I've visited the border fence at Anapra a few times. I've never seen nuns throwing stuff over the fence, but I admire their boldness! Check it out...
http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/1104113.htm
Friday, October 21, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A conversation with a rap-obsessed boy.
At the after-school program I work with, we always begin our day with an hour of homework time as soon as we pick up the kids from school. On Thursday, we had a significantly smaller number of kids at homework time. Although we usually turn up 12-20 kids, Thursday we had a whopping six. The three of us on staff took a surprised yet relieved sigh as we walked into the room to find such fewer students. We looked forward to a relaxing hour filled with calmness rather than the chaos of trying to get all the kids to work on homework, to make sure none of them wander out of the room, and to give as many of them the tutoring they need.
But Thursday, since our ratio was 2:1 students to staff, I had the chance to sit down with one of our middle school boys and just chat with him as others in the room joined in their own conversations or projects and homework. This boy is one of the many that I usually drive home after daily programming. He is a great kid, who is rarely without a smile on his face. He's very helpful, talkative, and fun to be around. But he is also the one who most enjoys "singing" raps in the van-ride home...despite the cuss words and inappropriateness in the raps, which bother me quite a bit, especially since there are often younger kids in the van. I tell him to stop, threaten to not let him in the van anymore; but like any typical middle school boy, he finds it funny that I am so offended by his raps and continues on rapping. He is also one of our students who never brings homework to homework time. When we tell him to find something to work on, he pulls out folded up pieces of lined paper, filled with penciled words of raps he has written. "Miss, will you read this?" he asks me as he hands his most recent work. I get to the second line, where the first f-bomb is dropped, and I hand the paper back to him. "Dude, you know I don't wanna read this!"
But Thursday I sat down with him and listened to him for more than twenty minutes tell me all about his idols: Lil' Wayne, Eminem, 2Pac...among other rappers. Folks that I know nothing about--I don't listen to rap at all, especially rap full of swearing or violent and sexual images, and I just have never been interested. (I just looked up 2Pac on wikipedia because I didn't know how to spell his name.) But the extent of this boy's knowledge about these celebrities was fascinating! He knew people they had married or seen, how they had died, when they went to rehab, how their lives were reflected in their music...it was astonishing. So I sat and listened as I learned about these rappers who before, all I knew was their name and that they were rap artists. These celebrities are who he looks up to, who he admires, who he strives to be like. But these celebrities' lives are full of drug-use, suicide attempts and attempted homicide, sexual abuse...is this who we want our middle schoolers to be looking up to?
But that's not the end of the story. After being given summaries of the rappers' lives, he once again pulled out his papers (this time, ALL his papers--more than 20 raps!) and began telling me about how he writes them and what kinds of raps he writes. But this time instead of the daily question of, "Miss, will you read this?" I asked him, "Can I read one?"
This time my eyes went past the cuss words and my heart penetrated the emotional and deep content in his raps. Feelings of loneliness, anger, frustration, but mostly--confusion, filled the pages. Every rap was one long run-on sentence with no spaces, no room for pause. For the first time, I realized that his raps were his outlet for his emotions.
During this time, this middle school boy also told me why he never does his homework at our program. "I do my homework at home. When you drop me off, my mom still isn't home, so I have the peace and quiet to do my homework. Every day I go home, I do homework, I eat, I go to bed...every day." Unlike other kids, there is no time in his schedule to hang out with friends or family. I finally learned that his raps and fascination with rap are way more than just an off-to-the-side hobby...they give him life.
For this boy, rap is his outlet. It is his friend. It is his passion. Now, do I continue getting frustrated with the cussing and the violent images...or do I respect his passion and seek to understand it more?
God bless this boy.
But Thursday, since our ratio was 2:1 students to staff, I had the chance to sit down with one of our middle school boys and just chat with him as others in the room joined in their own conversations or projects and homework. This boy is one of the many that I usually drive home after daily programming. He is a great kid, who is rarely without a smile on his face. He's very helpful, talkative, and fun to be around. But he is also the one who most enjoys "singing" raps in the van-ride home...despite the cuss words and inappropriateness in the raps, which bother me quite a bit, especially since there are often younger kids in the van. I tell him to stop, threaten to not let him in the van anymore; but like any typical middle school boy, he finds it funny that I am so offended by his raps and continues on rapping. He is also one of our students who never brings homework to homework time. When we tell him to find something to work on, he pulls out folded up pieces of lined paper, filled with penciled words of raps he has written. "Miss, will you read this?" he asks me as he hands his most recent work. I get to the second line, where the first f-bomb is dropped, and I hand the paper back to him. "Dude, you know I don't wanna read this!"
But Thursday I sat down with him and listened to him for more than twenty minutes tell me all about his idols: Lil' Wayne, Eminem, 2Pac...among other rappers. Folks that I know nothing about--I don't listen to rap at all, especially rap full of swearing or violent and sexual images, and I just have never been interested. (I just looked up 2Pac on wikipedia because I didn't know how to spell his name.) But the extent of this boy's knowledge about these celebrities was fascinating! He knew people they had married or seen, how they had died, when they went to rehab, how their lives were reflected in their music...it was astonishing. So I sat and listened as I learned about these rappers who before, all I knew was their name and that they were rap artists. These celebrities are who he looks up to, who he admires, who he strives to be like. But these celebrities' lives are full of drug-use, suicide attempts and attempted homicide, sexual abuse...is this who we want our middle schoolers to be looking up to?
But that's not the end of the story. After being given summaries of the rappers' lives, he once again pulled out his papers (this time, ALL his papers--more than 20 raps!) and began telling me about how he writes them and what kinds of raps he writes. But this time instead of the daily question of, "Miss, will you read this?" I asked him, "Can I read one?"
This time my eyes went past the cuss words and my heart penetrated the emotional and deep content in his raps. Feelings of loneliness, anger, frustration, but mostly--confusion, filled the pages. Every rap was one long run-on sentence with no spaces, no room for pause. For the first time, I realized that his raps were his outlet for his emotions.
During this time, this middle school boy also told me why he never does his homework at our program. "I do my homework at home. When you drop me off, my mom still isn't home, so I have the peace and quiet to do my homework. Every day I go home, I do homework, I eat, I go to bed...every day." Unlike other kids, there is no time in his schedule to hang out with friends or family. I finally learned that his raps and fascination with rap are way more than just an off-to-the-side hobby...they give him life.
For this boy, rap is his outlet. It is his friend. It is his passion. Now, do I continue getting frustrated with the cussing and the violent images...or do I respect his passion and seek to understand it more?
God bless this boy.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Spanglish.
If I were to describe El Paso in one word, it might be "Spanglish." Everywhere I go, I hear a unique blend of Spanish and English. At work with the Middle Schoolers it happens all the time:
"Pero Miss, no tengo homework."
"Miss, can I have a boli?"
"Donde estan su shoes?"
"Miss, can I use your telefono?"
"Miss, puedo tener tu phone?"
Almost every conversation with the kids is an exchange of two languages, and I'm finding that even though all the youth know English, some choose not to use it or seem not very comfortable speaking English. So our conversations are a fun mix. :)
I can also see a mix of Mexico and Texas when bringing the youth home at the end of the day. One minute, I will be dropping off kids near Segundo Barrio, where all the shops and houses have signs in Spanish, and the neighborhood reminds me of my time in Central America and looks more like what I see when I look south of the border fence. But then a kid will need to be dropped off a few miles north of downtown, in a neighborhood that looks like a middle-class neighborhood in the Midwest, with generously sized houses, trees (but not much grass), wider roads with curbs, and not a word in Spanish.
But the mixture of language is just one aspect of the unique culture you can find here in El Paso. I have never been to any place like the Borderland--not only am I in a place where two nations share a border, but also where two languages dance, multiple cultures clash, many economic classes reside, and the river meets desert meets mountains.
Living and working in this unique border culture has been super fascinating for me. I'm sure I'll be sharing more about this in future posts. But for now, I look forward to continue learning a new language.
Local radio stations are perhaps the best source for a mix of language. The song "Tengo Tu Love" has been on quite a bit, and it is the perfect example of Spanglish...
Yo tengo tu amor
I got your love
Yo tengo tu amor
Yo tengo tu love.
"Pero Miss, no tengo homework."
"Miss, can I have a boli?"
"Donde estan su shoes?"
"Miss, can I use your telefono?"
"Miss, puedo tener tu phone?"
Almost every conversation with the kids is an exchange of two languages, and I'm finding that even though all the youth know English, some choose not to use it or seem not very comfortable speaking English. So our conversations are a fun mix. :)
I can also see a mix of Mexico and Texas when bringing the youth home at the end of the day. One minute, I will be dropping off kids near Segundo Barrio, where all the shops and houses have signs in Spanish, and the neighborhood reminds me of my time in Central America and looks more like what I see when I look south of the border fence. But then a kid will need to be dropped off a few miles north of downtown, in a neighborhood that looks like a middle-class neighborhood in the Midwest, with generously sized houses, trees (but not much grass), wider roads with curbs, and not a word in Spanish.
But the mixture of language is just one aspect of the unique culture you can find here in El Paso. I have never been to any place like the Borderland--not only am I in a place where two nations share a border, but also where two languages dance, multiple cultures clash, many economic classes reside, and the river meets desert meets mountains.
Living and working in this unique border culture has been super fascinating for me. I'm sure I'll be sharing more about this in future posts. But for now, I look forward to continue learning a new language.
Local radio stations are perhaps the best source for a mix of language. The song "Tengo Tu Love" has been on quite a bit, and it is the perfect example of Spanglish...
Yo tengo tu amor
I got your love
Yo tengo tu amor
Yo tengo tu love.
If you're not a Spanish speaker, check out the video and see how many words you can recognize. :)
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Thinking about money...
I love concerts. In the past five or so years of my life, I have spent hundreds of dollars on tickets, gas, and meals to go to shows and many many hours with friends attending and driving to and from those shows. I absolutely love the environment of live music being shared by a talented group of people--Christian or secular, indoor or outdoor, metal or acoustic. It would never take me long to fork out the $10-40 for a ticket and drive over three hours to get to a concert.
I have driven many miles to see one of my favorite bands, Sanctus Real, perform and I have spent many hours waiting at shows to maintain my spot in the front row at music festivals. Every time I heard that they were going to be anywhere in the Midwest, I began my research, purchased tickets, and cleared my schedule to make sure I could be there. Moving down here to Texas, I was bummed I would miss their performances at LifeLight and other shows in the tri-state area...until I found out they were coming to El Paso! I was SO excited that I'd have the chance to see them again.
So Sanctus Real played here in El Paso last week...but I didn't go.
After the initial excitement wore off, I started thinking more about the show and its $25 ticket. They were playing with Casting Crowns, so this was probably a pretty reasonable ticket price. But for a few days, I just couldn't bring myself to buy a ticket. I kept thinking about how this $25 was one-fourth my stipend for a month, and what else I could spend that money on or save it. I'd also have to miss a night of YoungLife...which wouldn't have been a big deal, considering we often have as many leaders as we do youth attend. But instead of worshiping with my hands raised to the "Face of Love" or "I'm Not Alright" that night, I worshiped with my arms around our high schoolers, swaying back and forth and singing as loud as we could to "Stand by Me."
Many people I know would not see my refusal to the concert as a big deal. But for me, it is kinda a big deal. Being at concerts have been some of the most joyful moments of my life. I think my decision to not attend demonstrates how much I am already changing from my experience here on the border. Even just a month ago or so, some three weeks into the program, I willingly and excitedly spent $40 for an Avett Brothers concert here in El Paso next month. I don't regret my purchase and I am very excited for the show, but the extent of thought that I put into buying that ticket was way less than the Sanctus Real ticket.
I don't want pity for not having much money or want to put myself up on a stand, saying "look at me and how much I am sacrificing because I'm poor!" But I live and work around so many people that come from families that just don't have the option to make a purchase without giving much much thought into it. On the other hand, I also work with many who have a family member who doesn't think twice about spending money on things like alcohol. I have never been good with money and I never really think about finances ever...but I am learning that the less money you have, the more you think about it. (Unless you're an addict.)
I am blessed to be earning no salary. I am blessed to have rent and utilities taken care of. I am blessed to be missing out on fun experiences to spend time with confused teenagers. I am blessed to have to think twice or three times about spending $6 on a coffee and bagel...sometimes giving in (like now) and sometimes deciding it's not worth it. I am blessed to be living in a community where we take a lot of time to consider our financial situation before buying groceries or making other purchases. I am blessed with the ability to feel blessed despite my economic situation, and to recognize that life for me is still very, very comfortable.
As I sit at a small table in Kinley's with my bagel and coffee, I wonder how comfortable the man sitting outside my window is...I mean, having to beg for money from folks sitting outside a coffee shop, how comfortable can he be?
I have driven many miles to see one of my favorite bands, Sanctus Real, perform and I have spent many hours waiting at shows to maintain my spot in the front row at music festivals. Every time I heard that they were going to be anywhere in the Midwest, I began my research, purchased tickets, and cleared my schedule to make sure I could be there. Moving down here to Texas, I was bummed I would miss their performances at LifeLight and other shows in the tri-state area...until I found out they were coming to El Paso! I was SO excited that I'd have the chance to see them again.
So Sanctus Real played here in El Paso last week...but I didn't go.
After the initial excitement wore off, I started thinking more about the show and its $25 ticket. They were playing with Casting Crowns, so this was probably a pretty reasonable ticket price. But for a few days, I just couldn't bring myself to buy a ticket. I kept thinking about how this $25 was one-fourth my stipend for a month, and what else I could spend that money on or save it. I'd also have to miss a night of YoungLife...which wouldn't have been a big deal, considering we often have as many leaders as we do youth attend. But instead of worshiping with my hands raised to the "Face of Love" or "I'm Not Alright" that night, I worshiped with my arms around our high schoolers, swaying back and forth and singing as loud as we could to "Stand by Me."
Many people I know would not see my refusal to the concert as a big deal. But for me, it is kinda a big deal. Being at concerts have been some of the most joyful moments of my life. I think my decision to not attend demonstrates how much I am already changing from my experience here on the border. Even just a month ago or so, some three weeks into the program, I willingly and excitedly spent $40 for an Avett Brothers concert here in El Paso next month. I don't regret my purchase and I am very excited for the show, but the extent of thought that I put into buying that ticket was way less than the Sanctus Real ticket.
I don't want pity for not having much money or want to put myself up on a stand, saying "look at me and how much I am sacrificing because I'm poor!" But I live and work around so many people that come from families that just don't have the option to make a purchase without giving much much thought into it. On the other hand, I also work with many who have a family member who doesn't think twice about spending money on things like alcohol. I have never been good with money and I never really think about finances ever...but I am learning that the less money you have, the more you think about it. (Unless you're an addict.)
I am blessed to be earning no salary. I am blessed to have rent and utilities taken care of. I am blessed to be missing out on fun experiences to spend time with confused teenagers. I am blessed to have to think twice or three times about spending $6 on a coffee and bagel...sometimes giving in (like now) and sometimes deciding it's not worth it. I am blessed to be living in a community where we take a lot of time to consider our financial situation before buying groceries or making other purchases. I am blessed with the ability to feel blessed despite my economic situation, and to recognize that life for me is still very, very comfortable.
As I sit at a small table in Kinley's with my bagel and coffee, I wonder how comfortable the man sitting outside my window is...I mean, having to beg for money from folks sitting outside a coffee shop, how comfortable can he be?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
C'mon, let's follow this through.
You know, people are interesting.
Lately I've been fascinated by just how different people can be...what a variety of types of people there are. This fascination has led to my own examination of what kind of person I want to be. I'm warning you now--this post might get long, but I think this post will be helpful for me to organize what I've seen and thought about in regards to people. (Pretty broad, eh? But we'll see where this goes.)
There's been a few different instances that stick out in my mind about how people can be:
I walk to work every morning. I like to look around and keep my head up when walking, hoping for an opportunity to share a smile or hello with someone also walking. But most of the people I pass (usually college students) do not look up at me when we pass on the sidewalk. Yeah, it can be awkward to say hello to a stranger on the street or make eye contact, but I'm the kind of person that loves giving and receiving a friendly hello or smile from a stranger. Maybe I'm just making the situation weird for my passerby, I don't know. I guess some people just aren't as friendly to strangers as I like to be.
On the contrast, a few blocks from my work site, every morning there is a man (or a couple of men) standing at a busy intersection where the main highway meets my street. He stands on the median while the stoplight is red, holding a cardboard sign that says "Homeless" or "Hungry...anything helps." He stands just feet from the stopped cars, looking in the eyes of the passengers and drivers with his own desperate eyes. He is not afraid to acknowledge those passing strangers by silently pleading with them with his gaze and his sign.
The neighborhood in which I work is interesting. Our program serves youth (and adults) that are mostly from low-income, sometimes abusive or just not healthy, migrant families. But we are sponsored by a church that has a private school just across the street from the building we use. As I return from picking up our kids from school around 3:00, I notice the line of nice cars filling the parking lot and the many kids exiting the school building, making their way to the cars. I spend a great couple of hours with the kids in our program, then spend another 40 minutes or so bringing a lot of them home. Many of them would not be able to attend our program if we did not offer a ride from school and/or a ride home for them.
The past few weeks we've traveled into New Mexico for weekend adventures. To get to our destinations, we have had to pass through border patrol checkpoints on the highway. Our first two times, the border patrol official gave us a quick glance, asked the question, "Are you all U.S. citizens?" and with a "Yes, sir" from us, let us on our way. Today, we simply received a glance and a wave of the hand to continue on through. Those checkpoints are using racial profiling to decide who can and cannot continue on their way with a view of what we look like. I guess you can determine if a person is a U.S. citizen simply by glancing at them.
I could continue with stories about how I've noticed these things about people (including a fun encounter with strangers and hotel management), but this post could be pages and pages long. Mostly these experiences have made me think more about the type of person I want to be.
I have heard a passage from scripture a lot lately, Romans 12:2. "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Mostly the first part sticks out to me: Do not conform any longer.
I have a lot of desires for this next year. I want this year to be different for me. I want to wake up in the mornings and actually spend time in reflection and scripture. I want to run every day. I want to keep up with the news. I want to give my all in everything I do with my work. I want to really get to know the youth I'm working with. I want to be honest with my housemates. I want to read more. I want to be bold in my beliefs and opinions. I want to unashamedly speak Spanish. I want to be able to balance life here and now with life in the past in the Midwest. I want to learn more guitar.
I want to stop conforming to sleeping in, holding back, being ashamed, lazy, and ignorant. I want to become a transformed person. I want to be buena gente. I want to be giving, selfless, passionate, spiritual, motivated, energized, and honest.
I'm not exactly sure what this will all look like, but I hope to be transformed.
Lately I've been fascinated by just how different people can be...what a variety of types of people there are. This fascination has led to my own examination of what kind of person I want to be. I'm warning you now--this post might get long, but I think this post will be helpful for me to organize what I've seen and thought about in regards to people. (Pretty broad, eh? But we'll see where this goes.)
There's been a few different instances that stick out in my mind about how people can be:
I walk to work every morning. I like to look around and keep my head up when walking, hoping for an opportunity to share a smile or hello with someone also walking. But most of the people I pass (usually college students) do not look up at me when we pass on the sidewalk. Yeah, it can be awkward to say hello to a stranger on the street or make eye contact, but I'm the kind of person that loves giving and receiving a friendly hello or smile from a stranger. Maybe I'm just making the situation weird for my passerby, I don't know. I guess some people just aren't as friendly to strangers as I like to be.
On the contrast, a few blocks from my work site, every morning there is a man (or a couple of men) standing at a busy intersection where the main highway meets my street. He stands on the median while the stoplight is red, holding a cardboard sign that says "Homeless" or "Hungry...anything helps." He stands just feet from the stopped cars, looking in the eyes of the passengers and drivers with his own desperate eyes. He is not afraid to acknowledge those passing strangers by silently pleading with them with his gaze and his sign.
The neighborhood in which I work is interesting. Our program serves youth (and adults) that are mostly from low-income, sometimes abusive or just not healthy, migrant families. But we are sponsored by a church that has a private school just across the street from the building we use. As I return from picking up our kids from school around 3:00, I notice the line of nice cars filling the parking lot and the many kids exiting the school building, making their way to the cars. I spend a great couple of hours with the kids in our program, then spend another 40 minutes or so bringing a lot of them home. Many of them would not be able to attend our program if we did not offer a ride from school and/or a ride home for them.
The past few weeks we've traveled into New Mexico for weekend adventures. To get to our destinations, we have had to pass through border patrol checkpoints on the highway. Our first two times, the border patrol official gave us a quick glance, asked the question, "Are you all U.S. citizens?" and with a "Yes, sir" from us, let us on our way. Today, we simply received a glance and a wave of the hand to continue on through. Those checkpoints are using racial profiling to decide who can and cannot continue on their way with a view of what we look like. I guess you can determine if a person is a U.S. citizen simply by glancing at them.
I could continue with stories about how I've noticed these things about people (including a fun encounter with strangers and hotel management), but this post could be pages and pages long. Mostly these experiences have made me think more about the type of person I want to be.
I have heard a passage from scripture a lot lately, Romans 12:2. "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Mostly the first part sticks out to me: Do not conform any longer.
I have a lot of desires for this next year. I want this year to be different for me. I want to wake up in the mornings and actually spend time in reflection and scripture. I want to run every day. I want to keep up with the news. I want to give my all in everything I do with my work. I want to really get to know the youth I'm working with. I want to be honest with my housemates. I want to read more. I want to be bold in my beliefs and opinions. I want to unashamedly speak Spanish. I want to be able to balance life here and now with life in the past in the Midwest. I want to learn more guitar.
I want to stop conforming to sleeping in, holding back, being ashamed, lazy, and ignorant. I want to become a transformed person. I want to be buena gente. I want to be giving, selfless, passionate, spiritual, motivated, energized, and honest.
I'm not exactly sure what this will all look like, but I hope to be transformed.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Sin Fronteras
Is to be a courier of God
And courier of men and women of good will,
Tearing down walls, destroying borders,
Building bridges.
When I signed up for the Border Servant Corps, I did not expect to live less than a mile away from Mexico. I can see the lights of Juarez, Mexico, from my window at night, and I glance at its neighborhoods down the street every morning.
Though we live very close to the border, Thursday we got up close and personal. We traveled out of the Juarez-El Paso metropolis a few miles, where we met a few yards away from the border fence with a worker from Border Patrol. He gave us a good run down on the purpose of the BP and what they do, including things I had never heard about, including rescue-type missions in the desert and the canals, where they have trained medical teams that search for those migrants "left behind" and get them medical attention before proceeding with the legal stuff. I didn't expect to hear that. He shared many honest and positive things about the border, but I am still critical about BP and its actions. All I've ever heard were harsh stories about abuse and unmerciful BP officers, as well as the sad separation between families that have the hardest time either leaving Mexico or fear to return to Mexico because of fear to never be let back into the US. But you can't categorize an entire group by just one side of the story, right? I'm still learning.
As soon as we were finished speaking with the BP, we approached the fence where two women were waiting for us on the other side. They were friends of our program, often visited in their community by people coming down on border immersion trips. But because of the increase in violence in Juarez and the risk of having a large group of US people in their community, it has been decided that the best conversation location is at the fence.
We heard about their community, their struggles, their families. It was a great conversation, full of Spanish and English, with local kids nearby kicking around rocks, sticking their fingers through the fence, and whispering about us. They were very kind women who are doing great things for their community, and whose love for others and for God was evident in their words. But perhaps the best part of our time at the fence was how we ended our time there.
We had been warned by our BP friend that we shouldn't actually touch the fence or stand right next to it, for suspicion that we were trading items. But that did not stop us from sticking our fingers through the chain links, holding onto each other, and closing in a circle of prayer. It was simply the Lord's Prayer, but at that moment when were connected to each other, there was no language barrier, no fence...nothing but our praise and petitions to the One in whom there are no borders.
Paul once said, "For I am convinced that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God." I am also convinced that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God we find in our neighbors. Especially not a 15-foot "climb-proof" chain-link fence.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
A peaceful goodbye
It's been a week since I gave Pine Ridge a final wave and the last campers left. Even though camp is done, it has been a great week, full of random sleepovers, fun shopping adventures, and joyful lunches with close friends. Soon I begin a new journey. Tomorrow I will begin the 22-hour drive to El Paso, Texas, where I'll step into a year-long term serving with the Border Servant Corps (http://www.borderservant.com/).
I'm not sure if it's because I have not given myself much time to think about this upcoming year, or if I'm still just overwhelmed and excited by the amazing summer I just had, but I don't feel all that bummed, nor super excited, to be leaving tomorrow. And my goodbyes have not seemed that difficult.
Don't get me wrong, it has been fantastic to spend time with so many people who have absolutely blessed not only this past week but also my entire life. But I think the contentment I have been given right now is due to what I have learned about the One we call Creator this summer.
There is a concept in Lakota spirituality that I heard a lot this summer and it always quickened my brain gears and tightened my heart muscle. Mitakuye oyasin. "All my relatives." It's the idea that everyone is your relative. Your uncle, your brother, your grandma, your best friend, your classmate...but also the trees, your dog, the wind, the sun... All of us are related. I think what I love most about this phrase is not only the idea that we are all connected, but that we are all connected by the Great Spirit who has created us.
Something God has gifted me this summer is a new awareness of the Divine in everyone--in every single person I encounter. "All of you are sacred" is something we heard every week from one of our speakers. Everyone is sacred. Everyone has a piece of the Holy in them. Whether or not a person is aware of the Divinity within them is not important; what's important is whether or not we recognize that person as sacred and holy. Can we allow the simple fact that a person is sacred--a child of God--inspire how we treat them, with respect and compassion?
How easier it would be for us to serve one another, to love one another, to actually follow the commands of the one many of us call Savior...if we could just recognize the Holy in every person we encounter, rather than judge, condemn, or cringe away from them.
God is in the dozens of Pine Ridge kids whom we hung out with every day this summer--including the young teenagers who come from confusing, abusive, and emotionally draining homes, as well as the five-year-old girl who called me a dumb ass after drawing Justin Beiber incorrectly. God is in the many old friends, close friends, and mentors that have entered my life and who I got to spend a small amount of time with this week. God is in this puppy lying next to me and who will probably have the hardest time saying goodbye to me tomorrow. God is in the people I will meet on Sunday and live and grow with for the next year or two.
So I remember that everyone I have met and will meet is my relative. Everyone is sacred. Everyone is a child of God... and these ideas are giving me an enormous amount of gratitude, joy, and peace, even amidst the goodbyes.
I'm not sure if it's because I have not given myself much time to think about this upcoming year, or if I'm still just overwhelmed and excited by the amazing summer I just had, but I don't feel all that bummed, nor super excited, to be leaving tomorrow. And my goodbyes have not seemed that difficult.
Don't get me wrong, it has been fantastic to spend time with so many people who have absolutely blessed not only this past week but also my entire life. But I think the contentment I have been given right now is due to what I have learned about the One we call Creator this summer.
There is a concept in Lakota spirituality that I heard a lot this summer and it always quickened my brain gears and tightened my heart muscle. Mitakuye oyasin. "All my relatives." It's the idea that everyone is your relative. Your uncle, your brother, your grandma, your best friend, your classmate...but also the trees, your dog, the wind, the sun... All of us are related. I think what I love most about this phrase is not only the idea that we are all connected, but that we are all connected by the Great Spirit who has created us.
Something God has gifted me this summer is a new awareness of the Divine in everyone--in every single person I encounter. "All of you are sacred" is something we heard every week from one of our speakers. Everyone is sacred. Everyone has a piece of the Holy in them. Whether or not a person is aware of the Divinity within them is not important; what's important is whether or not we recognize that person as sacred and holy. Can we allow the simple fact that a person is sacred--a child of God--inspire how we treat them, with respect and compassion?
How easier it would be for us to serve one another, to love one another, to actually follow the commands of the one many of us call Savior...if we could just recognize the Holy in every person we encounter, rather than judge, condemn, or cringe away from them.
God is in the dozens of Pine Ridge kids whom we hung out with every day this summer--including the young teenagers who come from confusing, abusive, and emotionally draining homes, as well as the five-year-old girl who called me a dumb ass after drawing Justin Beiber incorrectly. God is in the many old friends, close friends, and mentors that have entered my life and who I got to spend a small amount of time with this week. God is in this puppy lying next to me and who will probably have the hardest time saying goodbye to me tomorrow. God is in the people I will meet on Sunday and live and grow with for the next year or two.
So I remember that everyone I have met and will meet is my relative. Everyone is sacred. Everyone is a child of God... and these ideas are giving me an enormous amount of gratitude, joy, and peace, even amidst the goodbyes.
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