Act Your Age... Donating to Charity

First appeared in the March 2, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

There was once a bearded guy who watched as various parishioners entered a temple to make their offering. They were handing over big bucks, but the dude wasn’t impressed. “What are a couple hundred bucks when you have thousands to spare?” he figured. Then this widow comes into the temple. The man watches as she reaches into her purse, pulls out the few dollars she has, and offers them up. It barely makes a difference to this temple’s annual revenue. But the dude’s impressed and he turns to his buddies and says, “That widow gave more to this temple than any of those rich guys.”

When you’re a recent graduate looking for work or a retiree living on a budget, it’s important to remember these sorts of things. Give of yourself what you can because everything is relative. That’s one of the reasons why every couple months I find myself at a Canadian Blood Services (CBS) clinic to donate a pint of blood.

I got the call recently from CBS, while in a grocery store (they always call me while I’m shopping for groceries somehow), and they prompted me to schedule my appointment.

“The sooner the better,” I said and I was booked a week from the day.

The clinic is only down the street, so on the evening of my appointment, I bundled up in my warmest jacket and made my way. I arrived with time to spare and after signing in with the receptionist, I was prompted along the assembly line of blood retrieval. The next stop was a nurse. She made polite small talk before stabbing me in the finger with a pin (well... she used a special contraption that pricks your finger to extract a touch of blood). Because I’m so strong and my blood has lots of iron (I think that’s what high iron means), I was approved and given a questionnaire to fill out.

Have I ever lived in Africa? No. Have I donated blood in Quebec? No. Have I played with monkeys? Only in my dreams (That’s actually one of the questions on the survey!). With the questionnaire filled out, a nurse brought me into a small room and proceeded to ask me a range of more personal questions about past illnesses and my sexual history.

This is the hard part for me. After the questions, the nurse checks your pulse and blood pressure and mine tend to run a little high (I’ve gotten it checked by my doctor and he said I was fine). She strapped me into the contraption and it did its thing. Too high. I was concerned because I’d already come so far and didn’t want to be rejected. They checked it again. Still too high. Finally she said she’d check it manually and thankfully it was just below the maximum. Perfect!

When I was younger I was terrified of needles (I was actually terrified of a lot of things). However I remember the exact moment I got over this fear. I was in junior high school and it was the Hepititis B vaccine. In the past, I had gotten it at the health clinic in order that my “freaking out” would remain confidential between me and my doctor. This time that precaution had been overlooked and suddenly I was going to have my skin pierced in front of all my peers. We were herded to the school’s library and one at a time stepped forward, got our injection from the school nurse, and earned a box of juice. Time stood still as I waited in that line, but that didn’t stop my turn from arriving. What was I going to do? I looked over at the cute girls in my class, stepped forward, and sucked it up. No problem. You do what you have to in order to save face in front of women.

My point is: the needle isn’t a problem for me. It was a small pinch, 11 minutes of slight discomfort, and presto! I was done! I got my cookie, put on my layers of jackets, and headed back out into the snow.

The pint of blood given by any particular donor is separated into three units – plasma, platelets, and red blood cells. These units are then administered to three different patients, each with a unique need: the red blood cells are used to help accident victims, surgical patients or people with anaemia; the platelets help treat leukemia and cancer patients; and the plasma treats patients suffering from burns or shock. Thus, when anyone donates blood, he or she has effectively helped save three lives.

But on a limited budget there are other ways to donate to a worthy cause and that brings me to Heidi Bezanson. As mentioned in the last Act Your Age, Heidi is a friend of mine that brought me to church. This week she donated her hair to charity.

Heidi wanted to shave her head for a while. It’s on her list of things to do before she turns 30. So this month she started raising money for the Stephen Lewis Foundation and luvHaiti in hopes that her upcoming baldness wouldn’t be in vain. She raised over $600 and the day of her shaving finally arrived. After a church service, she sat in a chair that she brought from home and let her friend Sarah Mott cut all the braids off her head. There was only a slight grimace and then a smile on Heidi’s face, as Sarah cut one by one. Then, came the shaving. She took it with high spirits and gave her hair to help!

You too can help! Like the widow in the temple, it doesn’t matter how much you give, but how much of yourself you’re giving. Whether its money or blood or hair, it’s important to contribute and help this human race truck along.

Editor’s Note: If you’re interested in donating blood to CBS, check out their website at www.bloodservices.ca. If you want to know more about Heidi’s balding and the charities she is involved with, check out her blog at heidisheadshaving.blogspot.com. And if you want to suggest a retirement activity for me to try, email me at jeffdeviller@gmail.com.

Act Your Age… Going to Church

Originally published on February 16, 2011 in Retirement News Weekly

I wish I could just call myself Catholic and leave it at that.

After all, I grew up in the church. I know the names of my saints and which of them I should speak with when faced with a particular problem (St. Jude is the patron saint of lost items, St. Francis de Sales of writer’s block). I know my prayers and the Ten Commandments. After teaching Sunday school for three years, I even know a significant portion of church dogma (i.e. church teachings).

Yet there’s a difference between understanding and believing. And I find that my faith has had its peaks and valleys. At one time, before noticing how cute girls are, I wanted to be a priest. At another point, I became very concerned that I wouldn’t like heaven (If there’s nothing wrong, and I am eternally happy, how can I really appreciate it?). And because of this, I’ve not only questioned my own faith, but the nature of faith. The term is thrown around often, but I find it incredibly illusive. After all, it is called a ‘gift’ so assumably not everyone receives it.

In any case, it’s along this journey that I was invited to go to a new church with one of my friends, Heidi Bezanson. She mentioned it on a whim, but I like to keep occupied and try not to turn down any invitations (one of the reasons I also ended up taking Salsa dance lessons, but that’s another story). Plus, I knew there were a lot of pretty girls that went to her church and as a rule, you shouldn’t turn down opportunities to meet pretty girls (one of the reasons I practically went to an all-girl’s school, but again, I’m getting off topic).

Oddly enough, the service was held in the local Empire Movie Theatre. While I’ve attended many different church services in locations ranging from basements to basilicas, a movie theatre was certainly unique. I was to meet her there and walked over that morning since the theatre was walking distance from my apartment in the city. On my way, I stopped by McDonalds (product placement money, please!) for a coffee.

Heidi was running late (a missed bus, apparently), so I waited in the mall’s lobby and watched as the stream of young adults headed to church. I recognized a few friendly faces from past get-togethers and waved awkwardly. She arrived eventually and with a skip in her step we headed to the escalator that would take us to the theatre. As we passed people on our speed walk, she would gesture to me and introduce the person she was making very fast, very small talk with. She also pointed out the free coffee being offered at the main entrance and the day care facilities.

To my surprise, the service was being held in the largest auditorium and upon entering I found myself faced with a theatre so full that it looked like we were about to see Avatar in 3D (i.e. it was pretty full). Since we were running late, the band had already started playing the opening songs so we rushed to the back of the room and found seats.

Pastor AJ Thomas was giving the talk that would make up the majority of the 90-minute service. While it was book ended by music, he filled most of the time. I’ll admit, he filled the time well. His theme was accountability and centered on the idea that individuals should have designated people in which they tell everything to in order for them to keep accountable. As a person that blogs often and openly discusses his faults and misadventures, I agree. Plus the speech was supplemented with video clips from Rocky projected on the big screen.

As the pastor talked, I noticed that Heidi was regularly getting texts and I peeked over wondering if she was flirting with some boy in church (Tsk, tsk, Heidi!). Instead, she was getting regular tweet updates from the church’s twitter page highlighting key quotes, offering biblical verses, and expanding on the pastor’s ideas.

At the end of the service, the pastor symbolically recreated the Last Supper by offering the members a plastic shot glass of grape juice and little pieces of bread. I vaguely remembered a Catholic rule (which I may have been remembering incorrectly) that Catholics weren’t supposed to take Eucharistic substitutes, so I passed on the snack.

Overall, I enjoyed the experience. The speaker was interesting and returning to a more religious state of mind for a couple hours offered an interesting lens to dissect my life. Admittedly part of me missed the rituals and patterns that a Catholic mass had to offer, but I wouldn’t mind returning for an encore service (pretty girls, after all!).

As for the doubt, I’ve made peace with it. The conclusion came during a Catholic mass, oddly enough. I was in church one Sunday and a man sitting across from me seemed to be having a spiritual struggle of his own. His head rested in his hands and has face was construed in a confused glare. In my mind he seemed to be going through the same sort of doubt I was going through. And as I telekinetically consoled his spirit, the answer to my question donned on me. Perhaps not the answer, but certainly a conclusion that appeased me. Being Catholic – being any faith – is not a declaration. You can’t just say, “I’m a Christian” and let it be. The answer isn’t that simple. Faith is a question, that throughout our lives we attempt to figure out. Churches are there to guide us, but the journey is our own. It has valleys and mountain peeks. Being Christian is the process we all go through to find our conclusion.

I still doubt, but that’s okay. It’s okay to question. It’s okay to be thrown off balance. As long as you keep trucking along you’re on the right path. The yo-yo never stops. Life is just complicated like that. And it can’t hurt to have a friend dragging you to church every now and again.