The world tells our children to chase more... more success, more applause, more achievement. But God invites us to teach them something deeper. To notice wonder in ordinary moments. To grieve honestly. To savor simple joys. To love well - right where they are. Because when hearts learn gratitude, compassion, and presence, the extraordinary unfolds in God’s time, not ours.
“Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” (1 John 3:18)
Sometimes the holiest work is simply helping a child see that an ordinary life, lived with love, is already sacred.
Brian Doerksen’s music has accompanied much of my own journey of faith. I first connected with his songs years ago through his leading worship at the Langley Vineyard, and the release of my first favourite album: Changed by Your Glory (2000). Songs such as “Refiner’s Fire” and “Faithful One” gave words to my desire for faith, even when trust and confidence did not come easily. His music cut through the high demands and expectations of religion and spoke instead to the small kernels of hope that were still alive in me.
As the years passed, my faith became more complicated. It was not always clear, confident, or settled. It became a grittier faith—often messy, questioning, angry and unsure. Brian’s later songs seemed to grow alongside that journey. “Hope of the Nations,” “Today (As for Me and My House),” and “Everlasting” spoke to a faith that had been tested but had not disappeared.
A particularly meaningful memory was being part of the live recording for the Today album, singing in the mass choir directed by Vijay Manuel, now the MEI Head of Schools. One phrase became especially important to me during that recording: “Today I choose to hear Your voice and live.” Choosing to live—and to keep pursuing the abundant life Jesus spoke about—was very hard at times. The words were not an easy declaration of confidence. They became a daily choice and lifeline, to keep listening, to keep reaching for hope, and to keep moving toward life even when faith felt fragile.
Looking back, Brian Doerksen’s songs have provided a soundtrack to my faith—from my early longing for certainty, through seasons of doubt and questioning, and into a faith that is less polished but perhaps more honest. It is a faith that can still feel messy and unsure, yet continues to hold on to those kernels of hope and to choose life, one day at a time.
Thank you, Brian, for the legacy of your music and for the example of a faith that has continued to grow, deepen, and remain relevant over the decades. You chose to follow the path that was set before you by the Chief Musician, and that choice has made a profound difference in the lives of tens of thousands of people.
Your songs have given voice to longing, doubt, surrender, hope, and perseverance. They have helped people keep listening for God, keep choosing life, and keep holding on when faith felt fragile. I am deeply grateful that your music became part of my own story.
(disclaimer: my ideas, my memories, my thoughts, my words, structure and format by ChatGPT)
I have always lived in the country of Creativity. I have explored its provinces and have lately discovered a new one - working in the online world of school.
Creativity was modelled and celebrated from my earliest memories. I saw it in the way my grandma made shortbread with three pricks of a fork for decoration. I saw it in the way my mom cut a jack-o’-lantern face into a slice of bologna. I heard it in the way my dad would wake up my youngest brother by playing a random chord on the ukulele. From the depths of sleep, my brother, who has perfect pitch, would accurately identify the chord. These moments were not complicated, but they were grand in their impact and in the legacy they left behind.
Over the years, I explored creativity in many ways. I wrote and illustrated a book about a turtle named Bart, who met an unfortunate demise when he was mistaken for a sandwich. I made job charts for the fridge door. I designed maps and added calligraphy. I hand-sewed stuffed animals and made yarn dolls and sock puppets. Once, I even turned potatoes into people for a sermon my dad was giving.
I played the piano, the flute and the ukulele. I joined the grade 8 band, and was part of the high school musicals "The Music Man" and "Finian’s Rainbow." I wanted to be a dancer, but I did not have the confidence in my body to pursue it. I also thought about applying to be part of Toymaker & Son, a faith-based touring drama company. Even the creative paths I did not take were part of the country I was exploring.
Creativity was evident in other ways. Our backyard fence at our Andrews Place house became a guest book and graffiti wall. Anyone who wanted to could paint on it. Over time, it filled with names, pictures, colours, and memories. It became much more than a fence. It became part of the story of our home.
Creativity was also practical, playful, and unexpected. Very early in our friendship with the Boese family, I showed their kids how to stick Jell-O Jigglers to a window. It was out of the box and became one of those small creative moments that stayed with us. Creativity meant finding ways to make ordinary moments meaningful.
Creativity was always part of my teaching. At Dunach Elementary, I worked with an amazing team of people to write, produce, and stage school concerts. From sets to scripts, we brought together music, stories, costumes, ideas, and the gifts of many different people. The finished concerts mattered, but so did the shared work of creating them. Even The Silent Monks Hallelujah Chorus was carefully and intentionally crafted. (https://youtu.be/bbFd86OztdQ?si=VeAzbQDR_BpFptN5)
Later on, I pursued a MEd in Arts Integration. The real 'aha’ moment came when I read Ellen Dissanayake’s "Homo Aestheticus," during my studies. Her idea of creativity as “making special” gave me words for something I had already seen and experienced for years. It helped me understand that creativity was not only about making art. It was also about care, attention, beauty, meaning, play, and welcome. I have never wanted simply to give students information. I want learning to feel welcoming, interesting, understandable, and meaningful.
And so I have recently discovered a new province in the country of creativity - using technology to create K-9 and high school courses. Online resources have facilitated making connections, solving problems, arranging ideas, and noticing possibilities. Choosing a title, finding the right image, changing the layout, and connecting history, mathematics, faith, and art are all part of the creative process.
Perhaps the most significant realization of late is that creativity does not always have to end with a finished product. Sometimes I buy beautiful fabric, paper, bowls, or other things because I enjoy them. I may have plans for them, and sometimes those plans never happen. I used to feel guilty about that. Now I know that enjoying beauty has value too. Something can bring joy, interest, or inspiration for a while, even if I never turn it into anything else.
I still live in the country of Creativity, but I understand its landscape differently now. It includes the things I make, the problems I solve, the beauty I notice, the people I welcome, and the ideas I help others discover. Some provinces are lively and productive; others are quiet places of enjoyment, curiosity, and wonder.
I no longer believe that creativity must always prove itself through a finished product.
Sometimes creativity is simply the act of making something special—and sometimes it is recognizing that something already is.
