Confessions

To be quite honest, I don't love Philly. Most days, I don't even like it. I didn't realize what a southerner I was until I moved to PA last August. Coming from Northern Virginia, you're always explaining to people that NOVA isn't the South - you know that South I'm talking about: that "Deliverance" or "Mississippi Burning" or even "Meet Joe Dirt" kind of South. And it's true, NOVA isn't like that. But it is Southern in that showing hospitality, saying hello, and blessing your heart kind of way. And silly, Southern me thought folks were polite everywhere.

But they're not. There's a coldness up north - both literal and figurative - that I struggle to understand. I miss saying "Sir" and "Ma'am" without being looked at as if I had a third eye. I miss a returned "Good mornin'" and the beauty of a perfectly drawled "y'all".

I miss VA.

I didn't want to come back here in September, but it made sense. B. was here and he had to finish school. A year. I could do a year.

That year will become at least a year and a half, and I still think I can handle it, but I'll be honest: it's been a hard winter. A long, hard winter.

I'm counting the months till June, hanging on for dear life till the end of the school year and a welcome vacation, and then counting down till December when our lease is up and we can go wherever our little hearts desire.

I don't know where we'll go or what will happen or even what I'll do between June and December. Honestly, it's kind of exciting to leave this up in the air for now. I've been praying a lot. Praying for a heart for this city, praying for direction, praying for guidance, praying that I won't stand in the way of whatever God has for us here now or in the future because of my stubborn love for the comfort of the South. I don't know what's coming, I just know that this year has been a struggle of epic proportions for me. I'm trying to feel this out and to adjust. And I've felt myself stretching, learning, and thinking, and these are good things.

No ha sido en vano, pero tampoco ha sido fácil.

Ungodly Hubris....

We were talking in class yesterday about the role of the prophet and decided that prophets, both in the Bible and in the present day (MLK, Jr. was mentioned) are men and women who challenge the status quo, confront God's people with His truth and their shortcomings, and provide a greater vision. There's an identification with the plight of the poor and oppressed - a partaking in that pain - heart break on behalf of the people. There's a challenge to hold ungodly rulers and systems accountable to a just and righteous God.

So that was yesterday; Tuesday, our Urban Politics prof read us this article from USA Today which I feel touches on the prophetic elements outlined above.

This is not your typical "God-bless-America-and-the-Republican-Party" Christianity people show on tv (I hate that depiction...). It's a more biblically-based faith. One that points out the flaws of the nation and the church. There were many points that resonated with me, but I'll highlight a few:

Pop taught me that true patriotism is not a contest to see who can fly the biggest flag. True patriotism exists where citizens love their country enough to hold it accountable. That means working to make certain that the president we have elected and the government we have created live up to the words of our creeds and the dreams of our poets and prophets.

That kind of patriotism is at the heart of authentic biblical faith. The great prophets of the Bible were considered unpatriotic by many of their day.

I love this. I love it because I do love this nation; I've travelled a bit - mostly in the developing world - and can honestly say, though I love the socialist tendencies of Europe, this is truly a country with the potential to be great. This country gave my family and so many of my friends the opportunities we didn't have available in our own countries. (Not that I'm not passionate about the beauty of Puerto Rico, just that I know I have more opportunities here.) This is one of the greatest countries to be a woman, in spite of the glaring inequalities and failures. It's a country that acknowledges the handicapped, racial and ethnic minorities, and sexual minorities. Not that things are perfect, just that we are light years ahead of other countries.
That said, I can criticize the obvious failures and the half-ass job we've done on many issues because of my love for this country. I believe it can be more and it can be better, and that is why I am not okay with the current mediocrity and all out fracas. That is patriotism: to ask that my government make this the best country it can be, and not the one that will appease the greatest numbers. Shake things up; change the nation.

Which brings me to point number two: We are not the greatest nation on earth, but we'd sure like to think that we are.

Part of our challenge stems from the fact that we Americans have an overabundance of self-confidence. So much, in fact, that management guru Marshall Goldsmith reports that 70% of the 50,000 people he has surveyed rank themselves in the top 10% of their peer group. Among doctors, pilots and investment bankers, the number is even higher. Once when Goldsmith told a group of doctors that his "extensive research" had revealed that exactly half of all MDs graduated in the bottom half of their med-school class, two in the audience insisted that this was impossible.

I suspect we read the Bible much the same way. We don't identify with the Egyptians, Babylonians or the multitude of Israelites who worshipped the golden calf. We identify with Abraham and Moses the good guys. Likewise, in the New Testament, we don't identify with the scribes and the Pharisees. And we certainly don't identify with those hated Romans. We identify with Peter, James and John. But like Marshall Goldsmith's overweening physicians, we might be fooling ourselves. Look beneath the surface, and much of what's plaguing the world is what's plaguing us.

I hate when I'm traveling and I run into the proverbial "Ugly American". He's the guy at McDonald's in freakin' Germany where the food is so unbelievably good that McDonald's should be classified as a crime against gastronomy. He's the guy who tries to pay for everything in dollars and doesn't understand why people (a) won't take his money and (b) don't speak English like they should. These are the people that tell the locals that George W. Bush is a wonderful diplomat and that they don't understand why the international community can't back the United States. They don't know why "they hate us".
They hate us because we (as a nation) are greedy and arrogant and, worst of all, ignorant of our greed and arrogance.

The church, sadly, does the same thing. I blame the media for part of this, because they do tend to focus on the crazy fringes of the faith, but I've been around in this aspect as well. There are some ignorant church folks out there. Anyway, here's the thing: we're always preaching against the Pharisees and the Egyptians while we turn away those who don't conform to our rules and exploit the most vulnerable people both here and overseas. We are a self-righteous and often insular body.


For the past few months, I've really been identifying with the Pharisees; I've been identifying with all the failures of the prophets and the disciples (not as much with their successes, but maybe someday). I've been seeing my own brokenness and limitations in some very real ways. It's good; I mean, it sucks, but it's good for me.

I think it's a good thing on grander scales: the church and the nation. It's time to start looking at those broken places and recognizing that we. Need. Help.

We can no longer be those smug, self-righteous folks who have it all together; the wars and the economic crisis should be making that clear. We need to start reaching out, asking for forgiveness in our flawed foreign and domestic policies, and moving towards something better, no matter who wins the election.

Things I'm workin' on or workin' out

1. Resting in God.
2. Not focusing on the obvious brokenness of systems, and instead looking at what is doable on a small scale.
3. Remembering that this mess isn't mine to fix.
4. Trusting God to work out the details.
5. Balancing school, relationships, time with God, and "me time".
6. Facing all those unfinished areas of my life; coming back in contact with my own selfishness and materialism and stupidity.
7. Realizing that those are the areas where God really works.
8. (Re)learning to be less guarded, that vulnerability takes strength, that it is not weak to show emotion. Such a hard one for me.

You know, among other things....

Also, I may have run over a squirrel the other day on my way to school. He was ambivalent about which curb to run to, and I was coming around a curve a bit too quickly. There was a car in the other lane coming towards me and swerving was not an option. Poor little, ambivalent squirrel. He's been in my head since it happened....

ramble.

I should be reading because I've been slacking all night: chatting with J. and BK. - the old Mission Year roomies, catching up with my current roommate J., facebook.... We'll just say I've been a little distracted. Plus, I tried a little studying with B., but ended up mostly reading the same paragraphs over and over again, distracted by how comfortable his shoulder is. I did read an article and a half, which is something, right? Ha ha. I'm such a slacker by the end of the week....

Anyway, I'm dealing with a lot of tough issues in my classes, and trying to see how they fit into my experience, or the other way around, I can't tell anymore. I'm trying to bridge that gap between theory and practice, and I'm realizing I'm a bit on the cynical side sometimes. I guess that's what happens when you've spent a little time in the "real world".

I'm also being confronted with a lot of my own selfishness and doubt and basic brokenness. Not that that's a bad thing. It's actually the kind of thing that produces growth, and that's why I'm here and doing this crazy thing. I'm trying to become less like what I "should be" and more like what God wants me to be. Not that I'm always good at that, just that that's the goal. It's funny, because I'm not completely settled, I'm uncomfortable and out of my element, things aren't easy, and God is dealing with me in big and small ways, but I feel this PEACE. Like, when the Bible talks about paz que sobrepasa todo entendimiento (Phil 4:7), this is it - at least in my limited understanding. Like I can just lean back in these arms of love and know that though things are crazy, it's not up to me to worry about it, and that it's all being taken care of.

Fresh

Brothers, pray for us.
1 Thess. 5:25

I've been in orientation the past two days. And by that, I mean we had one day of nearly twelve hours of information, and one day that involved a campus tour and a picnic with box lunches from The freakin' Corner Bakery. Basically, we've been treated insanely well.

I've met everyone in the program, and I'm so excited for what's going to come out of this year. There are very few of us doing the urban track, but there is some overlap with the international group. I still can't get over the incredible diversity of our group as far as life experiences, backgrounds, interests, but there is this common thread of passion for service in God's Kingdom. It's the first time I've been outside a (strictly) Mission Year group and felt like so many of the people GOT what drives me. Teach Overseas was close, but this is that step beyond. It's an organization more in line with what I see myself doing in the future: this cobbling together of all the things that I love in order to serve. I want to be someone who empowers men and women and kids to do the impossible, to do what they have never dreamed they could do, simply because God has done that for me.

But it's going to be an intense year, and I have given up a lot of my comforts and a lot of my preferences to do this great unknown thing. I have no job, scant savings, these enormous student loans, and a car that makes it up hills at speeds above thirty miles an hour only by the grace of God. We were put in small groups yesterday to do a little Bible study on Psalm 84, and it really hit me. Get beyond easy worship songs that we sing without thinking. This Psalm is about wanting to journey to God's temple. It's about not quite being there, or not being able to go, but longing for that rest and that security. It's about trusting and leaving a trail of blessings as you set out for the goal. Verse twelve really got to me:

"O LORD of hosts, blessed is the man who trusts in You!"

This is what I feel like I'm doing. I've left the comforts of home, of the wonderful NOVA area (at once Southern and not, in all the best ways), of familiarity, and have thrown myself at this with a thousand unanswered or unanswerable questions because I know with everything in me that this is where God wants me. And I can already see what He's doing for me. I needed this. Needed something JUST LIKE THIS to get me through what might have been one of the driest years of my life.
There's this:
Persistance, trust, faith.

And I'm working on all three.

Jump and Fall

I don't fall easily; I really, really don't. I've got these walls, I'm careful with this heart, and I value my space and independence. I'm not "cariñosa" or mushy....
But when I fall, I fall hard. I've got a bit of a romantic streak deep down inside - deeeeeeeeep down inside. I don't believe in easy love or that you only fall in love once, or even that you can only love one person at a time. Love is - in my flawed and limited understanding of the subject - a messy thing that you have to choose to do, day in and day out. It's the kind of thing you have to work at and fight for. There's no fighting it; it's this almost involuntary thing, this subconcious decision - half feeling, half choice. And when it picks you up, it can sweep you under. But you have to make the choice to make it work. Does that make sense? You can love a person, love them with everything in you, and know that you can't make the relationship itself work. Not that the love will go away, just that that same love will make you choose to maintain some distance.

I've been in love. I'm still friends with the first man I ever loved, I still love him deeply, but I'm aware that our relationship won't work. I want what's best for him and that's not me.

I still hear from the only other guy I've ever loved. That love is a bit rawer, still the kind of thing that can sweep me up in its current, a little on the violent side because of a healthy dose of heartache that was thrown in by both parties. Me with my inability to express emotions, him with his indecision; fear on both sides, I guess.

This past week I've been wondering if it was worth it. There's a part of me that wonders why this heart still loves him, still thinks of him, still holds him in high esteem.... There's this song that says that you can't hide from love; it's too strong, and I kind of feel like that's the case here. Let's weigh the pros and cons, shall we?
The pros: It's mutual.
The cons: It's mutual.
Hmmm....

That sounds like it should work out, yes? But here's the thing: I don't think we'll be able to get past some issues, a few obstacles, our own fears - the usual. En fin, it's not going to work out, y eso se ve a leguas. Is it worth it? Worth it to talk about the reality of what we're feeling, the way we'd like things to be, the hopes we have?

I'm thinking it has been, and it still is. I've learned a lot and am still learning. When we finally make that decision to walk away, it'll be as wiser people. I've learned to take chances, emotional risks, say what I feel. I've been learning to surrender.
I like to think he's learned not to play it safe, that there's more to life than what he's always known, and that he needs to step it up and make decisions.

There's this song by Los Bukis (yeah, yeah, don't judge me!) that I like, and that Los Enanitos Verdes covered: "Tu cárcel". The chorus goes like this:

"Pero recuerda nadie es perfecto, y tú lo verás
tal vez mil cosas mejores vendrán, pero cariño sincero jamás.
Vete olvidando, de esto que hoy dejas
y que cambiarás
por la aventura que pronto verás
será tu cárcel y nunca saldrás"

A rough translation: "But remember, no one is perfect, and you'll see that maybe a thousand better things will come, but never sincere love. Start forgetting about this that you're leaving today, and trading in for an adventure that you'll soon see will be your prison and you'll never escape." It sounds even worse in English....
The point is, I don't believe that's how it works. I don't believe we'll walk away from one another and miss out on true love. I think we'll walk away and continue to love one another, but be better at loving the other people who come into our lives. Does that make sense? It's kind of like that Ricardo Arjona song "Reputación" - where all of their experiences have prepared them for each other.

So yes, the risk, the heartache, the confusion has been worth it: I have learned and am learning.

Mission Year/Mission Life. Love God. Love people. Nothing else matters.

So I got an email from the President of Mission Year, my old friend, Leroy. He asked the ATL alums to write him a letter kind of summing up our Mission Year exprience/the effect it had on our lives, and I couldn't resist. One thing: it had be a page. I can't limit myself to a page when it comes to Mission Year. There's too much to say about it, but I tried my hand at this, and this is what I came up with (slightly over a page, btw):
Dear Leroy,

It’s been years since I returned from Atlanta – almost three and a half years, actually. Mission Year was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but it’s also the one thing that I can point back to and say “That changed the course of my life forever”. Maybe that sounds a little melodramatic, but it’s the holiday season and it’s been a long day at work, so it sounds right to me at this moment. I think back on all the other things that I’ve done in my life, and nothing has had such a profound effect on me as Mission Year.
I’ve always said that Mission Year ruined my life in a good way. Even now, three years out, with cable television and a car and a life in the suburbs, my life is radically different because of my experience in Atlanta . It took me a while to get over my suburban guilt, I won’t lie, but in the end, I decided that Mission Year wasn’t meant to make me feel bad about living in the suburbs. It was about exposing me to reality, forcing me to look at society and my individual role in it; and making me realize that life is ministry. That’s where I am today. Yes, I’m living in Northern Virginia , but I’m carrying on with the ideals of Mission Year: I live and work in the same neighborhood. It’s where I shop, where I hang out, where I spend my time. I have a vested interest in my community. Maybe I’m not buddy-buddy with my next door neighbor, but I know this community. I hurt for it, I care about it, I need it to work. Here’s the thing: it’s the same community that I was completely unattached to pre-Mission Year. In fact, I loathed this community. Not even kidding. But now that I’m back, I can see that God cares for this place, too. God wants to work here, too. And the other thing: it’s far from perfect. The problems I learned about in the city are here in the suburbs, and as my particular community experiences a shift in demographics, it’s becoming harder and harder to hide these issues.
I’m currently in my third year of teaching, a career that I say I stumbled into by accident, though I know full well this was no accident. I teach at a local public high school where I’m one of ten over-worked and under-paid “World Language” teachers and one of two teachers who work with the Spanish for Native Speakers program. That alone should give you an idea of the types of kids I work with. In a community that is quickly becoming more anti-Latino, I have the privilege of instilling pride in these children: pride in their culture, in their language, in all that they are and can become. I remember at the closing retreat saying through tears – thanks Mission Year – that I wanted to do something for “my people”. And that’s what God has me doing here, in the community I thought I hated. I see the problems of the inner city here as well: violence, single parents, poverty, gangs…. I can still be involved in working for social justice; I can still work one-on-one with these struggling kids and point towards something better, something beyond this reality.
That’s Mission Year’s legacy.
And I really mean that it ruined my life in a good way. I can’t sit by and watch all this happen; I have to do something. I can’t store up material things because there’s so much need elsewhere. I mean, Mission Year even messed up my dating: I am now terminally single and entirely too picky. Just kidding! I’m hoping it’s not a terminal condition, but the pickiness is totally true. Alright, I’m on my way to being over the one-page limit, so I’m going to wrap this up, though I’m still going to move on to page two. In addition to the work of the past three years, I’m hoping to continue on in my “Mission Life” by earning a Masters in International Development. Not only did Mission Year ruin my undergraduate career, but it may also ruin my graduate studies. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment. Of course, that all depends on whether or not I can ever figure out how to write curriculum vitae.

And seriously, Leroy and the rest of the Mission Year family, thanks. Because even though at times it sucked and I hated it, Mission Year is the best experience of my life thus far.


That is what I sent back to him. It's not exactly what I expected to write, but that's the course it took. I'd planned to be more witty, because in person I like to think I'm pretty clever and fairly amusing, though this doesn't always translate well into written communication without the use of - God forbid! - emoticons. Instead it's about community, which was the hardest thing and the best thing about Mission Year. It is what it is.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about all the other things I could have said after writing it. I could have said something about J, and the fact that what I love about him (did I just say that?) is that he's passionate about all the crazy kids I'm passionate about, that he loves to work with them, that he also tries to understand them and connect with them. I think we both do in our own ways.... Anyway, it must've been that terminally single thing that set me off thinking about J. Even if officially we're not anything, I don't feel totally single because of him. He's someone who lives out a lot of the MY ideals that I hold dear, and that's a rare thing. Also rare, the baggage he's bringing with him. Good news/bad news. *sigh* It is what it is.

More things I wish I'd said: that I still drive a 1991 Toyota Corolla (with a leaking radiator) because I don't see the point in trading up; that the friendships I forged in MY are some of the strongest ones that I have; that I still refer to Atlanta as the best year of my life. I love, love, love my job, I spent an amazing summer in Vietnam, I do so many things, but nothing compares to the rightness of place/occupation/company that I experienced in Atlanta.

And about those friendships, my two former roomies are absolutely the first people I turn to when I need help. They know me better than anyone else. Better than my parents. No joke. Atlanta was the first place where I felt like I was fully myself. Not that I was frontin' my whole life, just that in Atlanta I began to experience a vulnerability I'd never let myself feel before. I was more flawed and broken there than anywhere else, but at the same time, I was more perfect and beautiful.

I don't want to relive the experience; I know that's impossible, and it was so hard that I don't want to go back, but I appreciate every moment. The comments as I walked down the streets, the scent of hot asphalt and diesel, the symphony of gunshots and train whistles every night... So much happened. So much beauty and growth and education. I love it. Seriously, it changed my life.

There's no way I could sum up the impact of Mission Year on my life in one page. I'm still sorting through it all. Gathering (that makes me think of J. straightening quizzes on his desk...) my thoughts. Three and a half years out, I'm still wrapping my brain about the profound impact of Mission Year on my life. That's a good thing. Really, it is.

Anyway, this is getting much too long. Check out Mission Year, if you haven't already. If you're tired of the status quo, of coasting through life, of sitting by - it's for you.