Operation Christmas Child: Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

Operation Christmas Child is in full-swing at St. Vital mall again. It's an appealing display with an attractive radio DJ, the mission of shoeboxes to be filled stacked around, taking up a popular section of the mall by Chapters book store and a fireplace surrounded by cosy sofas and chairs. Posters of smiling children and the words OPERATION CHRISTMAS CHILD are plastered everywhere. It's easy, catchy, and most importantly it appeals to our Western nature: Christmas equals charity, we like shopping, boxes are fun to fill, we like children, we like to feel good about ourselves.

And if we question charity for children, we're dicks.

Last night I watched family after family sign up for the cause, while volunteer after volunteer filled boxes and stacked them up. Nowhere is it mentioned on their posters or in their leaflets (again, smiling children plastered all over them) that Samaritan's Purse, the group that took over Operation Christmas Child, is headed by chief executive controversial Christian fundamentalist Franklin Graham - son of a more well-known TV evangelist Billy Graham and good friend of former President George W. Bush.

No mention is made of Franklin's comments that Islam is "wicked, violent and not of the same God" as Christianity, and the difference between the two is like the difference between lightness and darkness. He does tend to favour the dark bit, as he also referred to India as being full of "hundreds of millions of people locked in the darkness of Hinduism . . . bound by Satan's power."

In fact, while looking over the display that urges shoppers to make a child's Christmas morning one to remember, there is no mention at all of the fact that Christian literature will also be stuffed into those boxes along with Lego and other gifts that will create inequality and fighting amongst the recipients, or that according to the chief executive of Samaritan's Purse that it doesn't matter what you put in that box as long as you pay those transport fees because, "It is about introducing children and their families to God's greatest gift - His Son, Jesus Christ. As long as evangelism is the focus, God will continue to bless it."

Yes, you are sending a doll to a little girl somewhere in the world. You are also paying to send her bible stories because Franklin Graham thinks she needs to read them. And you are doing it even if she is Muslim, or of any other faith because Franklin Graham, right-wing Christian fundamentalist (who is against gay rights and feels women contemplating abortion should be forced to have internal ultrasounds and hear the babies' heartbeat) thinks her faith isn't good enough. At Christmas.

This isn't the worst thing Samaritan's Purse has ever done in the name of Jesus Christ. They were caught denying temporary housing in 2001 to earthquake victims in El Salvador unless they attended an evangelical prayer session first (afterwards, Graham gloated that they had converted 150 people to Christianity). Even earlier, in 1990, they sent over 30,000 Arabic bibles to troops in Iraq to handout to the defeated Iraqis. In Nicaragua in 1999, Samaritan's Purse used potential relief money during the aftermath of Hurricane Mitch to not help the homeless, injured and starving victims but to put on an evangelical concert for children, asking them to choose to be saved by Jesus in exchange for a box of gifts and a bible. Graham bussed in 50,000 children for his concert.

It is also the gift that keeps on giving, because Graham knows it could take more than a Pez dispenser to lure a child away from the religion of his parents and people. The box is given with the clarity that it is a "Gift from Jesus" (that's right, you and your kid don't get the credit) and the child is then enrolled to attend a further 10 lessons in bible study, regardless of their religion. And it's a pretty attractive deal to a child because there's a toy involved. And across the world while our children may be many colours, languages and religions the one thing that unites them all is there is nothing better than a toy.

While Operation Christmas Child is on at St. Vital mall I will be taking my Christmas shopping elsewhere. I have to, out of respect for the racially diverse staff who must work longer mall hours alongside this radical and hate-spreading religious group run by a rabid evangelist that preys on the poorest and neediest of our world. Out of respect for our children whose empathy and love for other children is being exploited. Out of respect for the children across the globe who don't celebrate Christmas because it isn't part of their religion and don't realise how much we selfishly and needlessly (and wrongly) pity them for it. This Christmas, fill a box of food for our local Harvest program. Bring some socks to the Siloam Mission for a homeless person's feet, or warm coats and mittens for their children. Donate toys to our Children's Hospital. Give what you can.

Put your heart in the right place, and not your money in Franklin Graham's pocket.

Christmas is coming!!

I've started planning my Christmas projects this week. Now that I've figured out how to sew, handmade gifts for relatives and my kids are playing a large role in this year's preparation. I've picked out some recipes, patterns and ideas and have a folder on my laptop that they are stored in.

Before you've wandered off muttering all sorts of nasty language at me under your breath, or yelled, "For fuck's sake, it's AUGUST!" at your screen, let me explain. I haven't had Christmas in two years, this is a lot of stored up creativity and shit pouring out of me.

Last year I was depressed. Like, bad. BAD. I have a wonky thyroid and last year it kind of snuck up on me. Well, that's not really right. Last year it kind of just stopped working and all of the busyness and bounciness I usually have just stopped with it. It was very gradual, I didn't really know until November 30th rolled around and I realised I hadn't started anything for Christmas -

And I didn't even give a shit about it.

I love Christmas. Not in a deck my house out with a bazillion reindeer way, or wear sweaters with snowmen way, or even in an advent calendar way. I spend most of the year picking out gifts, mulling over what to get someone and finding little things here and there to tuck away. I collect unique wrapping paper and tags, I even look up new and unusual ways to wrap gifts. I especially love homemade gifts. But, last year I couldn't even manage to make cookies. Not one single batch. I did buy some new wrapping paper, it was quite a feat and I actually walked around the store with the roll in my hand for thirty minutes, putting it back and picking it up again until Graham finally yanked it away from me and bought it for me.

I had never been depressed before, so was shocked when my usual approach of barrelling through things to get through the other side didn't work. It didn't work and it made it worse. I always thought depression was really painful, but it wasn't. I didn't lay in bed crying, or close the blinds, or want to harm myself. I didn't do anything. It was like I was stuck to wherever I was sitting. The energy to do anything, to even go to the mall just wasn't there. For the first time ever I looked at my beloved Christmas ornaments, the ones I'm excited to take out every year, and thought, "Christ, that's a lot of work."

Social gatherings were awful, I just didn't want to go because I'd have to make conversation and the effort to do so was just too great. I was a big, sad face on the end of the couch for months. Facebook was like a party I just couldn't walk into. I'd stand on the outside of it occasionally, hearing the music and seeing the odd person walk by a window, but to join in was too hard. I had nothing to say, nothing positive, nothing negative...just nothing. It was as if someone had opened my brain while I slept and scraped out all emotions, good and bad, and just left it empty.

Christmas is a really good time to be depressed if you're private about it like I was, because despite the odd gathering here and there people are too busy to notice you haven't showered in three days and have food on your shirt from two different meals. In that way I suppose it worked out, the holidays allowed me to duck out for awhile completely unnoticed. I managed to do the bare minimum by putting up a half-assed tree and getting a few gifts for my children (the rest of my relatives, unfortunately, didn't see their presents until around May when I came out of the fog) and we even went around to see some friends on Christmas Day, but I missed out on the fun of preparation and excitement of planning. Now that I am back to my usual self, I feel like it's been years since I had Christmas.

In a way, it has been.

So, yes. Let the excitement begin, because I've missed feeling this way and it is good to be back.

Only in Winnipeg

I moved to Winnipeg in 1999, and although I've been here for 14 years this September I don't consider myself from Winnipeg. Mostly as a distinction to avoid confusion, as Winnipeg is a close-knit city where many people relate to each other by asking a couple of simple questions - What area of the city are you from? Where did you go to high school? A couple of nods, a couple of names dropped, and Winnipeggers have the ability to know five or so of your cousins, or even possibly be a cousin. I don't dislike Winnipeg. I never really identified with it as my hometown, but recent events have made me so, so proud of it that I've become pleased to be a part of it. The tragic and devastating story of Lisa Gibson, driven to the depths of despair and dark tunnels of post-partum psychosis ending in the ultimate horror of taking her children's lives and afterwards her own, has shaken Winnipeg to the core. It's just not something you'd think would put Winnipeg on the map. However, right from the start, a compassion and understanding in the media and citizens of our city could be seen. A pace was set by our police force, adamant that Lisa's welfare was a top priority. Not a witch hunt, but a hope of finding her unharmed so she could be helped. There were no accusations of murder, no campaigns to find her when she was missing and bring her to justice, only a heart-hurting and sorrowful cry from the masses that feel that somehow, despite not knowing her, we all failed her and her beautiful babies.

We failed one of our own. An anguish was occurring amongst us and we never knew. I wept, not only for Lisa and her children but for those that weep around me.

A few Winnipeg Free Press columnists have questioned the public's mercy on this woman, wondering where the compassion was for Vince Li, the schizophrenic who beheaded a sleeping passenger on a Greyhound bus just outside city limits. Or if our gestures of peace and understanding for Lisa would have been the same had she not been white, middle-class and well-educated. Or, quite darkly, accused the public of only being sympathetic because she took her own life after. Motives have been contemplated, criticised and pondered upon. Cynicism is running quite rampant - not for Lisa herself, but for those that dare to mourn who may not mourn for others.

So, I ask, does it matter? Why cheapen the incredible heart of this city with wondering what could have made people care a little less? Why use a public position to criticise people for possibly not caring the same amount had a hypothetical situation occurred instead of the very real tragedy that was faced last week?

Shame on you, columnists. Stop whining about empathy equality and embrace the love and responsiveness this city had for one of its own, and see how this is the start, how this can help someone in need right now, somewhere. This isn't about Lisa being the right kind of woman, its about our city being the right kind of place for women - and in our world, we could use a lot more of that. The reaction was a very unique one, one you won't find anywhere, so with that I can say Only In Winnipeg - and for once, it is out of pride.