In My Life

As I'm writing this post I'm reminded of where I was this time last year. I was at BVS orientation in New Windsor, MD trying to figure out where I should go to volunteer. Katie Baker and I were preparing to celebrate our birthdays (which we will be doing this weekend :), and all of us in orientation were getting to know one another. Little did I know how much that decision of where I would volunteer would change my life. There was no guarantee that I would like my placement, city, or the people I would be around. As it turned out, moving to Cincinnati was absolutely the right choice for me.

I've had so many interesting and eye opening experiences and learned lessons I never expected to. This past year has not been easy, and while I would change a few things that happened, I would not change where it has brought me and how it has made me the person I am at this moment. I'm thankful for the children God let me fall in love with - I'm writing this when they are in the middle of a good behavior streak! I'm thankful for the many people from all walks of life that have crossed my path, only for a moment or some for an entire year.

There are still many unknowns in my future, though some things are shaping up, but I am OK with that because life would not be the adventure that it is without unknowns. I'm choosing to walk step by step into the future smiling, ready to experience what lies ahead. What I do know is that at least for a little while I'll be calling Cincinnati home.

Peace and Blessings,

Anne

The glorious arrival of Autumn

is mellowing my emotions.

The cool, dry breeze made it's arrival in Walnut Hills today. It is purging me of nightmares of new apartments infested with bedbugs and going jobless for too long. I would take a nap in the grass if the chiggers wouldn't get me.

It has been so dry this last month that the leaves seem to be turning prematurely.
Maybe I'm turning a little early, too. My BVS term is over in a little under five weeks but I feel ready. Even though I don't have a job lined up or an apartment rented... or anything to put in an apartment... or money to buy that stuff with...whatever is waiting down the road feels more right than staying where I am.
BVS has offered me all kinds of experiences; most I never would have considered. The beginning of this new road is one I had no vision of last summer, and yet, it does feel like the right place to be.

My pieces are not falling together like Ben's, and it's a little disheartening.
But there's an element here that's very akin to what I feel when I pull into my parent's drive way after a long time away. This change feels like coming home.

I'll take the comfort while I can.
Goodness knows, I won't feel the same tomorrow.


Best,

Laura

Fitting the pieces together

In the past few weeks things have begun to click for me in the "What's next?" category. The big news is that I'm headed officially to Portland, OR (though the date of arrival is still being figured out) to live in another developing community house with some super cool people. Two of my in-the-near-future housemates were in my original BVS unit three years ago - Heather and Jon. The other housemate will be my late-night running partner from various previous encounters, Miss Chelsea. I'm really excited to see how all of this works out. West coast? Me? Really? Finally? YES!

Today is another turning point for my year here because I'm starting to get rid of stuff instead of accruing it. That's right, I'm beginning to pack stuff up and get it out of here so that I'll actually be able to fit my bags on the train whenever I get on it (and wherever it's going). I head out in less than an hour for a pretty cool road trip back to Virginia with some super exciting stops along the way. In all, I'm hoping to make at least eight pit stops or layovers with friends and family members, some of whom I haven't seen in more than five years. That doesn't even include the stay in Nokesville. I'm totally stoked.

And then there's the grand poobah of it all. On Sunday we'll be celebrating my grandpa's 90 years and turning it into a big ol' family reunion. All eight of his kids will be there as well as the majority of his 26 grandkids and maybe even all of the great-grandkids. Whatever the case, there's sure to be nummy food, harmonious music, and some good-natured name-calling. Mmm, mmm, good.

Well, it's off to go get the rental car. I hope your puzzles are all falling into place as well. Or not; that keeps it more interesting.

The Merry-Go-Round

It would be good to give much thought, before
you try to find words for something so lost,
for those long childhood afternoons you knew
that vanished so completely -and why?

We're still reminded-: sometimes by a rain,
but we can no longer say what it means;
life was never again so filled with meeting,
with reunion and with passing on

as back then, when nothing happened to us
except what happens to things and creatures:
we lived their world as something human,
and became filled to the brim with figures.

And became as lonely as a shepherd
and as overburdened by vast distances,
and summoned and stirred as from far away,
and slowly, like a long new thread,
introduced into that picture-sequence
where now having to go on bewilders us.

--Childhood by Rainer Maria Rilke


I am like a flag in the center of open space.
I sense ahead the wind which is coming, and must live
it through.
while the things of the world still do not move:
the doors still close softly, and the chimneys are full
of silence,
the windows do not rattle yet, and the dust still lies down.

I already know the storm, and I am troubled as the sea.
I leap out, and fall back,
and throw myself out, and am absolutely alone
in the great storm.

--Sense of Something Coming by Rainer Maria Rilke




It is hot...so hot. Like all of this world's warmth is pouring over you, swirling around you and burning fiercely within you. There is a searing, set, stony quality to this day. The earth is parched beneath your feet and clouds of dust envelope you as you continue forward. You look up and there you see it...bright lights in the distance. Your heart quickens in almost painful anticipation, so you pick up your pace and vainly stretch out your arms. You're not there yet, but no matter, you just hold out your arms even further. Almost there. You enter through the rusted gates, and a great spectacle of sights, sounds and smells awaits you. A carnival you were unaware of until this moment is in progress. Just when you think that you will be suffocated by the heavy throngs of the madding crowd, they part for you like the red sea. There is something here you didn't notice before. A merry-go-round, in the very center of this place, is beckoning to you. So you lift up your feet and eagerly walk towards it. This merry-go-round is the most beautiful one you have ever seen. Its animals have been freshly painted, the brass polished and glistening and the lights reflect back to you from its immaculately cleaned mirrors. You find the most colorfully-bedecked horse that you can and climb on. In a few moments, the music echoes through the air and the ride lurches to life. You are overcome with happiness for just a little while. You can't help but to notice, however, that the song it plays is not a cheerful one. If a lifetime of pain and regret could be written into just a few bars of repetitious refrain, then this would be it. You want to get off, but with dread you realize it is too late.

You continue to move around and around, coming full-circle in a dizzying whirl over and over again. There are people surrounding the merry-go-round, and you recognize them as your family and friends. Something is wrong...they are crying. Your smile of recognition freezes in place and is replaced by a cold knot of fear that begins in your stomach but rapidly spreads throughout your entire body.You have become frozen by this fear that encompasses you. Their mouths are moving but no sound comes out. You are speaking too but you can't even hear yourself. Nothing is heard but the music of the carousel that threatens to deafen you with its intensity.You frantically turn to look in the mirrors, as if they somehow hold the solution to your dilemma. They begin to ripple, but the only thing they reveal to you is your own hastily-reflected image.

You are beginning to believe that all hope is lost when the ride suddenly begins to slow. You stumble down and begin to crawl away from the carousel. You look over your shoulder and see that it is in ruinous decay. Its paint that you once compared to the colors of a rainbow, has become garish in this new light of dawning awareness. Flecks of chipped paint are beginning to settle to the earth like confetti. You are searching for those familiar faces, but somewhere along the way they disappeared, and you are now gazing into the eyes of pitiless strangers. You struggle to seek purchase on solid ground but the world has become a veritable wasteland of broken dreams and promises...your dreams and promises. They are strewed upon the ground for as far as the eye can see. You wonder how long you were circling...minutes, days, weeks, months, years? You search for a way out but the gates have vanished. You continue to aimlessly walk this foreign no-man's land. You are startled out of your reverie, and with tears streaming down like miniature rivers upon your dusty face, you know that you have become lost here. Just what you have always denied would happen has finally occurred...the doors are no longer open to you.

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This may not be you or me, but I do know people who exist here. It is the stuff of nightmares, and I willingly visit it often in my mind. In my dreams, I can clearly see a long, dark hallway with just one flickering bulb to light my way. The floorboards creak and groan with the weight of my footsteps. At the end of this hallway is a door that is always slightly ajar. I know what is behind it, and tentatively I wrap my fingers around the doorknob and push open the heavy door. Here it is, the wasteland I tried to describe to you. In slow motion I walk the outskirts, always on the periphery, trying to gain some semblance of understanding for the people I love who inhabit this plane. I sift through the rubble like a detective investigating a crime scene for precious clues. What went wrong here, I repeatedly ask myself? I search as though I can actually pinpoint some pivotal moment in these peoples' lives where everything changed for them. What a futile search. They are here because of a culmination/accumulation of misguided, and oftentimes, blind choices. These choices built upon each other until they became a ponderous chain of regret and misplaced anger that holds them prisoner here. There is a stillness that exists just before a storm, and it is always with a heavy heart that I step back through the door that is only visible to me. The floorboards just inside of the door have been worn thin with my pacing, and a sigh from the very depths of my soul escapes my lips. This is because I know I am powerless to undo their shackles and take them with me when I leave.

I have seen many kinds of people roaming this place. They ride the main attraction: the merry-go-round where they are either unable or unwilling to get off. Some are cognizant of their entrapment, while others are mournfully ignorant. Some are here because they never believed enough in their dreams...they were too afraid to bravely trace the sky. Others are here because they did try, but soon gave up because it was just too difficult. The saddest of all are those who never had a dream to begin with. I have heard some who refuse to meet life, but instead choose to shun it and call it hard names. I have witnessed the ones I love turn to drugs and alcohol in a desperate measure to capture the fleeting happiness that always seemed to elude them in their daily lives. People die everyday having lived someone else's dream, but never their own. These empty figures call out to me and gesture to me to come closer. They want me to stand in line and take a number just like them. They can't wait for others to fail so they can place a falsely sympathetic hand upon your shoulder and say "Oh well, better luck next time." They want to whisper doubts into my heart, but I refuse their siren call.

I have waded through the wreckage of other peoples' lives with my dreams still intact. Come what may, I know that I will always believe in the beauty of my dreams. The future belongs to people like that.

I have lived a lifetime in one touch, one smile, one laugh, one kiss, one embrace, one dance... They surge to the forefront of my memories yet. A long walk along a forgotten road, somewhere (anywhere) I've never been before, good food (red beets :D ), playing the piano, hearing music plain and simple, eyes filled with love, friends old and new, a good book, porch swings, studying anything historical, Gettysburg, warm beds on cold winter nights, fresh cups of delicious coffee, leaves crunching beneath my feet, kittens, Christmas trees, the sound of rain falling on a tin roof, driving through the mountains, cool breezes on hot summer days, the magic of first snow, Fall foliage, the smell of the ocean, toasts on New Year's, running for no reason at all...all of these passionate things have the power to fill me up and undo me at the same time. There may come a day when someone you care about is at a point in their life when they feel like their dreams are out of reach, and so they turn to you and ask, "What do I have to live for?" You can tell them every blessedly small and intensely moving moment that makes up what they believe at first glance to be the dull minutiae of their days. I truly believe that this is the stuff dreams are made of.

I want to leave you with a poem that gives me peace:


I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart
For the joys of the multitude.
And I would not have the tears that sadness makes
To flow from my every part turn into laughter.

I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.

A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding
Of life's secrets and hidden things.
A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and
To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods.

A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.

I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing.

I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the
Depths of my spirit,for I have seen those who are
Satisfied the most wretched of people.
I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and Longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody.

With evening's coming the flower folds her petals
And sleeps, embracing her longing.
At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet
The sun's kiss.

The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment.
A tear and a smile.

The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come
Together and area cloud.

And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys
Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping
To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to Return to the sea, its home.

The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting.
A tear and a smile.

And so does the spirit become separated from
The greater spirit to move in the world of matter
And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow
And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death
And return whence it came.

To the ocean of Love and Beauty----to God.

A Tear and a Smile by Khalil Gibran




A friend always,
Katie

It's About the Process

There are many days lately where when I crawl into bed at night I wonder, "Why did I do all that today? Does anything I did today matter? Why am I working so hard?" I'll be honest and say that somedays what I do doesn't have an impact on anyone or really matter. However, then there are days like last Sunday that show me how much days, weeks, and months of work can pay off in a big way.

Last Sunday we dedicated four peace murals at Cincinnati COB. Yes those murals I have talked about several times over the last few months! These murals were a result of four to five months of project and curriculum planning and creation. Many nights and days were spent painting in the church basement. Taking a blank 4X8 sheet of plywood and turning it into a piece of art is a long process. You have to first teach the kids what it means to be a peacemaker, get their ideas for murals, turn those ideas into real designs, prime, draw, outline, paint with kids, finish painting, top coat, and construct frames. I cannot draw, not one of my talents, so this peace mural creation turned into a BVS house effort with Laura and Ben drawing designs and Ben and Katie helping Laura and I to paint.

Many times during the process I wanted to give up, and I did in fact scream when it seemed like there were complications at every step. All of this was worth it though when the murals went up outside the church, and the whole congregation loved them! The kids get to look at the murals and see something they helped to create, adults walking by will hopefully ponder the messages of the murals, and our neighborhood now really knows that there is life inside the church. Sometimes it takes seeing the end result to understand the need for all the steps in between. I think this is true not just for the peace mural process, but for life as a whole. I wonder now why it is such a painstaking process to find a job, set off in a new direction after BVS. I have to believe it is because I can't reach where I'm going without going step by step.

Here are some more photos of the finished murals, enjoy!







Blessings,

Anne

Like split pea soup.

After nearly a week, the fog of procrastination is beginning to dissipate.
That's why you're reading this now instead of last Tuesday.

I'm a serious procrastinator. It can appear in the morning in the form of sleeping hours past my good-faith alarm (HA!-- a perk of working from home) or in the evening when I "lose" my work folder under the bed or a pile of clothes.
The procrastination fog was so dense and soupy this time that I inevitably wasted time by looking up the definition of "waste time".
Did you know that time is only being watsted if you've finished all feasible responsibilities? If this is true, I didn't waste a second for the last week!

Sometimes it's obvious why I get stuck in the procrastination mud(scary term paper, really unappealing weather, fear of failure, etc.), but other times I can't see the fog for the fog.

Post-Cincinnati plans have been bearing down pretty hard on everyone in the house lately. We talk about it in a nonchalant way saying, "My aunt asked me what I'm doing after this is over... again...(sigh)..." or
"My friend from college is starting med school in two weeks. I wonder if she needs a roommate?" or
"Did Obama legalize visiting Cuba, yet?"

I can't speak for the other three living here, but I was feeling completely overwhelmed by trying to get all my ducks to line up in a row last week.

I had to let them flounder for a while and float myself back out into a fog of nothing. Ignoring their quacks of urgency, I stared into the misty valleys of social networking sites and the shrouded glens of alternative news. I surfaced for an hour or so to make a not-so-impressive dinner for Ben, Katie and Anne and then sunk into my bed.

It's over now.
I'm back to paying attention to work, friends, family and job searching.
The panic is gone.
This isn't very thought provoking stuff, but it has a little merit. Try it if you have the time; especially if you don't.
Sometimes you need to sit in the fog to gain clarity.


-Laura

Too Many Starfish, Not Enough Hands

I feel that my placement at the family homeless shelter has been a decent fit for me. The staff is generally supportive, the work isn’t monotonous, and it gets me out of the neighborhood where I live. Good, super, and great. Lately, though, I’ve been reminded a few times about some of the not-so-great parts of my job.


A few weeks ago I was doing an intake for a mom with six kids. Six!? Yes, six. As we were going through the eligibility discussions it came to light that she was in the process of being evicted. Ugh. This is an area where I don’t know quite as much as I’d like to so I sometimes need to involve one of the other case managers who knows the process a little better. The mom went to meet with the shelter case manager to talk about how far along she was with the eviction, why it was occurring, and all that good stuff. It ended up that she was ineligible for staying at our shelter; she wasn’t close enough to being kicked out of her house by the sheriff.

Seriously!? Here’s a mom with a larger-than-average family that currently has no income and is being evicted for non-payment of rent and utilities. She was trying to do the right thing (in my opinion) by seeking help before she disrupted her kids’ lives even more than what they were already going through. Instead, she likely ended up couch surfing with friends and relatives. It wouldn’t be too much of a surprise if she had to send her kids to different houses because they couldn’t find family and friends with enough space to have seven house guests (which probably would violate their lease and put them at risk of eviction, too).

The reason we couldn’t bend the rules is in large part because of how some of our funding defines “homelessness.” You still technically have housing until your eviction goes to court, you are ordered out of the residence, and the sheriff’s office has given you a we’re-putting-your-stuff-on-the-curb-if-you’re-still-there date. At that point you have the eviction on your record and it will come up during background checks for employment, housing, and other services. Possibly the part that bothers me the most is that we would have let her stay if she had told us she was staying at her mom’s house or at her friend’s place and not said anything about the eviction. Grr.


On Mondays there’s a meeting in Over-the-Rhine that I try to attend unless I’m doing intakes for new families. All of the case managers from the family shelters get together to discuss difficult cases, get updates on processes and procedures, and basically vote on requests for funds. One of the case managers from one of the other shelters has been working with a client for a couple months and wanted some input for how to address some situations.

This client had qualified for a program that assisted with paying her rent for her new apartment with the agreement that she must also continue to work with her case manager on a regular basis. Her case manager had not been able to get in touch with her for a while because there were some issues going on. The client’s abusive boyfriend had moved into the apartment which violates the apartment lease as well as the program rules. He was also apparently pimping her out, though the money certainly wasn’t going toward paying for utilities or rent. There was suspected drug use as well.

We talked about some safety issues regarding home visits since the boyfriend is controlling and probably doesn’t want people messing with whatever he has going on there. Maybe the client’s parole officer could require that she meet with the case manager as part of her mandatory parole compliance. There were some good suggestions and thoughts but at the end of it all it was decided that the client needed to really be the one to put forth the initiative to continue with the case management or she would be kicked out of the program.

Seriously!? She’s in an abusive relationship where she obviously is not the one calling the shots and you think she’s magically going to one day wake up and decide to get on track with the program? Ugh. I don’t believe for a second that the other case managers aren’t aware of this and they probably even have a better understanding of it than I do. We have relegated ourselves to accepting that this is how it’s going to be. It seems shameful that there wasn’t more concern for her safety and her kids. However, we can’t help everybody or we’d barely help anybody. I don’t like knowingly letting someone get lost in a situation that they don’t want to be in, but this isn’t my client and there are limitations to the scope of our assistance. It sucks.


The shelter has been a struggle to place how I feel about it after nine months. Homelessness is certainly a societal issue which needs to be addressed and I’ve learned a great deal about the struggles and mentalities of those that are experiencing homelessness or poverty. I don’t necessarily believe that the current system works. I definitely don’t believe that we can fix all of a family’s lifetime of tendencies, habits, and struggles during a month-long shelter stay. What gets me through some days, though, is believing that our shelter is helping at least a little bit. We can’t help everybody, but hopefully we’re helping somebody.

The Starfish Story

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

~Loren Eiseley