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!
Thursday, August 9, 2012
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
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