Invite Me to the Table

30/05/2026

I've decided to share my writing with a bigger audience. In addition to sharing it here and in the Humbercrest United Church newsletter, I started a substack column too. Here's this week's installment.

Invite me to the Table - May 28, 2026

25/05/2026

Where Music Meets Community: A 2SLGBTQ+ Reflection

As Chris Higgins noted in his Beacon column last week, I spent the long weekend in Vancouver attending the Unison Festival, Canada’s national 2SLGBTQ+ choral festival. More than 1,000 delegates from 27 choruses gathered to perform for one another across four concert blocks, as well as at the opening and closing concerts.

The Unison Festival is held every four years in a different Canadian city and is hosted by that city’s 2SLGBTQ+ choruses. I have attended since 2006, and in 2018 I joined the Board of Directors, where I have served as Secretary, Vice President, and now Treasurer. This year was my first time attending without being affiliated with a member chorus, although I did sing in one of the four festival choirs at the closing concert, a group made up of delegates from across the country. I also continued my Board responsibilities throughout the weekend.

I wanted to share this experience with you because the festival is far more than a weekend of music. It is a space where 2SLGBTQ+ people and our allies can share songs, stories, and our authentic selves with a like minded community. It showcases a rich and diverse choral repertoire, spanning many musical genres, including works by emerging composers and lyricists, and it creates room to reflect on 2SLGBTQ+ history, rights, and the issues affecting our communities today.

Every time I attend, I forget just how emotional attending the festival can be. Seeing singers from coast to coast, from youth to seniors, perform music that carries deep meaning is profoundly moving. Sometimes it’s the lyrics, sometimes the story behind the piece, sometimes the reason an artistic director chose it, and sometimes the way a chorus embodies the music. Whatever the source, the impact is unmistakable.

The experience reminded me of our recent West End Affirm film series and how those three films that were screened sparked meaningful dialogue among 2SLGBTQ+ individuals and allies. At a time when 2SLGBTQ+ rights are once again under attack, events like our film series and the quadrennial Unison Festival offer safe and brave spaces where we can gather, be ourselves, share our thoughts and feelings, and deepen our understanding of one another.

As someone who has been active in the 2SLGBTQ+ community for more than 20 years, I can say honestly that there is still much to learn and much to share. Miscommunication and misunderstanding, both about the community and within it, are real. There have been moments when I’ve wondered whether “community” is even the right word, given the judgment and division I’ve witnessed.

And yet, the conversations I’ve had with Humbercrest congregation and community members give me hope. Your curiosity, engagement, and support mean more than you may realize. The struggle continues, but we walk it together, and that makes all the difference.

Final Note
I also want to share how much I am looking forward to hearing Rev. Dr. Cheri DiNovo deliver the sermon this Sunday at Humbercrest. She served as our MPP for many years, and as an advocate and active member of the 2SLGBTQ+ community, she has fought for—and won—important rights and protections. I am truly grateful for her leadership, her courage, and her many accomplishments.

08/05/2026

On Uniqueness, Gratitude, and Growing Older

Lately, spending so much time alone, I’ve found myself feeling deeply nostalgic. I’ve been flipping through old yearbooks from elementary and high school, listening to songs from my younger years—back when bands played their own instruments and sang live. I’ve been revisiting books from my personal library, the ones that once brought me joy, inspiration, or a spark of insight.

We are living in interesting times, and I still hear fear, panic, misunderstanding, and anxiety in people’s voices. Many of us are quietly wondering how to live comfortably in today’s version of humanity—what I sometimes jokingly call the “new world order.” As I sat with these thoughts, one word kept rising to the surface: gratitude.

May is my birthday month, and this year I’ll be turning 58. I’ll be spending my birthday weekend at the Unison Festival, Canada’s national 2SLGBTQ+ choral festival, which I’ve attended since 2006. Someone close to me once said that birthday celebrations are only for kids, because “it’s all downhill from here” for adults. I don’t buy that. I still feel like a kid at heart, and I have so much to celebrate and be grateful for, and I really like birthday cake.

In fact, I’ve started thinking of this birthday as the countdown to 60. There’s something special about decade milestones—they invite reflection, preparation, and a sense of possibility. So, I’m giving myself two years to get ready for whatever the next chapter brings.

Let’s be honest: life is a journey and a continuous work in progress. We will never finish everything we want to do. There will always be something new—opportunities, diversions, surprises—to navigate.

Recently, I reread Oliver Sacks’ small but powerful collection of essays, Gratitude, written as he approached his 80th birthday and after receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis. In these pages, he reflects on the experiences that shaped him as a physician and writer, and on the process of completing a life and making peace with death. He also writes candidly about growing up as an Orthodox Jew and stepping
away from those traditions after his mother reacted harshly to his homosexuality.

One other line that stayed with me was this:
“It is the fate of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own.

As I reread Sacks’ reflections on life, religion, writing, sexuality, and gratitude, I felt a resonance with my own recent struggles. His words about our uniqueness touched me deeply. He writes, “There will be no one like us when we are gone… When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled.”

To paraphrase Sacks: we live, we love, we give, and we receive. And when we look back on our relationships and our life journey—this gift we’ve been given—we eventually reach an age or stage where gratitude becomes essential. Gratitude for the good and the difficult, because both have shaped us. Gratitude that allows us to forgive those who hurt us, to release what no longer serves us, and to keep moving forward with as much openness as we can muster.

So, as I step into another year, I’m choosing to lean into gratitude—not as a tidy answer, but as a way of seeing. For the memories that shaped me, the people who held me, the music that carried me, and the
chapters

23/04/2026

When Music Becomes Prayer

I recently came across a conversation about the connection between scripture and hymns, and it brought to mind the well known line attributed to Saint Augustine of Hippo: “He who sings prays twice.” Singing is a physical act, but singing hymns is also a form of verbal prayer. It stirs emotion, deepens our devotion to the words we’re offering, and enriches our worship in ways spoken prayer sometimes cannot.

Growing up, I sang hymns and gospel music with choirs in churches and in concert halls. It was always an emotional experience, the power of the lyrics, the beauty of the arrangements, and the shared energy between singers and audience created something sacred every time.

Some songs stay with us because their lyrics speak directly to our hearts. As a lifelong record collector, I played my favourite records so often that my parents had to keep replacing the needle on my record player. That emotional pull has always made me want to dig deeper, to learn the stories behind the songs and the people who wrote them.

This morning, while listening to Tom Power on CBC Radio Q, I heard an interview with P.E.I. actor and theatre director Mike Ross about the Don McLean classic American Pie. Ross has co created a stage show exploring the hidden meanings behind the song, now playing in Toronto. It reminded me how powerful it can be to uncover the stories behind the music we think we already know.

A while ago, I watched the film I Can Only Imagine, and last week I watched its sequel. Both touched me deeply, and I highly recommend them. The first film tells the true story behind MercyMe’s contemporary Christian hit of the same name, one of the best selling Christian singles of all time. It’s even been covered by many other musical artists. Lead singer Bart Millard wrote it out of his turbulent relationship with his father, and the song’s lyrics reflect that journey of pain, forgiveness, and hope.

The sequel continues the story as Bart and the band navigate fame, past traumas, and family and health challenges. We also meet musician Tim Timmons, who is battling cancer while touring with MercyMe. He shares the meaning behind the beloved hymn It Is Well with My Soul. Horatio Spafford wrote the hymn in 1873 after a series of devastating tragedies, including the loss of his four daughters in a shipwreck. He penned the lyrics while passing over the very place in the Atlantic where they died. Knowing that story changes the way we hear the hymn forever.

Throughout my life, I’ve had the privilege of working with artistic directors, conductors, songwriters, and musicians who generously share the inspirations behind their work. Their stories always deepen my appreciation for the music they create. Even here at Humbercrest, I commend Marg Parsons for offering background notes on composers when she plays in the chapel during the summer months. She often says how much she enjoys the research, and I’m grateful for it, my love of history and storytelling makes those notes a gift.

Do you have a favourite hymn? Humbercrest would love to hear from you so it can be added to the choir’s repertoire. But I’m also curious: what’s the story behind your choice? Why does it resonate with you? There’s another meaningful conversation waiting to unfold.

See you in church.

16/04/2026

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda — and Eventually, Loving Myself

I grew up in a large Maltese family, surrounded not only by relatives but by an entire Maltese community. One of my uncles owned a bustling hairdressing and retail business, and many of my sisters, and even my father, worked for him. His employees became like extended family, adding to the chorus of voices that shaped my early life. Before the digital age, opinions travelled quickly and loudly. Whether praise or criticism, people didn’t hesitate to tell me what they thought about me or choices or decisions I made. Over time, those constant commentaries fed my anxiety and made it difficult to trust my own sense of self. I know I’m not the only one who has lived under the weight of other people’s “shoulda, woulda, coulda” thoughts and opinions.

Many of those voices have faded now, some because people have passed on, others because life has taken us in different directions. I still keep in touch with a few, but not as often as before. Yet even in their absence, the silence can be deafening. Old comments still surface in my head when I least expect them, as if they were waiting in the wings for their cue.

Being the youngest in that community meant I was often told I didn’t know what I was doing, or that someone older always knew better. But even then, my curiosity led me into places and ideas they had never encountered. I would mention things I’d learned, and suddenly I realized I understood far more about the world than they assumed. Still, the old judgments lingered, and even as I matured, those internalized voices followed me.

Then came the pandemic. Like everyone else, I found myself in a bubble, physically isolated, emotionally stretched, and forced to rely on my own thoughts and decisions in a way I never had before. The loneliness was real, but so was the clarity. With fewer outside voices, I began hearing my own more clearly. It was unsettling at first, but eventually it became grounding. Even now, in this post pandemic world where many people still keep to themselves, I’ve learned to understand others’ distance without taking it personally.

More importantly, I’ve learned to listen to myself with compassion.
This past year has been challenging personally, professionally, and financially. But it has also been a year of trusting myself because I’ve had to. Life evolves, and so do we. As a Ta**us, I’m not naturally fond of change, but I’ve learned to accept it, sometimes even welcome it. Relationships shift, communities transform, and the world keeps moving. Through it all, I’ve discovered that I’m stronger when I share only what feels right, journal when I need clarity, and pursue interests simply because they bring me joy.

At 57, I’m more confident and more in control of my life than I’ve ever been. The “shoulda, woulda, coulda” voices may still whisper now and then, but they no longer define me. I’ve learned to love the person I’ve become. So, if you ask how I’m doing and I smile and say, “I’m fine,” know that I truly am — and I’m grateful for anyone who cares enough to ask.

31/03/2026

Between Anxiety and Possibility: My Journey with Artificial Intelligence

Last week I was invited to an advance screening of a new documentary titled The AI Doc, or How I Became an Apocaloptimist. The promotional material describes it this way: “A father-to-be tries to figure out what is happening with all this AI insanity and the future world his child will inherit.” AI is being called the most powerful technology humanity has ever created, and the film explores that claim with curiosity, humour, and a fair bit of anxiety.

Canadian filmmaker Daniel Roher, who co-directed the documentary, interviews a wide range of experts working in the AI industry. As I wrote on social media afterward, the film begins with young AI specialists offering a heavy dose of doom and gloom about the future of humanity. Then we meet more seasoned experts who bring a surprising amount of optimism. One even suggests that this may be the best time to be alive, pointing to advances in health and aging, many of them supported by AI.

From there, the film explores how AI can generate misinformation, influence political content, and shape public opinion. That’s where the “apocaloptimist” tension really emerges: the undecided space between fear and hope.

I attended the screening with a friend who works in arts and culture, and both of us live with anxiety. To be honest, we were having small panic attacks as we listened to the pros and cons of this rapidly evolving technology, and we weren’t alone. Even the co-director conducting the interviews admitted to feeling overwhelmed.

I’ve been using AI tools myself since 2024, after completing a learning module my college offered. I had heard about tools like ChatGPT and Copilot, but I wasn’t sure what they actually did. Then my computer began updating itself with new features, suggested words, writing prompts, and other AI powered supports. In one of my TechEd graduate courses, my professor encouraged us to experiment with these tools and get comfortable with them.

I remember reading an article comparing the introduction of AI to the arrival of calculators in classrooms. People feared calculators too, and yet they became a standard tool that helped students learn in new ways.

For me, AI has become something like a trusted friend who offers suggestions, and I still decide what to use. During this season of professional reinvention, I’ve used AI to edit this very column, to brainstorm strategies, and to reflect on my skills, experience, and education. The results have often been surprisingly insightful.

Recently, after a tough conversation with a friend about whether I was ready to apply for a senior role at my alma mater, I fed my résumé, the job posting, and my value proposition into an AI tool. What came back was a detailed outline of my strengths and qualifications. It gave me the confidence to apply.

What I’ve learned is that AI isn’t going away. Like any technology, it will continue to evolve. It has strengths and weaknesses, and we can choose how, or whether, to use it. But I’ve found that engaging with it has taught me not only about technology, but also about myself. And that, I think, is worth exploring.

20/03/2026

When We Need a Gentle Reminder

Some weeks, the words come easily to share with you. Other weeks, like this one, I find myself searching for a thread to pull. Life has been full lately, both personally and professionally, as I continue navigating a season of transition. Much of my time is spent on my own, working quietly and steadily, while staying connected to friends, family, and colleagues through texts, emails, and phone calls.

One friend in particular always listens patiently and then says, without fail, “It’s never a dull day for you.” And he’s right. My life, its joys, its challenges, its unexpected turns, has been shaped by curiosity and a willingness to say “yes” more often than “no.” Even when life feels heavy or uncertain, I try to remember that we’re not meant to figure everything out alone. Asking for help takes courage, especially when we fear the answer might not be what we want to hear. But our instincts, and the people who care for us, often guide us more wisely than we expect.

As I was reflecting on what to share this week, I found myself returning to the small things that help me re centre: affirmations, blessings, and the simple objects that bring comfort. Whenever an affirmation speaks to me, I write it in my journal, or type it in a big, bold font and tape it to a wall where I’ll see it when I need it most.

I’ve also become a collector of mugs over the years. I’ve let go of many, but one remains in constant use. It reads, “Be Awesome Today.” It holds a generous amount of coffee or tea, but more importantly, it holds a message I need to hear on the days when my spirit needs a nudge.

Recently, a colleague on LinkedIn, someone whose work inspires me, shared a story that touched me deeply. I commented on his post, and he replied with six simple words: “You are valuable. Know your worth.” I’ve been repeating that to myself often.

Another affirmation came from a podcast host who invited listeners to say, “I love you so much, and I am proud of you.” That one now sits beside my bed, greeting me each morning and each night.

And then there was a blessing shared by a rabbi I met last fall. During a difficult moment, I reached out and we had a soothing phone conversation, and after listening, he offered these words—words I now keep printed by my bedside:

“May the words of my mouth, the meditations of my heart, the deeds of my hands, and the life of my body find favour with you, O God, my rock and my redeemer. God, your will, not mine, be done.”

In a world overflowing with news, noise, and uncertainty, these small practices, affirmations, prayers, blessings, help us shift our minds and hearts toward hope. They remind us that there is a presence greater than ourselves walking with us, especially on the days when we feel stuck or drained.

I’ve shared before that I’m a collector of many things, but perhaps what I collect most faithfully are the words that help me keep going. So, if you find yourself needing a shift in perspective, a moment of grounding, or simply a reminder that you’re not alone, reach for whatever brings you comfort. And if you ever want to talk, reflect, or share a story, I’m always grateful for a good conversation. It helps us both feel a little more connected, and maybe even a little more hopeful.

20/03/2026

God Made Me Weird and I am Grateful for It

I missed the Oscar broadcast in 2015. But the very next morning, I received a text message from a friend informing me that I had to watch the acceptance speech from American Screenwriter Graham Moore. He won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay, for The Imitation Game, based on the book Alan Turing: The Enigma by Andrew Hodges. By the time I turned on my computer to watch Moore's speech it had gone viral. It was a top news story and is one of the highlights of that Oscar broadcast.

The Imitation Game tells the story of Turing, the father of modern computing, who cracked the German codes in World War II and helped end the war.

In his Oscar acceptance speech, Moore said that at the age of 16 he attempted su***de because "he felt weird, different, like he did not belong." Moore was speaking for the kid who feels like they're weird or different or don't fit in anywhere. Telling them they actually do. He concluded with "stay weird, and when it's your turn, and you are the one standing on this stage, please pass this message on."

Throughout my life I have been told that I am weird. Over time it caused me to have an extremely negative outlook on life. I pursued what I wanted to do throughout my life without caring what other people thought. Looking back, I don't remember doing anything horrible, except for stepping in to help without being asked, helping, contributing, and offering advice. In most instance, these activities are not considered cool. My level of insecurity grew, and I lived with much loneliness for following my own path. I remember praying on countless occasions, asking God why I was being treated this way and what can I do to make it better. Over time, I came to the realization that my "weirdness" has allowed me to accomplish a lot and make a difference.

One distinct aspect of my weirdness is my voice, which, on countless occasions has been described as unique. It took me years, to recognize this unique part of me and to accept it. This weirdness, or uniqueness, has given me pleasure and great satisfaction as a public speaker, and a singer. I can sing a variety of vocal parts.

Although weirdness can be lonely, in my case it allowed me to meet and collaborate with many wonderful people in unique situations.

Reminiscing about life since I first watched Moore's acceptance speech, back in 2015, has allowed me to feel more grateful to My Lord for the many gifts he bestows upon me every day that may draw me unwanted attention. These gifts allow me to make a difference because I am much more accepting of my weirdness.

09/03/2026

We Sure Could Use a Little Good News Today

The title of this week’s column is also the title of an award winning song recorded by the acclaimed Canadian recording artist Anne Murray, released in September 1983. Over the past several weeks, the days have slowly been getting longer. The sun has appeared more often, though the cold has certainly lingered. Meanwhile, both local and world news seem increasingly dismal. Amid my own thoughts and observations, this song came to mind.

In the song, Murray expresses despair over the violence and suffering she reads about in newspapers and sees on television. She imagines a day when the media would have nothing to report simply because nothing bad had happened.

Ironically, every day many good things do happen, yet we rarely hear about them. The media must attract an audience, and as human beings, we are often drawn to what is wrong rather than what is right and good. This constant focus on negativity has begun to affect our collective mental health, especially because we are surrounded by a 24/7 news cycle, not just through traditional media, but through the never ending stream of information we see and read on our devices. Videos filmed by citizen journalists can spread instantly, often showing disturbing events that take a toll on our emotional well being.

I have been a media ju**ie for most of my life, but that changed during the pandemic. While isolating at home, I found myself constantly consuming news from reputable sources. The most unsettling part was watching the daily CityNews chart of COVID 19 statistics—reported deaths, new confirmed cases, hospitalizations, ICU admissions, and more. Seeing those numbers rise and fall day after day became traumatizing, and eventually I had to stop watching the news altogether.

At that time, I was also working part time on the front lines at an LCBO store. Out in the world, life appeared strangely normal, except for the nearly empty streets I walked and buses and subways I rode each day. That contrast between the grim news and the quiet, subdued city around me was difficult to settle.

So how do we deal with the effects of this grim news cycle and our own consumption of it?

First, consume the news in moderation. Turn it off if it is disturbing you or affecting your well being. Avoid dwelling on it in conversation unless you are discussing how you are feeling. When I found myself overwhelmed, I turned to my journal. Writing allowed me to release the anxiety and move forward.

Second, be kind, to yourself and to those around you. If you find yourself alone and disconnected, try reaching out to someone. We’re not alone in this; we truly are all in it together. When we share our worries in healthy ways, we lighten not only our own loads but those of our communities and social circles.

Our behaviours and opinions can easily spiral into turbulence within our own minds, spilling over into our relationships and communities. Keep unnecessary negativity to yourself or express it privately, again, writing can be a powerful outlet. And if you are active on social media, consider keeping negativity off those platforms. Instead, share messages that uplift, encourage, and spread joy.

For now, take a moment. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath in… and release it. Then say to yourself:

“I matter. I am a child of God. God loves me, protects me, and guides me each day.”

Have a wonderful day—and enjoy the sunshine.

09/03/2026

What Scouting Taught Me About Growing Up

Last Sunday, I attended my third Scouting Sunday Service at Humbercrest. Once again, it brought back memories of being a Wolf Cub when I was living in Rexdale. I was part of the 315th troop, and we met weekly in the gymnasium of St. Benedict’s Catholic School, my elementary school.

One of my older sisters convinced my parents to enroll me because she felt I needed to be around boys my own age. At the time, I had no idea how much the organization would shape me as I grew up.

Be Prepared.
Do Your Best.
Do Good Deeds.

These were some of the rules we repeated at our weekly meetings. But I also learned values that stayed with me: respect, loyalty, discipline, and kindness. Wearing our uniform each week and being inspected was an important ritual, a lesson in presence and pride.

Coming from a Maltese household, my parents were already strict about how I looked and dressed in public, a rule I still follow today, so the uniform felt like a natural extension of that expectation.

Being a Wolf Cub also taught me about goal setting. We had the opportunity to earn badges that were sewn onto our jerseys, and this gave me a sense of determination, not only to learn new skills but to earn as many badges as possible. My parents played a big role in helping me work toward them.

The regular camping trips each season were adventures of their own. They taught us about survival, caring for the environment, and living respectfully with others over a weekend outdoors. There were chores to be done, responsibilities to share, and lessons in cooperation that only camping can teach.

There were other adventures too, like selling apples door to door as a fundraiser. At first, it was intimidating, but the hospitality we received from homeowners, seeing us in our uniforms, was gratifying, as were the donations. We also participated in church parades across different denominations, and I still remember the honour of being a flag bearer on several occasions.

At 57, I’ve forgotten some of these childhood adventures, but ironically, I still have my jersey hanging in my closet. Whenever I see it, it brings a smile to my face.

Many organizations I’ve been part of, both in childhood and adulthood, have faded away for various reasons. But I’m grateful to see this one still going strong, and now far more diverse and inclusive than it ever was in my younger days. At a time when we’re seeing real shifts in children’s behaviour, less comfort with authority, difficulty following simple rules, and even gaps in basic communication, Scouting still offers something steady and essential. It gives young people a place to practice responsibility, kindness, and community, not as abstract ideas but as lived habits.

My time in Scouts was brief, but the lessons stayed with me. They shaped how I carry myself, how I treat others, and how I understand my place in a community. And every time I catch sight of that old jersey hanging in my closet, I’m reminded that the values we learn early—when taught with care and consistency, can anchor us for a lifetime.