There is something about children that just blows me away. Each week that I show up to teach, they manage to make me smile and laugh, to learn to let go of my expectations (mostly so that I don't lose my mind and start going crazy).
I work with close to one-hundred kids a week, ranging in ages from K-8, in the communities of He-Dog and Spring Creek. Both of these areas are very traditional (meaning there is still a strong presence of the Lakota culture and tradition). I am tasked with teaching them the Catholic faith (which I generally try my very best to do, with more or less success depending on the week). I make it a priority to show up each week and do my best to be absolutely present, to make them laugh and smile, to let them know that for the half hour or so we meet, my attention is totally focused on them. I class today, when I asked how many attended mass (not regularly, just ever in their life), only two raised their hands. Later in the class when I started asking other question - such as who knows someone with a drinking problem, who knows someone who has died or been injured in a car crash, who knows people who have lost hope and say things will not get better - every head snapped to attention, everyone was interested and engaged, and nearly every child raised their hand. The things some of these kids have seen and experienced by the age of 8 or 9 is more than I have in my nearly 22 years of life, more than many of my friends or community members. They are like little adults in children's bodies, with the playful childlike spirit, and the old, tired, and wizened attitude of an elder who has seen and experienced much in their life.
They bring out the weirdest things in me - during any class, you are likely to find me standing in the middle of a room (25 kindergarten and first graders in tow) snapping my fingers and dancing around the room like the Pied Piper, singing "This Little Light of Mine." Let it be know - I can't stand churchey kind of music, Christian praise music kind of my head hurt, and children's songs generally do not make my starred playlist on Spotify.
None of that crap really matters when class starts. I'll do whatever they need me to in order to keep them occupied and engaged, and feeling loved. Sit on the dirty floor so that everyone can see each other and be connected? Sure. Sing silly songs and look like a complete fool? Done. Show up to their first basketball game after their school day, on my off time, so they know that I deeply care about what they care about? Absolutely.
Over dinner tonight, I was trying to describe to my housemates what it was about these kids that so captures my spirit. What is it really about the shy and quiet girls, so adorable and young, who always raise their hand to speak, but will only do so after I have crossed the classroom and knelt down so they could speak their answer softly into my ear? What is it about the little kindergarten boys who can't sit still for one second, who constantly move around the classroom and talk and make silly comments (reminding me of myself at that age), that gives my spirit a lift, even when it can be frustrating?
There is just something about them. While at the basketball game today, I was watching the girls play the losing end of a close game. They played very well, were exciting and fun to watch (they are so pint sized, the rim looks as if it stands 40 feet above them, so every made basket seems almost like divine intervention). The thing that struck me most, though, was when one of my students, right in the middle of an inbound, stepped off the court to say hi to her baby bother or cousin, give him a kiss and make him smile - only then could she go back to the game.
I think this highlights it for me. There is just such an innocence, such a purity of heart that children can embody I'm not talking about sin or any of that kind of purity. I am talking about the kind of relationship with oneself that I am striving for. One of acceptance, one that lacks negative inhibitions and self-conscious restraint. Every week I watch these little people pour out the utterly unique spirit that they have - they are completely themselves - and by the way they act, they know it, as if in their living they are asking the question: "And why shouldn't be utterly myself, utterly the person Creator made me to be?"
It is truly awe-inspiring. It humbles me to be entrusted with these little nuggets, little precious beings, more valuable than anything in the world. There is nothing so beautiful and glorious as a human being fully themselves, fully accepting of who they are, where they come from, what they are about - and each week, my kids show me exactly what that looks like.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Wrestle
One of my favorite Bible passages is Genesis 32: 22-32. I am not a a big Bible quoter as anyone who knows me well can tell, but this passage has held some sort of mythic significance for me over the last few years of my life. This is the one where Jacob, on his way back from Canaan, encounters an angel of God, or in some readings God godself. Like a good maniac, Jacob decides that he needs to wrestle this celestial creature in order to obtain a blessing, and in the process is renamed "Israel," meaning "one who struggles with God."
Why do I like this? Because most days I would like God to appear in front of me, in some sort of awesomely amazing and beautiful physical form, so that I might punch him right in the mouth. it's not an angry sort of thing, I don't hate God, but I sure would like to go a few rounds, get some good punches in, wrestle a bit, leave my mark. Hell, we could even grab a beer after the whole thing is over and done with, maybe have a good laugh about it.
Am I crazy? Absolutely! But that has more to do with a number of other factors besides this odd desire. In fact, the only reason I have such a bizarre desire is that it would be a clear, physical manifestation of my relationship not only with God, but with myself, with all of you, with my fears. Everything is like a giant struggle that I just want to wrestle with. (Melodramatic? Quite possibly, but it does make for a better read, no?)
This isn't to say that all of life is awful and needing confrontation. But take today for example. Behind the house where I live, there is an orchard. It doesn't have any fences surrounding it. Kids walk through on their way to school, wild dogs play and poop all over it, and homeless drunks congregate in small circles for afternoon tea parties (kind of).
I have a thing with homeless people. I find it impossible to walk past someone who calls out to me. It's a problem, really. Living in the Bronx, I could barely get to the store and back in under an hour because I would stop and talk to anyone who asked for money or just said hello. I don't always give money, and since moving to South Dakota, adopting a limited budget, and hearing from countless people not to hand out money, I don't really give out change anymore. I do, however, lend as much time as people ask for, and try to give of myself as much as possible to the people I encounter. In the book from which I am learning the Lakota language, I read this morning that the only real thing we are able to give to other people is ourselves and time.
So as I walked through the orchard today, a group of people sitting in a circle drinking called me over. They asked for money, and I said I had none to give, but offered to give them some lunch and smokes that I had laying around. I left, went back to the house, and started putting together some little sandwiches, bag of popcorn, and some Teddy Grahams. I went back and passed out the goods, deciding to sit and listen, try and talk to them if I could (maybe even convince them to stop leaving so much trash around the backyard - long shot, but what the hell).
Was some of it incoherent? Yeah. Was it childish, naive, maybe even a little stupid to think that I was really making a difference? Probably. Do I feel taken advantage of sometimes, taken for granted? Yeah.
But I don't know what else to do. As I sit there and listen to them talk about all the people who just walk by and ignore them, they say thank you for stopping. They say thank you for coming back, "cause we sure as shit didn't think you were going to." They try and explain to me bits and pieces of their culture, their language. They invite me to ceremonies they hold, tell me I'm welcome. I can start to see some of the initial skepticism melt away. They explain how the drinking is a relief from all the stresses they hold in life. Do I think that is an acceptable way of dealing with problems? No, I certainly do not. But that won't stop me from hearing it out, let them speak their piece.
Where does the wrestling come in? The whole damn day. How much am I supposed to give today? How the hell am I supposed to keep this up? How much can I really give before it's too much? And honestly, most days, rather than an answer to any of these questions, I'd just like to punch God right in the mouth and let it go so I can get back to loving the best I know how. I know God's big enough to take it, I guess the same way God knows I'm big enough to handle the challenges laid out before me.
Why do I like this? Because most days I would like God to appear in front of me, in some sort of awesomely amazing and beautiful physical form, so that I might punch him right in the mouth. it's not an angry sort of thing, I don't hate God, but I sure would like to go a few rounds, get some good punches in, wrestle a bit, leave my mark. Hell, we could even grab a beer after the whole thing is over and done with, maybe have a good laugh about it.
Am I crazy? Absolutely! But that has more to do with a number of other factors besides this odd desire. In fact, the only reason I have such a bizarre desire is that it would be a clear, physical manifestation of my relationship not only with God, but with myself, with all of you, with my fears. Everything is like a giant struggle that I just want to wrestle with. (Melodramatic? Quite possibly, but it does make for a better read, no?)
This isn't to say that all of life is awful and needing confrontation. But take today for example. Behind the house where I live, there is an orchard. It doesn't have any fences surrounding it. Kids walk through on their way to school, wild dogs play and poop all over it, and homeless drunks congregate in small circles for afternoon tea parties (kind of).
I have a thing with homeless people. I find it impossible to walk past someone who calls out to me. It's a problem, really. Living in the Bronx, I could barely get to the store and back in under an hour because I would stop and talk to anyone who asked for money or just said hello. I don't always give money, and since moving to South Dakota, adopting a limited budget, and hearing from countless people not to hand out money, I don't really give out change anymore. I do, however, lend as much time as people ask for, and try to give of myself as much as possible to the people I encounter. In the book from which I am learning the Lakota language, I read this morning that the only real thing we are able to give to other people is ourselves and time.
So as I walked through the orchard today, a group of people sitting in a circle drinking called me over. They asked for money, and I said I had none to give, but offered to give them some lunch and smokes that I had laying around. I left, went back to the house, and started putting together some little sandwiches, bag of popcorn, and some Teddy Grahams. I went back and passed out the goods, deciding to sit and listen, try and talk to them if I could (maybe even convince them to stop leaving so much trash around the backyard - long shot, but what the hell).
Was some of it incoherent? Yeah. Was it childish, naive, maybe even a little stupid to think that I was really making a difference? Probably. Do I feel taken advantage of sometimes, taken for granted? Yeah.
But I don't know what else to do. As I sit there and listen to them talk about all the people who just walk by and ignore them, they say thank you for stopping. They say thank you for coming back, "cause we sure as shit didn't think you were going to." They try and explain to me bits and pieces of their culture, their language. They invite me to ceremonies they hold, tell me I'm welcome. I can start to see some of the initial skepticism melt away. They explain how the drinking is a relief from all the stresses they hold in life. Do I think that is an acceptable way of dealing with problems? No, I certainly do not. But that won't stop me from hearing it out, let them speak their piece.
Where does the wrestling come in? The whole damn day. How much am I supposed to give today? How the hell am I supposed to keep this up? How much can I really give before it's too much? And honestly, most days, rather than an answer to any of these questions, I'd just like to punch God right in the mouth and let it go so I can get back to loving the best I know how. I know God's big enough to take it, I guess the same way God knows I'm big enough to handle the challenges laid out before me.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Three's Company
This last week has given me a lot to sit with over the course of my JVC experience. Things about myself have come to light that, while I knew them to be true, I probably did not fully understand how intensely the manifested in my daily life and interactions. Most of this weeks reflections have had to do with me-in-relation, also known as, community.
Let me fill you in here.
I am living in a community of 3. Normally, JVC does not allow for communities to be any less than 4 people, but we live in St. Francis, South Dakota, where your standard rules do not really apply - ever. All three of us (Mike and Jessica are my housemates names, for the record), work for the same organization, the St. Francis Mission. Again. In most JVC communities, each person has their own unique work placement that they go off to during the day, and then return to their house/apartment to live out community life. In my community, we wake up to each other, we eat breakfast with each other, we say goodbye, only to meet at the door and walk to work together, spend the whole day together, eat lunch together, eat dinner together, hang out in our house together (get the rhythm here?). The majority of communities in the Midwest provence (my home provence), are located in big cities - Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, Nashville, Atlanta, Minneapolis/St. Paul, Kansas City, St. Louis - in other words, fairly large metropolitan areas, many of which have public transportation (in other words, some sort of possibility for autonomy).
St. Francis. Oh St. Francis. With a minimum of 40 minutes between anything that even has a grocery store, travel is somewhat difficult. Rapid City, the nearest thing that can be considered a "city" (though by NYC standards, I'm being generous here), is a 3 and a half hour drive. All three of us share a car, so whenever we do something, it is almost always as a group. Weekend time? There is no exploring the city, visiting museums, enjoying the adventure of venturing in city canyons, alone, with wide eyes and open hearts, whisked away by the L or other modern conveniences. In other words, the farthest I can go on my own is as far as I can go on my bike, and generally, the most I see are cows and horses, occasionally a wild pack of feral dogs that will try and rip my legs off.
What does this all boil down to? Close. Proximity. It means that I spend nearly every single waking minute with these two people who I have just hardly met.
Well. I do not do small. If you've seen me eat, I don't do small portions. I don't do small inside voices. I don't do small personality. It just isn't me. I am a large person, with large feet, large hair, and large dreams. And as far as I can remember, small groups of people who I spend every moment of time with has never been a part of my life either. Quite the contrary. It was something I avoided as much as possible. I was always afraid of cliques. I hate being boxed in and contained. In high school, I played on the soccer team, I played in the jazz and concert bands, I wrote for the school newspaper, I acted in the plays and musicals, did service work, went on retreats - this isn't a list of achievement as much as it is an indication of how diverse the circles I ran in were. Different people, different experiences, different places - new, exciting, different. That is how I operate, same deal in college. Walking across campus with a friend, they asked if there was anyone in the whole damn college who I didn't know. I budgeted an extra 15 minutes on the way to class in order to stop and say hi to people. This is not an appeal to some imagined popularity, but just pointing to the fact that I have always have had a large heart, one that wants to fit as many people as possible.
So what has it been like for me to live with Mike and Jessica? To spend every damn minute with the same people over and over again.
Frustrating. I wonder how I'm going to survive in such a claustrophobic environment. The sheer repetitiveness of it is enough to drive me up the wall (for the record, I would like to note that I have showed tremendous restraint throughout this piece in using expletives as adjectives, though that may better reflect my mindframe). Challenging. It is really pushing my boundaries as far as what is comfortable for me as a person in relation with others.
Life-giving. I guess that's really the only word for it. It's life giving. To be honest, just today at lunch I told both of my housemates that I would normally not seek out their personality types to be good friends, to be my release as far as having a close relation goes. But over these last three weeks, I have really felt supported by these people. They have put up with all my crap, all my crankiness, moodiness, weirdness, quirkiness, brashness - everything. They ask me if I'm all right when it's obvious I'm not, because they genuinely want to know and hear why I'm struggling. They ask me if I'm all right even when I'm fine, because they care about how I'm doing. They listen to me when I rant about spirituality and cosmic injustice. They help with my laundry, help clean up, help me wake up on time.
They piss me off, just because we are so different. But that's the beauty, right there. Playing music with Jessica is tough. We come from completely different musical backgrounds and mindsets. But that's the beauty. It's the challenge of allowing two completely unique and beautiful entities to come together in harmony and make something work. Still separate, still unique, but now in relation, necessarily molded and shaped to work with one another. It has been so life giving. Talking faith with Mike can be extremely challenging, because we come from totally different experiences, with a different set of assumptions and beliefs. But, ironically enough, we have become one another's "spiritual directors," taking more from each other in our late night conversations than I have from many of my actual spiritual guides. We come from completely different spiritual backgrounds, and to try and find ways for all of us to be authentic, respectful, and open to growing, has been and will be a challenge, but a challenge I welcome with a smile. When there is real laughter in this community, it is real. With such different humor and personalities, genuine laughter and enjoyment is genuine. It's real. And I appreciate it so much more because I know how many differences and boundaries that laughter, that understanding, that willingness had to overcome to be incarnate.
It's a challenge, issued by the universe, to a small minded, ignorant, and hard hearted individual (me!). "Can you love these ones enough to let them be themselves, in all their differences and quirks, frustrating habits and beautiful talents. And can you let them love you with all of yours?" Who am I to reject what has been made and shaped by the Universe, by Love?
I love this place. I love these people. Hopefully enough to let them stand in all their unique, dysfunctional, awesome glory, while I just look on in wonder and admiration. It doesn't mean it isn't hard. Love doesn't make things any easier, just worth it. And so far, I am happy to say that this experience has been well worth it.
Let me fill you in here.
I am living in a community of 3. Normally, JVC does not allow for communities to be any less than 4 people, but we live in St. Francis, South Dakota, where your standard rules do not really apply - ever. All three of us (Mike and Jessica are my housemates names, for the record), work for the same organization, the St. Francis Mission. Again. In most JVC communities, each person has their own unique work placement that they go off to during the day, and then return to their house/apartment to live out community life. In my community, we wake up to each other, we eat breakfast with each other, we say goodbye, only to meet at the door and walk to work together, spend the whole day together, eat lunch together, eat dinner together, hang out in our house together (get the rhythm here?). The majority of communities in the Midwest provence (my home provence), are located in big cities - Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, Nashville, Atlanta, Minneapolis/St. Paul, Kansas City, St. Louis - in other words, fairly large metropolitan areas, many of which have public transportation (in other words, some sort of possibility for autonomy).
St. Francis. Oh St. Francis. With a minimum of 40 minutes between anything that even has a grocery store, travel is somewhat difficult. Rapid City, the nearest thing that can be considered a "city" (though by NYC standards, I'm being generous here), is a 3 and a half hour drive. All three of us share a car, so whenever we do something, it is almost always as a group. Weekend time? There is no exploring the city, visiting museums, enjoying the adventure of venturing in city canyons, alone, with wide eyes and open hearts, whisked away by the L or other modern conveniences. In other words, the farthest I can go on my own is as far as I can go on my bike, and generally, the most I see are cows and horses, occasionally a wild pack of feral dogs that will try and rip my legs off.
What does this all boil down to? Close. Proximity. It means that I spend nearly every single waking minute with these two people who I have just hardly met.
Well. I do not do small. If you've seen me eat, I don't do small portions. I don't do small inside voices. I don't do small personality. It just isn't me. I am a large person, with large feet, large hair, and large dreams. And as far as I can remember, small groups of people who I spend every moment of time with has never been a part of my life either. Quite the contrary. It was something I avoided as much as possible. I was always afraid of cliques. I hate being boxed in and contained. In high school, I played on the soccer team, I played in the jazz and concert bands, I wrote for the school newspaper, I acted in the plays and musicals, did service work, went on retreats - this isn't a list of achievement as much as it is an indication of how diverse the circles I ran in were. Different people, different experiences, different places - new, exciting, different. That is how I operate, same deal in college. Walking across campus with a friend, they asked if there was anyone in the whole damn college who I didn't know. I budgeted an extra 15 minutes on the way to class in order to stop and say hi to people. This is not an appeal to some imagined popularity, but just pointing to the fact that I have always have had a large heart, one that wants to fit as many people as possible.
So what has it been like for me to live with Mike and Jessica? To spend every damn minute with the same people over and over again.
Frustrating. I wonder how I'm going to survive in such a claustrophobic environment. The sheer repetitiveness of it is enough to drive me up the wall (for the record, I would like to note that I have showed tremendous restraint throughout this piece in using expletives as adjectives, though that may better reflect my mindframe). Challenging. It is really pushing my boundaries as far as what is comfortable for me as a person in relation with others.
Life-giving. I guess that's really the only word for it. It's life giving. To be honest, just today at lunch I told both of my housemates that I would normally not seek out their personality types to be good friends, to be my release as far as having a close relation goes. But over these last three weeks, I have really felt supported by these people. They have put up with all my crap, all my crankiness, moodiness, weirdness, quirkiness, brashness - everything. They ask me if I'm all right when it's obvious I'm not, because they genuinely want to know and hear why I'm struggling. They ask me if I'm all right even when I'm fine, because they care about how I'm doing. They listen to me when I rant about spirituality and cosmic injustice. They help with my laundry, help clean up, help me wake up on time.
They piss me off, just because we are so different. But that's the beauty, right there. Playing music with Jessica is tough. We come from completely different musical backgrounds and mindsets. But that's the beauty. It's the challenge of allowing two completely unique and beautiful entities to come together in harmony and make something work. Still separate, still unique, but now in relation, necessarily molded and shaped to work with one another. It has been so life giving. Talking faith with Mike can be extremely challenging, because we come from totally different experiences, with a different set of assumptions and beliefs. But, ironically enough, we have become one another's "spiritual directors," taking more from each other in our late night conversations than I have from many of my actual spiritual guides. We come from completely different spiritual backgrounds, and to try and find ways for all of us to be authentic, respectful, and open to growing, has been and will be a challenge, but a challenge I welcome with a smile. When there is real laughter in this community, it is real. With such different humor and personalities, genuine laughter and enjoyment is genuine. It's real. And I appreciate it so much more because I know how many differences and boundaries that laughter, that understanding, that willingness had to overcome to be incarnate.
It's a challenge, issued by the universe, to a small minded, ignorant, and hard hearted individual (me!). "Can you love these ones enough to let them be themselves, in all their differences and quirks, frustrating habits and beautiful talents. And can you let them love you with all of yours?" Who am I to reject what has been made and shaped by the Universe, by Love?
I love this place. I love these people. Hopefully enough to let them stand in all their unique, dysfunctional, awesome glory, while I just look on in wonder and admiration. It doesn't mean it isn't hard. Love doesn't make things any easier, just worth it. And so far, I am happy to say that this experience has been well worth it.
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