I’m loving this opportunity to live with my friends in N. VA. I feel like it’s preparing me for a smoother transition into life in Tanzania (where I’ll be living in a village and will spend much of my time with children and families).
A few days ago I took the kids to the library. I can understand why Dee likes to keep these trips as short as possible. 8 Library books, 2 videos and multiple reminders to “use our inside voices” later, we piled back into the Doan's classic soccer mom minivan and headed to Starbucks for a “surprise”. I had a blast showing off these adorable kids! The boys enjoyed “blueberry milkshakes” for a few minutes before Keenan loudly announced our departure, yelling “Bye! Bye!” to anyone who cared to listen.
Starbucks treats in hand (I rewarded myself for a successful library trip with a cup of coffee,) we headed to Office Depot to make a few quick purchases. We didn’t make it to the checkout before Ethan started doing his “I have to pee” dance (translation: “I have to pee NOW”). My first response was to silently wonder why he couldn’t have decided he needed to pee a few minutes earlier, when we were at Starbucks and had easy bathroom access. No matter. I dropped my shopping basket and flagged down an attendant to ask where we might be able to take care of this bathroom emergency. Thankfully, relief was to be found at the back of the store. As I guided Ethan along, Keenan seemed to be enjoying life at his own pace – he dawdled along behind us, blueberry milkshake held in both hands, clunking with each step in the yellow rain boots that he insists on wearing all the time. What a scene! We made it to the bathroom in time. Great success. :)
After taking care of our bathroom emergency, we reclaimed our basket of goods and headed to the check out. By this time the blueberry milkshakes were finished and the boys were getting finicky. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long in line. As we headed out the door, Keenan once again loudly announced our departure, yelling “Bye! Bye!” to anyone who cared to listen.
We headed home. Two minutes after walking in the door, I found myself sub-consciously humming one of the kids’ songs we were listening to in the van as we traveled. I didn’t realize this until Dee remarked, “Catchy, isn’t it?” Yeah....I guess so. Two days later I still find myself humming the tune.
When we returned, I couldn’t help laughing as I recounted details of our afternoon excursion to Sam and Dee. These are my adventures of late. I’m loving it!
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Mr. Iditarod
“So, you’re going to Africa. What are you going to do?”
The question seemed simple enough. “Education - I’m going to teach,” I replied. “What are you going to do?” the older man sitting across the table from me questioned again. “I’m going to teach kids in villages,” I responded, hoping this time my explanation would make sense. No such luck. He threw the question at me once more, this time with greater force. “No, what are you going to do?” By this point I was starting to get a little frustrated, as were some of the other residents sitting around the dinner table at Crossroads House. I had joined my friends from the Intervarsity Graduate Group at UNH to serve a meal at Crossroads, a transitional homeless shelter in Portsmouth, NH. As I sat down and chatted with the residents over dinner, Mr. Iditarod (I call him that b/c he was wearing a teal blue Alaska Iditarod t-shirt and he never offered his name) seemed to enjoy questioning and challenging me.
I responded to his question a third time, offering more details, hoping this seemingly educated man would be satisfied with my response: “Education – I’m going to teach in outskirts villages in Tanzania with an organization called Village Schools International.” One of the residents sitting next to him piped in “She’s going to do general education,” trying to help me out by offering Mr. Iditarod her own explanation of my response.
“No. You’re not going to teach,” he asserted with an air of authority, “You’re going to learn.” This brisk, 65 year old, salt and pepper bearded, dogmatic man continued, “Too many people go over to Africa to teach – thinking they know it all...they don’t know anything. You’re going to learn.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I expressed some words of agreement that didn’t appease his need to expound. Mr. Iditarod proceeded to tell me – and everyone else at the dinner table who cared to listen – that I was young and naive, and an idealist. And he’s right. He’s right about a lot of things.
If 25 is young, Mr. Iditarod is right.
If being a naive idealist means, as my friend Ken says, “believing/doing the impossible in spite of ourselves,” Mr. Iditarod is right.
If teaching in Africa is more about learning (and I would argue that it is), Mr. Iditarod is right.
The question seemed simple enough. “Education - I’m going to teach,” I replied. “What are you going to do?” the older man sitting across the table from me questioned again. “I’m going to teach kids in villages,” I responded, hoping this time my explanation would make sense. No such luck. He threw the question at me once more, this time with greater force. “No, what are you going to do?” By this point I was starting to get a little frustrated, as were some of the other residents sitting around the dinner table at Crossroads House. I had joined my friends from the Intervarsity Graduate Group at UNH to serve a meal at Crossroads, a transitional homeless shelter in Portsmouth, NH. As I sat down and chatted with the residents over dinner, Mr. Iditarod (I call him that b/c he was wearing a teal blue Alaska Iditarod t-shirt and he never offered his name) seemed to enjoy questioning and challenging me.
I responded to his question a third time, offering more details, hoping this seemingly educated man would be satisfied with my response: “Education – I’m going to teach in outskirts villages in Tanzania with an organization called Village Schools International.” One of the residents sitting next to him piped in “She’s going to do general education,” trying to help me out by offering Mr. Iditarod her own explanation of my response.
“No. You’re not going to teach,” he asserted with an air of authority, “You’re going to learn.” This brisk, 65 year old, salt and pepper bearded, dogmatic man continued, “Too many people go over to Africa to teach – thinking they know it all...they don’t know anything. You’re going to learn.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I expressed some words of agreement that didn’t appease his need to expound. Mr. Iditarod proceeded to tell me – and everyone else at the dinner table who cared to listen – that I was young and naive, and an idealist. And he’s right. He’s right about a lot of things.
If 25 is young, Mr. Iditarod is right.
If being a naive idealist means, as my friend Ken says, “believing/doing the impossible in spite of ourselves,” Mr. Iditarod is right.
If teaching in Africa is more about learning (and I would argue that it is), Mr. Iditarod is right.
"If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time,
but if you come because your liberation is bound up with mine,
then let us work together."
- Lilla Watson, Aboriginal Educator and Activist, Brisbane
- Lilla Watson, Aboriginal Educator and Activist, Brisbane
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Jesus Experiments
I'm really enjoying the opportunity to connect with a small group of friends from Common Table in a gathering we have titled "64". This group, loosely based on the Beatle's song, "When I'm 64", is focused on examining our lives through the lens of these questions: "What will my life look like when I'm 64? What will I be known for? In what (or whom) will I have invested my time and resources?"
We kicked things off last month by reading through a gospel of our choosing as we walked through a cemetary. There's something about noting the brevity of human life while reading the words of Jesus... Then we got together to discuss our first experiment.
Mike wrote an excellent summary of our time together:
We had a nice time cooking together and catching up on life, and talking about our impressions from the graveyard walking and gospel-reading we've been doing. As we did so, a theme seemed to emerge: we've all been struck by just how engaged Jesus was with so many people. Sometimes superficially, and sometimes substantially, but seemingly quite intentionally at every turn. Too, we noted that though he certainly spent most of his time with the powerless and the poor, he also hung with some rich and powerful folks, and we spent some time pondering his enigmatic parable of the Shrewd Manager, and trying to see how we fit into this alternately wealthy and poor culture in Northern Virginia.
As we continued to talk, we noted how we tend to notice roles, rather than people. To not know our neighbors, or our co-workers, or the people with whom we interact and live among every day. We talked about our tendency to objectify the people whose job it is to serve us, and to objectify those who we are tasked to serve. To gloss over people, rather than to really connect with them. So our experiment is this: once a day, to pause to see a person, and then to find a way to show them mercy. We plan to write down at least three of these encounters over the next two weeks, so that we can share them when we get together.
I wasn't as regular with my experiments as I should have been, but I found myself surprised by the way some people responded to my humble attempts at "showing mercy". Here's one thing I'm realizing: most people in service-related fields don't expect you to notice them and they rarely expect empathy and mercy. In our consumer oriented culture, many people seem to expect to be treated as a commodity.
For me, much of this first experiment can be summed up in the African concept of ubuntu (a word that has it's origins in the Bantu languages of Southern Africa.) South Africa's Archbishop Desmond Tutu describes the concept of Ubuntu in this way:
"Ubuntu is the essence of being human. And in our language a person is ubuntu and unbuntu is a noun to speak about what it means to be human. In essence, it is something that you find especially in the Old Testament... We say a person is a person through other persons. You can't be human in isolation. You are human only in relationships..." (Vanity Fair, 2007)
We kicked things off last month by reading through a gospel of our choosing as we walked through a cemetary. There's something about noting the brevity of human life while reading the words of Jesus... Then we got together to discuss our first experiment.
Mike wrote an excellent summary of our time together:
We had a nice time cooking together and catching up on life, and talking about our impressions from the graveyard walking and gospel-reading we've been doing. As we did so, a theme seemed to emerge: we've all been struck by just how engaged Jesus was with so many people. Sometimes superficially, and sometimes substantially, but seemingly quite intentionally at every turn. Too, we noted that though he certainly spent most of his time with the powerless and the poor, he also hung with some rich and powerful folks, and we spent some time pondering his enigmatic parable of the Shrewd Manager, and trying to see how we fit into this alternately wealthy and poor culture in Northern Virginia.
As we continued to talk, we noted how we tend to notice roles, rather than people. To not know our neighbors, or our co-workers, or the people with whom we interact and live among every day. We talked about our tendency to objectify the people whose job it is to serve us, and to objectify those who we are tasked to serve. To gloss over people, rather than to really connect with them. So our experiment is this: once a day, to pause to see a person, and then to find a way to show them mercy. We plan to write down at least three of these encounters over the next two weeks, so that we can share them when we get together.
I wasn't as regular with my experiments as I should have been, but I found myself surprised by the way some people responded to my humble attempts at "showing mercy". Here's one thing I'm realizing: most people in service-related fields don't expect you to notice them and they rarely expect empathy and mercy. In our consumer oriented culture, many people seem to expect to be treated as a commodity.
For me, much of this first experiment can be summed up in the African concept of ubuntu (a word that has it's origins in the Bantu languages of Southern Africa.) South Africa's Archbishop Desmond Tutu describes the concept of Ubuntu in this way:
"Ubuntu is the essence of being human. And in our language a person is ubuntu and unbuntu is a noun to speak about what it means to be human. In essence, it is something that you find especially in the Old Testament... We say a person is a person through other persons. You can't be human in isolation. You are human only in relationships..." (Vanity Fair, 2007)
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Security is Mostly a Superstition
My friend, Steph, has this great quote on her facebook site that I've decided I really like:
Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. -- Helen Keller
The other night I opened my door, sat in the entry way and watched a magnificent thunder and lightening storm. Thunder and lighting storms evoke a sense of awe in me; they make me feel pretty small, powerless and somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme of things; they shatter my illusions of control. I think I need this every once in a while.
Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. -- Helen Keller
The other night I opened my door, sat in the entry way and watched a magnificent thunder and lightening storm. Thunder and lighting storms evoke a sense of awe in me; they make me feel pretty small, powerless and somewhat insignificant in the grand scheme of things; they shatter my illusions of control. I think I need this every once in a while.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
I Don't Really Care for this Surrender Thing
I've decided I don't really care for this surrender thing; I much prefer control. Surrender is such a process of letting go again and again. Ugh. I suck at it.
Last Sunday we incorporated a body prayer (compliments of my talented friend, Stacy) into the service at Common Table. Here’s an excerpt of the posture we were directed to assume as we prayed:
Stand up. Strong legs. Your feet grounded by the strength of the earth below. Your back and neck and head stretched toward the heavens. Look at your hands. Hold them up in front of your face—palms up. Open. Open to God and God’s nature. Open to whatever you are to receive. Open to give away that which you shall no longer hold on to.
As I assumed this posture, I was really struck by the seeming dichotomy of my actions – holding my hands open to receive from God, while also being open to give away that which I shouldn’t hold on to. Both elements resonate. I think much of life, or at least much of the Christian life, is lived within this tension.
Last Sunday we incorporated a body prayer (compliments of my talented friend, Stacy) into the service at Common Table. Here’s an excerpt of the posture we were directed to assume as we prayed:
Stand up. Strong legs. Your feet grounded by the strength of the earth below. Your back and neck and head stretched toward the heavens. Look at your hands. Hold them up in front of your face—palms up. Open. Open to God and God’s nature. Open to whatever you are to receive. Open to give away that which you shall no longer hold on to.
As I assumed this posture, I was really struck by the seeming dichotomy of my actions – holding my hands open to receive from God, while also being open to give away that which I shouldn’t hold on to. Both elements resonate. I think much of life, or at least much of the Christian life, is lived within this tension.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
"You're a little too saucy to be a nun."
Yesterday I spent the afternoon at the Africa Faith and Justice Network (AFJN), putting the finishing touches on a project. AFJN is located in Brookland, a section of DC filled with Catholic institutions. On my way home, I noticed a little farmer's market near the Metro and decided to stop and buy some produce.
It didn't take long before I was in a conversation with a slightly eccentric guy from Licking Creek Bend Farm. After his mini soapbox speeches on fair trade coffee (i.e."Why can't Starbucks feature their fair trade coffee more than once a month?") and school lunches (i.e. "Why is eat we feed our children the worst food possible - especially in schools?") he asked what I did. I conveniently avoided the fact that I work at Starbucks part-time and told him I had just completed my degree in Family Studies and that I'm planning to go to Africa, to which he responded with the common sentiment, "There are so many problems here in the U.S...." I agreed and tried to smooth things over with some statement to the effect of, "Well, I guess we're all called to different things..." I suppose using the word "call" was a bit of Christianese, because he immediately tapped into this and asked, "Are you a nun?" (Yeah, me - in my wrap around India skirt and black tank top with visible tat - a nun? Not so much.) I responded a bit too quickly, "God, no! I think I like [the idea of] marriage (i.e. sex) a little too much to be a nun!" (Probably not the most tactful response because I really do have a great deal of respect for sisters, but that's what popped out of my mouth.) He quickly realized his mistake and before I could finish my sentence declared, "Yeah, you're a little too saucy to be [a nun]."
It didn't take long before I was in a conversation with a slightly eccentric guy from Licking Creek Bend Farm. After his mini soapbox speeches on fair trade coffee (i.e."Why can't Starbucks feature their fair trade coffee more than once a month?") and school lunches (i.e. "Why is eat we feed our children the worst food possible - especially in schools?") he asked what I did. I conveniently avoided the fact that I work at Starbucks part-time and told him I had just completed my degree in Family Studies and that I'm planning to go to Africa, to which he responded with the common sentiment, "There are so many problems here in the U.S...." I agreed and tried to smooth things over with some statement to the effect of, "Well, I guess we're all called to different things..." I suppose using the word "call" was a bit of Christianese, because he immediately tapped into this and asked, "Are you a nun?" (Yeah, me - in my wrap around India skirt and black tank top with visible tat - a nun? Not so much.) I responded a bit too quickly, "God, no! I think I like [the idea of] marriage (i.e. sex) a little too much to be a nun!" (Probably not the most tactful response because I really do have a great deal of respect for sisters, but that's what popped out of my mouth.) He quickly realized his mistake and before I could finish my sentence declared, "Yeah, you're a little too saucy to be [a nun]."
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Speaking of Faith
“We had all kinds of baggage from the church... you know recovering Evangelicals and disenchanted Catholics...and we just said ‘we’re going to stop complaining about the church that we’ve experienced and try to become the church that we dream of.'”
-Shane Claiborne
NPR's show Speaking of Faith explored New Monasticism in an interview with Shane Claiborne last week. Check it out here. Download the MP3 here.
-Shane Claiborne
NPR's show Speaking of Faith explored New Monasticism in an interview with Shane Claiborne last week. Check it out here. Download the MP3 here.
By posting this, I am in no way suggesting that I've figured out how to "...become the church that we dream of." Yet I can't help but wonder, What happens when we stop defining church as the building in which we worship on Sunday mornings and start thinking of church as a body of people from every tongue, tribe and nation who put their hope in Christ? My friend, Matt, has some excellent thoughts on the subject.
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