My principal is great. He's relaxed with his style of supervising yet provides a lot of constructive criticism for me to improve and grow as a teacher. When we first met he said something that was interesting but didn't really hit me until he said it again today:
"Parents are sending the best part of themselves to you everyday."
I thought about this in the obvious way: I love my kids. They are hilarious and odd and love to dance and they are mine 40 hours a week. I love their smiles, their hugs, their frowns, their tattling, their excitement over silly little things and their love of one another without allowing socioeconomics or status to get in the way (like some adults do).
But I thought more in depth about this idea that if each set of parents sent the best parts of themselves to school every day; shouldn't each generation be better than the last?
Just a thought I was wondering.
In my life, I think of the best parts of my parents: My father's corny jokes; love of trivia; methodical and deliberate moments of wisdom; incredible patience and wait time; strength; lack of fear to be himself and love of music. My mother's excitement over silly little things; dedication to people, to family, to love; unfiltered verbal diarrhea; dedication to her faith; acceptance of all and love of getting a mission accomplished (they, clearly, have more parts that are amazing, but these stand out to me in the moment).
Now, I think of myself...am I truly the best part of them? Do I do their best qualities justice? When I went to college or the east coast to brave the independent world on my own, did they believe they were unleashing the best parts of themselves into the world?
I know this may appear as useless ramble but it's just a thought I've been pondering. If we all strive to be the best parts of our parents, then I guess it leaves the next generation no choice but to be better than ours...what a beautiful world that could be.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Praying for Change
I am not prefacing this one with something saying, "well, I'm not usually political" or "I hate to rant" because in this instance, saying nothing has gotten me no where so I feel it is important to share my opinion on this issue.
I know the Constitution has an amendment called the second amendment so I know it's law and someone's "right" to bear arms. BUT, in light of the craziness in our country with people shooting up movie theaters, schools, public (highly crowded) places and, now, shopping malls (http://www.oregonlive.com/clackamascounty/index.ssf/2012/12/clackamas_town_center_shooting.html); I am compelled to speak up.
You have a right to protect yourself and to go hunting for deer or rabbits or elk or bison but in these cases, do you really need a gun that can rapid fire off more than 30 bullets? I mean, in reality, do you really need a gun that can rapid fire off more than 3 bullets? If there's an intruder, one or two shots will do it...you don't need to fill 'em with 30 rounds of lead.
Why are these kinds of weapons available to your average Joe who can get a basic pistol license can get a gun (in WA state)? In what world do we need these?
I guess it's silly and naive of me to think that maybe we should peel it back another layer and say, why can't people just stop and think about the choices they make? Stop and use your words instead of a gun...it's what I'm trying to drill home into 15 Kindergarteners minds. It's just difficult to be teaching lessons about kindness and tolerance and saying the words, "you hurt me" or "I'm sorry" when our society continues to practice the contrary.
I'm just sad...very sad that people feel the need to put on ski masks/hockey masks and round after round of ammo to shoot up and damage lives. But I can't blame the individual; I have to also put blame on those people and laws allowing semi-automatic and automatic guns to be purchased by anyone. We don't need high power guns, we just don't and I am still scratching my head as to why they are available to us. Peace and love to all and prayers for change.
I know the Constitution has an amendment called the second amendment so I know it's law and someone's "right" to bear arms. BUT, in light of the craziness in our country with people shooting up movie theaters, schools, public (highly crowded) places and, now, shopping malls (http://www.oregonlive.com/clackamascounty/index.ssf/2012/12/clackamas_town_center_shooting.html); I am compelled to speak up.
You have a right to protect yourself and to go hunting for deer or rabbits or elk or bison but in these cases, do you really need a gun that can rapid fire off more than 30 bullets? I mean, in reality, do you really need a gun that can rapid fire off more than 3 bullets? If there's an intruder, one or two shots will do it...you don't need to fill 'em with 30 rounds of lead.
Why are these kinds of weapons available to your average Joe who can get a basic pistol license can get a gun (in WA state)? In what world do we need these?
I guess it's silly and naive of me to think that maybe we should peel it back another layer and say, why can't people just stop and think about the choices they make? Stop and use your words instead of a gun...it's what I'm trying to drill home into 15 Kindergarteners minds. It's just difficult to be teaching lessons about kindness and tolerance and saying the words, "you hurt me" or "I'm sorry" when our society continues to practice the contrary.
I'm just sad...very sad that people feel the need to put on ski masks/hockey masks and round after round of ammo to shoot up and damage lives. But I can't blame the individual; I have to also put blame on those people and laws allowing semi-automatic and automatic guns to be purchased by anyone. We don't need high power guns, we just don't and I am still scratching my head as to why they are available to us. Peace and love to all and prayers for change.
Friday, November 30, 2012
"The Only Therapy I Need"
I feel like my last few posts have been a little down and mopey. I guess one can say I've been a little bummed for the past two weeks, especially during the Thanksgiving holiday. BUT heading back to school this week after a little break helped put things into perspective for me.
I have one child who is morbidly obese and my co-teacher and I try to get her moving as much as possible. Well, over the Thanksgiving break, the trees around our playground shed most (if not all) of their leaves. There were huge piles of leaves everywhere and most of my kids didn't really pay attention to them. Except for my chubby friend. She's usually in her own world and a little spacey to begin with so when I turned around and watched her flop her body onto the pile of leaves; it didn't surprise me (but it certainly made me laugh). I continued to watch her "play" in the leaves. She laid on her stomach for a while, then flipped on her side and laid there, posing if on a beach or something. I don't know who her audience was but I was dying with laughter. She piled little handfuls of leaves onto her legs and laughed at herself with so much satisfaction. I hadn't laughed like that in a while so I walked over and began to play in the leaves with her.
The next morning I ran into a co-worker of mine on my walk to work. She is a bit older than I and is always a cheery woman. She always says things like, "hey friend! How are you?" when she greets me. She's just so pleasant. Well anyway, we were talking about the little things our kids do or say that are funny (like maple syrup belly buttons or rolling in leaves or criticizing us for packing a sandwich yet again for lunch). When it came time for us to part ways she said, "I tell you what, I divorced my ex-husband 18 years ago and ya know, these babies were the only therapy I needed."
Her words have resonated with me over this week because she's right, she's absolutely right. When I am tired or bummed, these goofy kids have a way of lifting my spirits that very few others could do.
Yesterday, my little "Cowboy Tito" tried to fix my hair. He stole his baby sister's princess crown, put it in my hair and then proceeded to play with my hair; tangling it, yelling at me to sit still and to not talk (or he would mess up). It was really funny because I kept talking to try and figure out what he was doing and he kept throwing his arms down by his side, saying, "I can't work if you keep talking!" He then proceed to find little strips of blue ribbon and strategically place them in my hair. His seriousness and precision only made this encounter even more priceless.
These babies are the only therapy I need...instead of looking other places for joy, I need to refocus on the 15 treasures in front of me every day. They are all I need on a gloomy day and it's in sharing them and their stories that my gloominess disappears.
I have one child who is morbidly obese and my co-teacher and I try to get her moving as much as possible. Well, over the Thanksgiving break, the trees around our playground shed most (if not all) of their leaves. There were huge piles of leaves everywhere and most of my kids didn't really pay attention to them. Except for my chubby friend. She's usually in her own world and a little spacey to begin with so when I turned around and watched her flop her body onto the pile of leaves; it didn't surprise me (but it certainly made me laugh). I continued to watch her "play" in the leaves. She laid on her stomach for a while, then flipped on her side and laid there, posing if on a beach or something. I don't know who her audience was but I was dying with laughter. She piled little handfuls of leaves onto her legs and laughed at herself with so much satisfaction. I hadn't laughed like that in a while so I walked over and began to play in the leaves with her.
The next morning I ran into a co-worker of mine on my walk to work. She is a bit older than I and is always a cheery woman. She always says things like, "hey friend! How are you?" when she greets me. She's just so pleasant. Well anyway, we were talking about the little things our kids do or say that are funny (like maple syrup belly buttons or rolling in leaves or criticizing us for packing a sandwich yet again for lunch). When it came time for us to part ways she said, "I tell you what, I divorced my ex-husband 18 years ago and ya know, these babies were the only therapy I needed."
Her words have resonated with me over this week because she's right, she's absolutely right. When I am tired or bummed, these goofy kids have a way of lifting my spirits that very few others could do.
Yesterday, my little "Cowboy Tito" tried to fix my hair. He stole his baby sister's princess crown, put it in my hair and then proceeded to play with my hair; tangling it, yelling at me to sit still and to not talk (or he would mess up). It was really funny because I kept talking to try and figure out what he was doing and he kept throwing his arms down by his side, saying, "I can't work if you keep talking!" He then proceed to find little strips of blue ribbon and strategically place them in my hair. His seriousness and precision only made this encounter even more priceless.
These babies are the only therapy I need...instead of looking other places for joy, I need to refocus on the 15 treasures in front of me every day. They are all I need on a gloomy day and it's in sharing them and their stories that my gloominess disappears.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Outward Love
My last few posts have been self-driven and self-focused so today I really want to turn over a new leaf of outward love and share some things that have nothing to do with me.
There have been two major things that have happened this week that have warmed my heart and have helped remind me of the larger world I live in.
1) I was sitting in my cozy living room on Wednesday night, watching the news, when the show did a special on an event DC does every year for Thanksgiving. The event is a celebration of all those adopted that year. Kids from age newborn to 16 are shown with their new, adoptive parents and families. I didn't think much of it until I saw a clip of my student being held by her social worker and her 3-year-old brother being held by their grandmother. This was the same student I wrote about in my blog entitled, "Home". She got adopted by her grandmother!
Thinking about all she has been through in her short 5 years of life, I couldn't help but feel excited for her and what this means for her future. This little girl won't be scared to go home anymore; she'll have the support she needs at home and she'll have a great environment to grow up in. I am so happy for her and so thankful that everything worked out for her family.
2) I found out today that my Death Row inmate that I've been writing back and forth with as part of the "Death Row Support Project" has been relocated. My pen pal was sentenced to death after his conviction in 2006. He was granted a retrial in July of this year (because of a biased juror in his first trial) and I just found out the results today. My pen pal has always been honest with me about the crime he committed. He acknowledged that he did it and he entered a guilty plea in the retrial.
In July, he was found guilty but this time sentenced to life without parole. Because of the guilty plea he made, he didn't get the death penalty. I pray that one day the death penalty won't even be on the table for anyone. I pray one day that the death penalty won't even be a part of the equation. My pen pal isn't perfect and he did a terrible crime and my heart goes out to the victims, but an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I am happy that my friend can live a long life and try to make right by what he did.
I just wanted to share two snip-its of life that have made me smile. I hope all had a wonderful Thanksgiving! We certainly have many things to be thankful for and many people around us to help remind us of the outward love we all deserve.
There have been two major things that have happened this week that have warmed my heart and have helped remind me of the larger world I live in.
1) I was sitting in my cozy living room on Wednesday night, watching the news, when the show did a special on an event DC does every year for Thanksgiving. The event is a celebration of all those adopted that year. Kids from age newborn to 16 are shown with their new, adoptive parents and families. I didn't think much of it until I saw a clip of my student being held by her social worker and her 3-year-old brother being held by their grandmother. This was the same student I wrote about in my blog entitled, "Home". She got adopted by her grandmother!
Thinking about all she has been through in her short 5 years of life, I couldn't help but feel excited for her and what this means for her future. This little girl won't be scared to go home anymore; she'll have the support she needs at home and she'll have a great environment to grow up in. I am so happy for her and so thankful that everything worked out for her family.
2) I found out today that my Death Row inmate that I've been writing back and forth with as part of the "Death Row Support Project" has been relocated. My pen pal was sentenced to death after his conviction in 2006. He was granted a retrial in July of this year (because of a biased juror in his first trial) and I just found out the results today. My pen pal has always been honest with me about the crime he committed. He acknowledged that he did it and he entered a guilty plea in the retrial.
In July, he was found guilty but this time sentenced to life without parole. Because of the guilty plea he made, he didn't get the death penalty. I pray that one day the death penalty won't even be on the table for anyone. I pray one day that the death penalty won't even be a part of the equation. My pen pal isn't perfect and he did a terrible crime and my heart goes out to the victims, but an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. I am happy that my friend can live a long life and try to make right by what he did.
I just wanted to share two snip-its of life that have made me smile. I hope all had a wonderful Thanksgiving! We certainly have many things to be thankful for and many people around us to help remind us of the outward love we all deserve.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Thankful for Maple Syrup Belly Buttons
On the eve of the eve of Thanksgiving, thoughts of gratitude are swarming my brain.
During our writing lesson today, I tried to have my Kindergarten kids write about what they were thankful for and one of my high energy students shouted, "hey! My belly button smells like maple syrup!"
In that moment, her ADD and excitement over something unexpected is what I am grateful for this year.
I have my health, I have a wonderful family, always willing to challenge me yet also keep me grounded to who I am as a Conway. I have my students, who frustrate me only about half as often as they make me smile. I have a roof over my head and food in my refrigerator. I have two years of a service corps under my belt (i.e. two years of perspective, challenges, insight and love).
So even though my belly button does not smell like maple syrup, I have a lot to be thankful for.
However, this Thanksgiving seems to bring my heart and mind to pause a wee bit. I have spent Thanksgiving away from family before but this is the first one where I am spending the holiday by myself. I am excited for the time alone but all that time alone has made me more aware of the changes I've made in my life.
The distance between my family/friends and myself is more apparent now that I don't have a volunteer program to focus on. In short, I miss them. I miss being around friends who have been there through my awkward middle school years or friends who have seen me change through my college years. I miss the close-knit relationships I have back in Washington. I love the friends I have in DC, but it just isn't the same. Friends in Washington are getting married, having babies, starting new careers, moving, etc. and I feel like I am sitting on the sidelines, watching.
I decided to stay on the east coast because I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to blaze my own path, without a volunteer program to direct me or family nearby to support me. I wanted to feel self-sufficient and independent. Well, I got it; I have it.
With that said, I am grateful for these past four months of self-sufficiency. I am grateful for the friends who have supported me before and during these past three years of east coast livin'. I am grateful for the children that broke my heart in Bridgeport and my current children in my Wolfpack classroom. I am grateful because all these experiences and people have helped me to realize that I belong on the west coast; my heart is there and my soul is there. It is my hope that after 5 years of living on the east coast is done, I will pack up a U-Haul and move back to Washington (that's 2015, if you're wondering).
I am grateful for so much and this time apart from those I love only amplifies that. I have been so fortunate and so blessed with the opportunities given to me. I thank God, my friends, my family and my co-workers for continuing to shape, challenge and support me. I am grateful for many things, especially little moments of unexpected silliness that help remind me to get excited about the little things, like maple syrup belly buttons.
During our writing lesson today, I tried to have my Kindergarten kids write about what they were thankful for and one of my high energy students shouted, "hey! My belly button smells like maple syrup!"
In that moment, her ADD and excitement over something unexpected is what I am grateful for this year.
I have my health, I have a wonderful family, always willing to challenge me yet also keep me grounded to who I am as a Conway. I have my students, who frustrate me only about half as often as they make me smile. I have a roof over my head and food in my refrigerator. I have two years of a service corps under my belt (i.e. two years of perspective, challenges, insight and love).
So even though my belly button does not smell like maple syrup, I have a lot to be thankful for.
However, this Thanksgiving seems to bring my heart and mind to pause a wee bit. I have spent Thanksgiving away from family before but this is the first one where I am spending the holiday by myself. I am excited for the time alone but all that time alone has made me more aware of the changes I've made in my life.
The distance between my family/friends and myself is more apparent now that I don't have a volunteer program to focus on. In short, I miss them. I miss being around friends who have been there through my awkward middle school years or friends who have seen me change through my college years. I miss the close-knit relationships I have back in Washington. I love the friends I have in DC, but it just isn't the same. Friends in Washington are getting married, having babies, starting new careers, moving, etc. and I feel like I am sitting on the sidelines, watching.
I decided to stay on the east coast because I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to blaze my own path, without a volunteer program to direct me or family nearby to support me. I wanted to feel self-sufficient and independent. Well, I got it; I have it.
With that said, I am grateful for these past four months of self-sufficiency. I am grateful for the friends who have supported me before and during these past three years of east coast livin'. I am grateful for the children that broke my heart in Bridgeport and my current children in my Wolfpack classroom. I am grateful because all these experiences and people have helped me to realize that I belong on the west coast; my heart is there and my soul is there. It is my hope that after 5 years of living on the east coast is done, I will pack up a U-Haul and move back to Washington (that's 2015, if you're wondering).
I am grateful for so much and this time apart from those I love only amplifies that. I have been so fortunate and so blessed with the opportunities given to me. I thank God, my friends, my family and my co-workers for continuing to shape, challenge and support me. I am grateful for many things, especially little moments of unexpected silliness that help remind me to get excited about the little things, like maple syrup belly buttons.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Reflections on Turning 25
As a five-year-old, I remember imagining myself at 16; thinking, "wow, I'll be driving, hanging out with cool friends, carrying around a lot of heavy books and hanging out at my locker a ton." When 16 came, those ideas became sorta realities, with some obvious twists.
Now that I'm four days away from turning a quarter century old, I'm remembering what I thought of 25 when I was five years old.
By 25, I thought I'd be wise, mature, accomplished. I thought I would've owned a house, that I cooked in all the time and drove a car to fancy meetings every day and discussed important business things, using big business words. I can confidently say, most of those things haven't happened. And I can also confidently say, I am thankful that they haven't.
I am silly and giggly and I act much like a five-year-old still. I know I can have a serious conversation or laugh at some fart joke. So I guess the maturity thing might reach me by the time I reach 1/2 a century old. As for the rest, I can't imagine being that person right now. My life has had many twists and turns, more ups than downs and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I have had the privilege to meet many people from coast to coast who inspire me to be a better version of myself and remind me of what truly matters. I have traveled to places I never thought imaginable. I have a loving and semi-strange family and a caring and humorous roommate. As well as some loyal and amazing friends from Washington (the state) to PA, to CT, to DC to NOLA. And I have found my calling within my vocation. I am blessed. I guess if these past 25 years have taught me anything, it's that blessings come in many forms and there are too many to count, if we choose to open our eyes to see them.
Some Thoughts/Words of Wisdom to my 5-Year-Old Self:
1) Never Stop Smiling
2) Love the ones You are With
3) When in Doubt, Wear the Onsie
4) Never Shy Away From an Adventure or a Chance to Learn
5) Be Kind to Your Siblings
6) Be Kind to Yourself
7) Never Let Anyone Cheapen You
8) Color Outside of the Lines Once in a While
9) Have Dance Parties as Often as Possible
10) Never Lose Sight of Your 5-Year-Old Self
My birthday party on Saturday is Kindergarten themed. I had the choice between doing a "Senior Citizen" party or a "Kindergarten" party and I think it's obvious why I chose the theme I did...I hope to never lose sight of my five-year-old self and I am excited to see what this new quarter century brings me.
For Your Viewing Pleasure:
(First Day of Kindergarten)
Now that I'm four days away from turning a quarter century old, I'm remembering what I thought of 25 when I was five years old.
By 25, I thought I'd be wise, mature, accomplished. I thought I would've owned a house, that I cooked in all the time and drove a car to fancy meetings every day and discussed important business things, using big business words. I can confidently say, most of those things haven't happened. And I can also confidently say, I am thankful that they haven't.
I am silly and giggly and I act much like a five-year-old still. I know I can have a serious conversation or laugh at some fart joke. So I guess the maturity thing might reach me by the time I reach 1/2 a century old. As for the rest, I can't imagine being that person right now. My life has had many twists and turns, more ups than downs and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I have had the privilege to meet many people from coast to coast who inspire me to be a better version of myself and remind me of what truly matters. I have traveled to places I never thought imaginable. I have a loving and semi-strange family and a caring and humorous roommate. As well as some loyal and amazing friends from Washington (the state) to PA, to CT, to DC to NOLA. And I have found my calling within my vocation. I am blessed. I guess if these past 25 years have taught me anything, it's that blessings come in many forms and there are too many to count, if we choose to open our eyes to see them.
Some Thoughts/Words of Wisdom to my 5-Year-Old Self:
1) Never Stop Smiling
2) Love the ones You are With
3) When in Doubt, Wear the Onsie
4) Never Shy Away From an Adventure or a Chance to Learn
5) Be Kind to Your Siblings
6) Be Kind to Yourself
7) Never Let Anyone Cheapen You
8) Color Outside of the Lines Once in a While
9) Have Dance Parties as Often as Possible
10) Never Lose Sight of Your 5-Year-Old Self
My birthday party on Saturday is Kindergarten themed. I had the choice between doing a "Senior Citizen" party or a "Kindergarten" party and I think it's obvious why I chose the theme I did...I hope to never lose sight of my five-year-old self and I am excited to see what this new quarter century brings me.
For Your Viewing Pleasure:
(First Day of Kindergarten)
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The Slugs of Life
Let me paint you a picture: I am sitting in my sweats, on my living room couch, drinking a "naughty milk" as Mama Conway calls it (Bailey's and hot cocoa) and thinking about the craziness of this past week.
Leading up to Friday, I was busy planning and stressing about my classroom's first field trip ever. Figuring out chaperones, transportation, lunch, permission slips, fares, times, exhibits to see, etc. occupied my mind for four solid days. Then, the day finally came, and I was petrified my "Anti-Christ" kid would jump into the lion's den or I'd lose a kid or one of my nut allergy kids would touch something contaminated. But alas, we set out for the National Zoo.
My kids were adorable, yet scared, to ride the Metro. They held on to our hands tightly and proceeded to fit three to a seat because they all wanted to talk to us. Slight side note, the National Zoo is a bit of a walk from the Metro stop (a fact I didn't know so my kids were grumpy about it). We saw Cheetahs, baby Cheetahs, Gazelles, wolves, red pandas, giant pandas, elephants, all the monkeys in world, the reptile house and a SLUG (something we're learning about it science right now).
My chaperones were great and lunch eventually got figured out but the return trip was rough. My kids were exhausted and very grouchy about walking so far...it was not pleasant and I was also exhausted. BUT they seemed to enjoy themselves a lot and they talked about the slug the most (so funny that we go to the zoo and the animal they love the most is a slug). They talked about how big it was and used the vocab words we learned to describe the slug and they made predictions about whether the slug had a family and most importantly, they asked to return to the zoo so they could see the slug again.
From that point until now, I have been on the go...living out my elongated "weekend zoo", if you will. I went to my friend's all-female arm wrestling competition, helped a friend move on Saturday, toured the monuments at night on Saturday and then ran in the Color Run (5K race) today. It's been non-stop but when I think about the fun moments I shared with the amazing people I am blessed to know, I don't think of those moments on a grand scale.
They usually involve 20 minute conversations about the term, "turn your head and cough" or having dance parties while waiting to have our group called to begin the Color Run or trying to fix my friend's toilet or shooting Nerf guns at each other in my friend's apartment...it's the small things...it's the "slugs" that have me excited and leave me happy that I experienced it all.
As I think about the many ways I over plan my life and try to micro manage the big projects, I think about my kids. I think about their ability to find joy in the smallest and unexpected. I think about the silly little moments I've shared with them and with my friends that I cherish. Sure, the big things were fun too but it's the down time, the side conversations, the unplanned slugs that pop up when you're expecting to see an Orangutang that fills your soul and warms your heart. This weekend, within the craziness of life, I am most grateful for the unexpected slugs that came my way and my kids for reminding me the importance of those slugs.
Leading up to Friday, I was busy planning and stressing about my classroom's first field trip ever. Figuring out chaperones, transportation, lunch, permission slips, fares, times, exhibits to see, etc. occupied my mind for four solid days. Then, the day finally came, and I was petrified my "Anti-Christ" kid would jump into the lion's den or I'd lose a kid or one of my nut allergy kids would touch something contaminated. But alas, we set out for the National Zoo.
My kids were adorable, yet scared, to ride the Metro. They held on to our hands tightly and proceeded to fit three to a seat because they all wanted to talk to us. Slight side note, the National Zoo is a bit of a walk from the Metro stop (a fact I didn't know so my kids were grumpy about it). We saw Cheetahs, baby Cheetahs, Gazelles, wolves, red pandas, giant pandas, elephants, all the monkeys in world, the reptile house and a SLUG (something we're learning about it science right now).
My chaperones were great and lunch eventually got figured out but the return trip was rough. My kids were exhausted and very grouchy about walking so far...it was not pleasant and I was also exhausted. BUT they seemed to enjoy themselves a lot and they talked about the slug the most (so funny that we go to the zoo and the animal they love the most is a slug). They talked about how big it was and used the vocab words we learned to describe the slug and they made predictions about whether the slug had a family and most importantly, they asked to return to the zoo so they could see the slug again.
From that point until now, I have been on the go...living out my elongated "weekend zoo", if you will. I went to my friend's all-female arm wrestling competition, helped a friend move on Saturday, toured the monuments at night on Saturday and then ran in the Color Run (5K race) today. It's been non-stop but when I think about the fun moments I shared with the amazing people I am blessed to know, I don't think of those moments on a grand scale.
They usually involve 20 minute conversations about the term, "turn your head and cough" or having dance parties while waiting to have our group called to begin the Color Run or trying to fix my friend's toilet or shooting Nerf guns at each other in my friend's apartment...it's the small things...it's the "slugs" that have me excited and leave me happy that I experienced it all.
As I think about the many ways I over plan my life and try to micro manage the big projects, I think about my kids. I think about their ability to find joy in the smallest and unexpected. I think about the silly little moments I've shared with them and with my friends that I cherish. Sure, the big things were fun too but it's the down time, the side conversations, the unplanned slugs that pop up when you're expecting to see an Orangutang that fills your soul and warms your heart. This weekend, within the craziness of life, I am most grateful for the unexpected slugs that came my way and my kids for reminding me the importance of those slugs.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Eros: I Will Give Myself to You
Brittney visited today. I hadn't realized how much I missed her and her supportive spirit. It brought back such wonderful memories and feelings. Colleen, Britt and I went to breakfast together and then Mass; it was kind of a JVC 2011-2012 reunion for us. I haven't been to Mass since August 5th, which was the last time Britt was in DC, so entering those giant wooden church doors with her by my side was even more meaningful.
When Britt, Colleen and I selected our pew and finished our prayers, we looked up to see the one and only, Fr. Paul Dressler (a Franciscan Friar). He began his "term" with St. Augustine's the same time we moved to DC and we bonded with him because of his warmth, authenticity and amazing homilies. During our JV year in DC, we invited him over to our place and got to know him fairly well.
It seemed as though the planets aligned to have us all there, under God's roof, to celebrate kinship, family and love.
As Fr. Paul read the Gospel and we all sat down to hear his words of wisdom in the homily, he quoted the opening line to the movie, "Mystic River":
When Britt, Colleen and I selected our pew and finished our prayers, we looked up to see the one and only, Fr. Paul Dressler (a Franciscan Friar). He began his "term" with St. Augustine's the same time we moved to DC and we bonded with him because of his warmth, authenticity and amazing homilies. During our JV year in DC, we invited him over to our place and got to know him fairly well.
It seemed as though the planets aligned to have us all there, under God's roof, to celebrate kinship, family and love.
As Fr. Paul read the Gospel and we all sat down to hear his words of wisdom in the homily, he quoted the opening line to the movie, "Mystic River":
“Brendan Harris loved Katie Marcus like crazy, loved her
like movie love, with an orchestra booming through his blood and
flooding his ears. He loved her waking up, going to bed, loved her all
day and every second in between. Brendan Harris would love Katie Marcus
fat and ugly. He’d love her with bad skin and thick
fuzz on her upper lip. He’d love her toothless. He’d love her bald.
Katie. The trill of her name sliding through his brain was
enough to make Brendan feel like he could walk on water and bench-press an eighteen-wheeler,
toss it across the street when he was finished with it.
Brendan Harris loved everyone now because he loved Katie and
Katie loved him. Brendan loved traffic and smog and the sound of
jackhammers. He loved Monday mornings and standing in line at the DMV. Everything was sweeter because he loved Katie and Katie loved him."
Fr. Paul later related Brendan's love, his crazy movie love, a desirable love; Eros (as the Greek call it). A love that we all thirst for, a love that makes life sweeter and the DMV less painful. Fr. Paul explained that God's love for us is in fact Eros, it is movie love...his love is crazy, mad, stupid love because he loves us even when we are toothless, fat and ugly and even on Mondays. God has a thirst, a burning desire to love us and that is Eros.
As the choir began to softly transition the church into preparing for communion; they sang, "I Will Give Myself to You." As I sat between two women who saw me change and grow during my second JV year and presently, keep my heart in check, I realized that as long as God keeps sending me beautiful people like them to help live out His Eros love for me, the task of "giving myself to Him" becomes a little less scary and less challenging.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Home
Over the past week I have become obsessed with this song called "Are We There Yet?" by Ingrid Michaelson. Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ingridmichaelson/arewethereyet.html
This song has interesting lyrics and keeps popping up in my day-to-day adventures and outings. In it, she describes the hope, the confusion, the unsteady wondering of whether the place she is at right now is where she belongs. In the song, her evolution comes full circle and she changes from looking outward to inward. She asks herself, "do I make someone else feel like they're home? What am I doing?"
I think this song keeps popping up in my life for multiple reasons. In the past month I have wondered if DC and teaching here is where I belong. I have felt a little doubt; especially as I dive deeper into this transition into adulthood. I keep wondering how different my life would be if I were back on the west coast. I keep wondering how my family, my friends, my "home" are doing. I think of them and the roles they would play in my life, if I lived there. As I ponder these things and try to distract myself with work and with apple picking or Back to School Night or some fall activity, I realize, God has me here because He wants me to be here.
It isn't my job to ask if I am there yet...it's my job to ask if I am giving my gifts to the fullest or if I am helping someone else feel at home here.
As this song kept popping up, one of my students on Friday personified the song. My precious, little sweetheart of a Kindergarten girl who is a ward of the District and lives with her grandmother and little brother, put my life into perspective. On Friday, at around 2:30pm, she became very upset. Now, Debra* is usually upbeat, smiley, loving and giving to other classmates so this sudden attitude change alarmed me. Debra was crying and couldn't tell me why.
At around 3:30pm, the after-school-care people came to pick her, and a few other students of mine, up. Debra became frantic. I got down to her level, looked her in the eyes and said, "I need you you to tell me why you're crying. I don't like to see you cry and I want to help; it hurts me to not be able to help you."
She looked up and said, "I want my Grandma. I don't want to go home with my mom today." And she lost it. She lost every ounce of composure she was trying to maintain. In that second, my kids from Bridgeport came back to mind, the kids who were afraid to go home, the kids who would stall or run away from mom, dad, brother, uncle, grandma or auntie. I was reminded of the pure terror some of my kids felt at the mere sight of their guardians coming to pick them up and then looked at Debra, my bubbly, giggly, little girl.
I hugged her tightly, not wanting to let her go and I whispered to her, "You will be home tonight, with Grandma. She will be there. And remember that even when Grandma or I are not around, we are always thinking of you. I am always thinking of you, Debra. I am always here so if you need to cry, I will be right here, OK?"
And there I squatted and she collapsed into the crease of my neck and cried; we both cried. Are we there yet? I have no idea. I don't think I know what home looks like for me yet. But I know what it feels like and in those short moments that help remind me of those feelings, I know that I am right where I need to be.
*Names have been changed
This song has interesting lyrics and keeps popping up in my day-to-day adventures and outings. In it, she describes the hope, the confusion, the unsteady wondering of whether the place she is at right now is where she belongs. In the song, her evolution comes full circle and she changes from looking outward to inward. She asks herself, "do I make someone else feel like they're home? What am I doing?"
I think this song keeps popping up in my life for multiple reasons. In the past month I have wondered if DC and teaching here is where I belong. I have felt a little doubt; especially as I dive deeper into this transition into adulthood. I keep wondering how different my life would be if I were back on the west coast. I keep wondering how my family, my friends, my "home" are doing. I think of them and the roles they would play in my life, if I lived there. As I ponder these things and try to distract myself with work and with apple picking or Back to School Night or some fall activity, I realize, God has me here because He wants me to be here.
It isn't my job to ask if I am there yet...it's my job to ask if I am giving my gifts to the fullest or if I am helping someone else feel at home here.
As this song kept popping up, one of my students on Friday personified the song. My precious, little sweetheart of a Kindergarten girl who is a ward of the District and lives with her grandmother and little brother, put my life into perspective. On Friday, at around 2:30pm, she became very upset. Now, Debra* is usually upbeat, smiley, loving and giving to other classmates so this sudden attitude change alarmed me. Debra was crying and couldn't tell me why.
At around 3:30pm, the after-school-care people came to pick her, and a few other students of mine, up. Debra became frantic. I got down to her level, looked her in the eyes and said, "I need you you to tell me why you're crying. I don't like to see you cry and I want to help; it hurts me to not be able to help you."
She looked up and said, "I want my Grandma. I don't want to go home with my mom today." And she lost it. She lost every ounce of composure she was trying to maintain. In that second, my kids from Bridgeport came back to mind, the kids who were afraid to go home, the kids who would stall or run away from mom, dad, brother, uncle, grandma or auntie. I was reminded of the pure terror some of my kids felt at the mere sight of their guardians coming to pick them up and then looked at Debra, my bubbly, giggly, little girl.
I hugged her tightly, not wanting to let her go and I whispered to her, "You will be home tonight, with Grandma. She will be there. And remember that even when Grandma or I are not around, we are always thinking of you. I am always thinking of you, Debra. I am always here so if you need to cry, I will be right here, OK?"
And there I squatted and she collapsed into the crease of my neck and cried; we both cried. Are we there yet? I have no idea. I don't think I know what home looks like for me yet. But I know what it feels like and in those short moments that help remind me of those feelings, I know that I am right where I need to be.
*Names have been changed
Sunday, September 30, 2012
I Get Knocked Down...
Adventures from my Kindergarten classroom continue.
As I head into week six of school, it has become increasingly obvious that I should point out something very big that I've been pushing under the rug for a while about my classroom.
Throughout these past five weeks I have had to wrestle with many changes, but the biggest thing I have had to wrestle with is a five-year-old boy I will call lovingly, AC (or "Anti-Christ"). He is a terror. I have dealt with mean or "bad" kids before but he takes the cake. He has made me realize that not all children are deep down, great kids...some of them are just rotten deep down, no matter how far down you dig.
Let me enlighten you...AC is smart...he is very clever and reads at level. BUT he has major behavioral issues. I first saw this when he climbed on our tables and counters day one of school and thought it was funny to leave the classroom whenever he liked. This behavior has since escalated into leaving the classroom at least six times a day, throwing objects, screaming, making noises, throwing chairs, climbing on tables, bookshelves and chairs, playing with scissors, slamming doors repeatedly and my favorite, hitting/punching/kicking teachers.
I have had to put AC in a bear hug hold at least twice a day (something I am not trained to do) and have come home with multiple bruises, scraps and scratches. But Friday took the cake...Friday, he showed his truest colors and it's fair to say that I really dislike this boy.
On Friday morning, he came in as he usually does, sweet as pie, smiling and saying, "good morning, Ms. Katie." And then around 9:30am (every day its around the same time) he got up and started playing around on our bean bag chairs. At break, he sat on two of our girls on purpose and after I told him that he wasn't being safe with his body on the carpet during shared reading, he ran to the scissors bin. As he wrestled through the scissors bin, I pulled his hand out and put the bin out of his reach. He then rammed his head into my stomach and grunted loudly at me in anger.
I squatted down to his level and asked him to use his words because I couldn't help him if he couldn't use his words and he yelled, "get away from me."
I said, "OK. But we need to be safe with our bodies, OK? When you're ready, I'd love a partner on the carpet."
He screamed, "no! I don't want to." Then he proceeded to look me dead in the eyes, pull back his head and ram it into my nose. Yes, boys and girls, I was head-butted by a five-year-old; something I never thought would happen to me.
As my eyes welled up, I grabbed his arm and took him straight to the office so the Special Ed. Coordinator could take him off my hands while I iced my nose.
This is my life. This is around 65% of what I do 40 hours a week. I told my roommate that I feel like I am caught in an abusive relationship because he beats me up, does whatever he wants to me and I keep smiling and coming back to him the next day as if nothing happened.
He has been kicked out of almost every school he's been at because of this behavior. I am too stubborn to let him get kicked out BUT at what point do we start drawing the line? Does he need to take the scissors and cut me with them to have something radical done? I love where I am and I love my kids; but this is week six. If this is what's happening at week six, I fear a roundhouse kick to my face might be just around the bend at week 16. What's next?
So I am left, with this sinking feeling as I head into school tomorrow morning because my abuser will be there and no matter how hard he knocks me down, gosh darn it, the only thing I can do is get back up again.
As I head into week six of school, it has become increasingly obvious that I should point out something very big that I've been pushing under the rug for a while about my classroom.
Throughout these past five weeks I have had to wrestle with many changes, but the biggest thing I have had to wrestle with is a five-year-old boy I will call lovingly, AC (or "Anti-Christ"). He is a terror. I have dealt with mean or "bad" kids before but he takes the cake. He has made me realize that not all children are deep down, great kids...some of them are just rotten deep down, no matter how far down you dig.
Let me enlighten you...AC is smart...he is very clever and reads at level. BUT he has major behavioral issues. I first saw this when he climbed on our tables and counters day one of school and thought it was funny to leave the classroom whenever he liked. This behavior has since escalated into leaving the classroom at least six times a day, throwing objects, screaming, making noises, throwing chairs, climbing on tables, bookshelves and chairs, playing with scissors, slamming doors repeatedly and my favorite, hitting/punching/kicking teachers.
I have had to put AC in a bear hug hold at least twice a day (something I am not trained to do) and have come home with multiple bruises, scraps and scratches. But Friday took the cake...Friday, he showed his truest colors and it's fair to say that I really dislike this boy.
On Friday morning, he came in as he usually does, sweet as pie, smiling and saying, "good morning, Ms. Katie." And then around 9:30am (every day its around the same time) he got up and started playing around on our bean bag chairs. At break, he sat on two of our girls on purpose and after I told him that he wasn't being safe with his body on the carpet during shared reading, he ran to the scissors bin. As he wrestled through the scissors bin, I pulled his hand out and put the bin out of his reach. He then rammed his head into my stomach and grunted loudly at me in anger.
I squatted down to his level and asked him to use his words because I couldn't help him if he couldn't use his words and he yelled, "get away from me."
I said, "OK. But we need to be safe with our bodies, OK? When you're ready, I'd love a partner on the carpet."
He screamed, "no! I don't want to." Then he proceeded to look me dead in the eyes, pull back his head and ram it into my nose. Yes, boys and girls, I was head-butted by a five-year-old; something I never thought would happen to me.
As my eyes welled up, I grabbed his arm and took him straight to the office so the Special Ed. Coordinator could take him off my hands while I iced my nose.
This is my life. This is around 65% of what I do 40 hours a week. I told my roommate that I feel like I am caught in an abusive relationship because he beats me up, does whatever he wants to me and I keep smiling and coming back to him the next day as if nothing happened.
He has been kicked out of almost every school he's been at because of this behavior. I am too stubborn to let him get kicked out BUT at what point do we start drawing the line? Does he need to take the scissors and cut me with them to have something radical done? I love where I am and I love my kids; but this is week six. If this is what's happening at week six, I fear a roundhouse kick to my face might be just around the bend at week 16. What's next?
So I am left, with this sinking feeling as I head into school tomorrow morning because my abuser will be there and no matter how hard he knocks me down, gosh darn it, the only thing I can do is get back up again.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Go Forward, Don't Look Back
My lead teacher and I have been doing assessments on our kids since the beginning of the year...so around a month or so. And my kids run the gambit of reading levels and math levels. I have only one kid who can read at his appropriate level and one who is almost there and the rest are all reading below level. Two of my kids can't even tell me the letters in their names.
Instead of dwelling in the fact that my lead teacher and I have a lot of work to do, I am trying to keep the words my mom sent me yesterday in mind: "Go forward, don't look back."
I know where these kids are at; now it's time to push them to greatness. It's time to set the bar high and have them rise to it. It's so important that we get them all up to level now or it'll only become more difficult for them later in life. I'm not saying all my four-year olds need to write a novel by the end of the year, but having them gain the ability to recognize all 26 letters and write their first and last names isn't a crazy goal. I need to keep looking forward to what I hope they can accomplish.
Likewise, I went to the DMV yesterday. After sitting in line for an hour and a half, I walked up to the DMV worker (very nice, younger lady) and told her what I had to do. I had to switch my WA state license over to a DC one. She took my paperwork and my WA state license and went straight to work. As she was wrapping up I asked, "you think I could keep my old license? Ya know, for sentimental reasons."
She looked at me and said, "no, we have to shred them."
I guess I wasn't pathetic enough so I replied, "how about you don't tell anyone? I mean, I feel like a traitor, switching licenses and abandoning my home."
She said, "no, I have to shred it...it's our policy."
Not moments later the nice, young lady plopped my old license in the shredder right in front of me. She didn't even wait for me to leave. And with that, I knew I had started a new chapter in my life. I walked back to the car and my mom texted me, "go forward, don't look back." She must've felt like a broken record at this point. She's right though, she's always right! I need to look forward with my life like I am looking forward
in my students' lives. Looking back is OK from time to time, but dwelling in the change and not moving forward only hurts me more, instead of help me.
I guess this jumbled thought pattern comes down to this, although my license may reflect my immediate future, I don't think I could ever neglect my past. I still love you like the dickens, Washington state!
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Gettin' Political About Government Aide
Alrighty, so I hate to use this as a platform for talking politics because I like to use my blog as self-preservation and exploration more than political commentary; BUT I was just watching the news and I heard about a two-minute clip of Paul Ryan (Republican VP hopeful) and his views on government aide.
In the clip, he states that "too many people feel entitled to government aide like SSI." He goes on to say that he believes the government aide programs need to be re-vamped and re-evaluated (which I agree with, but his re-vamping and my re-vamping would look very, very different).
I got a little heated when I this clip because of what I know and what I've seen. In DC, I worked for eight months as a case manager, trying to find housing, trying to gain citizenship, trying to find jobs and trying to apply for government aide like SSI with many, many homeless men and women. In that time, I sat through enough SSI applications and phone interviews with different guest, so needless to say, I know the process.
For example, picking just one man experiencing homelessness out of a hat, there's Gilbert. Now Gilbert has been applying for SSI and SSDI (disability) for at least nine months now. In that time he has suffered a heart attack and has had to re-learn some of his speech because his heart attack messed with his memory and speech a little. When I started working with Gilbert in July, he showed me his disabilities...yes, it's plural.
He showed me his right hand (which had about a six inch long bubble on it that he's had for 30 years). He injured his hand working at age 23 and hasn't been able to hold a pen since. He showed me his ankles and feet (really gross, I'll spare you the details) and explained what the heart attack, he suffered from just months prior, had done to his daily routine.
Gilbert has been denied SSI and SSDI a few times...DENIED. Yes, boys and girls, denied and I'll say it one more time for good measure, DENIED. He has never approached me with a sense of entitlement and he has never asked for more than he needed. Gilbert is just one man out of the countless others I could share about.
So now I bring it back to where it began...Paul Ryan. Mr. Ryan, if "too many people felt entitled to SSI and were abusing government aide" than how come people who truly need it, like my friend Gilbert, can't even get approved for it? Why does it take over nine months to get approved for it (if you ever do) or go through the process? Wouldn't those who truly need it fight for it as long as they had to? They would stick with it because their livelihood depended on it. So maybe by the time it's finally awarded to them...hmmm...they might feel entitled to it or worse, earned it.
My over-all questions for all political figures are these: when have you ever stepped into a government aide office? When have you ever attempted to ask for help, when you desperately needed it and were denied three times? When have you waited in line for three hours to even submit your food stamps application, only to be talked down to, told you wrote something incorrectly so your application was denied, verbally abused or neglected entirely? When has that ever been part of your life experience? When has that ever been your reality? I know it was never a part of my reality until eight months ago.
I didn't fully understand government aide until I started helping people apply for it. And now I know how tedious and embarrassing and hopeless the process is. If the many people I assisted in applying for government aide is who Mr. Ryan believes feels "entitled" than I would challenge him spend a day, nothing more, just a day, applying for these "oh-so-wonderful" government programs he is referring to.
In the clip, he states that "too many people feel entitled to government aide like SSI." He goes on to say that he believes the government aide programs need to be re-vamped and re-evaluated (which I agree with, but his re-vamping and my re-vamping would look very, very different).
I got a little heated when I this clip because of what I know and what I've seen. In DC, I worked for eight months as a case manager, trying to find housing, trying to gain citizenship, trying to find jobs and trying to apply for government aide like SSI with many, many homeless men and women. In that time, I sat through enough SSI applications and phone interviews with different guest, so needless to say, I know the process.
For example, picking just one man experiencing homelessness out of a hat, there's Gilbert. Now Gilbert has been applying for SSI and SSDI (disability) for at least nine months now. In that time he has suffered a heart attack and has had to re-learn some of his speech because his heart attack messed with his memory and speech a little. When I started working with Gilbert in July, he showed me his disabilities...yes, it's plural.
He showed me his right hand (which had about a six inch long bubble on it that he's had for 30 years). He injured his hand working at age 23 and hasn't been able to hold a pen since. He showed me his ankles and feet (really gross, I'll spare you the details) and explained what the heart attack, he suffered from just months prior, had done to his daily routine.
Gilbert has been denied SSI and SSDI a few times...DENIED. Yes, boys and girls, denied and I'll say it one more time for good measure, DENIED. He has never approached me with a sense of entitlement and he has never asked for more than he needed. Gilbert is just one man out of the countless others I could share about.
So now I bring it back to where it began...Paul Ryan. Mr. Ryan, if "too many people felt entitled to SSI and were abusing government aide" than how come people who truly need it, like my friend Gilbert, can't even get approved for it? Why does it take over nine months to get approved for it (if you ever do) or go through the process? Wouldn't those who truly need it fight for it as long as they had to? They would stick with it because their livelihood depended on it. So maybe by the time it's finally awarded to them...hmmm...they might feel entitled to it or worse, earned it.
My over-all questions for all political figures are these: when have you ever stepped into a government aide office? When have you ever attempted to ask for help, when you desperately needed it and were denied three times? When have you waited in line for three hours to even submit your food stamps application, only to be talked down to, told you wrote something incorrectly so your application was denied, verbally abused or neglected entirely? When has that ever been part of your life experience? When has that ever been your reality? I know it was never a part of my reality until eight months ago.
I didn't fully understand government aide until I started helping people apply for it. And now I know how tedious and embarrassing and hopeless the process is. If the many people I assisted in applying for government aide is who Mr. Ryan believes feels "entitled" than I would challenge him spend a day, nothing more, just a day, applying for these "oh-so-wonderful" government programs he is referring to.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Is it Afternoon Time?
Another "Sunday" posting from yours truly...only a day late... :)
I have a student who at 2:30pm, or so, will ask daily if it's afternoon time. He raises his hand firmly in the air and as I approach, he sits wide-eyed ready to ask me the inevitable question, "Ms. Katie, is it afternoon time yet?" By now, I am used to his quirks especially considering this is the same little guy who asks me to flush the toilet after he uses it because it scares him.
But my answer to his afternoon question was the same every time, "Well, it's 2:43pm (or 2:17pm or 2:30pm), so that makes it afternoon time." I never caught on as to why he asked me this every day until this past Friday.
On Friday, like clockwork at 2:26pm, he confidently put his hand in the air. I asked him what was up and he asked me if it was afternoon time. I told him it was 2:26pm, so that made it afternoon time. Before I got up from my crouch I asked, "so why do you ask me that every day?"
He looked down at the ground and said, "I don't like afternoon time."
I asked, "why is that? It means you get to go home."
Without a beat he said, "that's why I don't like it. I want to stay here. I don't want to play with grown ups, here is more fun."
His statement hit my heart and I said, "well, Ms. Katie and Mr. McMahon are grown ups, what makes school so different than home?"
He whipped around and said, "Ms. Katie, you're not a grown up, you're a teacher!"
Truer words were never spoken before that moment. My lil' buddy was only foreshadowing my weekend as I headed into work Saturday morning for a "Meet and Play" at my school. Here, there were about 40 kids and 70 parents. My principal came up to me as I was hula hooping with a 5-year-old girl and said, "why don't you introduce yourself to some parents?"
I looked at her, of course dropped the hula hoop, and begrudgingly sulked off to find some grown ups to talk to. In that moment I thought of my little guy and his dislike of afternoon time and it all became clear.
I guess people gravitate toward those they relate to the most; and for me, and for my lil' friend, learning, laughing, getting excited over small things and enjoying a young spirit is our "day time". It is what gives us energy and life, it's what motivates us and it's always a little stinky when the afternoon comes and we have to do the things we don't naturally want to do.
I think it's important for me to keep in mind the thing I told my lil' friend to concentrate on: the positive to the day ending, is that it will begin again tomorrow and we can have the whole day to be together until it's afternoon time and we have to be with grown-ups again but eventually, the day time will come back.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
I'm a Cowboy, on a Steel Horse I Ride
Another Sunday reflection with Katie is due tonight.
I sometimes feel like the slow, smooth jazz radio DJ, Delilah as I begin my posts because I feel like I need to be in the right mood to post. I need to snuggle up to my computer, have my glasses firmly placed on my face and my cup of water neatly placed beside me before I can begin. And then I gain this sense that I need to "slow down and share about someone I love" and as Delilah so aptly puts it in her show: "slow down and love someone." So tonight, I am slowing down and sharing a story about a wee one I fell in love with.
His father is the lead prosecutor for DC but he is all of maybe three feet tall and is so incredibly eager to make my co-teacher or me happy. He always raises his hand, follows directions and smiles with a glint of suspicion in his eyes when you are kidding around with him. He is my favorite and I would take 20 of him in my class.
He is four. He is four but his personality is big. He is four and when he gets excited, he fumbles and stutters on his words because the sentence is just too exciting to put together. When at recess he tells me that I have to be the monster and chase him and then when I am doing it wrong he makes sure to help me out by telling me how to be a better monster. When he isn't running from me at recess, he's pretending the bottom half of the playground is his ice cream shop and sells ice cream cones for $2. Then, he always gives me an extra free one.
I have two favorite moments with my four-year-old friend. One, was when we were making a giant floor puzzle this week. He asked me to help and I said I would (of course I couldn't back down from puzzle making). As I was helping and he was starting to get piece after piece to fit, he grew more and more excited. His sentences quickly escalated to "we're doing it! We're getting it!" to the fumbling and stuttering of words. When he completed the border, I looked at him and said "great job, man!" and he looked up at me, with his little brown eyes and got caught up on his words, "you-and-puzzles-and-so-much-and-the-pieces-and-puzzles-and-fun-puzzles-this-is-great-puzzles-and..." (takes a deep breath) "will you be my best friend?"
This is why I teach. This is why a four-year-old and I can hang out for hours and never get bored.
The second occasion was on Thursday. In class, we've been learning sight words. This week's sight words have been "the", "A" and "I". To help the kids learn how to spell them, we hold up pretend lassos and swing them around once for each letter so "t-h-e- THE" would be four lasso swings over our heads. Well, at lunch on Thursday, my new best friend was making a nasty, mean face which made me worried. Why had this once very joyful boy have a scowl on his face? I asked him what was wrong and he said, "I'm a cowboy and I am here to protect this class from bad guys."
I looked at my best friend and asked, "so do you want me to call you Cowboy Tito* now?"
He said, "of course, because that's who I am and if anyone is a bad guy, I will get them."
I said, "well thank you Cowboy Tito. I'm sure glad we have such a brave friend to help us out."
He smiled and said, "Ms. Katie, it's me, it's Tito. But don't worry, I will be Cowboy Tito if bad guys ever show up."
This little man, my new best friend, has stolen my heart and I am so in love with the work I get to do. Whenever I am exhausted or sick of repeating the same direction over and over again, I think of Cowboy Tito and his smile and remember why I do what I do and why my heart truly belongs with children.
*Names have been changed
I sometimes feel like the slow, smooth jazz radio DJ, Delilah as I begin my posts because I feel like I need to be in the right mood to post. I need to snuggle up to my computer, have my glasses firmly placed on my face and my cup of water neatly placed beside me before I can begin. And then I gain this sense that I need to "slow down and share about someone I love" and as Delilah so aptly puts it in her show: "slow down and love someone." So tonight, I am slowing down and sharing a story about a wee one I fell in love with.
His father is the lead prosecutor for DC but he is all of maybe three feet tall and is so incredibly eager to make my co-teacher or me happy. He always raises his hand, follows directions and smiles with a glint of suspicion in his eyes when you are kidding around with him. He is my favorite and I would take 20 of him in my class.
He is four. He is four but his personality is big. He is four and when he gets excited, he fumbles and stutters on his words because the sentence is just too exciting to put together. When at recess he tells me that I have to be the monster and chase him and then when I am doing it wrong he makes sure to help me out by telling me how to be a better monster. When he isn't running from me at recess, he's pretending the bottom half of the playground is his ice cream shop and sells ice cream cones for $2. Then, he always gives me an extra free one.
I have two favorite moments with my four-year-old friend. One, was when we were making a giant floor puzzle this week. He asked me to help and I said I would (of course I couldn't back down from puzzle making). As I was helping and he was starting to get piece after piece to fit, he grew more and more excited. His sentences quickly escalated to "we're doing it! We're getting it!" to the fumbling and stuttering of words. When he completed the border, I looked at him and said "great job, man!" and he looked up at me, with his little brown eyes and got caught up on his words, "you-and-puzzles-and-so-much-and-the-pieces-and-puzzles-and-fun-puzzles-this-is-great-puzzles-and..." (takes a deep breath) "will you be my best friend?"
This is why I teach. This is why a four-year-old and I can hang out for hours and never get bored.
The second occasion was on Thursday. In class, we've been learning sight words. This week's sight words have been "the", "A" and "I". To help the kids learn how to spell them, we hold up pretend lassos and swing them around once for each letter so "t-h-e- THE" would be four lasso swings over our heads. Well, at lunch on Thursday, my new best friend was making a nasty, mean face which made me worried. Why had this once very joyful boy have a scowl on his face? I asked him what was wrong and he said, "I'm a cowboy and I am here to protect this class from bad guys."
I looked at my best friend and asked, "so do you want me to call you Cowboy Tito* now?"
He said, "of course, because that's who I am and if anyone is a bad guy, I will get them."
I said, "well thank you Cowboy Tito. I'm sure glad we have such a brave friend to help us out."
He smiled and said, "Ms. Katie, it's me, it's Tito. But don't worry, I will be Cowboy Tito if bad guys ever show up."
This little man, my new best friend, has stolen my heart and I am so in love with the work I get to do. Whenever I am exhausted or sick of repeating the same direction over and over again, I think of Cowboy Tito and his smile and remember why I do what I do and why my heart truly belongs with children.
*Names have been changed
Sunday, September 2, 2012
The Dance Keeps Changing
Well, it's Sunday and time for another Sunday reflection, brought to you by me!
I survived my first week of teaching Kindergarten. It happened and when all is said and done, I am excited to return on Tuesday.
As my last post suggests, my class is a little nontraditional in that we are a rag tag group of misfits thrown together; including yours truly. Our roster has changed at four times in the last week and the last change broke my heart a little. This is the subject of my reflection today.
My little buddy, Jason*, is 5 and in school for the first time. He has an IEP (special needs) and is an English Language Learner. He speaks Spanish (which I've enjoyed because I get to practice with him) and we've been working on his colors this week. He hates the dance parties we have in our classroom and will throw his hands on his head and look down at the ground in disgust whenever we begin dancing. It's hilarious.
Jason isn't literate in either language and barely knows Spanish. One of our golden moments with him was on Tuesday when my lead teacher asked him if he liked his graham cracker and he responded, "me gusta mucho" (I like it a lot). We were so excited because this meant he understood the words we were saying. He had some inkling of understanding. Jason gets frustrated in our class because he doesn't always understand what we're talking about and the only way he can communicate this is by crying or calling out in Spanish.
He has a big heart though. When he smiles, it warms everyone's hearts. He has a way of looking at you and making you laugh. He can't hold a marker, barely can hold a crayon (we're working on his motor skills) and he demolished his paper kite when learning how to use scissors; but Jason smiled the entire time, laughing all the way. He's my boy and my lead teacher loves him too.
On Wednesday afternoon, we had another golden moment with Jason. We turned on the music, began our dance party and after the usual hands on the head, downward eyes and occasional sitting; Jason got up and started dancing. Jason started dancing with his classmates. I almost started crying. He was so happy.
On Thursday afternoon, one of my supervisors came into my classroom and informed me that Jason was going to be moved to the non-categorical classroom (the children with more severe IEPs). This broke my heart. As I said goodbye, Jason said his usual, "adios...ahhh..."
The next morning I was walking in my classroom and I stopped to see Jason standing in front of my classroom door. I walked up to him and asked how he was doing (in Spanish) and all he said was, "no" and shook his head. When I looked behind me, I saw Jason's mom and little sister and my supervisor, trying to entice Jason to go to his new classroom. Jason kept saying, "no" and shaking his head. He stood there, with his little backpack on, fighting this change. He knew he didn't belong in that classroom as much as I did. It took 20 minutes, numerous toys, bubbles and my lead teacher to get him into his new classroom. As much as it made my heart happy/proud it also made me sad at the same time; and I also became frustrated.
I don't agree with this change. I believe he has more of a language issue than a special need and we were making progress with him; he was producing English when asked to say it in English and was communicating with us in one way or another. I learned a lesson though, I learned that no matter how much I advocate for him or believe within my heart that this move was the wrong decision, it's not my choice. I have very little say in the situation. I can cry, scream, protest, fight as much as I want, but at the end of the day, Jason is in the non-cat classroom and all I can do is pray he kicks so much booty in the non-cat room that he's returned to our classroom one day.
Until then, our dance parties are a little less humorous and rewarding; still fun, I just miss him throwing his hands on his head in disgust while sporting that huge smile.
*Names have been changed
I survived my first week of teaching Kindergarten. It happened and when all is said and done, I am excited to return on Tuesday.
As my last post suggests, my class is a little nontraditional in that we are a rag tag group of misfits thrown together; including yours truly. Our roster has changed at four times in the last week and the last change broke my heart a little. This is the subject of my reflection today.
My little buddy, Jason*, is 5 and in school for the first time. He has an IEP (special needs) and is an English Language Learner. He speaks Spanish (which I've enjoyed because I get to practice with him) and we've been working on his colors this week. He hates the dance parties we have in our classroom and will throw his hands on his head and look down at the ground in disgust whenever we begin dancing. It's hilarious.
Jason isn't literate in either language and barely knows Spanish. One of our golden moments with him was on Tuesday when my lead teacher asked him if he liked his graham cracker and he responded, "me gusta mucho" (I like it a lot). We were so excited because this meant he understood the words we were saying. He had some inkling of understanding. Jason gets frustrated in our class because he doesn't always understand what we're talking about and the only way he can communicate this is by crying or calling out in Spanish.
He has a big heart though. When he smiles, it warms everyone's hearts. He has a way of looking at you and making you laugh. He can't hold a marker, barely can hold a crayon (we're working on his motor skills) and he demolished his paper kite when learning how to use scissors; but Jason smiled the entire time, laughing all the way. He's my boy and my lead teacher loves him too.
On Wednesday afternoon, we had another golden moment with Jason. We turned on the music, began our dance party and after the usual hands on the head, downward eyes and occasional sitting; Jason got up and started dancing. Jason started dancing with his classmates. I almost started crying. He was so happy.
On Thursday afternoon, one of my supervisors came into my classroom and informed me that Jason was going to be moved to the non-categorical classroom (the children with more severe IEPs). This broke my heart. As I said goodbye, Jason said his usual, "adios...ahhh..."
The next morning I was walking in my classroom and I stopped to see Jason standing in front of my classroom door. I walked up to him and asked how he was doing (in Spanish) and all he said was, "no" and shook his head. When I looked behind me, I saw Jason's mom and little sister and my supervisor, trying to entice Jason to go to his new classroom. Jason kept saying, "no" and shaking his head. He stood there, with his little backpack on, fighting this change. He knew he didn't belong in that classroom as much as I did. It took 20 minutes, numerous toys, bubbles and my lead teacher to get him into his new classroom. As much as it made my heart happy/proud it also made me sad at the same time; and I also became frustrated.
I don't agree with this change. I believe he has more of a language issue than a special need and we were making progress with him; he was producing English when asked to say it in English and was communicating with us in one way or another. I learned a lesson though, I learned that no matter how much I advocate for him or believe within my heart that this move was the wrong decision, it's not my choice. I have very little say in the situation. I can cry, scream, protest, fight as much as I want, but at the end of the day, Jason is in the non-cat classroom and all I can do is pray he kicks so much booty in the non-cat room that he's returned to our classroom one day.
Until then, our dance parties are a little less humorous and rewarding; still fun, I just miss him throwing his hands on his head in disgust while sporting that huge smile.
*Names have been changed
Monday, August 27, 2012
First Day in the Trenches
Now that my name has been slapped on the door and my first two weeks worth of lesson plans have been written; my time to shine has come.
School opens for us at 8:30am. I got to work as soon as the building opened at 7am because I didn't want any last minute things to pop up. I wore my "dress to impress" outfit that also screamed "teacher" as I stood in front of the mirror in my classroom bathroom...too funny how we dress to fit the job we want or even the job we have.
At 8:30am, they came rolling in and it just took off from there. The statistical break down of my classroom goes as follows: 14 kids total: 7 Pre-K and 7 Kindergarten. 8 are ESL and 5 are special needs. It's a very "diverse" group to say the least but I always think of Mama T and her wise words: "God doesn't give me more than I can handle, I just wish he didn't trust me so much!"
The morning was alright because the kids were on their best behavior and as we approached recess at 11:30am, the fidgets became more obvious and the attention spans became less and less in length. We only had 9 today, but it felt like 30. My lead teacher and I were managing behavior as we chased one child off a table and another from playing around in the bathroom. The boy who climbed on the table also climbed on the window sill, punched me numerous times and ran out of classroom at one point. He has sensory and developmental delays so he's not always the most conscious of his physical actions. When he smiles though, it makes the bruises worth it. His toothy grin, missing one baby tooth, smack dab in the front and blob of hair stacked on top of his head combined with his laugh make his punches worth it.
One child called my lead teacher over and paused for a long time and finally piped up only to say, "Mr. McMahon, I like you." It was an old fashioned heart pat for sure.
I have another child who knows very little English. So I am practicing my Spanish with him. He cannot even name all the colors in Spanish so we're going to set goals for him as well. But by the end of the day, he realized that I was the only one who understood him, who could answer his questions and listen to him so he took to me. He hates dancing, but I am going to try to see past that...hahaha. It feels good to use my degree, to use the strategies I picked up in the ESL Ed. classes and see a child actually excited to be able to communicate with someone.
All in all, I am exhausted, my body aches and my head hurts but my heart is full. It is so full. I was nervous and apprehensive about pursuing this age group and teaching but today, despite everything, I am where I belong. I feel like I took a slight detour of exploration and self-growth and wound up back where I started; where I always knew I belonged deep down inside...these kids are going to continue to fill my heart and then break it once they graduate Kindergarten; and I am excited for that.
School opens for us at 8:30am. I got to work as soon as the building opened at 7am because I didn't want any last minute things to pop up. I wore my "dress to impress" outfit that also screamed "teacher" as I stood in front of the mirror in my classroom bathroom...too funny how we dress to fit the job we want or even the job we have.
At 8:30am, they came rolling in and it just took off from there. The statistical break down of my classroom goes as follows: 14 kids total: 7 Pre-K and 7 Kindergarten. 8 are ESL and 5 are special needs. It's a very "diverse" group to say the least but I always think of Mama T and her wise words: "God doesn't give me more than I can handle, I just wish he didn't trust me so much!"
The morning was alright because the kids were on their best behavior and as we approached recess at 11:30am, the fidgets became more obvious and the attention spans became less and less in length. We only had 9 today, but it felt like 30. My lead teacher and I were managing behavior as we chased one child off a table and another from playing around in the bathroom. The boy who climbed on the table also climbed on the window sill, punched me numerous times and ran out of classroom at one point. He has sensory and developmental delays so he's not always the most conscious of his physical actions. When he smiles though, it makes the bruises worth it. His toothy grin, missing one baby tooth, smack dab in the front and blob of hair stacked on top of his head combined with his laugh make his punches worth it.
One child called my lead teacher over and paused for a long time and finally piped up only to say, "Mr. McMahon, I like you." It was an old fashioned heart pat for sure.
I have another child who knows very little English. So I am practicing my Spanish with him. He cannot even name all the colors in Spanish so we're going to set goals for him as well. But by the end of the day, he realized that I was the only one who understood him, who could answer his questions and listen to him so he took to me. He hates dancing, but I am going to try to see past that...hahaha. It feels good to use my degree, to use the strategies I picked up in the ESL Ed. classes and see a child actually excited to be able to communicate with someone.
All in all, I am exhausted, my body aches and my head hurts but my heart is full. It is so full. I was nervous and apprehensive about pursuing this age group and teaching but today, despite everything, I am where I belong. I feel like I took a slight detour of exploration and self-growth and wound up back where I started; where I always knew I belonged deep down inside...these kids are going to continue to fill my heart and then break it once they graduate Kindergarten; and I am excited for that.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Moving Forward, Occasionally Looking Back
I am now one week into my new job and new life, post JVC. I'm not sure if it was in seeing old co-workers for the first time since leaving or moving furniture into my new place but either way, it's starting to hit me now that a new chapter has begun.
I left Miriams with a heavy heart. As I looked around the staff table at each person who I've shared laughs with and frustrations with, I remember thinking, "this was special. These people are special and this won't happen again; this will never happen again." I think the challenge in realizing that is trying to take comfort in that time we've shared together and not dwell in it. I remember a quote my friend from Bellingham sent me that read, "People generally come into our lives for a Reason, a Season or a Lifetime" and I am challenged to view my life changes and transitions with that lens; instead of a "this isn't fair" kind of attitude.
During my final afternoon shift, my departure announcement was made right before dinner, during which a guest gave me one of his paintings. I was given multiple bead necklaces that are now hanging on my door in my new place and said countless goodbyes. A guest who has become a close friend of mine waited until she was about to leave for the weekend and approached me. This guest found out she had breast cancer in early July and we had met multiple times to talk about her acceptance and the chemo process she is doing. She's a tough cookie, but when cancer was staring her in the face, all she could do was coil up and revert in. My outspoken friend taught me a lot about life, love and friendship throughout our three months of getting to know each other. As she approached me, I could see the tears already forming, I could see the struggle in her body language as she tried to hold it all back and she took my hands and said, "You are amazing; thank you for everything. You changed my life, you think you did so little, but you did so much. I will survive, I will survive and I will fight because I now have people fighting with me. I love you so much, Katie." We were clasping each other's hands so tightly; I guess it's all we thought we had to hold on to.
After emptying my desk, I left work at 6:30pm and went home to even more emotional craziness. My community went out to dinner together, came home and watched a slideshow of our year together, shared highs and lows of the year and then Colleen gave each of us a surprise box full of cards, notes and quotes from co-workers. It was a beautiful night with us, just us, remembering and loving each other.
The next day, Britt left. Colleen, Cara and I cleaned and did last minute stuff and by Saturday night, I moved in most of my boxes to my new place. Saturday night was my last night in that house and we all slept in the living room of course...hahaha...can't beat the A/C. The next day we said our goodbyes and each parted ways. I opened the door to my new apartment, looked in and saw plastic utensils and cups, paper plates, air mattresses and boxes and boxes of clothing.The next chapter was starting before I could blink my eyes.
I started my new job Monday. I walked into the school and quickly learned how new I was. I am the only first year teacher and I am the only one who's never taught Kindergarten before. BUT I remember January 2012, when I walked into Miriams as the only one to never work with people experiencing homelessness and I take some small comfort in that. So tomorrow marks week two of my new journey as an adult, with an apartment and a salary. I have a to-do list the size of the Washington monument, but I need to remember to continue to occasionally look back; to occasionally remember the ways I shined when I never thought I would and to remember the people who helped make me shine the most.
I left Miriams with a heavy heart. As I looked around the staff table at each person who I've shared laughs with and frustrations with, I remember thinking, "this was special. These people are special and this won't happen again; this will never happen again." I think the challenge in realizing that is trying to take comfort in that time we've shared together and not dwell in it. I remember a quote my friend from Bellingham sent me that read, "People generally come into our lives for a Reason, a Season or a Lifetime" and I am challenged to view my life changes and transitions with that lens; instead of a "this isn't fair" kind of attitude.
During my final afternoon shift, my departure announcement was made right before dinner, during which a guest gave me one of his paintings. I was given multiple bead necklaces that are now hanging on my door in my new place and said countless goodbyes. A guest who has become a close friend of mine waited until she was about to leave for the weekend and approached me. This guest found out she had breast cancer in early July and we had met multiple times to talk about her acceptance and the chemo process she is doing. She's a tough cookie, but when cancer was staring her in the face, all she could do was coil up and revert in. My outspoken friend taught me a lot about life, love and friendship throughout our three months of getting to know each other. As she approached me, I could see the tears already forming, I could see the struggle in her body language as she tried to hold it all back and she took my hands and said, "You are amazing; thank you for everything. You changed my life, you think you did so little, but you did so much. I will survive, I will survive and I will fight because I now have people fighting with me. I love you so much, Katie." We were clasping each other's hands so tightly; I guess it's all we thought we had to hold on to.
After emptying my desk, I left work at 6:30pm and went home to even more emotional craziness. My community went out to dinner together, came home and watched a slideshow of our year together, shared highs and lows of the year and then Colleen gave each of us a surprise box full of cards, notes and quotes from co-workers. It was a beautiful night with us, just us, remembering and loving each other.
The next day, Britt left. Colleen, Cara and I cleaned and did last minute stuff and by Saturday night, I moved in most of my boxes to my new place. Saturday night was my last night in that house and we all slept in the living room of course...hahaha...can't beat the A/C. The next day we said our goodbyes and each parted ways. I opened the door to my new apartment, looked in and saw plastic utensils and cups, paper plates, air mattresses and boxes and boxes of clothing.The next chapter was starting before I could blink my eyes.
I started my new job Monday. I walked into the school and quickly learned how new I was. I am the only first year teacher and I am the only one who's never taught Kindergarten before. BUT I remember January 2012, when I walked into Miriams as the only one to never work with people experiencing homelessness and I take some small comfort in that. So tomorrow marks week two of my new journey as an adult, with an apartment and a salary. I have a to-do list the size of the Washington monument, but I need to remember to continue to occasionally look back; to occasionally remember the ways I shined when I never thought I would and to remember the people who helped make me shine the most.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
It's the Final Countdown
Tomorrow marks the end of my two-year-long journey. Two years...370 days later and what do I have to say?
As I reflect on these two years, I think about my growth and the impact others have had on my life. I re-read old blog entries or journal entries and am awed by the affect others have had on me.
To say I am "Ruined for Life" is true but it doesn't even begin to touch on the growth I've experienced or the experiences I've had. I have been blessed. I am "Blessed for Life" because of this experience. Through finding my inner strength and love of children in Bridgeport to the sense of self and independence I learned in DC, I have changed and I have those around me to attribute it to.
My kids introduced me to myself. They stripped away all my insecurities, my faults, my failures and let me love and be loved for me. They taught me love, Agape love, and I will forever cherish that.
My men and women experiencing homelessness introduced me to pain. They stripped away my stereotypes, my judgements and let me love and be loved for who we each are. They taught me strength, they taught me power, they taught me resilience, they taught me acceptance.
To say I am thankful is an understatement...I am beyond thankful...I am indebted. The Cardinal Shehan Center/Bridgeport, Miriam's Kitchen/DC and all those scattered in between have changed me and I am indebted to them for that. The people I got to know and love, the places I have gotten to see and the memories I have gotten to form are priceless and I am grateful for these past two years of love, loss, tears, laughter, challenge, growth, learning, acceptance and faith.
Thank you to everyone. Thanks Mom and Dad for your constant support and belief in me; thank you friends in Bellingham, friends in Bridgeport, friends in DC and friends in Vancouver, WA. Thank you community mates. Thank you co-workers. Thank you guests, kids and clients. Thank you JVC...I have been certainly blessed for life.
My new mailing address is:
370Taylor Street NE Apt. S32
Washington DC 20017
Love you all!
As I reflect on these two years, I think about my growth and the impact others have had on my life. I re-read old blog entries or journal entries and am awed by the affect others have had on me.
To say I am "Ruined for Life" is true but it doesn't even begin to touch on the growth I've experienced or the experiences I've had. I have been blessed. I am "Blessed for Life" because of this experience. Through finding my inner strength and love of children in Bridgeport to the sense of self and independence I learned in DC, I have changed and I have those around me to attribute it to.
My kids introduced me to myself. They stripped away all my insecurities, my faults, my failures and let me love and be loved for me. They taught me love, Agape love, and I will forever cherish that.
My men and women experiencing homelessness introduced me to pain. They stripped away my stereotypes, my judgements and let me love and be loved for who we each are. They taught me strength, they taught me power, they taught me resilience, they taught me acceptance.
To say I am thankful is an understatement...I am beyond thankful...I am indebted. The Cardinal Shehan Center/Bridgeport, Miriam's Kitchen/DC and all those scattered in between have changed me and I am indebted to them for that. The people I got to know and love, the places I have gotten to see and the memories I have gotten to form are priceless and I am grateful for these past two years of love, loss, tears, laughter, challenge, growth, learning, acceptance and faith.
Thank you to everyone. Thanks Mom and Dad for your constant support and belief in me; thank you friends in Bellingham, friends in Bridgeport, friends in DC and friends in Vancouver, WA. Thank you community mates. Thank you co-workers. Thank you guests, kids and clients. Thank you JVC...I have been certainly blessed for life.
My new mailing address is:
370Taylor Street NE Apt. S32
Washington DC 20017
Love you all!
Sunday, July 22, 2012
18 Days Left
The half-lit setting seems so full as I sit alone in this hotel room in Vancouver, WA; the place I called home for 18 years. After visiting with a dear priest friend, high school friends I haven't seen in four or more years, seeing my siblings and family and celebrating the love my parents have for one another at their vow renewal, my cup is full. I remember and appreciate this place, my home, so much and the beautiful people God has blessed my life with.
I have 18 days left.
I have 18 days left in JVC.
I have 18 days left to start processing these two years and give this conclusion its proper diligence. Being here, being in this place where I biked around my neighborhood, hit baseballs over our neighbor's fence, went to dances, worked my first job, got my license, had my first boyfriend, lost my first tooth, had my first alcoholic beverage and experienced so many other "firsts" has reminded me of my roots. It has renewed my soul and fire for loving and keeping amazing people around me and never forgetting where I came from.
It appears that I have let so much go by as I went out and took the world by storm. I have been privileged to fall in love with so many amazing people and places on both coasts but I think, in my independence, I have buried away the stepping stones that have gotten me to where I am today.
My friends from high school were there for me during the really tough times. Ready to make me laugh, cry, drink, talk or watch a movie. They challenged me and accepted me for who I was and I think I easily forget that. So many times, I am looking to the future. I am looking down the road and not looking back over my shoulder at the wonderful and formative individuals who helped guide me down the road to begin with.
With 18 years in Vancouver down, and 18 days left in JVC, I am ready to not be thinking of what happens after the 18 days is up; but instead, to look back on the road I have traveled and the amazing people waving back at me as I remember.
I'm not sure if you read this, but I really believe it needs to be said and recognized: Thank you. Thank you Nick, Brooklynne, Chris, Missy, Skyler, Rachel, Tat, Bar Bar, Jill, Melanie, and all their parents; the swim team, the Key Club, the Peer Helpers/Mediators club, marching band, concert band, Spanish class, church friends and all the others in Vancouver who made this place such a joyful and fulfilling memory for me. I find myself, looking back, starring at the road and being so grateful, so thankful for your companionship.
My DC friend texted me something this weekend, that I think will best summarize what I am taking back to DC with me, "You are loved and people care about you. Never forget that..."
I have 18 days left.
I have 18 days left in JVC.
I have 18 days left to start processing these two years and give this conclusion its proper diligence. Being here, being in this place where I biked around my neighborhood, hit baseballs over our neighbor's fence, went to dances, worked my first job, got my license, had my first boyfriend, lost my first tooth, had my first alcoholic beverage and experienced so many other "firsts" has reminded me of my roots. It has renewed my soul and fire for loving and keeping amazing people around me and never forgetting where I came from.
It appears that I have let so much go by as I went out and took the world by storm. I have been privileged to fall in love with so many amazing people and places on both coasts but I think, in my independence, I have buried away the stepping stones that have gotten me to where I am today.
My friends from high school were there for me during the really tough times. Ready to make me laugh, cry, drink, talk or watch a movie. They challenged me and accepted me for who I was and I think I easily forget that. So many times, I am looking to the future. I am looking down the road and not looking back over my shoulder at the wonderful and formative individuals who helped guide me down the road to begin with.
With 18 years in Vancouver down, and 18 days left in JVC, I am ready to not be thinking of what happens after the 18 days is up; but instead, to look back on the road I have traveled and the amazing people waving back at me as I remember.
I'm not sure if you read this, but I really believe it needs to be said and recognized: Thank you. Thank you Nick, Brooklynne, Chris, Missy, Skyler, Rachel, Tat, Bar Bar, Jill, Melanie, and all their parents; the swim team, the Key Club, the Peer Helpers/Mediators club, marching band, concert band, Spanish class, church friends and all the others in Vancouver who made this place such a joyful and fulfilling memory for me. I find myself, looking back, starring at the road and being so grateful, so thankful for your companionship.
My DC friend texted me something this weekend, that I think will best summarize what I am taking back to DC with me, "You are loved and people care about you. Never forget that..."
(Last Day of High School June, 2006)
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Distant Chapters Closing
I haven't posted in a while and many things could be the reason why, "I'm busy", "I'm forgettful" and "I'm uncertain what to blog" all fall into the main reasons why I haven't but now I find myself inspired by something a little sad.
2012 marks two years that I have been living on the east coast...two years, that's 730 days. Two years worth of "stuff" my friends back home have done, holidays with my family and birthday parties I've passed by. Two years of brief and infrequent phone calls, numerous letters and even more text messages to try and bridge the over 2,800 mile gap between where I've been and where I am now.
I writer today and am inspired today, because my heart hurts. Sure, I've missed graduations and big moments of need or happiness in my family or friends' lives, but in this moment, in this time, the thing that has tipped the scale is the departure of a very dear friend from a life I had the privilege to be a part of. On June 4th, my friend, Fr. Qui-Thac Ngyuen celebrated his last Mass as Chaplain at the WWU Newman Center in Bellingham, WA. Alums traveled from far and wide to be a part of his last Mass and to thank him for all he had done for so many college students at WWU. I know for me, he is my college years, he helped form my mind, my soul and my heart and to think of the Newman Center without him there, seems impossible.
The work I do is important and beyond rewarding. I have learned, lost, loved and grown so much in these two years but I cannot honestly say that I would be here, sitting in Washington DC, with two years under my belt dedicated to serving the most vulnerable; if it weren't for Padre Qui-Thac.
He has inspired me to serve, to love, others. He has always been my number one supporter and motivator. When I wasn't sure about JVC or the homesickness or even where to discern my calling, Padre was there with wise words and a good book to help me sort things through.
I love being here, I love being in DC, the "Mecca" for social change but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss people, places and friends. Today I especially miss my friend, Fr. Qui-Thac. Although I know he is following his heart and discerned for himself where God was calling him, I know many will miss him and miss the impact he made on a lot of confused college students.
I writer today and am inspired today, because my heart hurts. Sure, I've missed graduations and big moments of need or happiness in my family or friends' lives, but in this moment, in this time, the thing that has tipped the scale is the departure of a very dear friend from a life I had the privilege to be a part of. On June 4th, my friend, Fr. Qui-Thac Ngyuen celebrated his last Mass as Chaplain at the WWU Newman Center in Bellingham, WA. Alums traveled from far and wide to be a part of his last Mass and to thank him for all he had done for so many college students at WWU. I know for me, he is my college years, he helped form my mind, my soul and my heart and to think of the Newman Center without him there, seems impossible.
The work I do is important and beyond rewarding. I have learned, lost, loved and grown so much in these two years but I cannot honestly say that I would be here, sitting in Washington DC, with two years under my belt dedicated to serving the most vulnerable; if it weren't for Padre Qui-Thac.
He has inspired me to serve, to love, others. He has always been my number one supporter and motivator. When I wasn't sure about JVC or the homesickness or even where to discern my calling, Padre was there with wise words and a good book to help me sort things through.
I love being here, I love being in DC, the "Mecca" for social change but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss people, places and friends. Today I especially miss my friend, Fr. Qui-Thac. Although I know he is following his heart and discerned for himself where God was calling him, I know many will miss him and miss the impact he made on a lot of confused college students.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Compassion, the Snuggly Kind
"Compassion is the ability to snuggle up to pain."
I received this quote from my spiritual director last weekend on our Ignatian Spirituality retreat. I was explaining my role at Miriam's and how torn I feel sometimes between opening myself up to being hurt or let down and heading full speed into broken-ness. She gave me this quote.
Compassion is the ability to snuggle up to pain.
Tonight I think of three men, three very different men, who in the past 48 hours were FD-12'd at Miriam's Kitchen. An FD-12 is a forced detainment of someone who is likely to hurt themselves or someone else. It's when a person's rights are taken away and the person is usually admitted into a psych. ward for evaluation. These three very different men have touched my heart in ways I never thought possible.
Man #1: A lot of internal stimuli and is usually re-enacting Vietnam battle scenes in our dining room. He yells and scares me often because he can be very impatient but once in a while he'll surprise me, and I catch him singing. I catch him humming the songs from Soul Train or Studio 51...ghosts of his past and I wonder. He leaves me wondering, "what was he like before shipping off to Vietnam?" He was FD 12'd and detained for about three days.
Man #2: A WW2 Vet. who traveled the world in the Navy. This man yells often and shouts at things only he can see. He can be impatient and gets angry very easily when asked to repeat himself (which I have to do often because I cannot understand his mumbled, low voice sometimes). He has a fascination with Michael Jackson and was FD 12'd only a few days before Man #1 and was held for less than 24 hours. When he returned to us, he couldn't control his drooling because of the meds he's on.
Man #3: Man #3 is my favorite man to come to MK. He is about 32 and is jumbled. His thoughts are simple and reminds me of a child. Every day, he walks into MK and asks me for two spaceship pictures off of Google images. In those five minutes every day, I check in with him, ask him about his day, his life, his highs, his lows, etc. These are my favorite five minutes every day. On the day he was FD 12'd, we had to wait for the police to come so I distracted him for an hour and a half with the same movie preview of "Prometheus". Scary movie...when the police finally came, it was really sad to see him go. It was sad to realize that this man cannot take care of himself; that this man, who's only joy in the world is space, has slipped through the cracks. He touches my heart. His life has changed mine.
This man is scatter brained, usually yells across the room at our staff and motions his hand like a trigger and fires it off in random directions. He laughs and mumbles to himself, but he has moments of love. He looked at me once and said, with his stutter, "hey, hey, hey, Katie. You got nice hair." and then followed it up with, "for a white woman." My friend escaped from the psych. floor he was on and came back to MK. We had to keep him detained until the police arrived so we gave him a haircut and took about an hour and a half to do so...I watched as he visibly and metaphorically changed in front of me. I watched the ratted and matted hair, full of bugs, come flying off and his unruly and wiry beard shed from his chin and he changed.
When he was taken away for the second time, I went home crying because I was frustrated. I am frustrated that a man has been so left behind. A man has no place to go, nobody to love him and no understanding of that loss. It saddens me and breaks my heart.
I could say that about all three men though. The "system" has failed all three of them. So my challenge is not to flee from this reality. My challenge is to stay and be the person who will be there, who will feed, listen, love and print off spaceship pictures for them. It's my challenge to snuggle up to the pain, no matter how much it breaks my heart.
I received this quote from my spiritual director last weekend on our Ignatian Spirituality retreat. I was explaining my role at Miriam's and how torn I feel sometimes between opening myself up to being hurt or let down and heading full speed into broken-ness. She gave me this quote.
Compassion is the ability to snuggle up to pain.
Tonight I think of three men, three very different men, who in the past 48 hours were FD-12'd at Miriam's Kitchen. An FD-12 is a forced detainment of someone who is likely to hurt themselves or someone else. It's when a person's rights are taken away and the person is usually admitted into a psych. ward for evaluation. These three very different men have touched my heart in ways I never thought possible.
Man #1: A lot of internal stimuli and is usually re-enacting Vietnam battle scenes in our dining room. He yells and scares me often because he can be very impatient but once in a while he'll surprise me, and I catch him singing. I catch him humming the songs from Soul Train or Studio 51...ghosts of his past and I wonder. He leaves me wondering, "what was he like before shipping off to Vietnam?" He was FD 12'd and detained for about three days.
Man #2: A WW2 Vet. who traveled the world in the Navy. This man yells often and shouts at things only he can see. He can be impatient and gets angry very easily when asked to repeat himself (which I have to do often because I cannot understand his mumbled, low voice sometimes). He has a fascination with Michael Jackson and was FD 12'd only a few days before Man #1 and was held for less than 24 hours. When he returned to us, he couldn't control his drooling because of the meds he's on.
Man #3: Man #3 is my favorite man to come to MK. He is about 32 and is jumbled. His thoughts are simple and reminds me of a child. Every day, he walks into MK and asks me for two spaceship pictures off of Google images. In those five minutes every day, I check in with him, ask him about his day, his life, his highs, his lows, etc. These are my favorite five minutes every day. On the day he was FD 12'd, we had to wait for the police to come so I distracted him for an hour and a half with the same movie preview of "Prometheus". Scary movie...when the police finally came, it was really sad to see him go. It was sad to realize that this man cannot take care of himself; that this man, who's only joy in the world is space, has slipped through the cracks. He touches my heart. His life has changed mine.
This man is scatter brained, usually yells across the room at our staff and motions his hand like a trigger and fires it off in random directions. He laughs and mumbles to himself, but he has moments of love. He looked at me once and said, with his stutter, "hey, hey, hey, Katie. You got nice hair." and then followed it up with, "for a white woman." My friend escaped from the psych. floor he was on and came back to MK. We had to keep him detained until the police arrived so we gave him a haircut and took about an hour and a half to do so...I watched as he visibly and metaphorically changed in front of me. I watched the ratted and matted hair, full of bugs, come flying off and his unruly and wiry beard shed from his chin and he changed.
When he was taken away for the second time, I went home crying because I was frustrated. I am frustrated that a man has been so left behind. A man has no place to go, nobody to love him and no understanding of that loss. It saddens me and breaks my heart.
I could say that about all three men though. The "system" has failed all three of them. So my challenge is not to flee from this reality. My challenge is to stay and be the person who will be there, who will feed, listen, love and print off spaceship pictures for them. It's my challenge to snuggle up to the pain, no matter how much it breaks my heart.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Learning From The Wizard of Oz
Lately, I have been struggling with wondering if I am doing enough. Day in and day out for the past 21 months I have dedicated at least 40 hours a week to loving others who are marginalized, poor or experiencing some type of neglect from our world.
Recently, I had a guest come up to me, with a cynical glint in his eye and ask me, "why are you here? Ya know I've been coming here for four years, my buddy's been coming here for eight and my other buddy has been homeless for 11 years. Why are you here, if we are still homeless?"
I didn't know what to say so I said nothing, I just smiled and said, "I am here because I want to show you that someone cares that you're homeless and that someone wants to see you happy." He chuckled a very doubty laugh and walked away. But this encounter got me thinking...
Why do I do all this? Some of my kids may never get to college or even graduate high school; heck, some may be killed or get into drugs. Some of my guests may get abused or relapse or die on the streets. And some may never get housed. Being the logical thinker I am, I know very well that I will not end poverty...even Jesus said, "for you will always have the poor with you; but you do not always have me" (Matthew 26:11)...so with that, what am I doing?
Last year, I gave a speech at our Re-Orientation retreat about loving until it hurts. I quotes Mama T's quote: "If I love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." I reflected on what that meant for me and my kids. I think that's what rings true beneath the cynicism: Love.
Still, I can't help but go to that dark place sometimes, when a guest relapses, or stands me up for an appointment, or loses the ID we just worked so hard to get for him and what helps me keep going is this thought I had after hearing a quote from the Wizard of Oz (I was babysitting tonight and this is what we watched): At the end of the day, God is not going to measure my heart by how many I have loved or how many I have saved from poverty as a checklist...He is going to feel that and know my impact and my heart's true intent by how many love me. Look at Mama T, she never loved me, she never even knew me but I loved her. I loved the work she did and the gusto she did it with...her character, her worth and her heart is measured by the people who loved her.
So this incomplete rambling of my frazzled brain can only be summed up by the quote that started it all:
"A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others" (The Wizard to the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz)
Recently, I had a guest come up to me, with a cynical glint in his eye and ask me, "why are you here? Ya know I've been coming here for four years, my buddy's been coming here for eight and my other buddy has been homeless for 11 years. Why are you here, if we are still homeless?"
I didn't know what to say so I said nothing, I just smiled and said, "I am here because I want to show you that someone cares that you're homeless and that someone wants to see you happy." He chuckled a very doubty laugh and walked away. But this encounter got me thinking...
Why do I do all this? Some of my kids may never get to college or even graduate high school; heck, some may be killed or get into drugs. Some of my guests may get abused or relapse or die on the streets. And some may never get housed. Being the logical thinker I am, I know very well that I will not end poverty...even Jesus said, "for you will always have the poor with you; but you do not always have me" (Matthew 26:11)...so with that, what am I doing?
Last year, I gave a speech at our Re-Orientation retreat about loving until it hurts. I quotes Mama T's quote: "If I love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." I reflected on what that meant for me and my kids. I think that's what rings true beneath the cynicism: Love.
Still, I can't help but go to that dark place sometimes, when a guest relapses, or stands me up for an appointment, or loses the ID we just worked so hard to get for him and what helps me keep going is this thought I had after hearing a quote from the Wizard of Oz (I was babysitting tonight and this is what we watched): At the end of the day, God is not going to measure my heart by how many I have loved or how many I have saved from poverty as a checklist...He is going to feel that and know my impact and my heart's true intent by how many love me. Look at Mama T, she never loved me, she never even knew me but I loved her. I loved the work she did and the gusto she did it with...her character, her worth and her heart is measured by the people who loved her.
So this incomplete rambling of my frazzled brain can only be summed up by the quote that started it all:
"A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others" (The Wizard to the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz)
Friday, April 13, 2012
I Listen.
I have been on a hiatus for a wee bit but I am back because I have been inspired by the JVC Fundraiser I went to last night for the DC chapter of JVC.
At the fundraiser, the current JVs were asked to say a few words about who we are, where we're from and what we do. My co-worker and I fumbled under the sudden nerves we felt (and sleep deprivation of being up for 14 hours already that day) and didn't do our job justice. In lieu of that mess up, I want to do it justice here.
What do I do? Well the rehearsed answer I wanted to give was "I work at a social service agency that provides two hot meals a day to those experiencing homelessness while encouraging them to participate in our creative writing and art therapy studios. In addition, I do informal case management; so I do everything from getting them toiletries to applying for citizenship or housing.
What do I really do though? I listen.
I listen to the people, who in their 18 hours of awake-ness,every day, don't get to talk to anyone. I listen to those who feel like they have no place to go. I listen to women who have been through sexual or domestic abuse, I listen to people who see things that aren't actually there and I follow them into their delusions. I listen to men who are too proud to admit they need help and men who are too lazy to apply for something themselves. I listen to mothers worry as they fret about where they are going to spend the night with their two children. I listen to men who are drunk, coked out, high as a kite or hung over beyond belief. And I listen to people who have stories to share and ideas to contribute.
I listen.
So what do I do?
Well, let me take you through today: Got up at 8am, caught the Metro to a meeting I had at 10am. Listen to people from prominent social service agencies talk about how to solve Veteran homelessness until 12:30pm. Went to Wendy's with a co-worker (enjoyed a cheeseburger...it's all about life's simple joys). Headed to work by 1pm. Fielded voice mails and e-mails from 1:30pm-2:15pm and then set up for Studio/Afternoon Program. At 2:30pm Studio began. I immediately was flooded with Birth Certificate voucher requests and DC ID requests...many forms to fill out. Then "what I do" happened. I met with two very, very different men.
One, is a man struggling with drug/alcohol dependency and schizophrenia. He sees things I don't and I follow him into his world time and time again. Today, it was about movies. He was telling me that he's in a spaceship and I ask him what color the spaceship is and he says silver because all of them are silver. This man is always quick to smile at me, is a bit of a lose cannon and can be very unpredictable because his delusions make him react to things in violent/angry ways. Today, I talked about spaceships and stars with him for about 30 minutes. Today, I listened.
The other man is living with many, many medical problems and is in denial of the help he needs. He is always a jokester and is always seeking attention from others. My goal with him for the past two months has been to get him to see a doctor that treats the disease he is living with but he always laughs me off or changes the subject when I bring it up. Two days ago he finally went with my co-worker to get his food stamps and Medicaid card (two things we've been trying to get him to do for four months). Riding the coat tails of that, he sought me out today. He made me meet with him in my office and we talked. He talked and cried about his illness and how scared he was and I quietly sat there. He looked at me, with blood shot eyes and said, "Katie, I want to see a doctor; I don't want to die before I turn 31." I immediately contacted a doctor friend of mine and a clinic and we set up an appointment. Today, I discovered he got his food stamps card. Today, I listened.
At the fundraiser, the current JVs were asked to say a few words about who we are, where we're from and what we do. My co-worker and I fumbled under the sudden nerves we felt (and sleep deprivation of being up for 14 hours already that day) and didn't do our job justice. In lieu of that mess up, I want to do it justice here.
What do I do? Well the rehearsed answer I wanted to give was "I work at a social service agency that provides two hot meals a day to those experiencing homelessness while encouraging them to participate in our creative writing and art therapy studios. In addition, I do informal case management; so I do everything from getting them toiletries to applying for citizenship or housing.
What do I really do though? I listen.
I listen to the people, who in their 18 hours of awake-ness,every day, don't get to talk to anyone. I listen to those who feel like they have no place to go. I listen to women who have been through sexual or domestic abuse, I listen to people who see things that aren't actually there and I follow them into their delusions. I listen to men who are too proud to admit they need help and men who are too lazy to apply for something themselves. I listen to mothers worry as they fret about where they are going to spend the night with their two children. I listen to men who are drunk, coked out, high as a kite or hung over beyond belief. And I listen to people who have stories to share and ideas to contribute.
I listen.
So what do I do?
Well, let me take you through today: Got up at 8am, caught the Metro to a meeting I had at 10am. Listen to people from prominent social service agencies talk about how to solve Veteran homelessness until 12:30pm. Went to Wendy's with a co-worker (enjoyed a cheeseburger...it's all about life's simple joys). Headed to work by 1pm. Fielded voice mails and e-mails from 1:30pm-2:15pm and then set up for Studio/Afternoon Program. At 2:30pm Studio began. I immediately was flooded with Birth Certificate voucher requests and DC ID requests...many forms to fill out. Then "what I do" happened. I met with two very, very different men.
One, is a man struggling with drug/alcohol dependency and schizophrenia. He sees things I don't and I follow him into his world time and time again. Today, it was about movies. He was telling me that he's in a spaceship and I ask him what color the spaceship is and he says silver because all of them are silver. This man is always quick to smile at me, is a bit of a lose cannon and can be very unpredictable because his delusions make him react to things in violent/angry ways. Today, I talked about spaceships and stars with him for about 30 minutes. Today, I listened.
The other man is living with many, many medical problems and is in denial of the help he needs. He is always a jokester and is always seeking attention from others. My goal with him for the past two months has been to get him to see a doctor that treats the disease he is living with but he always laughs me off or changes the subject when I bring it up. Two days ago he finally went with my co-worker to get his food stamps and Medicaid card (two things we've been trying to get him to do for four months). Riding the coat tails of that, he sought me out today. He made me meet with him in my office and we talked. He talked and cried about his illness and how scared he was and I quietly sat there. He looked at me, with blood shot eyes and said, "Katie, I want to see a doctor; I don't want to die before I turn 31." I immediately contacted a doctor friend of mine and a clinic and we set up an appointment. Today, I discovered he got his food stamps card. Today, I listened.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
I am learning, I am constantly growing and developing as a person. My newest lesson I'm learning how to grieve. I lost a friend this past weekend; the Shehan Center lost a great role model and the world lost a bright star. She pushed me to be myself and stand up for myself and always believed in me. She taught me the dance moves to "Super Bass" by Nikki Minaj and "Girls" by Beyonce. She always made fun of my "whiteness" but also appreciated me for it. She was a strong, beautiful, wonderful human being who always danced like no one was watching.
The whys, the what-ifs, the hows have faded by now and am I now left with an tiny empty spot, where my friend used to fill. Through the moments of sadness and the moments she pops into my head throughout my day, I feel like my faith has only gotten stronger because of her tragic passing.
Sunday and Monday were difficult but as I looked at my schedule for the week ahead of me, I noticed a trend. Each day, God's hand was carrying me along the way because I had some form of support visiting my house each day. Bill was Tuesday, my spiritual director was Wednesday, my local support people were Thursday and my JVC supervisor was Friday-Monday. God's hand and whole being was actively working in my life. Although I am mourning her passing and missing her; I have an overwhelming feeling that I am being taken care of. My core is free-er, more open, more willing to let God lead me; to let God carry me.
I was telling my spiritual director yesterday that I have never felt this kind of peace before. My soul has relinquished control and offered everything up to God and I've never felt that before. My heart feels open; broken, but open, and ready for God to drive for a while. I've never felt that kind of relaxation and peace before.
My spiritual director kept asking me, "where is God in that? Where did you feel or see God in that?" This is how I choose to remember my friend, this is how I choose to honor and celebrate her life: I will see God in "it", I will strive to find God in all things and dance like no one is watching.
RIP Chantel Osorio ~ March 16, 1987 - March 17, 2012
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
I am learning, I am constantly growing and developing as a person. My newest lesson I'm learning how to grieve. I lost a friend this past weekend; the Shehan Center lost a great role model and the world lost a bright star. She pushed me to be myself and stand up for myself and always believed in me. She taught me the dance moves to "Super Bass" by Nikki Minaj and "Girls" by Beyonce. She always made fun of my "whiteness" but also appreciated me for it. She was a strong, beautiful, wonderful human being who always danced like no one was watching.
The whys, the what-ifs, the hows have faded by now and am I now left with an tiny empty spot, where my friend used to fill. Through the moments of sadness and the moments she pops into my head throughout my day, I feel like my faith has only gotten stronger because of her tragic passing.
Sunday and Monday were difficult but as I looked at my schedule for the week ahead of me, I noticed a trend. Each day, God's hand was carrying me along the way because I had some form of support visiting my house each day. Bill was Tuesday, my spiritual director was Wednesday, my local support people were Thursday and my JVC supervisor was Friday-Monday. God's hand and whole being was actively working in my life. Although I am mourning her passing and missing her; I have an overwhelming feeling that I am being taken care of. My core is free-er, more open, more willing to let God lead me; to let God carry me.
I was telling my spiritual director yesterday that I have never felt this kind of peace before. My soul has relinquished control and offered everything up to God and I've never felt that before. My heart feels open; broken, but open, and ready for God to drive for a while. I've never felt that kind of relaxation and peace before.
My spiritual director kept asking me, "where is God in that? Where did you feel or see God in that?" This is how I choose to remember my friend, this is how I choose to honor and celebrate her life: I will see God in "it", I will strive to find God in all things and dance like no one is watching.
RIP Chantel Osorio ~ March 16, 1987 - March 17, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Learning How to Sit Shot Gun
Either with my community mates, friends back home, family or co-workers, all have requested more stories; all have asked me to share the stories of the people in my life. I could write a novel (and I'm trying to) of all the people I've met and all the interesting things I've seen. I couldn't create or fabricate some of the interesting things I see every day at my workplace; for instance: One man's most prized possession is his Captain America shield he carries on his backpack (it's life size) or another man only wants articles and information from Wikipedia, all other sources are untrustworthy or another man asks for two spaceship pictures off the Internet every day and once he gets them, he sits with them, admiring his accomplishment.
It's an interesting world I get to be a part of but I think it's important for me to remember that in each quirky character trait and interesting nuance, they are people; they are people with souls, spirits and hearts.
Yesterday I was walking with my roommate to church and we passed by Martha's Table, a family outreach center that does a TON of social service work in the city. We walked by a line of people (probably about 15 people long) and I recognized a guest from Miriam's waiting in line. He saw me and hid his face, I mean immediately averted his glance to the brick wall to his left instead of looking at me; now, I'm not sure if it was because he thought he was a traitor for going to another agency for help or because he was down right embarrassed to be recognized by me. I like to think it was the later of the two though.
This little interaction reminded me that these "stories", these guests I have the privilege to meet, are people. They have feelings and probably don't want some 20-something white girl calling them out in a crowd when they are already having to be more than slightly humiliated by standing in line for services anyway. I often find myself wrestling with whether or not I should publicly recognize guests I see on the street because of how they may react. I guess, at the end of the day, the only thing I can do is smile and let them make the move, let them be in the driver seat and allow myself to sit shot gun.
It's an interesting world I get to be a part of but I think it's important for me to remember that in each quirky character trait and interesting nuance, they are people; they are people with souls, spirits and hearts.
Yesterday I was walking with my roommate to church and we passed by Martha's Table, a family outreach center that does a TON of social service work in the city. We walked by a line of people (probably about 15 people long) and I recognized a guest from Miriam's waiting in line. He saw me and hid his face, I mean immediately averted his glance to the brick wall to his left instead of looking at me; now, I'm not sure if it was because he thought he was a traitor for going to another agency for help or because he was down right embarrassed to be recognized by me. I like to think it was the later of the two though.
This little interaction reminded me that these "stories", these guests I have the privilege to meet, are people. They have feelings and probably don't want some 20-something white girl calling them out in a crowd when they are already having to be more than slightly humiliated by standing in line for services anyway. I often find myself wrestling with whether or not I should publicly recognize guests I see on the street because of how they may react. I guess, at the end of the day, the only thing I can do is smile and let them make the move, let them be in the driver seat and allow myself to sit shot gun.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
"The Best Curve on a Woman is Her Smile." - MK Guest
What a difference a kind word makes. "Good Morning" is the challenge and smiling is the name of the game.
At my placement, I have been bequeathed the nickname "Smiley". I never really understood what made my smile more impactful than someone else's to warrant the nickname, but I went with it. After about two months at this placement, I have noticed my smiling has been on the decline the busier I get. It seems amid the chaos, the first casualty is my smile.
In an effort to truly deserve my new nickname and revive my old smiling ways, I have made a conscious effort to smile more often and at more people throughout my day. When I am just standing at the desk, waiting for the bus or just presenting a "relaxed face", I stop myself and force myself to smile.
One afternoon, I was standing at the front desk (day eight of "Operation Smile 2012") and a guest came up to me. He began talking to me and telling me about his legal troubles and issues he's recently been having as a homeless man in DC. This guest is one of my favorites and I really enjoy talking to him. As I am speaking with him he interrupts his entire story and says, "ya know, Katie, I have to tell you; yesterday I was having a really crumby day...and I mean down right awful and I walked through those doors into the dining room and saw you at the front desk smiling and all of a sudden, my day didn't seem so bad. I just wanted to thank you for that." Of course, this elicited a huge smile from me and I responded, "well, thank you, I figured it's the least I can do!" He laughed and said, "I once heard the quote, 'the best curve on a woman's body is her smile' and now I know it's true. Don't stop smiling because it helps me."
I am not sharing this story to make people go, "ohhh, isn't she a saint?" I am sharing this story to help spread awareness and invite more people to join "Operation Smile 2012" in an effort to make people's days better. It's amazing how smiling can even make you feel more upbeat! Start small, notice when you're having down time, or waiting to cross the street or waiting in line at the store, smile. Have your relaxed face be a smiling one because you never know who's watching and if you're really feeling daring, say "Good morning or afternoon" to a stranger. It's amazing how much it can impact a life. :)
At my placement, I have been bequeathed the nickname "Smiley". I never really understood what made my smile more impactful than someone else's to warrant the nickname, but I went with it. After about two months at this placement, I have noticed my smiling has been on the decline the busier I get. It seems amid the chaos, the first casualty is my smile.
In an effort to truly deserve my new nickname and revive my old smiling ways, I have made a conscious effort to smile more often and at more people throughout my day. When I am just standing at the desk, waiting for the bus or just presenting a "relaxed face", I stop myself and force myself to smile.
One afternoon, I was standing at the front desk (day eight of "Operation Smile 2012") and a guest came up to me. He began talking to me and telling me about his legal troubles and issues he's recently been having as a homeless man in DC. This guest is one of my favorites and I really enjoy talking to him. As I am speaking with him he interrupts his entire story and says, "ya know, Katie, I have to tell you; yesterday I was having a really crumby day...and I mean down right awful and I walked through those doors into the dining room and saw you at the front desk smiling and all of a sudden, my day didn't seem so bad. I just wanted to thank you for that." Of course, this elicited a huge smile from me and I responded, "well, thank you, I figured it's the least I can do!" He laughed and said, "I once heard the quote, 'the best curve on a woman's body is her smile' and now I know it's true. Don't stop smiling because it helps me."
I am not sharing this story to make people go, "ohhh, isn't she a saint?" I am sharing this story to help spread awareness and invite more people to join "Operation Smile 2012" in an effort to make people's days better. It's amazing how smiling can even make you feel more upbeat! Start small, notice when you're having down time, or waiting to cross the street or waiting in line at the store, smile. Have your relaxed face be a smiling one because you never know who's watching and if you're really feeling daring, say "Good morning or afternoon" to a stranger. It's amazing how much it can impact a life. :)
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The Rainbow Connection
"Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that called the young sailors.
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.
It's something that I'm supposed to be." -The Rainbow Connection, Kermit the Frog
I've had a few revelations and reflections lately that are helping to bring me back to me...or at least the person I want to be. This song came on my MP3 player this morning and it made me smile...it reminded me of the little person inside of me who believes in Kermit the Frog's words of imagination, dreaming big and living those imaginations and dreams out. As I wave at the 1/2 way point of my JV year while it passes by; I think back to why I joined JVC in the first place. I didn't just join so I could "make a difference" but I wanted to feel that difference. I wanted to be a witness to God on earth and be a friend to those who have very few. I wanted to dream and imagine big and act on that. I wanted to be part of that dream and spawn others to want to be part of that dream too.
I think in my year and a half as a JV, I have begun to lose that initial drive that brought me here. I have seen myself grow and change in good ways, but as I sit with the person I am now, I feel like I have forgotten about the Rainbow Connection. Between the huge battles I fight with my guests, seniors or children from last year or the stubborn co-workers, government employees or council members, I have gotten bogged down in the survival mode instead of the dreamer mode.
I think the important thing a JV brings to a non-profit is the dreamer mentality. The people or children we work with/for are caught in the survival mode of life (justifiably so) and it is a beautiful gift we offer as JVs to provide opportunities to dream. Some guests have been homeless for 20+ years, but I think it is the breath of fresh air a volunteer corps member brings to their lives that can help motivate them to end the chronic homelessness they've been experiencing.
I want to avoid burnout, not because I fear being tired or worn out, but because I fear the loss of the dreamer. I fear the bigger implications it may have on my guests. Once my inner dreamer dies, who is left to imagine and dream big? It is not just Kermit the Frog's mentality, but it should be mine as well...to at least strive to embrace and encourage that inner imaginier, dreamer and lover.
"Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me." -The Rainbow Connection, Kermit the Frog
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that called the young sailors.
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.
It's something that I'm supposed to be." -The Rainbow Connection, Kermit the Frog
I've had a few revelations and reflections lately that are helping to bring me back to me...or at least the person I want to be. This song came on my MP3 player this morning and it made me smile...it reminded me of the little person inside of me who believes in Kermit the Frog's words of imagination, dreaming big and living those imaginations and dreams out. As I wave at the 1/2 way point of my JV year while it passes by; I think back to why I joined JVC in the first place. I didn't just join so I could "make a difference" but I wanted to feel that difference. I wanted to be a witness to God on earth and be a friend to those who have very few. I wanted to dream and imagine big and act on that. I wanted to be part of that dream and spawn others to want to be part of that dream too.
I think in my year and a half as a JV, I have begun to lose that initial drive that brought me here. I have seen myself grow and change in good ways, but as I sit with the person I am now, I feel like I have forgotten about the Rainbow Connection. Between the huge battles I fight with my guests, seniors or children from last year or the stubborn co-workers, government employees or council members, I have gotten bogged down in the survival mode instead of the dreamer mode.
I think the important thing a JV brings to a non-profit is the dreamer mentality. The people or children we work with/for are caught in the survival mode of life (justifiably so) and it is a beautiful gift we offer as JVs to provide opportunities to dream. Some guests have been homeless for 20+ years, but I think it is the breath of fresh air a volunteer corps member brings to their lives that can help motivate them to end the chronic homelessness they've been experiencing.
I want to avoid burnout, not because I fear being tired or worn out, but because I fear the loss of the dreamer. I fear the bigger implications it may have on my guests. Once my inner dreamer dies, who is left to imagine and dream big? It is not just Kermit the Frog's mentality, but it should be mine as well...to at least strive to embrace and encourage that inner imaginier, dreamer and lover.
"Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me." -The Rainbow Connection, Kermit the Frog
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Today's Lessons
Alright so today's lessons are brought to you by a 65-year-old man at my work who is currently homeless and originally from the Ivory Coast, I believe. He doesn't look 65, but he is and will remind you of how young he looks any chance he gets.
So today he told me three life lessons and told me I needed to put them in a book one day, but I need to quote him or else I would be a liar...his words, not mine.
The three bits of advice he wanted to bestow on such a "beautiful young woman" are:
1) Don't have kids.
2) Don't get married.
3) Don't be a hypocrite because it ages you.
I think the most important aspect of these is not just noting where he is coming from and his value system but also the last bit of advice. He didn't say, don't be a mean person or a liar or a thief or murderer or homeless person...he said hypocrite.
On reflection, I think about the hypocrisies in my life. Too many times I get caught up in the "they"...what are "they" doing? In what ways are "they" not meeting expectations? In what ways are "they" not pushing themselves enough? I noticed I put too much focus on the "they" and not enough on the unselfish "me". As I focus on others and their issues I take the focus off of me and the different ways I don't measure up. I think that's my hypocrisy. I work every day to help homeless men accept their failures and problem solve to rise above them and I fall short in taking that very same hard look in the mirror.
In being of service to others, I think I lose sight of looking at individuals and see the group. I look at the 150 men I work with and say, "alright, how can I cut down this line or assist many in an efficient way?" The service isn't found there, it helps, but it's not in the "how many can I cross of the help list" mindset; it's in the "how can I be fully present, and fully a friend, to this man right now?" My hypocrisy that is aging me can be found in my focus on treating the masses, instead of the individual, and in the "they" mentality...I am reminded of the last line in Mother Theresa's poem, "Anyway": "You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God; It was never between you and them anyway."
So today he told me three life lessons and told me I needed to put them in a book one day, but I need to quote him or else I would be a liar...his words, not mine.
The three bits of advice he wanted to bestow on such a "beautiful young woman" are:
1) Don't have kids.
2) Don't get married.
3) Don't be a hypocrite because it ages you.
I think the most important aspect of these is not just noting where he is coming from and his value system but also the last bit of advice. He didn't say, don't be a mean person or a liar or a thief or murderer or homeless person...he said hypocrite.
On reflection, I think about the hypocrisies in my life. Too many times I get caught up in the "they"...what are "they" doing? In what ways are "they" not meeting expectations? In what ways are "they" not pushing themselves enough? I noticed I put too much focus on the "they" and not enough on the unselfish "me". As I focus on others and their issues I take the focus off of me and the different ways I don't measure up. I think that's my hypocrisy. I work every day to help homeless men accept their failures and problem solve to rise above them and I fall short in taking that very same hard look in the mirror.
In being of service to others, I think I lose sight of looking at individuals and see the group. I look at the 150 men I work with and say, "alright, how can I cut down this line or assist many in an efficient way?" The service isn't found there, it helps, but it's not in the "how many can I cross of the help list" mindset; it's in the "how can I be fully present, and fully a friend, to this man right now?" My hypocrisy that is aging me can be found in my focus on treating the masses, instead of the individual, and in the "they" mentality...I am reminded of the last line in Mother Theresa's poem, "Anyway": "You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God; It was never between you and them anyway."
Saturday, February 11, 2012
"Let me tell you 'bout hard work. Building a bed out of a cardboard box."
Alright, I'm trying my hand at free writing about what's weighing heavily on my heart instead of providing small snip its of gratitude in my life. So bare with me!
This past week has been interesting because now that I have hit the one month mark of being at Miriam's Kitchen, I have gotten through the training and now can add my own flavor to the job. I can take what I've learned and what I know and need in bits and pieces of myself into it. I have learned:
-People need to want help in order to actually take advantage of help.
-Systems in place are unfair, unjust, unkind and unwilling to listen to the many who are struggling due to conditions and situations they didn't ask for or deserve
-Everyone, including myself, is looking for human interaction and longs for belonging and love
-People are resilient and unpredictable!
For the last "learned point" I think of all the guests I've met in these past four weeks. These four weeks have blown by so quickly that it's hard to truly sit, reflect and soak up everything and everyone I've met. I am reminded of a certain guest who time and time again surprises me (in both good and bad ways). He is always drunk (something I am sad about because I've never met this man sober so I wonder what he'd be like). His levels of drunken-ness vary from time to time and I've heard that he can get violent if he gets too bombed. But I digress, this man is an artist and although he doesn't think of himself as such, I see his talent and marvel that such an out-of-control human being can create such deep and touching artwork.
This man, usually draws landscapes, which is what I like to paint so I feel a common bond there. But he also does random word groupings and bridges in his work, the words are usually really powerful and reflective on his personal life choices and decisions. One day I was walking around the floor and stopped at him, I looked over his shoulder and saw he was sketching a road...it was entitled "The Road to Hell was Paved with..." In his work, he sketched a car (which I guess was him), driving smoothly, hitting bumps, choosing directions to take and eventually crashing once it got to the road sign that read "booze". I asked him, "is this your newest work?" He looked up at me and said with a very heavy slur, "yeah, you like it? I call it 'The Road to Hell is Paved With...well, paved with stupid choices." I asked him what part he thought best defined him right now and he said, "well, all of it. I feel like every morning I wake up is this road and I never know how it's going to end." This man has so much potential, he just can't do it...he just falls just short of where he needs to be, time and time again.
Later that week, I was being hit on repeatedly by the same guy, who can't take a hint and was making me really uncomfortable and my drunken art friend walked up and yelled at this Casanova, "Yo, man, you heard her...back off. Go sit down, man and leave her alone!" We don't like to encourage the guests to pick fights or anything, but it felt good to know that this man had my back and was looking out for me. Casanova ended up being kicked out of Miriam's that evening because he wouldn't leave me alone but this drunk art man surprised me again that day.
Finally, flash forward to 2/9. This drunk art friend of mine comes in, wayyyyy too drunk for his own good and can barely talk. He has a paper in his hand and when I ask him what it is he pulls it close to his chest and backs away saying, "what I'm about to show you is top secret. You and maybe three others are the only ones who know about this." He proceeded to show me the court documents from his trial he had skipped that day. He was found guilty of a pretty serious crime and sentenced to 90 of probation and a $50 fine. Now I knew why he was so hammered, he couldn't even hold a pencil.
This man has taught me a lot (as many of the men I work with have) but he displays the best example of how people simply are resilient and unpredictable. Just when I think I've seen him pull everything, or just when I think he's going to turn his life around, he surprises me and that truth is hard for me to grapple with. People are messy and their problems are even messier; but they are resilient and I take a little refuge in that.
***Song lyrics (in title of blog) taken from "Dear Mr. President" by Pink.
This past week has been interesting because now that I have hit the one month mark of being at Miriam's Kitchen, I have gotten through the training and now can add my own flavor to the job. I can take what I've learned and what I know and need in bits and pieces of myself into it. I have learned:
-People need to want help in order to actually take advantage of help.
-Systems in place are unfair, unjust, unkind and unwilling to listen to the many who are struggling due to conditions and situations they didn't ask for or deserve
-Everyone, including myself, is looking for human interaction and longs for belonging and love
-People are resilient and unpredictable!
For the last "learned point" I think of all the guests I've met in these past four weeks. These four weeks have blown by so quickly that it's hard to truly sit, reflect and soak up everything and everyone I've met. I am reminded of a certain guest who time and time again surprises me (in both good and bad ways). He is always drunk (something I am sad about because I've never met this man sober so I wonder what he'd be like). His levels of drunken-ness vary from time to time and I've heard that he can get violent if he gets too bombed. But I digress, this man is an artist and although he doesn't think of himself as such, I see his talent and marvel that such an out-of-control human being can create such deep and touching artwork.
This man, usually draws landscapes, which is what I like to paint so I feel a common bond there. But he also does random word groupings and bridges in his work, the words are usually really powerful and reflective on his personal life choices and decisions. One day I was walking around the floor and stopped at him, I looked over his shoulder and saw he was sketching a road...it was entitled "The Road to Hell was Paved with..." In his work, he sketched a car (which I guess was him), driving smoothly, hitting bumps, choosing directions to take and eventually crashing once it got to the road sign that read "booze". I asked him, "is this your newest work?" He looked up at me and said with a very heavy slur, "yeah, you like it? I call it 'The Road to Hell is Paved With...well, paved with stupid choices." I asked him what part he thought best defined him right now and he said, "well, all of it. I feel like every morning I wake up is this road and I never know how it's going to end." This man has so much potential, he just can't do it...he just falls just short of where he needs to be, time and time again.
Later that week, I was being hit on repeatedly by the same guy, who can't take a hint and was making me really uncomfortable and my drunken art friend walked up and yelled at this Casanova, "Yo, man, you heard her...back off. Go sit down, man and leave her alone!" We don't like to encourage the guests to pick fights or anything, but it felt good to know that this man had my back and was looking out for me. Casanova ended up being kicked out of Miriam's that evening because he wouldn't leave me alone but this drunk art man surprised me again that day.
Finally, flash forward to 2/9. This drunk art friend of mine comes in, wayyyyy too drunk for his own good and can barely talk. He has a paper in his hand and when I ask him what it is he pulls it close to his chest and backs away saying, "what I'm about to show you is top secret. You and maybe three others are the only ones who know about this." He proceeded to show me the court documents from his trial he had skipped that day. He was found guilty of a pretty serious crime and sentenced to 90 of probation and a $50 fine. Now I knew why he was so hammered, he couldn't even hold a pencil.
This man has taught me a lot (as many of the men I work with have) but he displays the best example of how people simply are resilient and unpredictable. Just when I think I've seen him pull everything, or just when I think he's going to turn his life around, he surprises me and that truth is hard for me to grapple with. People are messy and their problems are even messier; but they are resilient and I take a little refuge in that.
***Song lyrics (in title of blog) taken from "Dear Mr. President" by Pink.
Friday, February 3, 2012
"So we're okay, We're fine. I'm here to stop your crying."
***Song title (in blog title) taken from the song "The Power of Two" by the Indigo Girls.
*Thursday, Feb. 2nd, 2012: I love being there for people. I love being the one people rant to, complain to, share good news with, share any news with and this job at Miriam's has me being that for people. Sometimes I need to provide the nuts and bolts kind of services like a birth certificate or a DMV voucher or something, but a majority of the time I get to be a listener to our guest and that's my favorite part. I am grateful for listening. I am grateful for the opportunity to be that for my guests.
*Friday, Feb. 3rd, 2012: Had a roommate date with Britt tonight and was very thankful for that time to just relax and unwind after work. It was good to just walk around, enjoy $6 worth of frozen yogurt for each of us and just relax. We got to talk about everything under the sun and I am grateful for her friendship and just taking it easy tonight.
*Saturday, Feb. 4th, 2012: Today my community hung out with a Rabbi and got to attend a Bat-Mitzvah and prayer service! It was incredible. If I couldn't be Roman Catholic, I would easily be Jewish because the sense of love, community and tradition is incredible. Set aside my constant "Fiddler on the Roof" references, eating lunch and chatting with Rabbi George was wonderful and probably in my top five moments in DC thus far. I really enjoyed learning more about Judaism and I sat next to the Rabbi's wife at the three-hour-long service and she kept talking to me. It was wonderful because she kept explaining to me the points of the service and what we were singing and also rubbed me on the back when I started to cry during the Bat-Mitzvah. She whispered to me, "you're so sentimental and that's wonderful." I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the synagogue today and am grateful for that exposure and experience.
*Sunday, Feb. 5th, 2012: SUPER BOWL! I am thankful for the Giants and (ugh) the Patriots...because they brought Britt, Andy, Emily, Kathleen, Therese and I together to watch the BIG GAME at a bar and it was really fun. It was fun to hang out with them and to actually have a true die hard Giants fan to watch it with!
*Monday, Feb. 6th, 2012: I am grateful for realities reminding me that life isn't perfect and people don't always know how to help themselves. The guest I've been working with who is illiterate and has major barriers set up for himself came to me today and asked about the balance of his food stamps. Turns out, he has already spent all $200 of his food stamps for the month of February. I can lead a horse to water but I can't make him drink...I can set him up to succeed but at the end of the day, it is within his power to succeed. So now I am working with him on a budget plan for the month of March and hopefully he won't blow through his food stamps as quickly! Today, I am thankful for this reality check.
*Tuesday, Feb. 7th, 2012: I am thankful for the staff at Miriam's Kitchen and their sense of humor. The Annual Miri Awards were today and each staff person was awarded a silly award for their efforts as a staff person. I won the "New Girl" award for obvious reasons but the overall sense of love and friendship could be felt in the room and I am so grateful that God plopped me here. These people are incredible.
*Wednesday, Feb. 8th, 2012: Down time with my roommates and creating a kick butt gift for someone. So tonight Colleen and I spent around three hours compiling an amazing set of songs for a gift for someone. It was hilarious and a lot of fun going through ALL of my music, yes, that's 3,650 songs, and deciding which songs would be good for this CD. I am grateful for tonight and the silliness that resulted from hours of listening to all kinds of music.
*Thursday, Feb. 9th, 2012: As I sit here, in my office, waiting for the next bus to come...in 13 minutes, by the way, I can't help but marvel at the fact that I find a gratitude journal kinda silly now. I have so many things to be grateful for and LOVE my new job so much that the main purpose of my gratitude journal is kinda defeated now. I am grateful for a lot so this journal starts to become kind of repetitive. BUT today I am grateful for my gained knowledge. In just four short weeks I have learned so much at Miriam's Kitchen; not only about homelessness and my staff, but about myself as well. I belong here and it feels so good to finally be where I belong. I am grateful for that sense of belonging today.
***Side note: Because my days are better and just more life giving than they were in the past, this is going to be my last "Gratitude Journal" post. I am going to start posting stories, or really important revelations instead because that way, I can dive deeper into one important thing in my life instead of ten little things that I brush over quickly in these posts.
*Thursday, Feb. 2nd, 2012: I love being there for people. I love being the one people rant to, complain to, share good news with, share any news with and this job at Miriam's has me being that for people. Sometimes I need to provide the nuts and bolts kind of services like a birth certificate or a DMV voucher or something, but a majority of the time I get to be a listener to our guest and that's my favorite part. I am grateful for listening. I am grateful for the opportunity to be that for my guests.
*Friday, Feb. 3rd, 2012: Had a roommate date with Britt tonight and was very thankful for that time to just relax and unwind after work. It was good to just walk around, enjoy $6 worth of frozen yogurt for each of us and just relax. We got to talk about everything under the sun and I am grateful for her friendship and just taking it easy tonight.
*Saturday, Feb. 4th, 2012: Today my community hung out with a Rabbi and got to attend a Bat-Mitzvah and prayer service! It was incredible. If I couldn't be Roman Catholic, I would easily be Jewish because the sense of love, community and tradition is incredible. Set aside my constant "Fiddler on the Roof" references, eating lunch and chatting with Rabbi George was wonderful and probably in my top five moments in DC thus far. I really enjoyed learning more about Judaism and I sat next to the Rabbi's wife at the three-hour-long service and she kept talking to me. It was wonderful because she kept explaining to me the points of the service and what we were singing and also rubbed me on the back when I started to cry during the Bat-Mitzvah. She whispered to me, "you're so sentimental and that's wonderful." I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the synagogue today and am grateful for that exposure and experience.
*Sunday, Feb. 5th, 2012: SUPER BOWL! I am thankful for the Giants and (ugh) the Patriots...because they brought Britt, Andy, Emily, Kathleen, Therese and I together to watch the BIG GAME at a bar and it was really fun. It was fun to hang out with them and to actually have a true die hard Giants fan to watch it with!
*Monday, Feb. 6th, 2012: I am grateful for realities reminding me that life isn't perfect and people don't always know how to help themselves. The guest I've been working with who is illiterate and has major barriers set up for himself came to me today and asked about the balance of his food stamps. Turns out, he has already spent all $200 of his food stamps for the month of February. I can lead a horse to water but I can't make him drink...I can set him up to succeed but at the end of the day, it is within his power to succeed. So now I am working with him on a budget plan for the month of March and hopefully he won't blow through his food stamps as quickly! Today, I am thankful for this reality check.
*Tuesday, Feb. 7th, 2012: I am thankful for the staff at Miriam's Kitchen and their sense of humor. The Annual Miri Awards were today and each staff person was awarded a silly award for their efforts as a staff person. I won the "New Girl" award for obvious reasons but the overall sense of love and friendship could be felt in the room and I am so grateful that God plopped me here. These people are incredible.
*Wednesday, Feb. 8th, 2012: Down time with my roommates and creating a kick butt gift for someone. So tonight Colleen and I spent around three hours compiling an amazing set of songs for a gift for someone. It was hilarious and a lot of fun going through ALL of my music, yes, that's 3,650 songs, and deciding which songs would be good for this CD. I am grateful for tonight and the silliness that resulted from hours of listening to all kinds of music.
*Thursday, Feb. 9th, 2012: As I sit here, in my office, waiting for the next bus to come...in 13 minutes, by the way, I can't help but marvel at the fact that I find a gratitude journal kinda silly now. I have so many things to be grateful for and LOVE my new job so much that the main purpose of my gratitude journal is kinda defeated now. I am grateful for a lot so this journal starts to become kind of repetitive. BUT today I am grateful for my gained knowledge. In just four short weeks I have learned so much at Miriam's Kitchen; not only about homelessness and my staff, but about myself as well. I belong here and it feels so good to finally be where I belong. I am grateful for that sense of belonging today.
***Side note: Because my days are better and just more life giving than they were in the past, this is going to be my last "Gratitude Journal" post. I am going to start posting stories, or really important revelations instead because that way, I can dive deeper into one important thing in my life instead of ten little things that I brush over quickly in these posts.
Friday, January 27, 2012
"I will be brave. I will not let anything take away. What's standing in front of me."
***Song lyrics (in title of blog) taken from "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri.
*Thursday, Jan. 26th, 2012: Today I am going to cheat and be grateful for last night. My co-workers and I volunteered for the Point in Time survey in which we walked around DC from 9pm-2am, looking for homeless people living on the streets to ask them to take a survey with us. Although my partner and I (shoutout to Therese) only found one man, it was a really good experience. We were cold (but bundled up) and tired (but were walking after a full night's sleep) so it was good to think about our feelings and compare them to how a homeless person feels at night. PLUS it was a wonderful opportunity to talk with Therese about life and chat her up for a bit. I'm so blessed to have incredible people and experiences throughout my life.
*Friday, Jan. 27th, 2012: Each day at work I have to pinch myself because of the amazing-ness that surrounds me. Guests can be difficult and unruly at times but even in that unruliness, I am challenged to see Jesus in them. I remind myself that although I am frustrated because it is the 6th man in a row to get angry at me because of fill-in-the-blank, each person has a story and a reason to be edgy and even in that edginess, there is an opportunity to love them anyway. So that's where the title of this blog kind of comes in: "I will be brave. I will not let anything take away. What's standing in front of me." Although they are difficult at times, I need to remember that nothing can take away from the person that is standing in front of me. I am thankful for that strength today.
*Saturday, Jan. 28th, 2012: Today I am grateful for chick flicks. Tonight I watched "The Wedding Date" with Cara as our one-on-one date and it was really fun. It's my guilty pleasure movie for sure because it is such a mindless movie, but it tears at my heart and makes me laugh in certain places. Plus, I got to watch it with my roommate, so that was a nice time for us to bond over the silliness of this movie.
*Sunday, Jan. 29th, 2012: Today I am grateful for Mass at St. Augustine's. It's Catholic Schools week so they had a children's choir kick off the week by singing at Mass. It was really beautiful and touching and I enjoyed the pour joy and silliness they exhibited when they thought no one was watching them. Kids are funny and I certainly do miss working with them, but God has a funny way of dropping them in my life from time to time and I am grateful for that today.
*Monday, Jan. 30th, 2012: Today I am grateful to have my fellow JV co-worker back at work (and not just because she gave me a ride to work this morning). I enjoy her company and friendship so much and am so pleased to have her back at work after not working with her since Wednesday. She just makes me feel a little more confident when I go to work with a guest on something I'm not sure about so to have her back today was wonderful.
*Tuesday, Jan. 31st, 2012: Today I am thankful for that same guest who I had been helping at Miriam's who came in today with a huge grin on his face as he showed me his DC non-driver's ID he had just gotten...after three weeks, many difficulties and a lot of paperwork, my illiterate, kind-hearted friend had gotten his DC ID. I was like a proud mama...props to him today.
*Wednesday, Feb. 1st, 2012: Today I got to go to Christ House, a shelter for homeless men who are just recently out of surgery or have been just released from the hospital, to visit with a man I have never met. The man had been a long-term Miriam's guest and is known as a crotchety, old, mean and slightly racist man. All I saw, when his thin, boney arm held the door open for me, was a kind, scared and tired old man. He is dying of lung cancer. As I looked around his bedroom, which resembled a hospital room, he had five dress shirts, one basket with pants, socks and underwear, a lint brush, towel, toothbrush and a giant painting of the Mona Lisa in his room. That was all...I was struck by many things with this man, but the most important one, besides his lack of possessions, was his kind sunken in eyes as he looked at me and asked me questions. I am thankful for him today.
*Thursday, Jan. 26th, 2012: Today I am going to cheat and be grateful for last night. My co-workers and I volunteered for the Point in Time survey in which we walked around DC from 9pm-2am, looking for homeless people living on the streets to ask them to take a survey with us. Although my partner and I (shoutout to Therese) only found one man, it was a really good experience. We were cold (but bundled up) and tired (but were walking after a full night's sleep) so it was good to think about our feelings and compare them to how a homeless person feels at night. PLUS it was a wonderful opportunity to talk with Therese about life and chat her up for a bit. I'm so blessed to have incredible people and experiences throughout my life.
*Friday, Jan. 27th, 2012: Each day at work I have to pinch myself because of the amazing-ness that surrounds me. Guests can be difficult and unruly at times but even in that unruliness, I am challenged to see Jesus in them. I remind myself that although I am frustrated because it is the 6th man in a row to get angry at me because of fill-in-the-blank, each person has a story and a reason to be edgy and even in that edginess, there is an opportunity to love them anyway. So that's where the title of this blog kind of comes in: "I will be brave. I will not let anything take away. What's standing in front of me." Although they are difficult at times, I need to remember that nothing can take away from the person that is standing in front of me. I am thankful for that strength today.
*Saturday, Jan. 28th, 2012: Today I am grateful for chick flicks. Tonight I watched "The Wedding Date" with Cara as our one-on-one date and it was really fun. It's my guilty pleasure movie for sure because it is such a mindless movie, but it tears at my heart and makes me laugh in certain places. Plus, I got to watch it with my roommate, so that was a nice time for us to bond over the silliness of this movie.
*Sunday, Jan. 29th, 2012: Today I am grateful for Mass at St. Augustine's. It's Catholic Schools week so they had a children's choir kick off the week by singing at Mass. It was really beautiful and touching and I enjoyed the pour joy and silliness they exhibited when they thought no one was watching them. Kids are funny and I certainly do miss working with them, but God has a funny way of dropping them in my life from time to time and I am grateful for that today.
*Monday, Jan. 30th, 2012: Today I am grateful to have my fellow JV co-worker back at work (and not just because she gave me a ride to work this morning). I enjoy her company and friendship so much and am so pleased to have her back at work after not working with her since Wednesday. She just makes me feel a little more confident when I go to work with a guest on something I'm not sure about so to have her back today was wonderful.
*Tuesday, Jan. 31st, 2012: Today I am thankful for that same guest who I had been helping at Miriam's who came in today with a huge grin on his face as he showed me his DC non-driver's ID he had just gotten...after three weeks, many difficulties and a lot of paperwork, my illiterate, kind-hearted friend had gotten his DC ID. I was like a proud mama...props to him today.
*Wednesday, Feb. 1st, 2012: Today I got to go to Christ House, a shelter for homeless men who are just recently out of surgery or have been just released from the hospital, to visit with a man I have never met. The man had been a long-term Miriam's guest and is known as a crotchety, old, mean and slightly racist man. All I saw, when his thin, boney arm held the door open for me, was a kind, scared and tired old man. He is dying of lung cancer. As I looked around his bedroom, which resembled a hospital room, he had five dress shirts, one basket with pants, socks and underwear, a lint brush, towel, toothbrush and a giant painting of the Mona Lisa in his room. That was all...I was struck by many things with this man, but the most important one, besides his lack of possessions, was his kind sunken in eyes as he looked at me and asked me questions. I am thankful for him today.
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