Janna Frith

I keep picturing my tender Jesus who kneels low with arms wide open, smiling into their faces and resting his hand on their touselled hair, "Let the little children come to me..."  How his heart must break to watch people claiming his name, exercising their free will, as they loudly, passionately, and ... often gracelessly ...  shout "PRO LIFE!" yet turn around in hypocrisy to vote, support, and campaign for their love of guns, their personal rights and freedom to carry the weapons that so frequently and intentionally are used to snuff out the life of another. Last week, 10 innocent grocery shoppers.   Peaceful worshippers were shot in a church. Yesterday? Two adults and 19 elementary children.   Nineteen. The ages of my 3 kids.  God have mercy. Oh, how we weep and rage.  Their tiny bodies. The unfathomable pain. It doesn't have to be this way.  HOW can it continue to be this way?! Miss me with your pro-life marches if you're not willing to lay down your gun

I’m a homebody who wishes she were more adventurous. I love seeing the travels of others and imagining myself exploring new parts of the world. The rolling hills of Tuscany, the waterways of Venice, the views in Santorini, the roaring waterfalls in South America, the majestic mountains of Switzerland, the picturesque cobblestone streets lined by shops in European towns, and the historic landmarks around this globe that have their own stories to tell...it all sounds amazing.

The sky is blue and the warmth of the sun feels fantastic. The smell of cut grass fills the air while birds peck around the yard for fresh worms. Colour is taking over my little corner of the world, dressing the branches and garden beds again. And yet, so many corners of the world lie in rubble from violence and disease. (location unknown) My heart is heavy over the violence and injustice we witness in Gaza. Over the powerful choosing not to hold back their strength, choosing the opposite of de-escalation. Sure, from our North American point of view, it’s complicated and nuanced with biased media coverage. Like so many conflicts, it’s not clear to most onlookers what the way forward is. But what is abundantly clear is that children are dying. Innocent people are dying. Too many lives are being destroyed for us to remain silent. The innocent always pay the price. The Palestinian people are worthy of a safe and flourishing life. Fear and hate and power and differing ideologies twist fac

What does progress look like? Progress looks like change and it never happens without effort. Advancing requires hours of practice, of study, of failing and falling, and then lifting our heads and trying again…stumbling forward. Often it feels like two steps back and one step forward.  I have experienced this at the piano, in the kitchen, in my attitude, moving in my sneakers, in my faith, and in my writing. It shows up in what I notice, what I feel, what I think, what I say, what I read, and what I learn. Progress requires change.   Sometimes, progress looks like becoming more grounded, letting the roots sink deep into conviction as I continue to learn and dig into foundations for clarity.   Other times, progress looks like letting go of what I understood in order to accept what I am learning.  Progress can be in what I resist and where I surrender.   Occasionally, progress looks like starting at the beginning again. But rarely can progress happen without aching muscles, repetition, e

Photo by Akshay Paatil on Unsplash Can we hear them? Cry after cry Soul weary Demanding justice As blood on our white hands drips again into the ground As air is cut off and pleas go ignored Last gasp until silence A life gone, deemed worthless Hearts break Anger rises Voices cry …They just want to live. Can we see them? Choosing clothes Choosing settings Choosing activities Choosing words carefully Choosing housing Choosing healthcare selectively …They just want to live. Can we hear them? Teaching their young black kids Words and posture of respect Doing all they can to help their children survive Bird watching Jogging Neighbours Shopping Sleeping Partying Coffee shops Traffic stops …They just want to live. Can we see them? Denied promotions Denied fair trials Denied equal access Denied a voice Denied justice Denied privilege Denied trust Denied worth Denied the freedom to live without fear …They just want to live. Can we listen? Can we hear? Can we learn? Can we acknowledge the re

Every year, after a long winter, we watch in awe as spring arrives, and with it comes an inner sigh of relief and a breath of fresh hope. What can spring teach us about hope? Winter is not my favourite. I just want to hibernate warmly until warmer breezes blow, huddled in my hoodie with strong black coffee in hand. Some of us spend the winter waiting for spring. And this year, we have needed the hope of spring more than ever . We’re all a little weary hearing about the coronavirus pandemic, yet it is hard to ignore something that has invaded all our lives, turning them upside down. At the easiest end of things, we are missing our extended families and friends while adjusting to having our family home 24-7. We're anxious getting groceries, missing school and celebrations, and left wondering if we’re going to get the summer vacation we’ve been anticipating. On the other end of the spectrum, dear ones are devastated by financial and health crises as a direct result of this pandemic. J

  What would a world be like without Jesus? 2020-04-11 Easter is different this year. The heaviness of our current circumstances fits the time to reflect on what Easter is commemorating. Our souls are already grieving the loss of life as we knew it…and there is anticipatory grief for what’s to come as lives are lost and financial security for many is stripped from beneath their feet as a result of this devastating virus. It has happened so suddenly. Yet we are rallying and supporting one another, and we will get through this together. But this slower pace of life has gifted me extra time to look back at the cross and contemplate that first “Good Friday”. Through the reading of scripture translated into my native tongue, I walked with Jesus from that last Passover meal with his closest friends to the Garden where he prayed in agonized anticipation of what was to come. Following him in his apprehension by authorities, I listened to his interactions with Jewish and Roman leaders. I heard