6.16.04
"...I suddenly inherited this fresh passion for finding a job in
Dec 1, 2005
The Hand of Providence
I was looking though my old computer files the other day and ran across this excerpt from the first and only entry of a computer journal I attempted to start last year. It made me joyful to look back and see God's hand at work in the uncertain times when you're craving change but aren't quite sure what that looks like. Just wanted to share with you...
6.16.04
"...I suddenly inherited this fresh passion for finding a job inNew York College Station
6.16.04
"...I suddenly inherited this fresh passion for finding a job in
Oct 16, 2005
Rest, continued..
Today was so good.
I got up and went to work this morning to get some stuff out of the way. Now I know you're thinking, "What can be good about working on a Saturday?" Well, not much but it was quiet and free of interruptions. After that I spent an hour talking to a friend of mine who just started teaching in Jordan (yes, the country). We talked about a lot of spiritual doubts and struggles we share. It's always nice to know someone's going through the same things as you.
The weather was beautiful--a perfect fall day to bring an end to a week of continuous rain.
Then I came home and chilled with Kari as we watched our beloved Astros get one step closer to the World Series.
Then I went to the Gotham Comedy Club with this girl from my Bible study named Elizabeth. Afterwards we went to her apartment and sat and talked for a few hours. That's something I've missed here--girl bonding, community building. It was good to remember what that's like.
Then I walked home (in the still-perfect fall weather) just feeling this sense of peace and belonging..a very rare occasion indeed.
So that was my good day. And it wasn't really the weather, baseball or good comedy but rather the company I had that made it so good.
Last week my counselor (yes, I have been going to counseling and no I'm not psychotic) and I talked about my compulsive tendencies and what things seem to distract me from my obssesive "tasking around" (as Kari likes to call it). I told him that when I'm with people, time and to-do lists and everything else seem to fade into the background. I'm just enjoying the moment, the conversation, the feeling of connecting with another person.
I think that's the secret to rest--finding that thing. That thing that makes the "urgent" things seem not so important anymore. That makes you free to be you and gives you that feeling of "this is how the world should be."
I got up and went to work this morning to get some stuff out of the way. Now I know you're thinking, "What can be good about working on a Saturday?" Well, not much but it was quiet and free of interruptions. After that I spent an hour talking to a friend of mine who just started teaching in Jordan (yes, the country). We talked about a lot of spiritual doubts and struggles we share. It's always nice to know someone's going through the same things as you.
The weather was beautiful--a perfect fall day to bring an end to a week of continuous rain.
Then I came home and chilled with Kari as we watched our beloved Astros get one step closer to the World Series.
Then I went to the Gotham Comedy Club with this girl from my Bible study named Elizabeth. Afterwards we went to her apartment and sat and talked for a few hours. That's something I've missed here--girl bonding, community building. It was good to remember what that's like.
Then I walked home (in the still-perfect fall weather) just feeling this sense of peace and belonging..a very rare occasion indeed.
So that was my good day. And it wasn't really the weather, baseball or good comedy but rather the company I had that made it so good.
Last week my counselor (yes, I have been going to counseling and no I'm not psychotic) and I talked about my compulsive tendencies and what things seem to distract me from my obssesive "tasking around" (as Kari likes to call it). I told him that when I'm with people, time and to-do lists and everything else seem to fade into the background. I'm just enjoying the moment, the conversation, the feeling of connecting with another person.
I think that's the secret to rest--finding that thing. That thing that makes the "urgent" things seem not so important anymore. That makes you free to be you and gives you that feeling of "this is how the world should be."
Sep 21, 2005
Rest
Ridiculous. I haven't written in over 2 months, and writing just so happens to be one of my very favorite things to do. Why are we like that? Or maybe it's just me. New York has brought out the "taskmaster" Jennifer much more than I ever wanted to see. I mean seriously, I'm always doing all these things that I don't really want to do but feel like I "need" to. Somehow I manage to turn normal activities into stressful events. Let's take reading for example. I love to read books, any and all kinds. For me it's like an escape to another world. I read on the subway, on lunch break, at the park and become a part of the story, practically oblivious to the world around me. You'd think I'd do everything possible to hold onto any morsel of oblivion in such a hectic city. Instead I convince myself of the "need" to be up to speed with current events, politics, educational tidbits and what have you so I end up (begrudgingly) reading Newsweek, or a packet from some past training I went to or (and this is no lie) one time I actually read the manual for my laptop on the train ride to work. Who does that? What is this obsession with filling every waking minute of my day with something constructive and productive?
My mind has been wrestling a lot with the issue of resting...why it's needed, recognizing that I don't do it enough and desparately trying to figure out how to change that. I think it's just going to take some practice and a little trial and error. This week is defintely a good time to start with my roomate being out of town. Probably the most difficult challenge for me is finding a space--one that's safe and free of noise, the fear of interruption and time constraints. Meeting those criteria in Manhattan can often be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Thankfully God is not inhibited by our physical or cultural circumstances--though I often don't feel like I see that power played out as much as I'd like.
There's a Catholic church on 3rd st. that 's open until 8:30, and sometimes I stop in on my way home from work to sit, breathe and remember the bigger picture. No doubt I treasure those moments. The problem is that the times I feel a huge cry coming on or that my sanity is hanging by a thread may not necessarily fall within the hours of 8am to 8:30pm and most likely I will not be happening to walk by an open church at those crucial moments. So, what do you do with that? Well, in my case I've trained myself to hold back the tears, turn off the switch or retreat to stern silent mode [because I know that if anything comes out of my mouth it will not be nice]. I understand now how people become jaded and why New Yorkers carry the stigma of being hard. I'm not saying it's healthy, just that it makes sense.
Right now I'm resting. I'm in the apartment by myself. Avenue C is relatively quiet, and I'm doing something I love (writing) that doesn't feel like a chore. We all need moments like these....and not just once every two months. Often, depending on our circumstances, we must fight for that time and place of rest. Though still trying to overcome that battle, Ifeel blessed in even knowing it's something worth fighting for. As I write this verse keeps running through my head:
"But I am afraid that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent's cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray from your sincere and pure devotion to Christ." (2 Cor. 11:3)
(Some outsiders had come to the church of Corinth preaching a very different Jesus than when Paul had taught, so naturally he was concerned):
"For if someone comes to you and preaches a Jesus other than the Jesus we preached, or if you receive a different spirit from the one you received, or a different gospel from the one you accepted, you put up with it easily enough". (v.5)
Another argument for rest would be that we need time to remember the sacred because, let's face it, from the second I walk out my door in the morning I can't look to very many situations or conversations that point to the real Jesus and His gospel. Unfortunately, on this side of eternity, we will never be completely removed from the influences of this world. Even Jesus, when praying for his disciples, said, "I do not ask that you tke them out of the world, but to keep them from the evil one" (Jn. 17:15). When I don't seek rest I find my mind being led astray just like Paul talks about. I "put up with easily enough" the gospel of spiritual relativity, of political correctness, of sexual freedom and whatever else is thrown in my face day in and day out.
Ok....I feel like I've just written a long-winded devotional or something. The point is rest = good. Seek it out. Fight for it. Lock yourself in the bathroom. Whatever it takes to remember the purity of devotion to Christ.
My mind has been wrestling a lot with the issue of resting...why it's needed, recognizing that I don't do it enough and desparately trying to figure out how to change that. I think it's just going to take some practice and a little trial and error. This week is defintely a good time to start with my roomate being out of town. Probably the most difficult challenge for me is finding a space--one that's safe and free of noise, the fear of interruption and time constraints. Meeting those criteria in Manhattan can often be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Thankfully God is not inhibited by our physical or cultural circumstances--though I often don't feel like I see that power played out as much as I'd like.
There's a Catholic church on 3rd st. that 's open until 8:30, and sometimes I stop in on my way home from work to sit, breathe and remember the bigger picture. No doubt I treasure those moments. The problem is that the times I feel a huge cry coming on or that my sanity is hanging by a thread may not necessarily fall within the hours of 8am to 8:30pm and most likely I will not be happening to walk by an open church at those crucial moments. So, what do you do with that? Well, in my case I've trained myself to hold back the tears, turn off the switch or retreat to stern silent mode [because I know that if anything comes out of my mouth it will not be nice]. I understand now how people become jaded and why New Yorkers carry the stigma of being hard. I'm not saying it's healthy, just that it makes sense.
Right now I'm resting. I'm in the apartment by myself. Avenue C is relatively quiet, and I'm doing something I love (writing) that doesn't feel like a chore. We all need moments like these....and not just once every two months. Often, depending on our circumstances, we must fight for that time and place of rest. Though still trying to overcome that battle, Ifeel blessed in even knowing it's something worth fighting for. As I write this verse keeps running through my head:
"But I am afraid that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent's cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray from your sincere and pure devotion to Christ." (2 Cor. 11:3)
(Some outsiders had come to the church of Corinth preaching a very different Jesus than when Paul had taught, so naturally he was concerned):
"For if someone comes to you and preaches a Jesus other than the Jesus we preached, or if you receive a different spirit from the one you received, or a different gospel from the one you accepted, you put up with it easily enough". (v.5)
Another argument for rest would be that we need time to remember the sacred because, let's face it, from the second I walk out my door in the morning I can't look to very many situations or conversations that point to the real Jesus and His gospel. Unfortunately, on this side of eternity, we will never be completely removed from the influences of this world. Even Jesus, when praying for his disciples, said, "I do not ask that you tke them out of the world, but to keep them from the evil one" (Jn. 17:15). When I don't seek rest I find my mind being led astray just like Paul talks about. I "put up with easily enough" the gospel of spiritual relativity, of political correctness, of sexual freedom and whatever else is thrown in my face day in and day out.
Ok....I feel like I've just written a long-winded devotional or something. The point is rest = good. Seek it out. Fight for it. Lock yourself in the bathroom. Whatever it takes to remember the purity of devotion to Christ.
Jul 12, 2005
Imperfect Resolution
First of all a word of apology to all my faithful readers. I realize that my last post was anything but uplifting, and I'm sorry for causing any unecessary concern. Just know that since that time, I feel as though my life has done a 180 (stemming primarily from a long talk w/ my boss, the arrival of warm weather and learning to let go of perfectionism) and for the first time I am (should I dare say it?) beginning to feel more at home in New York....
Today was a day of much reflection. You know when one semi-emotional situation triggers all these other unrelated emotions that need to be dealt with? Well, maybe you don't but that's kind of how today was. So the semi-emotional situation happens to be a date that I had last night. I hesitate to use the word "emotional". The date, in fact, was very good but nonetheless had me doing a great deal of thinking about things today--things I so wish to divulge here but are best left for a safer space than the world wide web.
In the midst of my reflective mode I happened to be reading the last couple chapters of The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning, which (as of today) has been deemed one of my favorite books. In short, it is the story of God's radical grace:
Chapter 10- "The Victorious Limp"
When the prodigal son limped home from his lengthy binge of waste and wandering, boozing and womanizing, his motives were mixed at best. He said to himself, 'How many of my father's paid servants have more food than they want, and here am I dying of hunger! I will leave this place and go to my father' (Lk. 15:17-18). The ragamuffin stomach was not churning with compunction because he had broken his father's heart. He stumbled home simply to survive. Disenchanted with life, the wastrel weaved his way home, not from a burning desire to see his father, but just to stay alive....'While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him tenderly' (Lk. 15:20)...What a word of encouragement, consolation and comfort! We don't have to sift our hearts and analyze our intentions before returning home. Abba just wants us to show up. We don't have to tarry at the tavern until purity of heart arrives. We don't have to be shredded with sorrow or crushed with contrition. We don't have to be perfect or even very good before God will accept us. We don't have to wallow in guilt, shame, remorse, and self-condemnation. Even if we still nurse a secret nostalgia for the far country, Abba falls on our neck and kisses us.
Ok, so basically my past 10 months in New York have forced me to re-evaluate my faith on every level imaginable. Is that really God or just the god who resides in Texas? Christians can be Democrats? How do I explain to people why sex is only intended for marriage? My religion says I am supposed to label homosexuality as sin, but why do I feel like I'm trying to convince myself of that as I try to explain my "belief" to a fellow co-worker who has just revealed she is gay? Why do I believe the Bible? How do I convince people that Jesus was the real deal? How do I know that for myself? ... And so on and so forth, to the point where I wonder if I'm sure of anything anymore. I thought that once I went through my phase, experienced all the necessary epiphanies, and had answers to all my questions then I could face God again because I would actually know who He is--for real this time. Instead of drawing me closer I have allowed my doubt to distance me. What a refreshment it was to hear that I don't need resolution to all these theological debates going on in my head before I can approach the Father again. Manning points out that "[He] expects more failure from us than we do from ourselves".....and, as far as I'm concerned, never has the prospect of failure been such sweet consoloation to my soul.
Today was a day of much reflection. You know when one semi-emotional situation triggers all these other unrelated emotions that need to be dealt with? Well, maybe you don't but that's kind of how today was. So the semi-emotional situation happens to be a date that I had last night. I hesitate to use the word "emotional". The date, in fact, was very good but nonetheless had me doing a great deal of thinking about things today--things I so wish to divulge here but are best left for a safer space than the world wide web.
In the midst of my reflective mode I happened to be reading the last couple chapters of The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning, which (as of today) has been deemed one of my favorite books. In short, it is the story of God's radical grace:
Chapter 10- "The Victorious Limp"
When the prodigal son limped home from his lengthy binge of waste and wandering, boozing and womanizing, his motives were mixed at best. He said to himself, 'How many of my father's paid servants have more food than they want, and here am I dying of hunger! I will leave this place and go to my father' (Lk. 15:17-18). The ragamuffin stomach was not churning with compunction because he had broken his father's heart. He stumbled home simply to survive. Disenchanted with life, the wastrel weaved his way home, not from a burning desire to see his father, but just to stay alive....'While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him tenderly' (Lk. 15:20)...What a word of encouragement, consolation and comfort! We don't have to sift our hearts and analyze our intentions before returning home. Abba just wants us to show up. We don't have to tarry at the tavern until purity of heart arrives. We don't have to be shredded with sorrow or crushed with contrition. We don't have to be perfect or even very good before God will accept us. We don't have to wallow in guilt, shame, remorse, and self-condemnation. Even if we still nurse a secret nostalgia for the far country, Abba falls on our neck and kisses us.
Ok, so basically my past 10 months in New York have forced me to re-evaluate my faith on every level imaginable. Is that really God or just the god who resides in Texas? Christians can be Democrats? How do I explain to people why sex is only intended for marriage? My religion says I am supposed to label homosexuality as sin, but why do I feel like I'm trying to convince myself of that as I try to explain my "belief" to a fellow co-worker who has just revealed she is gay? Why do I believe the Bible? How do I convince people that Jesus was the real deal? How do I know that for myself? ... And so on and so forth, to the point where I wonder if I'm sure of anything anymore. I thought that once I went through my phase, experienced all the necessary epiphanies, and had answers to all my questions then I could face God again because I would actually know who He is--for real this time. Instead of drawing me closer I have allowed my doubt to distance me. What a refreshment it was to hear that I don't need resolution to all these theological debates going on in my head before I can approach the Father again. Manning points out that "[He] expects more failure from us than we do from ourselves".....and, as far as I'm concerned, never has the prospect of failure been such sweet consoloation to my soul.
May 30, 2005
Hard Times
I have been going through a really hard time lately, pretty much with life in general. Honestly, I've been in this phase for quite some time but only recently admitted it to myself or anyone else. I have literally come to the end of myself. But isn't that where God wants us to be? you may ask. Doesn't He want us to reach a place where we finally understand that nothing nothing nothing good that we do is from ourselves? Absolutely. But no one ever warned how depressing and lonely and scary that place is--because ultimately all control is lost.
I cannot force my clients at work to like me or think I'm a competent case worker. And in the same way I cannot make myself love them despite their pre-conceived notions of me.
I cannot make people in this city who I want them to be--loving, considerate, warm, hospitable.
I cannot get my roomates to care about decorating our apartment so that maybe it will feel less like a dorm room and a tiny bit more like a place I can feel at home.
I cannot make the closet in my room magically have more space to fit all of my clothes.
I cannot rid the subway stations of the strong stench of urine.
I cannot make people want to help me carry a heavy suitcase up the stairs or open doors for me.
I cannot make a beautiful countryside scene suddenly appear outside my bedroom window.
I cannot make myself love what I see in the mirror everyday or believe that one day someone else will.
I cannot memorize verses or read the Bible or really believe the promises of God on a consistent basis.
I cannot stop longing for the physical presence of my family and friends in Texas.
I cannot rid myself of the tension in my upper back that seems to be a permanent fixture of the Manhattan lifestyle.
I cannot believe that God would really have some great purporse for me in a city where everyday I am reminded that I don't quite fit, that I am an outsider, a city who's values conflict with every single one of mine on the deepest level, a city who causes me to be so preoccupied with overcoming my own struggles that I have no energy or heart left to give of myself to others.
That is the place I have reached. Before it was a place of "I'll just try harder." Now it is a place of "I can't"--a place where the life that Jesus Christ lived takes on so much more meaning.
A few weeks ago my pastor talked about the following verses from Hebrews 13:
" 12 And so Jesus also suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through his own blood. 13Let us, then, go to him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore. 14For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come. 15Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of prase--the fruit of lips that confess his name. 16 And do not forget to do good and to share with others , for with such sacrifices God is pleased."
To summarize his teaching on this passage: Verses 15 and 16 command us to love a city that will never thank us or love us back. But where in the world do we get this kind of power? Only when our hearts are changed through an encounter with Jesus Christ. We reach a point where God says, "Do this" and we say "I can't." And God says, "I know, but there's one who already did it in your place." Jesus loved Jerusalem deeply--a city that eventually crucified Him (v. 12)
I've reached a point where "trying harder" just isn't cutting it anymore. Because the things that need to be changed in myself and in others require more than just human will or effort or self-discipline or positive thinking. They require the intercession of a supernatural power. And so I guess it takes coming to the end of ourselves to really understand why Jesus had to live and die the way He did. For every struggle I encounter, the Son of God struggled one hundred fold. He died for people who never understood Him. He loved the very same soldiers who nailed Him to the cross and cast lots for His clothing and mocked Him for claiming he was a king. Will I ever fully understand the power of Jesus' life? Most assuredly not. I do know that any goodness in my own life can only be credited to such a life as His.
"I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me..." (Galatians 2:20)
I cannot force my clients at work to like me or think I'm a competent case worker. And in the same way I cannot make myself love them despite their pre-conceived notions of me.
I cannot make people in this city who I want them to be--loving, considerate, warm, hospitable.
I cannot get my roomates to care about decorating our apartment so that maybe it will feel less like a dorm room and a tiny bit more like a place I can feel at home.
I cannot make the closet in my room magically have more space to fit all of my clothes.
I cannot rid the subway stations of the strong stench of urine.
I cannot make people want to help me carry a heavy suitcase up the stairs or open doors for me.
I cannot make a beautiful countryside scene suddenly appear outside my bedroom window.
I cannot make myself love what I see in the mirror everyday or believe that one day someone else will.
I cannot memorize verses or read the Bible or really believe the promises of God on a consistent basis.
I cannot stop longing for the physical presence of my family and friends in Texas.
I cannot rid myself of the tension in my upper back that seems to be a permanent fixture of the Manhattan lifestyle.
I cannot believe that God would really have some great purporse for me in a city where everyday I am reminded that I don't quite fit, that I am an outsider, a city who's values conflict with every single one of mine on the deepest level, a city who causes me to be so preoccupied with overcoming my own struggles that I have no energy or heart left to give of myself to others.
That is the place I have reached. Before it was a place of "I'll just try harder." Now it is a place of "I can't"--a place where the life that Jesus Christ lived takes on so much more meaning.
A few weeks ago my pastor talked about the following verses from Hebrews 13:
" 12 And so Jesus also suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through his own blood. 13Let us, then, go to him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore. 14For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come. 15Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of prase--the fruit of lips that confess his name. 16 And do not forget to do good and to share with others , for with such sacrifices God is pleased."
To summarize his teaching on this passage: Verses 15 and 16 command us to love a city that will never thank us or love us back. But where in the world do we get this kind of power? Only when our hearts are changed through an encounter with Jesus Christ. We reach a point where God says, "Do this" and we say "I can't." And God says, "I know, but there's one who already did it in your place." Jesus loved Jerusalem deeply--a city that eventually crucified Him (v. 12)
I've reached a point where "trying harder" just isn't cutting it anymore. Because the things that need to be changed in myself and in others require more than just human will or effort or self-discipline or positive thinking. They require the intercession of a supernatural power. And so I guess it takes coming to the end of ourselves to really understand why Jesus had to live and die the way He did. For every struggle I encounter, the Son of God struggled one hundred fold. He died for people who never understood Him. He loved the very same soldiers who nailed Him to the cross and cast lots for His clothing and mocked Him for claiming he was a king. Will I ever fully understand the power of Jesus' life? Most assuredly not. I do know that any goodness in my own life can only be credited to such a life as His.
"I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me..." (Galatians 2:20)
Apr 22, 2005
Book Report
I finished reading J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye today, and though I still haven't quite processed the book's deeper meaning, it was most definitely an entertaining read. In fact, I'm just gonna' have to share some favorite quotes with you:
"She had some Navy officer with her that looked like he had a poker up his ass...then she introduced me to the Navy guy. His name was commander Blop or something. He was one of those guys that think they're being a pansy if they don't break around forty of your fingers when they shake hands with you. God I hate that stuff."
(After laughing hysterically at this part, all I could think about were the guys in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M University. Don't get me wrong, I had a ton of friends in the Corps and respect the tradition, but let's be honest...some were way too intense for their own good.)
"The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where is was. Nobody'd move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south...Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone."
(I was just imagining all the moments/people in my life I would like to put in a glass case and be able to go back to at any given time.)
"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score...Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them--if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."
( I especially like that last part about poetry...all of these beautiful cyclical relationships that are so profound without saying a word. Sometimes labels ruin things--they make things like history and poetry seem too intentional, which I think was Holden's struggle with school throughout the whole book.)
Ok, those are pretty much all the profound thoughts I have to offer...it's way past this literary scholar's bedtime. More keen insight headed your way in the near future...
on deck: Fat Girl by Judith Moore.
"She had some Navy officer with her that looked like he had a poker up his ass...then she introduced me to the Navy guy. His name was commander Blop or something. He was one of those guys that think they're being a pansy if they don't break around forty of your fingers when they shake hands with you. God I hate that stuff."
(After laughing hysterically at this part, all I could think about were the guys in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M University. Don't get me wrong, I had a ton of friends in the Corps and respect the tradition, but let's be honest...some were way too intense for their own good.)
"The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where is was. Nobody'd move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south...Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone."
(I was just imagining all the moments/people in my life I would like to put in a glass case and be able to go back to at any given time.)
"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score...Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them--if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."
( I especially like that last part about poetry...all of these beautiful cyclical relationships that are so profound without saying a word. Sometimes labels ruin things--they make things like history and poetry seem too intentional, which I think was Holden's struggle with school throughout the whole book.)
Ok, those are pretty much all the profound thoughts I have to offer...it's way past this literary scholar's bedtime. More keen insight headed your way in the near future...
on deck: Fat Girl by Judith Moore.
Apr 19, 2005
Gay Sex 101
So today I received a certificate for completing a 6 hour training entitled "Crystal Methamphetamine, Barebacking and Men Who Have Sex With Men." I think I'll frame it and put it by my bedside. Gosh, won't my parents be proud?
Ok, the story is that I signed up for the training under the impression I would be learning a lot about crystal meth with a side note about it's more recent impact on the gay community. I'm making efforts to be a little more savvy on substance abuse issues seeing as I've sent about 3 clients off to rehab in the past 2 weeks. Needless to say I ended up learning more than I ever wanted or needed to know about the sex lives of gay men. I did make a new friend named Alejandro--a gay Domican man with a charming accent...he definitely added some much-needed comic relief to my whole experience.
From a spiritual standpoint I guess you could say that I was violated with what us Christians call "worldliness" on so many levels. There are some issues in which the Christian perspective/practice has a few common threads with its worldly counterpart. For the record, sex (and homosexuality) is not one of those issues. I would go into more detail about some moral dilemas and questions that have been running through my head about this matter, but I'm tired and still recovering from the day's culture shock. As I e-mailed to my dad earlier: "It was one of those New York moments where you just feel assaulted by worldliness wondering how a conservative Christian white girl from Texas can possibly help change such a twisted world view....oh the stories Iwill have to tell my kids one day"
Ok, the story is that I signed up for the training under the impression I would be learning a lot about crystal meth with a side note about it's more recent impact on the gay community. I'm making efforts to be a little more savvy on substance abuse issues seeing as I've sent about 3 clients off to rehab in the past 2 weeks. Needless to say I ended up learning more than I ever wanted or needed to know about the sex lives of gay men. I did make a new friend named Alejandro--a gay Domican man with a charming accent...he definitely added some much-needed comic relief to my whole experience.
From a spiritual standpoint I guess you could say that I was violated with what us Christians call "worldliness" on so many levels. There are some issues in which the Christian perspective/practice has a few common threads with its worldly counterpart. For the record, sex (and homosexuality) is not one of those issues. I would go into more detail about some moral dilemas and questions that have been running through my head about this matter, but I'm tired and still recovering from the day's culture shock. As I e-mailed to my dad earlier: "It was one of those New York moments where you just feel assaulted by worldliness wondering how a conservative Christian white girl from Texas can possibly help change such a twisted world view....oh the stories Iwill have to tell my kids one day"
Apr 16, 2005
All Pierced Up
So tonight my friend Debby and I got our noses pierced. I'd been thinking about it for a while, and she was planning on getting hers done this weekend anyways.....so why not go for it at midnight on a Friday? Technically we were 3 hours late since the place closed at 9:00 but the owner and her mom happened to be going into the store the same time we got there, so they let us in for a special "after hours" piercing---surely it was sign from God ;) I'm kind of in the shock phase right now. It just looks really big since I'm not used to having a silver ball in my nostril, but I think it will grow on me. Can't wait to see what the general feedack is. The family is coming to visit in a month....My oh my, what will Grandma have to say about this? I have a feeling that once she gets a load of my new look, a few extra rosaries will be prayed on my behalf. "Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us piercers...."
Apr 10, 2005
Thought
Do you ever have that feeling that you're trying to hold out for something that's just not there? And then you make a stupid comment--like a last desperate attempt to find whatever that thing is you're looking for--but you already know it's not there. And yeah it's disappointing but you'll get over it. It's probably better to see things as they are and not just how you wish they could be. Do you ever have that feeling? Yeah, me too.
Mar 29, 2005
Pick-me-Up
I've been feeling down in the dumps for the past few days. Maybe a combination of PMS, burnout at work, and something else that's too stupid to discuss. Anyways, reading my friend Christian's journal reminded me that I too have a list of things that make me happy. Those who know me well also know that just the act of making a list gives me great pleasure...it truly is an art form. All that to say I managed to dig up last year's list to share with you peoples (all 1 of you, since that's the average number of comments I seem to be getting on my blogs these days). Ok, Ok, without further ado, I present:
Things that Make me Feel Alive
1. being with and laughing with my family (most especially during trips in mom's minivan)
2. having deep conversations (preferably over coffee) about spirituality, society, relationships,..
3. being in Kayron's neighborhood and playing with the kids; hugging her little brother
Michael (side note: Kayron is the girl I mentored during college)
4. playing volleyball
5. listening to live music
6. writing
7. traveling to new places
8. girl-bonding
9. laying outside to look at the stars (and for the record, last year I actually camped out in my
own backyard--tent and everything)
10. playing softball on a perfect spring day (with my dad)
11. riding my bike down Villa Maria Rd. in Bryan, TX right before sunset.
12. bare feet on green grass (preferably doing cartwheels)
13. a day on the boat at Canyon Lake
14. eating coconut ice cream in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, the most beautiful beach in the world
15. laughing hysterically with my best friend Kim
So clearly I could add about 2 million things to this list, but for now 15 will have to do. I'm not too sure how much that did for my mood, but having happy memories to smile about--I wouldn't trade that for the world.
Things that Make me Feel Alive
1. being with and laughing with my family (most especially during trips in mom's minivan)
2. having deep conversations (preferably over coffee) about spirituality, society, relationships,..
3. being in Kayron's neighborhood and playing with the kids; hugging her little brother
Michael (side note: Kayron is the girl I mentored during college)
4. playing volleyball
5. listening to live music
6. writing
7. traveling to new places
8. girl-bonding
9. laying outside to look at the stars (and for the record, last year I actually camped out in my
own backyard--tent and everything)
10. playing softball on a perfect spring day (with my dad)
11. riding my bike down Villa Maria Rd. in Bryan, TX right before sunset.
12. bare feet on green grass (preferably doing cartwheels)
13. a day on the boat at Canyon Lake
14. eating coconut ice cream in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, the most beautiful beach in the world
15. laughing hysterically with my best friend Kim
So clearly I could add about 2 million things to this list, but for now 15 will have to do. I'm not too sure how much that did for my mood, but having happy memories to smile about--I wouldn't trade that for the world.
Mar 20, 2005
Crotchety
So I have this client at work who may be the most crotchety old man I have ever met. He reminds me a lot of my grandpa as he neared his final years of life. Phrases like, "I ain't worth a damn" became normal parts of his vocabulary, and the family learned to cope by a roll of the eyes or playing along w/ his game of pity.
All that to say my client is Grandpa times 12 (at least). Nothing's ever going right. According to him he is always "going out the world backwards." Like a good social worker I try to sit down w/ him and listen and create a neat and tidy goal sheet for his life...yeah right. This man served in the military for 15 years and the last thing he wants is another "boss" (his affectionate term for me) telling him what to do. He's constantly complaining about how hungry he is so I sign him up for our free lunch program. Later when I go downstairs to check on him he's declaring the lunch tastes like "dog food." I try to sit with him and make up a service plan:
Do you want to find a psychiatrist?
"No, ain't nothin' wrong with me."
Would you like to join an alcohol support group?
"No!"
Would you like to reconnect with your son?
"No. Well....yes, but only on my own terms. I'm not going all the way to New Jersey to visit him. I'll call him when I want to."
We have to go back to housing court in a couple weeks.
"I ain't goin' to any more court! I'm tired of people shuffling me around. I just want everyone to leave me alone..I don't want any new friends....I just want to be left alone!"
And so the story goes.... He was frustrated, and I was frustrated b/c I just didn't get it. How can someone possibly not want any meaningful relationships in his life? There's got to be more to it. Is he suicidal? I wonder. Maybe he's pushing people away as a cry for help. Being at a complete loss, I went to my supervisor and dumped all of my theories on her. To which she replied, "Well, he's 72. Maybe he's just a crotchety old man." Oh. You're probably right.
Maybe when I'm 72 I'll have a better understanding of crotchety-ness...though I feel as though I've gotten an early glimpse in the past few weeks. I make the hour-long commute to work every morning on a crowded subway. At work I am surrounded by and interacting w/ co-workers and clients for 8 hours a day. I make the journey back on another crowded train and come home to a tiny apartment that I share with two other people. Since I have had a string of visitors for about the past 3 weeks straight, my evenings have been filled with going out to dinner, celebrating St. Patrick's day, coordinating times and schedules w/ other friends who have visitors in town....do you see where I'm going with all of this?
I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I don't want to talk to anyone or see anyone or hear my phone ring or have somewhere to be. I am dying for solitude. For a few precious hours I want to forget that I live in the world's most crowded city and that I share a room the size of a glorified shoebox and that I sleep on the top of a bunkbed and that the only place I can go and be sure that I won't be disturbed or walked in on is the bathroom. That is all I'm asking for.....a place where I can just BE....where I can sing or yell or cry as loud and long as I damn well please and don't have to answer to anyone or anything. All I've gotta' say is that if I don't find this place soon I'm going to bust. There will be some sort of eruption, and I fear for whoever is around to see it. Am I crotchety? You better believe I am.
And as for my client, who can really blame the man? If I'm feeling like this at 23 I can only imagine what 72 must be like. Consider his request to be left alone granted.
I, on the other hand, have somewhere to be in 30 minutes.....
All that to say my client is Grandpa times 12 (at least). Nothing's ever going right. According to him he is always "going out the world backwards." Like a good social worker I try to sit down w/ him and listen and create a neat and tidy goal sheet for his life...yeah right. This man served in the military for 15 years and the last thing he wants is another "boss" (his affectionate term for me) telling him what to do. He's constantly complaining about how hungry he is so I sign him up for our free lunch program. Later when I go downstairs to check on him he's declaring the lunch tastes like "dog food." I try to sit with him and make up a service plan:
Do you want to find a psychiatrist?
"No, ain't nothin' wrong with me."
Would you like to join an alcohol support group?
"No!"
Would you like to reconnect with your son?
"No. Well....yes, but only on my own terms. I'm not going all the way to New Jersey to visit him. I'll call him when I want to."
We have to go back to housing court in a couple weeks.
"I ain't goin' to any more court! I'm tired of people shuffling me around. I just want everyone to leave me alone..I don't want any new friends....I just want to be left alone!"
And so the story goes.... He was frustrated, and I was frustrated b/c I just didn't get it. How can someone possibly not want any meaningful relationships in his life? There's got to be more to it. Is he suicidal? I wonder. Maybe he's pushing people away as a cry for help. Being at a complete loss, I went to my supervisor and dumped all of my theories on her. To which she replied, "Well, he's 72. Maybe he's just a crotchety old man." Oh. You're probably right.
Maybe when I'm 72 I'll have a better understanding of crotchety-ness...though I feel as though I've gotten an early glimpse in the past few weeks. I make the hour-long commute to work every morning on a crowded subway. At work I am surrounded by and interacting w/ co-workers and clients for 8 hours a day. I make the journey back on another crowded train and come home to a tiny apartment that I share with two other people. Since I have had a string of visitors for about the past 3 weeks straight, my evenings have been filled with going out to dinner, celebrating St. Patrick's day, coordinating times and schedules w/ other friends who have visitors in town....do you see where I'm going with all of this?
I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I don't want to talk to anyone or see anyone or hear my phone ring or have somewhere to be. I am dying for solitude. For a few precious hours I want to forget that I live in the world's most crowded city and that I share a room the size of a glorified shoebox and that I sleep on the top of a bunkbed and that the only place I can go and be sure that I won't be disturbed or walked in on is the bathroom. That is all I'm asking for.....a place where I can just BE....where I can sing or yell or cry as loud and long as I damn well please and don't have to answer to anyone or anything. All I've gotta' say is that if I don't find this place soon I'm going to bust. There will be some sort of eruption, and I fear for whoever is around to see it. Am I crotchety? You better believe I am.
And as for my client, who can really blame the man? If I'm feeling like this at 23 I can only imagine what 72 must be like. Consider his request to be left alone granted.
I, on the other hand, have somewhere to be in 30 minutes.....
Mar 6, 2005
Chill Pill
Saturdays never seem to be very eventful. I wake up with great intentions of exploring all that NYC has to offer and end up staying in my apartment for most of the day. Today I woke up around 11:00 still feeling the effects of NyQuil. I bummed around for a while and finally took a shower around 1:30. Then I bummed around some more trying to figure out how on earth I could feel tired after 10 hours of sleep.
To wake myself up I headed over to Union Square to do some shopping. Big mistake. Let me tell you how shopping in Manhattan works on any given weekend:
- walk into the store excited b/c you haven't bought new clothes in a while and you have a little extra spending money in your pocket
- pick out a few items that catch your eye
- go to the fitting room only to realize that at least 15 people are waiting in line ahead of you, not to mention the other 15 that you'll have to wait behind should you decide to buy something.
- examine the items in your hand, realizing your time and peace of mind are worth far more than the orange sequined shirt you're holding
-ditch the clothes and leave, remembering why you were so reluctant to leave the apartment in the first place
This is why I have to constantly monitor my anxiety level in this city. Because normal activities (like shopping) that were at one point in time enjoyable are now activities to be avoided like the plague. So I think from now on my weekend outings will be limited to walking, eating out, listening to live music and hanging out at friends' apartments. And if at any time one of these causes me unnecessary stress it will be immediately removed from the list, no questions asked.
Speaking of live music, Alex Andrew, Summer, Kurt and I listened to a rockin' blues band at 55 Bar tonight. There was a big black lady named "Sweet Georgia Brown" singing......needless to say, good times were had by all. We also ate "mexican" food at Caliente which filled me up but didn't quite measure up to the high standards of savory Tex-Mex cuisine (hence the quotes).
I'm falling in and out of consciousness so I think it's time to say goodnight. Gotta' rest up for day one of my new "strategery": mastering a stress-free lifestyle in the world's most hectic city...more details to come.
To wake myself up I headed over to Union Square to do some shopping. Big mistake. Let me tell you how shopping in Manhattan works on any given weekend:
- walk into the store excited b/c you haven't bought new clothes in a while and you have a little extra spending money in your pocket
- pick out a few items that catch your eye
- go to the fitting room only to realize that at least 15 people are waiting in line ahead of you, not to mention the other 15 that you'll have to wait behind should you decide to buy something.
- examine the items in your hand, realizing your time and peace of mind are worth far more than the orange sequined shirt you're holding
-ditch the clothes and leave, remembering why you were so reluctant to leave the apartment in the first place
This is why I have to constantly monitor my anxiety level in this city. Because normal activities (like shopping) that were at one point in time enjoyable are now activities to be avoided like the plague. So I think from now on my weekend outings will be limited to walking, eating out, listening to live music and hanging out at friends' apartments. And if at any time one of these causes me unnecessary stress it will be immediately removed from the list, no questions asked.
Speaking of live music, Alex Andrew, Summer, Kurt and I listened to a rockin' blues band at 55 Bar tonight. There was a big black lady named "Sweet Georgia Brown" singing......needless to say, good times were had by all. We also ate "mexican" food at Caliente which filled me up but didn't quite measure up to the high standards of savory Tex-Mex cuisine (hence the quotes).
I'm falling in and out of consciousness so I think it's time to say goodnight. Gotta' rest up for day one of my new "strategery": mastering a stress-free lifestyle in the world's most hectic city...more details to come.
Feb 26, 2005
Validation from Abraham
This week I have found a great deal of comfort in scripture. Unfortunately this has not been a regular occurrence for me in the past couple of years as I have struggled in a continual love-hate relationship with the Bible. I often wrestle with doubts about how it can be divine yet written by humans, and which translation is the most correct and why we must go through such great pains to interpret exactly what message the authors were meaning to convey and why, after praying for the Holy Spirit to give me understanding, I often come away more confused and frustrated than when I began. This is the battle that I find myself having to lay down on weekly basis.
I have a pile accumulating on my shelf of sermon notes from Sundays past, random devotional clippings and various verses scribbled on pieces of scratch paper. So I've decided to take from the top of the pile at every quiet time and see what inspiration comes from these random notes I at some point thought worthy of saving.
Today I picked up a sheet with various scripture references. Several months ago I was reading my Bible on the subway while coming home from church one Sunday. Before getting off at his stop a nice older gentleman said he had seen me reading and gave me a paper with several verses he had jotted down for me to look up. His name was John, and I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. I skimmed the references and added the paper to my pile once I got home thinking I would read the verses in a few days...or three months later. He had written about 10 different passages down, so I decided to look up each one and read them out loud. Sometimes that gives me a clearer picture of God actually speaking to me. I came to Hebrews 11:6 and read:
"And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.."
Feeling comforted, I decide to read further:
(v.8) "By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.
(v.13) All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them at a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. "
I've struggled this week with a couple realizations: 1) New York has not changed my love for the Lord and His people. If anything that commitment has strengthened, grounding me deeper in my purpose. 2) A very rare minority cling to my same convictions, and thus I feel more isolated than ever.
It's difficult feeling unsupported or misunderstood in something you believe in with your whole heart--constantly having an awareness that you are different, an outsider. And some days I question if it's worth it to have to die to yourself so much and always do the right thing and pray that you will love someone unselfishly when it would be easier to just not associate with them at all. I'm comforted to know that the very pioneers of our faith faced the same dilemma of being "aliens and strangers on earth". But for some reason they thought it was worth it to persevere. Yet nothing in these verses gives good reason for doing so--living in foreign lands, never having a real earthly home, and being able to enjoy their promised rewards only "at a distance." Let's face it, the Christian life makes absolutely no sense. How then did these men and us believers today find not only justification in pressing on, but great joy in doing so?
(v.1) "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."
This is the part where I should wrap up this little segment with some profound wisdom that ties all of these loose ends together. But the truth is, I'm still trying to answer my own question. I have a feeling it has something to do with verse 1, about real certainty only being found through faith in Christ, about how "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever" (Heb. 13:8) and how that security somehow drives us to walk this path, "the straight and narrow"(which I find to be a deceptively bland description). And then there's all kinds of other driving forces that come into play like unconditional love and grace, etc., etc. But for now it's enough for me to read this passage and simply know that I'm in good company.
I have a pile accumulating on my shelf of sermon notes from Sundays past, random devotional clippings and various verses scribbled on pieces of scratch paper. So I've decided to take from the top of the pile at every quiet time and see what inspiration comes from these random notes I at some point thought worthy of saving.
Today I picked up a sheet with various scripture references. Several months ago I was reading my Bible on the subway while coming home from church one Sunday. Before getting off at his stop a nice older gentleman said he had seen me reading and gave me a paper with several verses he had jotted down for me to look up. His name was John, and I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. I skimmed the references and added the paper to my pile once I got home thinking I would read the verses in a few days...or three months later. He had written about 10 different passages down, so I decided to look up each one and read them out loud. Sometimes that gives me a clearer picture of God actually speaking to me. I came to Hebrews 11:6 and read:
"And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.."
Feeling comforted, I decide to read further:
(v.8) "By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.
(v.13) All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them at a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. "
I've struggled this week with a couple realizations: 1) New York has not changed my love for the Lord and His people. If anything that commitment has strengthened, grounding me deeper in my purpose. 2) A very rare minority cling to my same convictions, and thus I feel more isolated than ever.
It's difficult feeling unsupported or misunderstood in something you believe in with your whole heart--constantly having an awareness that you are different, an outsider. And some days I question if it's worth it to have to die to yourself so much and always do the right thing and pray that you will love someone unselfishly when it would be easier to just not associate with them at all. I'm comforted to know that the very pioneers of our faith faced the same dilemma of being "aliens and strangers on earth". But for some reason they thought it was worth it to persevere. Yet nothing in these verses gives good reason for doing so--living in foreign lands, never having a real earthly home, and being able to enjoy their promised rewards only "at a distance." Let's face it, the Christian life makes absolutely no sense. How then did these men and us believers today find not only justification in pressing on, but great joy in doing so?
(v.1) "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."
This is the part where I should wrap up this little segment with some profound wisdom that ties all of these loose ends together. But the truth is, I'm still trying to answer my own question. I have a feeling it has something to do with verse 1, about real certainty only being found through faith in Christ, about how "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever" (Heb. 13:8) and how that security somehow drives us to walk this path, "the straight and narrow"(which I find to be a deceptively bland description). And then there's all kinds of other driving forces that come into play like unconditional love and grace, etc., etc. But for now it's enough for me to read this passage and simply know that I'm in good company.
Feb 17, 2005
Home Field Advantage
Funny client story of the week: My favorite client came into the office (surprisingly sober) earlier in the week saying he had lost his keys but thought they may be somewhere in his apartment. When he came back yesterday we asked him if he'd found his keys yet. He said, "Oh yeah I found them in this bag of chicken I had. They must have slipped in there somehow." To which I responded, "I hate it when that happens."
************************************
A couple days ago I was walking to visit a client at his apartment. Selfishly I like going to his place because I get to walk right past Yankee Stadium. "46 Days until Home Opener" the sign reads. And at that moment everything is so very surreal. I have to stop and remind myself that just one year ago I visited New York for the first time and just 6 months ago I was making sandwiches at Blue Baker in College Station, TX and now here I am walking down 161st street in Bronx, NY still wondering how exactly this all came to be.
Probably the most pressing struggle of living here (and believe me there are tons) is defining what exactly "home" is. New York is not my home. In Texas is the house on Burford Place where I spent 18 years of my life and the little league right across the street where I played softball for 7 glorious years and still have my name on a sign for the summer us 10 year olds won district. Texas has my mom, dad, brother, my best friend Kim, my church, elementary school, junior high, high school, college and every friend made along the way...you get the picture.
Yesterday I spotted a South Carolina license plate in the Bronx and asked the woman if she was from there as she was getting out of her car. I told her one of my best friends is from Columbia, and her face lit up because that's her hometown too. Though she's lived in the Bronx 17 years, she was adamant about South Carolina being her real home ("I go back every year"). People at work call her "country" for her accent. I assured her the two of us would spread some Southern lovin' to these parts. Granted she is black and I am white, but I think the two of us parted feeling as though we had just reconnected with old kinfolk.
Most of my clients at work have a very different picture of home, and my job allows me a rare access into their world as I am required to do "home visits" on a regular basis. I have come to identify all the finer details of a typical city-owned housing project: grafitti on the walls with every dirty slang word, gang name or sexual picture imaginable, elevators that smell like urine, doors with missing numbers, blaring rap music coming from nowhere and everywhere in particular, and (on the lighter side) the sweet smells of fried food at most anytime of day. Morning visits are my favorite because I inhale the aroma of bacon, eggs and whatever else happens to be on the menu. Immediately I'm transported back to my grandma's kitchen sitting at the big table w/ the long bench seats catching up with my mom, dad and grandpa....and then I get a little teary because I realize just how far away I really am.
I stand waiting for the elevator doors to open, staring at the graffitti, wondering how people always think to have a black Sharpie with them at just the right time, but mostly how they could have such little respect for themselves, each other, their homes. You would think after volunteering 4 years with inner city youth and working alongside low-income individuals and now being fairly immersed in their lives that I would understand such things. But I don't. And so right then I prayed for understanding--not of the world, but one that goes deeper-- a Godly wisdom that can be acquired through no other means.
************************************
A couple days ago I was walking to visit a client at his apartment. Selfishly I like going to his place because I get to walk right past Yankee Stadium. "46 Days until Home Opener" the sign reads. And at that moment everything is so very surreal. I have to stop and remind myself that just one year ago I visited New York for the first time and just 6 months ago I was making sandwiches at Blue Baker in College Station, TX and now here I am walking down 161st street in Bronx, NY still wondering how exactly this all came to be.
Probably the most pressing struggle of living here (and believe me there are tons) is defining what exactly "home" is. New York is not my home. In Texas is the house on Burford Place where I spent 18 years of my life and the little league right across the street where I played softball for 7 glorious years and still have my name on a sign for the summer us 10 year olds won district. Texas has my mom, dad, brother, my best friend Kim, my church, elementary school, junior high, high school, college and every friend made along the way...you get the picture.
Yesterday I spotted a South Carolina license plate in the Bronx and asked the woman if she was from there as she was getting out of her car. I told her one of my best friends is from Columbia, and her face lit up because that's her hometown too. Though she's lived in the Bronx 17 years, she was adamant about South Carolina being her real home ("I go back every year"). People at work call her "country" for her accent. I assured her the two of us would spread some Southern lovin' to these parts. Granted she is black and I am white, but I think the two of us parted feeling as though we had just reconnected with old kinfolk.
Most of my clients at work have a very different picture of home, and my job allows me a rare access into their world as I am required to do "home visits" on a regular basis. I have come to identify all the finer details of a typical city-owned housing project: grafitti on the walls with every dirty slang word, gang name or sexual picture imaginable, elevators that smell like urine, doors with missing numbers, blaring rap music coming from nowhere and everywhere in particular, and (on the lighter side) the sweet smells of fried food at most anytime of day. Morning visits are my favorite because I inhale the aroma of bacon, eggs and whatever else happens to be on the menu. Immediately I'm transported back to my grandma's kitchen sitting at the big table w/ the long bench seats catching up with my mom, dad and grandpa....and then I get a little teary because I realize just how far away I really am.
I stand waiting for the elevator doors to open, staring at the graffitti, wondering how people always think to have a black Sharpie with them at just the right time, but mostly how they could have such little respect for themselves, each other, their homes. You would think after volunteering 4 years with inner city youth and working alongside low-income individuals and now being fairly immersed in their lives that I would understand such things. But I don't. And so right then I prayed for understanding--not of the world, but one that goes deeper-- a Godly wisdom that can be acquired through no other means.
Jan 25, 2005
Snowy Happy People
This past weekend was the happiest I've felt in a long time, and I would say most of the bliss was brought on by the 13 inches of snow. I put on my black and pink rain boots and danced around like a giddy 5 year old. I had no idea that when it snows New York suddenly becomes this happy neighborly place to be. Kids are sledding at Central Park, shop owners are whistling as they shovel a path on the sidewalk, even the dogs are excited running around in their cute little winter sweaters. The streets take on an eerie calm with the lack of cars (yes, even my beloved avenue C had some moments of silence this weekend).
It's funny how the Lord works in things. The past couple of weeks have probably been some of the roughest yet with my cousin being out of the country and work being trying and wanting to throw in the towel on this insane city. But then it snowed, almost as if God knew it was time for a fresh start, a new perspective and a couple days to just relax and be a kid again. Saturday night I got stuck waiting at the bus stop for a good 30 min. and ended up making all kinds of new friends. My favorite is Bugsy, a big 40 something year old black man who I'm pretty sure wanted to be my boyfriend, nevermind that he he's been married 29 years (I later find out his wife has a boyfriend which, according to Bugsy, is "no big deal"). So, I had to let him down gently but he was a good sport about it. Sunday there was more playing in the snow to be done, this time at Central Park w/ Alex, Luke, Karen and Diana, my friend from church. I never reached my goal of building a snowman, but now I'll have something to look forward to when the next blizzard hits.
Probably my most favorite thing about NYC so far is my church--Redeemer--which certainly lives up to its name. I love everything about it from the afro-haired drummer who plays in the jazz worship band on Sundays to the free cookies and coffee we get after each service. And not to mention that Pastor Tim Keller may be the one of the wisest scholars of the Word I have ever come across. What he preaches is real and truth and uncomfortable at times...and I respect him for all of those things and more. This is a church that I believe in , and I believe God is using it to breathe new life into a dying city. www.redeemer.com
It's funny how the Lord works in things. The past couple of weeks have probably been some of the roughest yet with my cousin being out of the country and work being trying and wanting to throw in the towel on this insane city. But then it snowed, almost as if God knew it was time for a fresh start, a new perspective and a couple days to just relax and be a kid again. Saturday night I got stuck waiting at the bus stop for a good 30 min. and ended up making all kinds of new friends. My favorite is Bugsy, a big 40 something year old black man who I'm pretty sure wanted to be my boyfriend, nevermind that he he's been married 29 years (I later find out his wife has a boyfriend which, according to Bugsy, is "no big deal"). So, I had to let him down gently but he was a good sport about it. Sunday there was more playing in the snow to be done, this time at Central Park w/ Alex, Luke, Karen and Diana, my friend from church. I never reached my goal of building a snowman, but now I'll have something to look forward to when the next blizzard hits.
Probably my most favorite thing about NYC so far is my church--Redeemer--which certainly lives up to its name. I love everything about it from the afro-haired drummer who plays in the jazz worship band on Sundays to the free cookies and coffee we get after each service. And not to mention that Pastor Tim Keller may be the one of the wisest scholars of the Word I have ever come across. What he preaches is real and truth and uncomfortable at times...and I respect him for all of those things and more. This is a church that I believe in , and I believe God is using it to breathe new life into a dying city. www.redeemer.com
Jan 9, 2005
A Week in the Life
I always seem to get in this weird "funk" on Sundays. I think it's because the weekend's freedom will soon be abruptly cut short by the emergence of Monday. Growing up my mom was always moodier on Sunday nights, and now I am able to sympathize. She's assured me that I'm normal and that even after thirty something years in the working world, the Sunday evening blahs never go away. How reassuring. Speaking of work, a lot of people ask what a typical day is like, and then I have to explain there's really no such thing as "typical" in my line of work. So, I've compiled a few snippets of last week's "highlights":
Wednesday--gay client drops by the office to inform us that his ex-lover sold drugs in his name and now people have been coming to his apartment threatening his life if he doesn't pay the money; I go w/ him to the housing office and wait for 2 hours while he gets approval to move into a hotel room
Thursday--I visit the apartment of a client I had not previously met. I take the right bus the wrong way and thus arrive 30 min. behind schedule. She explains she got HIV because some girl bit her at the school she used to work at. Her mother was Puerto Rican and her father Italian she tells me. Somehow they managed to be married 50 yrs though she claims her mother neither understood nor spoke English or Italian. Funny how that works. Her 18 yr. old daughter just had a baby 3 mths ago. The client drops me off at her mother's (where daughter and baby currently live). There must be at least 7 people living in this cramped apartment. I speak with the daughter. She tells me being a parent is going well so far and no she is not interested in parenting classes. Yes, she would like to finish high school but wants to open her own public assistance case first. She is worried about the apartment's crowded conditions. Her mom kicked her out, she said (mom had told me otherwise). I tell her I'd like to help out in any way I can. I give her my number and suggest we look for schools w/ night classes. I also speak w/ the older sister. She is currently taking her mom to court for running up charges on a credit card in her name. She is starting college this month and will be living with her boyfriend.
Friday--I go to meet a client at his doctor's appointment. A couple weeks ago was the first time he'd been back to the doctor in a year. He did not show. The doctor was angry and gave me copies of his latest blood work. I ask the nurse to translate the medical lingo for me. She tells me he tested positive for syphilis and should be treated right away. I'm not sure if the client is aware of his diagnosis. I go back to the office and give him a call. He didn't come because the landlord is there replacing his kitchen cabinets. No, he is unaware he has syphilis (thus making me the bearer of bad news). He will call me back once he reschedules.
Later in the day a client comes in w/ alcohol on his breath (not for the first time) waving a rent bill in my face. He refuses to move into his new apartment until the shower is fixed. I call the landlord who says he'll send a plumber out tomorrow. This particular client likes to sporadically break into the chorus of "Georgia on my Mind." Do I like that song? he wants to know and I tell him yes. He is an old black Vietnam vet, and I have a special fondness for him, maybe because back in the day he was stationed in San Antonio, Texas. Someone had given him one of those "Jesus Saves" tracks, and he tells me he believes everything it says. Then I told him he also must agree w/ the Bible not condoning drunkenness. "Jennifer", he says, "I ain't ever been drunk a day in my life." Interesting. I take him to the conference room and tell him he has a problem w/ alcohol. He's defensive and doesn't want to hear it ("My own mother never even talked to me like that.") I escort him downstairs and watch him go feeling a bit defeated...but still loving him. A client I have never even met then proceeds to chew me out because she's been waiting 30 min. to pick up her social security check. I give her the money and explain I'm the only team member here at the moment. She doesn't want to hear it either and storms out in a huff yelling something about her mother being sick. I can't decide if I feel like crying or laughing.
Mostly I'm just glad it's Friday.
So there you have it--a week in the life. Hope it was everything you dreamed of and more. Sometimes I have to laugh at the drama of it all. But sometimes all I can think is that this is not how the world should be. 18 year old girls should not be mothers before being high school graduates. Children should not be growing up without fathers, and women should not be letting them get away with such deadbeat behavior. People should not be living sick and alone without any family or community to support them. The church should be gathering in the "least of these". And for these things I weep.
And then my parents tell me it's ok to cry and that I am a light though I may not see the fruits of my labor. Dad assures me I am the next Martin Luther, and this is only the beginning of my quiet revolution. Mom tells me that people always ask if she worries about me. She tells them no. She knows I came on faith, and that is enough for her. And all of a sudden the world is right again. I love my family. They make me strong and always remind me of who I am. I believe that every lesson God ever wanted to teach about unconditional love and compromise and laughter and community and identity is verbalized through family. And I'm reminded of the message I'm to take to the world...first stop: Bronx, NY.
Wednesday--gay client drops by the office to inform us that his ex-lover sold drugs in his name and now people have been coming to his apartment threatening his life if he doesn't pay the money; I go w/ him to the housing office and wait for 2 hours while he gets approval to move into a hotel room
Thursday--I visit the apartment of a client I had not previously met. I take the right bus the wrong way and thus arrive 30 min. behind schedule. She explains she got HIV because some girl bit her at the school she used to work at. Her mother was Puerto Rican and her father Italian she tells me. Somehow they managed to be married 50 yrs though she claims her mother neither understood nor spoke English or Italian. Funny how that works. Her 18 yr. old daughter just had a baby 3 mths ago. The client drops me off at her mother's (where daughter and baby currently live). There must be at least 7 people living in this cramped apartment. I speak with the daughter. She tells me being a parent is going well so far and no she is not interested in parenting classes. Yes, she would like to finish high school but wants to open her own public assistance case first. She is worried about the apartment's crowded conditions. Her mom kicked her out, she said (mom had told me otherwise). I tell her I'd like to help out in any way I can. I give her my number and suggest we look for schools w/ night classes. I also speak w/ the older sister. She is currently taking her mom to court for running up charges on a credit card in her name. She is starting college this month and will be living with her boyfriend.
Friday--I go to meet a client at his doctor's appointment. A couple weeks ago was the first time he'd been back to the doctor in a year. He did not show. The doctor was angry and gave me copies of his latest blood work. I ask the nurse to translate the medical lingo for me. She tells me he tested positive for syphilis and should be treated right away. I'm not sure if the client is aware of his diagnosis. I go back to the office and give him a call. He didn't come because the landlord is there replacing his kitchen cabinets. No, he is unaware he has syphilis (thus making me the bearer of bad news). He will call me back once he reschedules.
Later in the day a client comes in w/ alcohol on his breath (not for the first time) waving a rent bill in my face. He refuses to move into his new apartment until the shower is fixed. I call the landlord who says he'll send a plumber out tomorrow. This particular client likes to sporadically break into the chorus of "Georgia on my Mind." Do I like that song? he wants to know and I tell him yes. He is an old black Vietnam vet, and I have a special fondness for him, maybe because back in the day he was stationed in San Antonio, Texas. Someone had given him one of those "Jesus Saves" tracks, and he tells me he believes everything it says. Then I told him he also must agree w/ the Bible not condoning drunkenness. "Jennifer", he says, "I ain't ever been drunk a day in my life." Interesting. I take him to the conference room and tell him he has a problem w/ alcohol. He's defensive and doesn't want to hear it ("My own mother never even talked to me like that.") I escort him downstairs and watch him go feeling a bit defeated...but still loving him. A client I have never even met then proceeds to chew me out because she's been waiting 30 min. to pick up her social security check. I give her the money and explain I'm the only team member here at the moment. She doesn't want to hear it either and storms out in a huff yelling something about her mother being sick. I can't decide if I feel like crying or laughing.
Mostly I'm just glad it's Friday.
So there you have it--a week in the life. Hope it was everything you dreamed of and more. Sometimes I have to laugh at the drama of it all. But sometimes all I can think is that this is not how the world should be. 18 year old girls should not be mothers before being high school graduates. Children should not be growing up without fathers, and women should not be letting them get away with such deadbeat behavior. People should not be living sick and alone without any family or community to support them. The church should be gathering in the "least of these". And for these things I weep.
And then my parents tell me it's ok to cry and that I am a light though I may not see the fruits of my labor. Dad assures me I am the next Martin Luther, and this is only the beginning of my quiet revolution. Mom tells me that people always ask if she worries about me. She tells them no. She knows I came on faith, and that is enough for her. And all of a sudden the world is right again. I love my family. They make me strong and always remind me of who I am. I believe that every lesson God ever wanted to teach about unconditional love and compromise and laughter and community and identity is verbalized through family. And I'm reminded of the message I'm to take to the world...first stop: Bronx, NY.
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