaking) to get a story like this on its feet, on a stage, to make it alive in actors and audiences.  Like all worthwhile things it should be.  But not impossible.

I’m still a little stunned by the premiere.  For me as a newbie playwright it was an enormous success.  Every show sold out?  People turned away at the door?  Work for a team of actors and creatives?  Everyone paid for their contribution?  A production that had no debt and a little left over to invest into the tour and invest into an organization doing work to address trafficking?  Pinch me is right.

And beyond that, responses from people who saw it (even you!) who were impacted, rattled, angered, shocked, moved, informed, perplexed.  What more could a playwright ask for?

More of the same, I guess.  Multiplication.  A tour. Is it too much to ask?  Do I overstep my bounds?

Bring your empty vessels, not a few, is how the prophet of old said it.  What emptiness I have and can bring!  For is that not what we are?  Vessels shaped and vacated to be filled, poured out and filled again, even with living water?

We’re heading off on an adventure, taking some risks to bring the play on a six month tour across North America because we want that river to flow. A fluid and powerful story that compels people to engage the real story of injustice. We need help and faith and favour to do it.

Theatre is personal. So is addressing issues of injustice.  Both evoke very individual and human responses.

So as I look to the mountain my focus will be on that.  Beyond all the hubub of what needs to be done (the money, the planning, the belief, the risk) it’s to engage the imagined and real worlds, to capture the imagination of the heart.  All the while believing that the captured heart can be compelled to set real prisoners free.

My mind has been turning around a word, the way a gymnast turns around the uneven bars or pommel horse, perhaps.  Getting my thoughts around it has been a feat and the meaning is starting to land more firmly the more time I spend with it.

The word is devotion.

I came to it this morning as I sat down post coffee, pre oatmeal.  It was somewhat of a momentous occasion in that I put the first inky marks in a new journal, which for me is no casual thing.  I’ve recently come to the end of one given to me by some dear friends.  They found a perfect-bound, fine grained journal in Nepal on a trip. It’s pages are soft as silk and they gave it to me as a gift.  This was back in 2004 when we were living in Asia together but about to part ways.

I didn’t write in it for awhile.  Partly because there were pages remaining in other journals (of which I have many) and also because the gift was given with such sincerity, for me,  the act of marking up the pages had to match the act of generosity.

And now I sit at the end of the tome.  I began writing in the volume while in Kenya, experiences and observations that would really shape me.  The moment was a watershed, really, in my writing and personal life, where in a new way I discovered my voice as a writer. Of course I am still in a process of that discovery, but it was a defining moment (upon reflection) of how and what I write.

And since that moment, the journal has been on the receiving end of a lot of penmanship, often nearly illegible, filled with joy, contemplation, anxiety and even grief.  It, if inanimate things can be such things, has been a close companion for more than five years.

So, this morning, as I opened a beautiful new leather-bound paperblanks (Black Moroccan) that was given as a gift, I took pause.

de·vo·tion

1. profound dedication; consecration.

2. earnest attachment to a cause, person, etc.

3. an assignment or appropriation to any purpose, cause, etc.: the devotion of one’s wealth and time to scientific advancement.

from Dictionary.com

The word, in the evangelical world at least, might have lost some of its clarity.  The working definition of the term in many lives denotes a short period of time set aside to concentrate on spiritual matters, spending time in prayer, Bible reading, grappling with the Divine.  That elusive time we want to avoid that might lack the profundity and affection we long for simply because, as a time set aside for such things, it is loaded with expectations.  Especially if we’re busy or discouraged, time set aside for “devotion” can be an intimidating thing.  Maybe not for you, but at least for me.

I had a thought to make this new journal a journal of prayer.  But quite quickly I didn’t know what that could mean.  Upon further reflection, as I put my papermate to the page it seemed to me that no matter what my journals tend to be just that anyway.  For, what is prayer if not expressing the deep and inner things, contending, hoping for, confessing and believing?  What is prayer if not asking, reaching, declaring, and laughing about it all too?

One thing journaling has been in my life, especially over the last decade, is an exercise in bringing my whole self before God.  Consciously and unconsciously, freely and with resistance.

My recently retired journal has shown me that friends who live a life with God also help to nurture our own devotion and that the word is not one only to be internalized, but to be shared with others, earnestly.

It seems a romantic and necessary thing to reclaim the meaning of devotion internally and externally; to willfully – even profoundly – dedicate our time and words to God.  Wonder of wonders it can be done even as the oatmeal cools on the burner, the aroma of roasted coffee beans filling the air.

I’m really proud of my team at Raise Their Voice who worked so hard to put together an incredible event.

The last number of months have been surreal for me seeing dreams and planning come to reality.  Raise Their Voice: The Trafficked + Exploited, the event I’ve been part of planning over the last few months in the lead up and follow up for the play, was meaningful, informative, beautiful, imperfectly perfect, challenging, resonant, at times heart wrenching, and strategic.

It was a privilege to meet so many people who care about the plight of others, who want to learn more, engage their lives, and to fight in small and big ways against injustice.

I’ll be uploading and name-dropping content over the next while to let you get a glimpse of what the event was like. Things like this video that my bro Matt put together:

Raise Their Voice: The Trafficked + Exploited from Raise Their Voice on Vimeo.

One thing that continues to clarify in my vision of the future and in my perspective of the reality of engaging justice issues is that creative arts really do belong at the strategy table in the fight against injustices.  Just as it will take a whole spectrum of individuals with unique capabilities, resources, and networks to effectively combat issues as complex and widespread as trafficking, so too does it require the whole person to fight the fight.

Injustice issues are human issues.  And it is people who will overcome injustice.  You and me who have hearts, minds, spirits, bodies.  You and me who have great ideas and great limitations.  We, together helping others just like us who need help.

Among all the other things that this weekend was, it was a continuation of a conversation that is still unfolding.  About how we live.  About what decisions we make.  About how to live and tell a meaningful story.  About where we go from here. About how God is with us working.  About how we partner with him.  What we’ll stand and fall for.

© 2011 Andrew Kooman

For more magnetic poetry visit www.fridgeforthought.com