Few things bring me greater pleasure than getting to know people from other cultures. Well, eating food prepared by people from other cultures is in close rivalry. And I was lucky enough to do both last Thursday!
I have been teaching English as a Second Language on and off the last several years with a non-profit called Wisdom 31. This past school year I was privileged to spend two hours a week with adult students who come from Mexico, El Salvador, the Dominican Relublic, Honduras, and China! And as the tradition goes, on our last day of class, before summer break, we end early and eat a pot-luck lunch together with all the other classes. And boy-oh-boy! No one leaves hungry! Can I tell you how cool it is to see an entire table full of mostly Latin American food but none of it looks like Taco Bell? My only complaint this year is that no one brought any mangu (mashed plantains with cheese). However, the chicken-filled corn tortillas with guacamole and the homemade salsa with baby shrimp more than compensated. And everyone raved about Quadria's Iranian rice, who replied with a shy smile and quiet "thank you."
More fulfilling than any meal is the opportunity to learn about these brave and hard-working immigrants. I sat next to Wenru, our only Chinese student, who patiently and sweetly brings along her aged husband--who speaks not a word of English and has dementia. I listened to her talk about her children, her Chinese-American church, and her love for God. I've heard stories from my Colombian friend who had to flee her home country and comfortable lifestyle when her husband's life was threatened and who now works long hours at a little grocery store he opened in Reading. I've listened to stories from my Mexican friend who took a dangerous risk with her mother when they crossed the border when she was only twelve years old and then how their church lent her mother money to help bring her younger siblings over. All the mothers have stories to share about their children, many who have hopes for college; some of these mothers have plans for higher education themselves. Most work low-paying jobs at the factories or bus tables at a local restaurant or spend their days cooking and caring for children.
Life is not easy for the immigrant. It never has been. I'm certain that when my English, German, and Irish ancestors came over from Europe they also worked long hours with little pay. They surely struggled to find housing, feed and educate their children, and battle homesickness. I would like to believe that those who had come before them welcomed my ancestors into their communitites, taught them English (well, to the German speakers anyway), invited them to their churches, and overall accepted them as "brothers and sisters."
This is the kind of work that Wisdom 31 does. It offers English and citizenship classes, but just as importantly, friendship and a place to connect within the Reading community. It brings together people of various nations and reminds us that we are all connected, that what we have in common is more than what differentiates us. It reminds me that the human spirit desires the same things... A place to belong, a space to make a contribution (whether through work or child-rearing or volunteerism), adequate food and shelter, opportunties for the next generation, and love and friendship.
I only hope we can always be a nation that welcomes the immigrant (and expands our tastebuds), remembering that all of us are descendants of another land.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Compassion and Kids
Have you ever witnessed a child being humiliated by their parent? I recently witnessed a mother pulling her son by the ear and pushing him into their car with her knee outside of a McDonalds. A sickness rose to my stomach and I yelled out my car window from the street, "Stop doing that to your son!" She turned to me, shrugged, and said, "He's my son, not yours." I suppose if I were to ask that mother why she chose such a violent form of discipline she'd say she's trying to teach him to cooperate. She'd probably tell me how bad her son is, how badly he had behaved, and how he needed to be "dealt" with. She probably has no idea that children who are bullied often become bullies themselves.
I have come to reject the idea that children are inherently evil and need that evil driven from them,a belief held by many. One of the reasons I have come to reject this idea is that I have observed many interactions where children are viewed as and treated as "bad." Unfortunately, we humans tend to behave the way people expect us to. We tend to believe the labels that our parents or teachers or peer groups give us.
I remember one heart-breaking moment when I was babysitting two little girls. I told the older sister that she was "such a good sister." I will never forget the look she gave me when she realed her head around and asked me in all seriousness, "do you really think I am good? My mom tells me that I am bad all the time." With as sincere a voice I could convey, I replied, "You know, all of us have some good and some bad in us. But I see a lot of good in you."
Though I believe each human has the potential for contributing evil to the world, I prefer to view each child (and each grown up child) as made in the divine image of a loving Creator, with great potential for much good. I wonder if we were to spend as much energy, if not more, nourishing the good in our children (and in ourselves) as we do discouraging the "bad," if our world would be that much fuller of love and goodwill.
There's a group from our church who meets in our home to encourage one another in life and faith. Most of us are parents, and recently we found ourselves lamenting about our self-centered, entitled children despite our best attempts at teaching gratefulness. However, on Sunday morning during our worship gathering, I watched as many children were moved to compassion without a parent or teacher telling them to be so. It was a special Sunday morning-a morning where we invited all the children out of their regular classrooms for a presentation on Compassion's child sponsorship program.
We watched a video clip about a little girl from Guatemala who lost her mother and whose father is physically disabled and unable to provide for his family. This little girl, at only ten years of age, does all the cooking, laundry (by hand), and other household duties. Thankfully, she has a sponsor who helps make it possible to receive an education, proper nutrition, and medical help.
After the service, I stood at the Compassion table as several families came back to sort through profiles of children awaiting a sponsor. More than one family was directed there by one of their children who said, "Can we do that?" Two girls completed the sponsor information under their own name. These children innately recognized the injustice of poverty, and their spirits were moved with compassion.
I often find myself trying to shame my children into seeing their mistakes. The other day my daughter was giving me a lot of sass. I tried correcting her which turned into us arguing which turned into me giving her sass. None of it was appealing to her conscience. I finally gave up and decided to try a completely different approach. I sat down beside the couch where she was sitting, looked her in the eye, and took her hand in mine. I told her that I cannot make her understand how her words hurt me, but that I forgive her. I told her that she is a very kind and generous girl, but that when she gets frustrated, she at times loses control of her words and they become hurtful to others. I told her that I hope she learns how to control her words as she grows and matures. I told her that I love her. After I finished, she miraculously said, "I'm sorry, Mommy."
My daughter is inherently good. She has divine imprints of Love and Grace all overhear being. I must choose to see that and help her to see that. I want her to believe that. I want to model patience and generosity and integrity and gratefulness, believing that someday her young soul will grow and mature and offer those things to a broken, yet beautifully-loved world.
I have come to reject the idea that children are inherently evil and need that evil driven from them,a belief held by many. One of the reasons I have come to reject this idea is that I have observed many interactions where children are viewed as and treated as "bad." Unfortunately, we humans tend to behave the way people expect us to. We tend to believe the labels that our parents or teachers or peer groups give us.
I remember one heart-breaking moment when I was babysitting two little girls. I told the older sister that she was "such a good sister." I will never forget the look she gave me when she realed her head around and asked me in all seriousness, "do you really think I am good? My mom tells me that I am bad all the time." With as sincere a voice I could convey, I replied, "You know, all of us have some good and some bad in us. But I see a lot of good in you."
Though I believe each human has the potential for contributing evil to the world, I prefer to view each child (and each grown up child) as made in the divine image of a loving Creator, with great potential for much good. I wonder if we were to spend as much energy, if not more, nourishing the good in our children (and in ourselves) as we do discouraging the "bad," if our world would be that much fuller of love and goodwill.
There's a group from our church who meets in our home to encourage one another in life and faith. Most of us are parents, and recently we found ourselves lamenting about our self-centered, entitled children despite our best attempts at teaching gratefulness. However, on Sunday morning during our worship gathering, I watched as many children were moved to compassion without a parent or teacher telling them to be so. It was a special Sunday morning-a morning where we invited all the children out of their regular classrooms for a presentation on Compassion's child sponsorship program.
We watched a video clip about a little girl from Guatemala who lost her mother and whose father is physically disabled and unable to provide for his family. This little girl, at only ten years of age, does all the cooking, laundry (by hand), and other household duties. Thankfully, she has a sponsor who helps make it possible to receive an education, proper nutrition, and medical help.
After the service, I stood at the Compassion table as several families came back to sort through profiles of children awaiting a sponsor. More than one family was directed there by one of their children who said, "Can we do that?" Two girls completed the sponsor information under their own name. These children innately recognized the injustice of poverty, and their spirits were moved with compassion.
I often find myself trying to shame my children into seeing their mistakes. The other day my daughter was giving me a lot of sass. I tried correcting her which turned into us arguing which turned into me giving her sass. None of it was appealing to her conscience. I finally gave up and decided to try a completely different approach. I sat down beside the couch where she was sitting, looked her in the eye, and took her hand in mine. I told her that I cannot make her understand how her words hurt me, but that I forgive her. I told her that she is a very kind and generous girl, but that when she gets frustrated, she at times loses control of her words and they become hurtful to others. I told her that I hope she learns how to control her words as she grows and matures. I told her that I love her. After I finished, she miraculously said, "I'm sorry, Mommy."
My daughter is inherently good. She has divine imprints of Love and Grace all overhear being. I must choose to see that and help her to see that. I want her to believe that. I want to model patience and generosity and integrity and gratefulness, believing that someday her young soul will grow and mature and offer those things to a broken, yet beautifully-loved world.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
"If I die young..."
I've never blogged twice in one day, but all of a sudden I have an intense need to say something. I was reading about Treyvon Martin's murder here when The Band Perry began singing "If I Die Young" on my playlist. That's when it hit me... the heavy blow to my chest... the huge lump in my throat... the tears in my eyes... and the tingling in my fingers to write.
For those who are not familiar with the recent story of Treyvon Martin, to sum things up best I can, a 17 year old was shot on his way home from a convenience store in Florida, by George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch captain. Zimmerman called 911 to report a "suspicious person" (Treyvon) as he was patrolling the area because of recent break-ins. Against the advice of the 911 dispatcher, Zimmerman followed Treyvon, approached him and shot him, out of self-defense, he claims. Zimmerman has still not been arrested for this irresponsible, knee-jerk homicide. The police ran a blood-alcohol test and criminal record check on Treyvon, but not on his killer, Zimmerman.
Is it coincidental that Treyvon Martin was a young black male? I think not. As much as I would love to believe that our nation's history of racism was buried long ago, this is far from the truth. Young black men are repeatedly profiled and sterotyped as "dangerous." Our prison system reveals this. Even though black people are no more likely to abuse drugs than white people (one report I read said 70% of drug users in America are white), almost 50% of people in prison for drug crimes are African American (in some states 80-90% of all drug offenders sent to prison have been black). State and local law enforcement agencies receive more federal funding for the higher number of drug arrests they make. So where do the police go to round up their numbers? ...To poor people of color, an easy target.
I am still finding it incomprehensible that this teenager, talking on the phone with his girlfriend, a bag of skittles and an iced tea in his hands, was thought to be suspicious. And secondly, that Zimmerman, a very large man with a loaded gun, felt his life was threatened by this skinny, unarmed teen to the point where he would decide to shoot him. I just don't get it. And I don't get why it has taken a national, public outcry for an investigation to begin. Except that this is an all too familiar story within our nation's history. The death of a "shady" black man has very often not been enough to necessitate an investigation or a fair trial. May God have mercy.
And lastly, I must say that young Treyvon would most likely still be with his family if people like George Zimmerman were not allowed to carry loaded guns. I have heard of way too many children being caught in crossfires just in Philadelphia. There is a Florida law known as "Stand Your Ground" that allows a person the use of force as self defense if the person "reasonably believes" it is necessary. Since that law was passed in 2005, the number of "justified homicides" in the state has sky-rocketed. We are not a safer people when we put guns into the public's hands.
"And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singing
Funny, when you're dead how people start listening"
Let's not wait for another young death to begin listening. Let's respond today.
There are ways we can help. We can add our voice to Change.org which is calling for the prosecution of George Zimmerman. We can also call on our senators to help keep guns out of the hands of dangerous people through this link. And of course we can check our own prejudices and biases, pray for Treyvon's grieving family, and agree to live peaceably with all our neighbors.
For those who are not familiar with the recent story of Treyvon Martin, to sum things up best I can, a 17 year old was shot on his way home from a convenience store in Florida, by George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch captain. Zimmerman called 911 to report a "suspicious person" (Treyvon) as he was patrolling the area because of recent break-ins. Against the advice of the 911 dispatcher, Zimmerman followed Treyvon, approached him and shot him, out of self-defense, he claims. Zimmerman has still not been arrested for this irresponsible, knee-jerk homicide. The police ran a blood-alcohol test and criminal record check on Treyvon, but not on his killer, Zimmerman.
Is it coincidental that Treyvon Martin was a young black male? I think not. As much as I would love to believe that our nation's history of racism was buried long ago, this is far from the truth. Young black men are repeatedly profiled and sterotyped as "dangerous." Our prison system reveals this. Even though black people are no more likely to abuse drugs than white people (one report I read said 70% of drug users in America are white), almost 50% of people in prison for drug crimes are African American (in some states 80-90% of all drug offenders sent to prison have been black). State and local law enforcement agencies receive more federal funding for the higher number of drug arrests they make. So where do the police go to round up their numbers? ...To poor people of color, an easy target.
I am still finding it incomprehensible that this teenager, talking on the phone with his girlfriend, a bag of skittles and an iced tea in his hands, was thought to be suspicious. And secondly, that Zimmerman, a very large man with a loaded gun, felt his life was threatened by this skinny, unarmed teen to the point where he would decide to shoot him. I just don't get it. And I don't get why it has taken a national, public outcry for an investigation to begin. Except that this is an all too familiar story within our nation's history. The death of a "shady" black man has very often not been enough to necessitate an investigation or a fair trial. May God have mercy.
And lastly, I must say that young Treyvon would most likely still be with his family if people like George Zimmerman were not allowed to carry loaded guns. I have heard of way too many children being caught in crossfires just in Philadelphia. There is a Florida law known as "Stand Your Ground" that allows a person the use of force as self defense if the person "reasonably believes" it is necessary. Since that law was passed in 2005, the number of "justified homicides" in the state has sky-rocketed. We are not a safer people when we put guns into the public's hands.
"And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singing
Funny, when you're dead how people start listening"
~Lyrics from "When I Die Young"
Let's not wait for another young death to begin listening. Let's respond today.
There are ways we can help. We can add our voice to Change.org which is calling for the prosecution of George Zimmerman. We can also call on our senators to help keep guns out of the hands of dangerous people through this link. And of course we can check our own prejudices and biases, pray for Treyvon's grieving family, and agree to live peaceably with all our neighbors.
Spring is Sprouting!
It's spring! The season of new life, new beginnings. Dry brown branches are being speckled by hews of baby green, transforming the bare forests to deep green in a matter of a few short weeks. Funny, twisted shoots are peeping out from a thawing earth, mysteriously revealing flowers of every color of the rainbow. Gray skies melt to blue. Harsh, howling winds are replaced by cool breezes, carrying the melodies of bird-songs. The sun stoops closer to our part of the planet calling forth new life.
Gardeners are getting dirty. Farmers are tilling their fields. And the rest of us are growing excited for fresh, local produce. Last year I wrote about my excitement for the CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) vegetable co-op to begin again at Lancaster County Farm Fresh. This will be our 4th year that we have bought a vegetable share with our neighbors to split. This means that we will be getting locally-grown, organic, delicious produce from May to October! And not only that, we will be keeping many family farms in business, in an era when small farmers are forced to sell their land due to a loss in profits.
So if you live in any of these counties... Lancaster, Lebanon, Berks, Bucks, Montgomery, Chester, or Delaware... you still have time to purchase a vegetable, fruit, flower, or herb share from Lancaster County Farm Fresh and have it delivered to a pick-up site near you. Consider sharing a share with another family. It's a great way to eat healthy, take care of the land, and support small, business owners. I call that a win-win-win!
Click on this link to learn more about LCFF!
Gardeners are getting dirty. Farmers are tilling their fields. And the rest of us are growing excited for fresh, local produce. Last year I wrote about my excitement for the CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) vegetable co-op to begin again at Lancaster County Farm Fresh. This will be our 4th year that we have bought a vegetable share with our neighbors to split. This means that we will be getting locally-grown, organic, delicious produce from May to October! And not only that, we will be keeping many family farms in business, in an era when small farmers are forced to sell their land due to a loss in profits.
So if you live in any of these counties... Lancaster, Lebanon, Berks, Bucks, Montgomery, Chester, or Delaware... you still have time to purchase a vegetable, fruit, flower, or herb share from Lancaster County Farm Fresh and have it delivered to a pick-up site near you. Consider sharing a share with another family. It's a great way to eat healthy, take care of the land, and support small, business owners. I call that a win-win-win!Click on this link to learn more about LCFF!
Thursday, March 8, 2012
The Lorax, a Tree-Hugging Friend
Environmental Science. Sixth Grade. It ruined me. Or better put, it opened my eyes to my part of ruining our precious planet. It is where I learned about population over-growth, landfills, pollution, and global-warming. It was the fire under my feet that urged me to urge my parents to begin saving our "recyclables" and to begin a compost pile in the corner of our yard, next to the woods. And it's what eventually caused my husband to label me a "tree-hugger" when we were first married (all for telling him that we needed to get a recycling bin!)
So it should come to no surprise when I tell you that I cried at the end of The Lorax, the new film based off of the children's story by Dr. Seuss. We took the kids to see it last Saturday for our first big-screen movie as an entire family. And, boy, was this worth seeing! Sure, it's an extreme example of environmental destruction, but the message is powerfully relevant for our times (and for anyone trying to live a glo-burban life).
My husband has come a long way (he blessedly bought me a composting sphere for Christmas two years ago!), and I now have two offspring who bring trash in from the outside, shaking their heads and saying, "Some people just do not care about our Earth, Mommy!" Ahh... nothing warms a mother's heart more.
So it should come to no surprise when I tell you that I cried at the end of The Lorax, the new film based off of the children's story by Dr. Seuss. We took the kids to see it last Saturday for our first big-screen movie as an entire family. And, boy, was this worth seeing! Sure, it's an extreme example of environmental destruction, but the message is powerfully relevant for our times (and for anyone trying to live a glo-burban life). The Onceler reveals to the audience that environmental destruction is rooted in greed. His desire to do something BIG, to be RECOGNIZED, and to make LOTS OF MONEY fuels his decision to chop down every last tree, with no regard to how the trees are such an important part of sustainable life. The trees are not only beautiful and mysterious, but they make up an essential part of the habitat for the bears, the birds and the fish. The loss of the trees is also the loss of the lives that depend upon them.
Living in suburban America, I realize that I am part of this larger Greed. Where I live, where I shop, how much I drive my car, what I buy... all of these decisions contain a carbon footprint. Sometimes it's easier not to care, not to wonder whose water is being contaminated by my trash or what river is drying up due to the furniture I buy (deforestation) or whose lungs are being contaminated by my car's emissions. These thoughts bring with them a sense of responsibility, a knowledge that my actions affect others' lives, that I am just one being here on Earth and yet am also connected to this beautiful web of life.
But the inspirational message from The Lorax comes when the the hero of the movie, a teenage boy named Ted, realizes that his voice matters, and declares, "I'm Ted. And I speak for the trees." He makes a decision to challenge the assumptions of those in his town. He questions their belief that plastic can replace Nature, that Capitalism does not have consequences, that human life is disconnected from the rest of Creation, that humans have the right to abuse Creation.
Ted challenges me. I can pretend that my life has little ripple effect, but I know that this is not true. Having any global awareness at all reveals the fact that American consumerism (i.e. greed) fuels much of the environmental devastation around our globe... from warring over oil, diamonds, gold, and titanium... to wanting to eat cheap, fast food... to building economic empires... to chasing the latest and the greatest stuff... This lack of contentment, this lack of reverence for our God-given home... it snags at each of us.
And so what to do? How to contain the "spirit of the Lorax"? I think it begins with educating ourselves. When we begin to understand what is happening in our world and what we can do about it, we then can make choices that are healing, rather than greedy. Secondly, I look to my pocket book. Where am I spending my money? In a culture that is driven by the dollar, do I want to encourage greedy businesses that make heavy carbon footprints on this earth? Or would I rather support the many, creative enterprises (often times very small) that value human life and environmental sustainability?
For a better understanding of where our stuff goes when we're bored with it, check this out: The Story of Stuff
For a look at the impact of global-warming, check out An Inconvenient Truth.
To learn more about Rain Forest Devastation, read this.
To learn about earth-friendly, alternative cleaning products, click here.
To better understand our role in the food chain, watch Food Inc.
How are you trying to follow the spirit of the tree-hugging Lorax?
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Falling Off the Treadmill
Sometimes it's tough trying to live the "glo-burban life" I am trying to live. It turns out that many of the blessings of living in the suburbs (being only 5 minutes away from Target, a half dozen grocery stores, a handful of gyms to choose from, and a myriad of places to eat out) have a flip-side "curse" to them as well. See, there are a lot of opportunities to do a lot of wonderful things, and each one is just within reach. There are ballet and karate classes, sports of every kind, art institutes that offer art, music, and drama courses, birthday parties at Chuck-E-Cheese, BodyZone and the local skating rink, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts... and all of this is just for the kids! For the middle-class couple, there are career ladders to climb up, exercise classes to "tune-up," at least two cars to fix up, and social circles to keep up, not to mention all those meetings for work, school, and church. It's my observation that for the average suburban family, life is just one non-stop treadmill ride with flashing signs that scream, "OPPORTUNITY HERE!!!" at every glance. And you know what happens when you try slowing your pace on a treadmill... you end up in a heap on the floor.
I say it's tough living the "glo-burban life" because creating a meaningful existence in this rat-race culture means running at a much slower pace. Sometimes it even means sitting down in the road for awhile. And when you sit down while others are running frantically around you, you tend to wonder if you are lazy... or maybe crazy. The last year or so, I have been sitting down a lot more often. I've looked around at the over-scheduled moms and dads and kids; I've overheard the impatient tones (too many times in my own voice) that more-or-less mean the same thing: "I don't have time for you or what you are feeling or wanting to talk about; we're going to be late!" I've asked myself, where is everyone going anyway?
So why have I been practicing "sitting out" more often? Well, for starters, I want to know where I am headed. I thought I was headed to working a full-time job as a teacher once my children were in school. Then I began subbing two years ago and realized I felt completely anxious in the shoes of a teacher and drained by this type of work. I imagined how life would have to change if I dedicated myself to teaching, and I came to the conclusion that I am not cut out for the life of a teacher (no matter how much I admire them with all my heart!). I am also not willing to make certain sacrifices I would no doubt have to make on my time with my family and friends, with books, with quiet and solitude, with making meals from scratch. Re-evaluating the course ahead calls for large doses of reflection, awareness, and patience. That's why on random days when I am not subbing or volunteering somewhere, I might be found on a long walk or at the Jesuit Center's library or with my pen in my journal. It takes time to discern the way ahead, and like we've said before, tread mills don't slow down.
I also sit out more often because I have learned the wisdom that the journey is more important than the end point. Few people meet their "endpoints" (or accomplish their dreams in life), and those who do often feel disappointed when they finally get there. The view wasn't as great as they had anticipated, and when they look back down the mountain, they realize they passed a lot of roses that needed smelling--many they even crushed in their effort of climbing. I don't want to walk by any roses without stooping to drink in their unique fragrance.
I don't want to rush by any child of God who needs a smile (the kind where your eyes crease), whether that be my own two little ones or the sweet, quiet man who returns my grocery cart at Giant. I don't want to pass by the trees when they have something to teach me or miss out on the beauty of a sunset or full moon because I have "somewhere to go." I don't want to be so busy in "my important pursuits" that I can't hear the heartache in my friend's voice or see the stress on my husband's brow or feel the cuddle of my child who is growing up too fast. I still want to be able to hear that still small Voice within me, the Voice which is usually only heard when my mind and body are stilled.
So what has this slowing down taught me so far? I'm learning a lot of things actually.....
I've learned that my kids don't have to try EVERYthing out there to be happy. "One thing at a time" has been working out pretty well. We all are a lot happier when we spend a few nights a week at home, digesting our food slowly, talking about our days, perhaps reading, playing a game, or just doing our own thing side-by-side.
Sleep is a gift... and it is necessary to treasure it! Burning the candle on both ends eventually gives me a headache, compromises my immune system, and always leaves me irritable.
Homemade bread is oh-so-delicious!!! The process of kneading and waiting and rising binds me somehow to women around the world who spend long hours preparing food for their families.
Being is just as important as doing, maybe even more.
Taking care of the body is a sacred act. Practicing yoga, walking, eating real food, and resting keeps me healthy and limber and allows me to give of myself more effectively.
Deep friendships need nourishing and are not to be taken for granted. Coffee with a friend fills my soul and strengthens my steps for the journey.
Quantity of time does not equal quality of time. I can spend many hours "living" under the same roof with my family members, but if those hours aren't infused with love and deep listening and patience and FUN, well then... they don't count.
God does not impose God's self. Yet God's Spirit is always present. My spirit tends to be dry, cracked, and infertile unless warmed and watered by the Spirit's presence. It's really tough to be aware and open of this Presence when I am on a treadmill.
Will you join me in sitting out the rat-race of life every now and then?
I say it's tough living the "glo-burban life" because creating a meaningful existence in this rat-race culture means running at a much slower pace. Sometimes it even means sitting down in the road for awhile. And when you sit down while others are running frantically around you, you tend to wonder if you are lazy... or maybe crazy. The last year or so, I have been sitting down a lot more often. I've looked around at the over-scheduled moms and dads and kids; I've overheard the impatient tones (too many times in my own voice) that more-or-less mean the same thing: "I don't have time for you or what you are feeling or wanting to talk about; we're going to be late!" I've asked myself, where is everyone going anyway?So why have I been practicing "sitting out" more often? Well, for starters, I want to know where I am headed. I thought I was headed to working a full-time job as a teacher once my children were in school. Then I began subbing two years ago and realized I felt completely anxious in the shoes of a teacher and drained by this type of work. I imagined how life would have to change if I dedicated myself to teaching, and I came to the conclusion that I am not cut out for the life of a teacher (no matter how much I admire them with all my heart!). I am also not willing to make certain sacrifices I would no doubt have to make on my time with my family and friends, with books, with quiet and solitude, with making meals from scratch. Re-evaluating the course ahead calls for large doses of reflection, awareness, and patience. That's why on random days when I am not subbing or volunteering somewhere, I might be found on a long walk or at the Jesuit Center's library or with my pen in my journal. It takes time to discern the way ahead, and like we've said before, tread mills don't slow down.
I also sit out more often because I have learned the wisdom that the journey is more important than the end point. Few people meet their "endpoints" (or accomplish their dreams in life), and those who do often feel disappointed when they finally get there. The view wasn't as great as they had anticipated, and when they look back down the mountain, they realize they passed a lot of roses that needed smelling--many they even crushed in their effort of climbing. I don't want to walk by any roses without stooping to drink in their unique fragrance.
I don't want to rush by any child of God who needs a smile (the kind where your eyes crease), whether that be my own two little ones or the sweet, quiet man who returns my grocery cart at Giant. I don't want to pass by the trees when they have something to teach me or miss out on the beauty of a sunset or full moon because I have "somewhere to go." I don't want to be so busy in "my important pursuits" that I can't hear the heartache in my friend's voice or see the stress on my husband's brow or feel the cuddle of my child who is growing up too fast. I still want to be able to hear that still small Voice within me, the Voice which is usually only heard when my mind and body are stilled.So what has this slowing down taught me so far? I'm learning a lot of things actually.....
I've learned that my kids don't have to try EVERYthing out there to be happy. "One thing at a time" has been working out pretty well. We all are a lot happier when we spend a few nights a week at home, digesting our food slowly, talking about our days, perhaps reading, playing a game, or just doing our own thing side-by-side. Sleep is a gift... and it is necessary to treasure it! Burning the candle on both ends eventually gives me a headache, compromises my immune system, and always leaves me irritable.
Homemade bread is oh-so-delicious!!! The process of kneading and waiting and rising binds me somehow to women around the world who spend long hours preparing food for their families.
Being is just as important as doing, maybe even more.
Taking care of the body is a sacred act. Practicing yoga, walking, eating real food, and resting keeps me healthy and limber and allows me to give of myself more effectively.
Deep friendships need nourishing and are not to be taken for granted. Coffee with a friend fills my soul and strengthens my steps for the journey.
Quantity of time does not equal quality of time. I can spend many hours "living" under the same roof with my family members, but if those hours aren't infused with love and deep listening and patience and FUN, well then... they don't count.
God does not impose God's self. Yet God's Spirit is always present. My spirit tends to be dry, cracked, and infertile unless warmed and watered by the Spirit's presence. It's really tough to be aware and open of this Presence when I am on a treadmill.
Will you join me in sitting out the rat-race of life every now and then?
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Meet Caroline
I'm excited to introduce you to the newest member of our family. Her name is Caroline. She lives in Kenya. She is twelve years old, and she shares the same birthday as mine. We met her through Compassion's child sponsorship program, and she is the fourth child our family has had the opportunity to sponsor. The story behind our coming to know her is very cool. See, Jarred and I had been considering sponsoring another child for quite some time. When we first got married we continued to sponsor James from Haiti, the boy I had been sponsoring since I was in high school. When Jarred moved into a sales position five years ago, our income increased, and we decided to sponsor an additional child, Deboshree from India. About a year ago, James had to leave the program, so we began sponsoring another little Haitian boy, Marvens. Just recently, we refinanced our home, which helped decrease our monthly mortgage payment. We talked about sponsoring an additional child but drug our feet. Spending increased during the holidays, and we were waiting to see how things shook out.
Then right after New Year's, I met with a friend for lunch, and at the end of our outing, she handed me an envelope to open in the car. She told me she felt like she was supposed to give it to me. When I opened it, I was shocked. Inside were five $20.00 bills! What?! I thought. Doesn't she need this more than me? Her family is going through a major job change, and so I am assuming their financial security is much shakier than ours. And yet she was moved to give during this shaky time. I was very touched by her generosity and thought I must put this to good use. It didn't take me long to realize now was the perfect time to begin sponsoring an additional child. No more excuses. That $100 would nearly cover the cost of the first three months of sponsorship.
So we sat down as a family and did a search for children who shared my birthday. I was drawn to Caroline for a couple of reasons. First of all, she's a girl. The saying goes something like this: when you educate a girl, you educate a village. The empowerment of women is directly linked to the decrease of poverty, violence, and disease around the world since girls become women and women become mothers. Secondly, I had the opportunity to visit Kenya when I was in college and so have a special place in my heart for Kenyans. Thirdly, Caroline's community has been touched by HIV/AIDS and other life-threatening diseases, so I love that we are able not only to help her receive an education but to have access to health services and nutritious meals.
I believe that child sponsorship is one of the best ways to combat some of the greatest social evils in our world. When you provide the basic needs of a child, you are helping a child remain in his or her family (combating the need for orphanages). You are offering a child an education (combating illiteracy and ignorance). You are offering a child a future (combating extreme poverty or prostitution). You are offering a child health (combating starvation and disease). You are offering a child love and hope (combating violence and despair).
If you are considering sponsoring a child, I would urge you consider these two sponsorship programs, Compassion and World Vision. Both are highly reputable and allow you to have written correspondence with your child, which I think is of vital importance. Our family likes to send family and school pictures, stickers, bookmarks, and handmade notes and pictures to our children. Consider changing the world, one child at a time.
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