For this duet-themed column, I invited my daughter Isla to sit down with me. We’re both dual Canadian-British citizens. We talked about an image from Isla’s art portfolio, about exploring identity through art and the complexities of choosing how we express our senses of belonging. Isla: My high school art project focuses on my identity…
The photo on my desk was taken 71 years ago. It shows my in-laws on their wedding day – February 14, 1951. Dad looks dapper in his dark, double-breasted suit; Mom is resplendent in her gorgeous white gown. Although he’s never one for emotional displays, there’s a definite light in Dad’s eyes. Mom bears a…
Mark Glanville and his brother Luke are on a mission to reimagine kinship and its boundaries. What does that mean? “We think that the Bible is forming God’s people to embrace people on the margins as family.” “Jesus had a reputation for creating a ‘makeshift’ family with all of the ‘wrong’ people,” Mark says, which…
In three years, Willowdale Christian Reformed Church (CRC) in Toronto has almost doubled in size, thanks to Farsi-speaking newcomers from Iran. Long-time members of Willowdale’s congregation will tell anyone who listens that this is the work of the Holy Spirit. No one planned to have a ministry to Christians who speak Farsi, but church members…
De taal is ons vaderland, waaruit we nooit kunnen emigreren. Language is our fatherland, from which we can never emigrate. This slim volume of eclectic essays is a rich exploration of questions of identity, landscape, family, and translation. It is of particular interest to Dutch immigrants who might enjoy a thoughtful, playful look at language…
Lydia and her ten-year-old son Luca are on the run after surviving a violent attack on their family. They need all their wits, endurance and resources to stay ahead of their pursuers as they flee Mexico and head “el norte” to seek refuge in the United States. Lydia, a bookstore owner, and her journalist husband…
I am a daughter of immigration. For four generations, the women in my family have been born in different countries – Russia, Paraguay, Brazil, Canada. From my great-grandmother, to my grandmother, to my mother, I am the first woman to have my own daughter in the country in which I was born.
I sat down at a table after church for a sociable cup of coffee. At first there was no room, but somebody moved aside so I could squeeze in. I remarked, “Thanks for the room; I’m not a refugee.”
I have never met Helen Bosch. I only know her through the email messages we’ve exchanged over the past week. However, even though we’ve never seen each other and we live half a country away, she wants to tell me her story for the Heritage Project.
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