It's interesting living in a city where we speak in plurals rather than singulars. My housemate chuckled once when I referred to the town "cop" rather than cops. My hig shchool, despite being rather cliquish, still only had "A goth" and "A cowboy" and maybe one or two "wannabe Gangsta kids" (I was the wierd bookish smart kid who never got in trouble and tried to be sorta hippie-ish or granola or whatever you want to call it. Word to the wise: when half your classmates have parents who raise beef cattle, giving a persuasive speech on why vegetarianism is good in English class will NOT win you any popularity points. Yeah, that was me.)
As someone who is used to standing alone and doing her own thing, it has been a definite struggle to operate as part of a community. I am called to community. We are all members of one body and each have our own unique and important gifts. Yet, somehow I managed to dive straight onto my face in the endeavor of living in community. Being vindictive, griping about people behind their backs and telling yourself you're just fine on your own are NOT healthy ways to be part of community. Anyway, I'm praying for change, and I've done a good deal of apologizing along the way.
No one said community was eas.y
6.24.2006
6.13.2006
utopia revisited
While I was doing Sidewalk Sonday School I was also in search of the perfect town. First I thought Claremont, SD was my Utopia. Then I thought it was Spearfish, SD, then Hot Springs and then I went to Holden Village and I liked that at first.....then there was Finland and Germany. Then I thought "Maybe Spokane..." But none of them are really Utopia.
And now I know. Utopia is really just the place I've left. Utopia is wherever I miss the most.
Home.
Ever since I committed to another year in Spokane I've been more homesick than ever.
And now I know. Utopia is really just the place I've left. Utopia is wherever I miss the most.
Home.
Ever since I committed to another year in Spokane I've been more homesick than ever.
6.11.2006
Selling my soul for poverty wages
After wasting time worrying about job hunting, spending little time actually job hunting, and finally praying aobut the whole thing, I am employed.
Despite the time I spent fretting over the want ads with a highlighter, both positions actually came about through word-of-mouth.
Friday I started temporary work as an activities aide at an Adult Day Center. I will be helping take the clients from one activity to another, pushing wheelchairs and such. I'll also help out at lunch and then lead games and activities after lunch. My secret weapon is my ability to play piano and I'm expected to lead sing-a-longs every so often. The job lasts only a few hours each day and only for the month of June, but the people are friendly and the atmosphere is upbeat. Everyone in the program has lost some of their mental or physical capacity, but there is a certain light in their eyes. I plan to enjoy this more than taking orders for disgustingly expensive outerwear.
In July I embark on an entirely new adventure. At the urging of a friend from the Presbyterian Peacemaking Network, I applied for an Americorps position working with Spokane Neighborhood Action Program and The United Way. I was the only person applying that I'm aware of and they needed the position filled quickly, so naturally I was awarded the position. I'll be coordinating the C.A.S.H program. I'll explain more about this as I learn more, but for now I can say it involves grant writing, coordinating volunteers at free tax preparation sites and building awareness for a tax credit for working families.
I've signed up for a year of volunteer service as I'm completing a year of volunteer service. I'll get a subsistence wage and healthcare benefits, which means I'll be able to pay for rent and a little food, gas to get back and forth to work, and perhaps occasionally go to a doctor. Is this foolish? Perhaps. But I know that I cannot use my abilities simply to help someone get richer. There is more to life. I'm counting on the idea that although I won't be able to buy much I'll find fulfillment in the knowledge that I'm using my time and energy to do something of lasting importance.
Despite the time I spent fretting over the want ads with a highlighter, both positions actually came about through word-of-mouth.
Friday I started temporary work as an activities aide at an Adult Day Center. I will be helping take the clients from one activity to another, pushing wheelchairs and such. I'll also help out at lunch and then lead games and activities after lunch. My secret weapon is my ability to play piano and I'm expected to lead sing-a-longs every so often. The job lasts only a few hours each day and only for the month of June, but the people are friendly and the atmosphere is upbeat. Everyone in the program has lost some of their mental or physical capacity, but there is a certain light in their eyes. I plan to enjoy this more than taking orders for disgustingly expensive outerwear.
In July I embark on an entirely new adventure. At the urging of a friend from the Presbyterian Peacemaking Network, I applied for an Americorps position working with Spokane Neighborhood Action Program and The United Way. I was the only person applying that I'm aware of and they needed the position filled quickly, so naturally I was awarded the position. I'll be coordinating the C.A.S.H program. I'll explain more about this as I learn more, but for now I can say it involves grant writing, coordinating volunteers at free tax preparation sites and building awareness for a tax credit for working families.
I've signed up for a year of volunteer service as I'm completing a year of volunteer service. I'll get a subsistence wage and healthcare benefits, which means I'll be able to pay for rent and a little food, gas to get back and forth to work, and perhaps occasionally go to a doctor. Is this foolish? Perhaps. But I know that I cannot use my abilities simply to help someone get richer. There is more to life. I'm counting on the idea that although I won't be able to buy much I'll find fulfillment in the knowledge that I'm using my time and energy to do something of lasting importance.
6.02.2006
Spring slips into summer
Memorial day has come and gone and I'm daydreaming about hikes in the mountains. The spring has been less than ideal, but I'm pressing on. I taught my last piano lesson a little over a week ago and we finished our last Logos session two days ago. As much as I want to say that I'll miss Logos, I breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Despite my four years prior children's ministry experience, the sad truth is that I really struggle to connect with kids. I want to teach them about the Bible stories and I want to come up with creative and exciting learning activities, but I really end up spending most of the time asking them to sit down and listen. Or to stop hitting each other. Or stop climbing up the shed. I don't mind one or two children for a short amount of time, but the noise and commotion of 50 children packed into a church sanctuary makes me want to curl into a ball and wait for them to go home.
I keep reminding myself that children don't become belligerent bullies overnight. I know that most of these kids aren't getting three nutritious meals a day. Many go home to dim houses that haven't been cleaned in ages and smell of sweat, greasy food and dog. Many don't have parents who care enough to keep track of where they go, or their parents are in prison, or working too many hours a day.
Jessica and I were settling in for the evening as the doorbell rang. A smallish boy with dark hair and bluish circles under his eyes stood on our front walk. I could see a larger boy crouched behind the picket fence next door.
"What's up guys? It's 10:30 at night!" I said.
"We're just walking around" the little one replied. The older one came out from behind the fence.
We invited them in for awhile and Jessica made them hot chocolate. We asked if they'd come to Logos before and the larger one said he'd gotten kicked out for fighting. He slouched in the chair, his hood covering his eyes. I asked the younger one what he liked in school. He said "science."
I wondered where the bluish circles under his eyes came from. Had he been crying? His expression was permanently wistful. He got very quiet and looked up at the ceiling, then at the walls.
"I don't know why, but I haven't gotten any letters from my uncle lately."
"Where's your uncle?"
"He's in jail."
"How long has it been since you got a letter?"
"A month. He used to write all the time. He has seven more months to go."
"You don't hear from your dad either, do you." said the older one.
"No."
"Do you live with your mom?" I asked.
"No, she's in jail too. I live with my grandma."
They finished their cocoa and they left at 11:00 pm to walk the few blocks home in the dark.
Later I was remembered these boys had come last fall. We'd kicked them out because they'd started fighting with another boy in our living room. We'd asked them to leave two our three times and it wasn't until I flipped off the TV in front of them and Jessica told them they absolutely HAD to go NOW that they left. On our front walk they had stolen his coat and taunted him. I grabbed one by the shoulders, made him drop the coat (he tossed it) and I told them to "JUST GO HOME!" I remember the righteous indignant fury I'd felt then. Now I know where they come from. Now I feel only pity.
I keep reminding myself that children don't become belligerent bullies overnight. I know that most of these kids aren't getting three nutritious meals a day. Many go home to dim houses that haven't been cleaned in ages and smell of sweat, greasy food and dog. Many don't have parents who care enough to keep track of where they go, or their parents are in prison, or working too many hours a day.
Jessica and I were settling in for the evening as the doorbell rang. A smallish boy with dark hair and bluish circles under his eyes stood on our front walk. I could see a larger boy crouched behind the picket fence next door.
"What's up guys? It's 10:30 at night!" I said.
"We're just walking around" the little one replied. The older one came out from behind the fence.
We invited them in for awhile and Jessica made them hot chocolate. We asked if they'd come to Logos before and the larger one said he'd gotten kicked out for fighting. He slouched in the chair, his hood covering his eyes. I asked the younger one what he liked in school. He said "science."
I wondered where the bluish circles under his eyes came from. Had he been crying? His expression was permanently wistful. He got very quiet and looked up at the ceiling, then at the walls.
"I don't know why, but I haven't gotten any letters from my uncle lately."
"Where's your uncle?"
"He's in jail."
"How long has it been since you got a letter?"
"A month. He used to write all the time. He has seven more months to go."
"You don't hear from your dad either, do you." said the older one.
"No."
"Do you live with your mom?" I asked.
"No, she's in jail too. I live with my grandma."
They finished their cocoa and they left at 11:00 pm to walk the few blocks home in the dark.
Later I was remembered these boys had come last fall. We'd kicked them out because they'd started fighting with another boy in our living room. We'd asked them to leave two our three times and it wasn't until I flipped off the TV in front of them and Jessica told them they absolutely HAD to go NOW that they left. On our front walk they had stolen his coat and taunted him. I grabbed one by the shoulders, made him drop the coat (he tossed it) and I told them to "JUST GO HOME!" I remember the righteous indignant fury I'd felt then. Now I know where they come from. Now I feel only pity.
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