Ladies and gentlemen, it's a wonderful life.
Every year, my birthday falls in the middle of exam weekend. It makes scheduling an absolute nightmare. This year was even worse, because several of my dearest friends are all in the same a capella group, which conveniently scheduled its Christmas party for the night of the ninth. One of them was leaving for home the next morning, so the only way to get everyone there was to work around the aforementioned party. The plan was to go out to eat together at a fancy Italian place, then those of us who are not singing extraordinaires could go to Danielle's place and watch a movie while the others went to their Christmas party.
An hour and a half before I was supposed to be ready to go, two of them kidnapped me, threw me in a car, and sped away quickly. It was actually a lot less melodramatic than that... I needed to go to the bank, so they picked me up early. Then he missed the bank turnoff. And kept driving. Out of town. To a sketchy little strip mall.
We spent the next hour roaming around in a wonderful, magical, giant, booth-style antique store that is basically located in the attic of a Staples. It was like stepping back in time. There were whole sections full of beautiful books that filled the air with paper dust when you flipped through them. We barely had time to scrape the surface of this wonderful treasure trove before we had to leave in a mad rush to get to the restaurant on time.
We had all been seated at the table for about two minutes when one of my friends realized that there was paper on top of the white tablecloth. Immediately, she pulled out her pen and began to doodle. Everyone else followed suit. And so it was that fourteen fancy college students sat and graffitied the table while the waitress took their orders. There were hangman wars, portrait drawing contests, and tic-tac-toe battles. The food got there, and we all ate off of each others' plates. Then someone ordered an amazing slab of tiramisu slathered in chocolate syrup and topped with a single candle. She accidentally took it to the wrong person, which garnered laughs all around. I blew out the candle (repeatedly, as one of my friends felt it should be blown out 21 times in honor of the day) and took a bite. Then I passed it to my right, and there was enough for everyone to enjoy some.
After dinner, those of us who were going to Danielle's piled into our separate carpool caravans and headed that direction. Mine was the first to arrive. As we sat outside her house in the car waiting for her to get there, a man carrying a suitcase climbed out of a large white truck and walked up to her house. Then he went inside. Wondering whether or not she was being robbed blind, we got out of the car and sidled up to the door. Luckily, she pulled in several houses down right before we got to the porch and saved us the embarrassment of demanding to know why someone had entered a house that they probably had every right to be in.
The original plan had been to watch The Godfather III that night. I've seen the first two and wanted to finish out the trilogy. As a backup, David had also brought Saving Private Ryan. Both movies were vetoed by other people in attendance, and we ended up flipping aimlessly through the channels and watching TLC shows. The entertainment was in the company anyway; I appreciated the chance to simply exist in the same room as my friends without some pressing matter banging on the inside of my subconscious. Danielle made a delectable dessert to finish off the night, and we all went home a little after midnight thoroughly stuffed and happy.
The next morning, I clawed my way out of bed before the sun even thought about rising. At seven, I met several Kennedy residents (mostly mine) and David in the lobby. We walked to Pancake Pantry and ate an obscene amount of pancakes. The rest of the day consisted of roaming through antique stores with Danielle and David, becoming entirely too overcaffeinated at Frothy Monkey, speed-walking around the block to blow off some energy, and desperately trying to find the motivation to finish a paper that was due Sunday morning. We decided that baking cookies would be a good study break. Three hours later, the entire kitchen and every person in it were thoroughly coated with flour, and the cookies still weren't done. I may have started the flour war, but I definitely ended up on the losing end. It was quite possibly the most fun I've ever had while baking. We made dozens of reindeer, a sleigh, Santa, his bag of goodies, and three baby reindeer that I named Cocoa, Mocha, and Yum. After all of that excitement, I stayed up half of the night working on my paper and ended up oversleeping Sunday and missing church. Later that afternoon, we went to some friends' house to watch football and further ignore all homework.
In short, I had fun this weekend. I enjoyed myself. I relaxed, and I got a decent amount of sleep, and I laughed so much I thought my gut would split. I did what birthdays are supposed to be about-- I celebrated life. And I did it in the company of people who have come to mean the world to me. I simply cannot think of a better way to usher in another year of such a precious gift.
Much love to you all.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
And then she opened her mouth...
Fair warning: Based on the conversations that have precipitated this post, I’m probably about to step on some toes. If it’s any solace, I stepped on my own first. If you’re going to jump me, do me a favor and at least read the whole post and the links first. J
“Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
Go.
How? Where? Why?
I live at Belmont University. It is a school positively swimming in social activism, and the short-term mission trip culture is as alive here as anywhere. We even work it into some of our study abroad gigs. Half of my friends’ facebook pictures are of them holding a little brown baby (okay, so is mine…).
First, read this post by a family serving as long-term missionaries in Haiti, and take the time to read the many, many comments too. This lady put it so much more eloquently than I possibly could, and her comment section is littered with input from missionaries and aid workers all over the world.
I have been approached by dozens of people over the last three months who have heard about Kazembe and were curious, generally because they were thinking about running off to the third world for a couple weeks over the summer and wanted some advice and encouragement. I have inexpertly offered both. Here are my concerns:
The physical act of going, of removing yourself from one geographical location and placing yourself in another, does NOT in and of itself fulfill the Great Commission. Hopping a plane and going really far away does NOT inherently produce more for the kingdom than plucking up the courage to knock on your neighbor’s door.
I think the “where” and “how” are hugely important too. I know literally dozens of people here at Belmont that would absolutely love to spend some time in the third world for a variety of reasons. Some of those reasons are, I think, very good ones. But what would happen if I took all seventy of them to Kazembe for a summer? Amy could not possibly make enough chicken curry to feed us all. Let’s say for sake of argument that all of them are fluent in Khmer. Now it makes even less sense. Their gifts and abilities make them suited much more to serving in Cambodia. So maybe it wasn’t “wrong” of them to go, but they should have paid a little more attention to their GPS. At the same time, it would be kind of foolish for all 70 of them to descend on the same tiny Cambodian village as well.
(Note: To my knowledge, the Kazembe Orphanage has never had a volunteer who was fluent in Khmer, but if they have, there is definitely the possibility that person was exceptionally helpful and productive. Also, I use Kazembe as an example because that is my context, not because I suspect it is overrun with Cambodians...)
I’m not saying people shouldn’t go. I am saying that blind naivete can be dangerous and harmful.
“Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
Go.
How? Where? Why?
I live at Belmont University. It is a school positively swimming in social activism, and the short-term mission trip culture is as alive here as anywhere. We even work it into some of our study abroad gigs. Half of my friends’ facebook pictures are of them holding a little brown baby (okay, so is mine…).
First, read this post by a family serving as long-term missionaries in Haiti, and take the time to read the many, many comments too. This lady put it so much more eloquently than I possibly could, and her comment section is littered with input from missionaries and aid workers all over the world.
I have been approached by dozens of people over the last three months who have heard about Kazembe and were curious, generally because they were thinking about running off to the third world for a couple weeks over the summer and wanted some advice and encouragement. I have inexpertly offered both. Here are my concerns:
The physical act of going, of removing yourself from one geographical location and placing yourself in another, does NOT in and of itself fulfill the Great Commission. Hopping a plane and going really far away does NOT inherently produce more for the kingdom than plucking up the courage to knock on your neighbor’s door.
I think the “where” and “how” are hugely important too. I know literally dozens of people here at Belmont that would absolutely love to spend some time in the third world for a variety of reasons. Some of those reasons are, I think, very good ones. But what would happen if I took all seventy of them to Kazembe for a summer? Amy could not possibly make enough chicken curry to feed us all. Let’s say for sake of argument that all of them are fluent in Khmer. Now it makes even less sense. Their gifts and abilities make them suited much more to serving in Cambodia. So maybe it wasn’t “wrong” of them to go, but they should have paid a little more attention to their GPS. At the same time, it would be kind of foolish for all 70 of them to descend on the same tiny Cambodian village as well.
(Note: To my knowledge, the Kazembe Orphanage has never had a volunteer who was fluent in Khmer, but if they have, there is definitely the possibility that person was exceptionally helpful and productive. Also, I use Kazembe as an example because that is my context, not because I suspect it is overrun with Cambodians...)
I’m not saying people shouldn’t go. I am saying that blind naivete can be dangerous and harmful.
Honestly, I am struggling for words right now. I don’t know how to clearly articulate my frustrations. I’m not claiming to be innocent of the accusations leveled at STMs during my time in Zambia. I recognize that there might inevitably be some harm mixed with the good that is done with any mission trip, because any relationship has good and bad facets.
I’m not saying all short term mission trips are evil, because I don’t think they are. I’m not saying it’s impossible to do them right, because I don’t think it is. I fully intend to spend next summer in the African bush. In fact, I kind of plan to spend my forever in the African bush. But it would be foolish, selfish, and outright wrong of me to not be constantly considering what is best for those kids, even if it’s not necessarily what I want.
An orphanage should never have to turn a child away due to lack of funds.
I’m not saying all short term mission trips are evil, because I don’t think they are. I’m not saying it’s impossible to do them right, because I don’t think it is. I fully intend to spend next summer in the African bush. In fact, I kind of plan to spend my forever in the African bush. But it would be foolish, selfish, and outright wrong of me to not be constantly considering what is best for those kids, even if it’s not necessarily what I want.
An orphanage should never have to turn a child away due to lack of funds.
“We want hearts to be broken for the orphans, but never at the expense of the orphans.”
One of the most common rebuttals I hear when these concerns are expressed by myself or others is that if God wants people to go, then they will go. Therefore, anyone who ends up on the mission field in any capacity for any length of time is supposed to be there.
Methinks that is a rather poorly thought-out statement. I don’t believe that every little thing that happens is what God wanted to happen. For those of you reading from a Christian perspective, indulge me for a moment. The Bible clearly states that “God is not willing that any should perish.” And yet we believe that people do. Why? Because we have free will. We have the ability to make decisions. I believe that God will bring good out of every situation. That does not give us license to abdicate the very real responsibility of weighing our actions. Good intentions don’t guarantee good results. Sometimes you pray and pray and pray for something and don’t get a concrete answer falling out of heaven. At those times, I can’t help but think that God might be prodding us to just use our heads to make a wise decision rather than blaming our emotionally-driven decisions on Him.
I realize there is a very fine line between sending resources and sending bodies. Maybe part of finding that balance is to look at the needs of the place you intend to go to? Do they need teachers, or do they need schools? If they need both, what is the most efficient way to provide that? The terribly ironic truth is that churches and people seem much less willing to donate money that you intend to just send to an orphanage than they do to donate money that will send you to that orphanage. I live one block from one of the poorest places in Nashville. I wonder how many of the people who have approached me about Africa have walked down to 12th street.
One of the most common rebuttals I hear when these concerns are expressed by myself or others is that if God wants people to go, then they will go. Therefore, anyone who ends up on the mission field in any capacity for any length of time is supposed to be there.
Methinks that is a rather poorly thought-out statement. I don’t believe that every little thing that happens is what God wanted to happen. For those of you reading from a Christian perspective, indulge me for a moment. The Bible clearly states that “God is not willing that any should perish.” And yet we believe that people do. Why? Because we have free will. We have the ability to make decisions. I believe that God will bring good out of every situation. That does not give us license to abdicate the very real responsibility of weighing our actions. Good intentions don’t guarantee good results. Sometimes you pray and pray and pray for something and don’t get a concrete answer falling out of heaven. At those times, I can’t help but think that God might be prodding us to just use our heads to make a wise decision rather than blaming our emotionally-driven decisions on Him.
I realize there is a very fine line between sending resources and sending bodies. Maybe part of finding that balance is to look at the needs of the place you intend to go to? Do they need teachers, or do they need schools? If they need both, what is the most efficient way to provide that? The terribly ironic truth is that churches and people seem much less willing to donate money that you intend to just send to an orphanage than they do to donate money that will send you to that orphanage. I live one block from one of the poorest places in Nashville. I wonder how many of the people who have approached me about Africa have walked down to 12th street.
I haven't. That needs to change.
Because somewhere along the line, we elevated foreign missions to a status much greater than "neighbor missions." It's as though we are those in the Good Samaritan story who walked past the dying man, only we didn't have time to stop because we were on our way to catch a plane to the third world.
There’s also a dangerous flip-side to all of this. I also don’t think that the answer is for people to just fundraise nonchalantly and go about their merry lives, never encountering those in need in any real way.
Where’s the balance?
I don’t know. Maybe it starts with making sure that we can actually meet a need that would not be met without us in the place we’re gallivanting off to, or with realizing that there is so very much need right where we are. Maybe it is in remembering to offer a little grace to ourselves, because even the best thought out and well reasoned ministry in the world still falls short of perfection. Maybe it is in recognizing that if we are honest with ourselves, a massive part of the draw to STMs is purely selfish motivation (not to put it too harshly, but a commenter on the blog I linked to referred to it as “poverty porn”).
Let me just say that I am absolutely 100% still intending to spend next summer and my post-graduation life in Africa. I have asked these questions of myself, and I have done my best to adjust my attitudes and my actions accordingly. But here’s the thing: If I truly believed that not going, or that going in a different capacity or to a different place, was the best way to impact the Kingdom, I pray to sweet God in heaven that I would have the strength to act upon that realization, even if walking away from my kids shattered my heart with the force of the Hiroshima nuke.
Maybe I’m speaking out of turn. I don’t have all the answers. Please, feel free to chime in.
I feel like I’ve spent the better part of this blog backtracking and trying to explain what I’m NOT saying, so you really do need to read the link above if you haven’t already.
I would love to hear your thoughts.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Tired
Today, I am tired.
Physically, I am tired because my circadian rhythm refuses to sync up to my life schedule. I've also cut back drastically on my caffeine intake, so I think that's exaggerating it. Combine that with a ferociously unreasonable homework load, and the result is far too few hours of sleep per night. I've recently determined to go to bed earlier on the nights that precede 8am classes. I'll let you know how that works out. I know I'm capable of it-- I managed to do it for most of the summer. Somehow I didn't mind waking up to the African dawn.
Emotionally, I am tired because as much as this fiercely independent girl hates to admit it, I really missed not being with family over Thanksgiving. Car trouble left me stranded in Nashville. I like to think that I'm a pretty strong person (or actually, I like to let the people around me think that... because vulnerability makes me feel icky), but some tiny voice in the back of my heart keeps reminding me that the time is fast approaching when my Thanksgiving nights will be graced by the southern cross instead of the north star. There are so very many things I will miss. I have several young cousins and a niece that mean the world and more to me. Some of them are young enough that their memory of me will quickly fade. I think a part of me has begun to mourn that loss.
Spiritually, I am tired because I am prone to wander. I love to pour into others. I love to sit with one of my residents and listen to how her world has been upturned, and I love being able to help her set it right again. I love making someone's day a little bit easier, whether by lending a dollar or washing a dish, and I especially love it if I can do it without them noticing (although, curiously enough, it would be difficult to do either of those things anonymously...). This shouldn't come as a surprise to me-- compassion, service, and concern for others should naturally be high on a nurse's list of priorities. And don't get me wrong-- I can also be an exceptionally demanding, possessive, and selfish person. Just ask anyone who ever tried to take Jessie out of my arms, or anyone who has ever been in my presence before dawn. Weariness ensues not because I give too much (on the contrary, there is much more I should give) but rather from a clouded perspective and a distracted lifestyle. Sometimes I forget that I'm not fighting for my life-- I'm fighting because I have Life. The fight is the same, but it's possible to fight the right fight in the right way for all the wrong reasons. I just forget sometimes that it has already been won.
Tomorrow, I will probably still be just as tired as I was yesterday. I will probably still be operating on a woefully small amount of sleep for no good reason. I will still love and miss those people in my life who are distant (or close but absent), and I will still pour my heart into loving and serving the people around me. But maybe, just maybe, I'll be one day wiser and one day stronger. Maybe I'll develop the self-control to crawl in bed earlier. Maybe I'll catch a glimpse of the exceptional community of people that surrounds me here and the priceless little ones waiting for me across the ocean and remember that distance doesn't dull that kind of love. And maybe my heart will put down all the pretty little trinkets it carries and cling instead to a Treasure as the voice of Advent whispers, "The not yet will be worth it."
In Bemba, the word for yesterday and tomorrow is the same: "mailo." Sometimes this causes a little confusion in translation. After a particularly nonproductive school morning last summer, Johnny could sense my frustration (although to be fair, I was barely attempting to hide it). "Don't worry, Auntie Meghan," he consoled me. "It will be better yesterday."
One day at a time.
Physically, I am tired because my circadian rhythm refuses to sync up to my life schedule. I've also cut back drastically on my caffeine intake, so I think that's exaggerating it. Combine that with a ferociously unreasonable homework load, and the result is far too few hours of sleep per night. I've recently determined to go to bed earlier on the nights that precede 8am classes. I'll let you know how that works out. I know I'm capable of it-- I managed to do it for most of the summer. Somehow I didn't mind waking up to the African dawn.
Emotionally, I am tired because as much as this fiercely independent girl hates to admit it, I really missed not being with family over Thanksgiving. Car trouble left me stranded in Nashville. I like to think that I'm a pretty strong person (or actually, I like to let the people around me think that... because vulnerability makes me feel icky), but some tiny voice in the back of my heart keeps reminding me that the time is fast approaching when my Thanksgiving nights will be graced by the southern cross instead of the north star. There are so very many things I will miss. I have several young cousins and a niece that mean the world and more to me. Some of them are young enough that their memory of me will quickly fade. I think a part of me has begun to mourn that loss.
Spiritually, I am tired because I am prone to wander. I love to pour into others. I love to sit with one of my residents and listen to how her world has been upturned, and I love being able to help her set it right again. I love making someone's day a little bit easier, whether by lending a dollar or washing a dish, and I especially love it if I can do it without them noticing (although, curiously enough, it would be difficult to do either of those things anonymously...). This shouldn't come as a surprise to me-- compassion, service, and concern for others should naturally be high on a nurse's list of priorities. And don't get me wrong-- I can also be an exceptionally demanding, possessive, and selfish person. Just ask anyone who ever tried to take Jessie out of my arms, or anyone who has ever been in my presence before dawn. Weariness ensues not because I give too much (on the contrary, there is much more I should give) but rather from a clouded perspective and a distracted lifestyle. Sometimes I forget that I'm not fighting for my life-- I'm fighting because I have Life. The fight is the same, but it's possible to fight the right fight in the right way for all the wrong reasons. I just forget sometimes that it has already been won.
Tomorrow, I will probably still be just as tired as I was yesterday. I will probably still be operating on a woefully small amount of sleep for no good reason. I will still love and miss those people in my life who are distant (or close but absent), and I will still pour my heart into loving and serving the people around me. But maybe, just maybe, I'll be one day wiser and one day stronger. Maybe I'll develop the self-control to crawl in bed earlier. Maybe I'll catch a glimpse of the exceptional community of people that surrounds me here and the priceless little ones waiting for me across the ocean and remember that distance doesn't dull that kind of love. And maybe my heart will put down all the pretty little trinkets it carries and cling instead to a Treasure as the voice of Advent whispers, "The not yet will be worth it."
In Bemba, the word for yesterday and tomorrow is the same: "mailo." Sometimes this causes a little confusion in translation. After a particularly nonproductive school morning last summer, Johnny could sense my frustration (although to be fair, I was barely attempting to hide it). "Don't worry, Auntie Meghan," he consoled me. "It will be better yesterday."
One day at a time.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The Art of Giving Thanks
And thus commences the obligatory and cliche Thanksgiving blog post.
I have an unreasonably large amount of things to be thankful for, but fortunately for you, my attention span is way too short for me to sit here and write about all of them. So I'll just hit the highlights.
I am thankful for my family. We're a screwed up, sitcom-like, beautifully ridiculous mess, but at the end of the day, we always all still love each other. They've helped make me who I am, and I love them dearly. Also, I am thankful for those who are family in heart rather than blood.
I am thankful for my friends. The first few months of this semester were harder than I could possibly have imagined, and I truly don't know if I could have made it without them. They challenge me, they hold me accountable, they call me out when I'm wrong, and they pick me up when I fall. It's easy to look at your life and see things you want to change. It's much more difficult to actually effect that change in your own life. The support of friends who are also deliberately seeking God, who want to do what is right even if it costs them everything, makes the whole journey exponentially easier (or else it makes me stronger?). Somehow, I just don't think we were meant to do it alone. Maybe that just shows my personal self-control deficit, but there it is...
I am thankful for twenty-three little souls who mean the world to me, and for two more that the world just couldn't hold. They are not merely students, or patients, or summer camp kids. Somehow, in a way that I don't entirely understand, they moved into my heart and took it over. I have never loved anyone or anything as deeply as I love those children. It's not a vague "I-love-all-kids" or "I-love-the-poor-children-of-Africa" thing, though both of those are also true. It is a specific, deliberate, unquenchable, and personal love for each and every one of them. They are real little people, with their own personalities, dreams, and histories. Words fall short, so I'll stop trying now.
I am thankful for the residents of Kennedy Hall, fourth floor south. They are amazing girls. This RA job kind of dropped out of the sky into my unsuspecting hands this semester. Going into it, I didn't know what to expect, but I honestly believe that I have the best floor on campus. I haven't had any trouble with rule violations (unless you count the noise level, which is the direct result of excessive fun). They support each other, and they take care of each other. If one of them is sick, the others check on her. If someone is studying, another resident is likely to bring her food, or coffee, or at least a well-intentioned distraction. I am constantly uplifted by their compassion, dedication, and ability to bring humor into literally any situation. The vast majority of them are engaged on campus, in each others lives, and in the world in general. They exemplify what true community should look like. And very little of that is of credit to me-- they're just that great. I am so very proud of them, and I am honored to call them not just my residents, but also my very dear friends.
The few aforementioned blessings barely scratch the surface of this amazing gift of life that I have been given. There are many more I could write about, but those will do for now.
I wasn't exactly sure where I was going with this post when I started it, but as I skim back over it I notice that the three things that came to my mind first to write about were all related to people. These aren't necessarily the three things I'm most thankful for (for instance, salvation and grace would be somewhere much higher on the list...). That being said, they are apparently three things that fill my heart enough to spill out onto paper (or cyberspace). They are people who remind me what hope is and have shown me what love is. They have fought with me and for me, and for that too I am thankful. This raises some interesting questions and insights into my own psyche that I'll explore later (if I remember), but for now, I'll leave you with these words of wisdom from two very dear friends of mine-- Frodo and Samwise. If any two people were ever thankful for the support of each other, surely it was these two. Every journey is better if a good friend walks it with you, because eventually, you'll need them to remind you why it's worth it to keep walking.
"A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."
"What are we holding onto, Sam?"
"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo...
and it's worth fighting for."
I have an unreasonably large amount of things to be thankful for, but fortunately for you, my attention span is way too short for me to sit here and write about all of them. So I'll just hit the highlights.
I am thankful for my family. We're a screwed up, sitcom-like, beautifully ridiculous mess, but at the end of the day, we always all still love each other. They've helped make me who I am, and I love them dearly. Also, I am thankful for those who are family in heart rather than blood.
I am thankful for my friends. The first few months of this semester were harder than I could possibly have imagined, and I truly don't know if I could have made it without them. They challenge me, they hold me accountable, they call me out when I'm wrong, and they pick me up when I fall. It's easy to look at your life and see things you want to change. It's much more difficult to actually effect that change in your own life. The support of friends who are also deliberately seeking God, who want to do what is right even if it costs them everything, makes the whole journey exponentially easier (or else it makes me stronger?). Somehow, I just don't think we were meant to do it alone. Maybe that just shows my personal self-control deficit, but there it is...
I am thankful for twenty-three little souls who mean the world to me, and for two more that the world just couldn't hold. They are not merely students, or patients, or summer camp kids. Somehow, in a way that I don't entirely understand, they moved into my heart and took it over. I have never loved anyone or anything as deeply as I love those children. It's not a vague "I-love-all-kids" or "I-love-the-poor-children-of-Africa" thing, though both of those are also true. It is a specific, deliberate, unquenchable, and personal love for each and every one of them. They are real little people, with their own personalities, dreams, and histories. Words fall short, so I'll stop trying now.
I am thankful for the residents of Kennedy Hall, fourth floor south. They are amazing girls. This RA job kind of dropped out of the sky into my unsuspecting hands this semester. Going into it, I didn't know what to expect, but I honestly believe that I have the best floor on campus. I haven't had any trouble with rule violations (unless you count the noise level, which is the direct result of excessive fun). They support each other, and they take care of each other. If one of them is sick, the others check on her. If someone is studying, another resident is likely to bring her food, or coffee, or at least a well-intentioned distraction. I am constantly uplifted by their compassion, dedication, and ability to bring humor into literally any situation. The vast majority of them are engaged on campus, in each others lives, and in the world in general. They exemplify what true community should look like. And very little of that is of credit to me-- they're just that great. I am so very proud of them, and I am honored to call them not just my residents, but also my very dear friends.
The few aforementioned blessings barely scratch the surface of this amazing gift of life that I have been given. There are many more I could write about, but those will do for now.
I wasn't exactly sure where I was going with this post when I started it, but as I skim back over it I notice that the three things that came to my mind first to write about were all related to people. These aren't necessarily the three things I'm most thankful for (for instance, salvation and grace would be somewhere much higher on the list...). That being said, they are apparently three things that fill my heart enough to spill out onto paper (or cyberspace). They are people who remind me what hope is and have shown me what love is. They have fought with me and for me, and for that too I am thankful. This raises some interesting questions and insights into my own psyche that I'll explore later (if I remember), but for now, I'll leave you with these words of wisdom from two very dear friends of mine-- Frodo and Samwise. If any two people were ever thankful for the support of each other, surely it was these two. Every journey is better if a good friend walks it with you, because eventually, you'll need them to remind you why it's worth it to keep walking.
"A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."
"What are we holding onto, Sam?"
"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo...
and it's worth fighting for."
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
I Hope You Dance.
Today, I want to dance. I want to push the table over to the far end of the dining room, open the door to the crisp night African air, and jig the night away. Unfortunately, my Nashville life has an acute shortage of African air and free-time at night, so it's probably not going to happen.
We spent many nights dancing the soles off our feet last summer, and I remember them fondly. Elegance and grace are not my strong points (let's go play in the DIRT!), but I did at least enjoy myself.
Towards the end of the summer, we decided to try and teach the kinders the Irish Jig.
I'm a glutton for punishment.
Johnny didn't want to dance with anyone and was exceptionally uncooperative. Queenie was incredibly confused and kept tripping over her own long legs. Ernest cried because Queenie wouldn't dance with him. Chola was mildly baffled, and Theresa tried really hard but couldn't quite get the counting down.
And then there was Elias.
Going into it, I didn't expect any participation from him at all. We had played group games like soccer and kickball several times through the summer, and many times he simply refused to participate. He generally did okay with Duck Duck Goose, but if there was a ball involved then he wanted no part of it. Every other kid had their thing that they excelled at, but I just couldn't figure out where Elias fit (other than in the time-out chair). Johnny loved the pig organs I showed them, but Elias was thoroughly disgusted.
Elias didn't just lack the general gusto of avid participation, but he also frequently deliberately acted up. He took a pair of scissors to his new book and beanie baby and shredded them both. Here he is picking up the innards of the poor stuffed walrus that he disemboweled.
But the second that music turned on, something clicked for him. It was as though music ran in his veins instead of blood. I tried to walk him through how to do the Jig, but he was having a hard time doing it and learning it simultaneously. So he stepped back and watched my footwork as I walked through it one time. Then he did it perfectly.
Not only did he pick it up almost instantly, but he clearly loved it. His eyes lit up and he looked at me with wonder shining from his eyes, as if to say, "Look! I did something right!" We danced for an hour or so, and then they all scurried off to their next activity. Several times over the next few days, he would come and tug on my shirt and say, "Auntie Meghan, will you dance with me?" Here we are mid-jig:
We spent many nights dancing the soles off our feet last summer, and I remember them fondly. Elegance and grace are not my strong points (let's go play in the DIRT!), but I did at least enjoy myself.
Towards the end of the summer, we decided to try and teach the kinders the Irish Jig.
I'm a glutton for punishment.
Johnny didn't want to dance with anyone and was exceptionally uncooperative. Queenie was incredibly confused and kept tripping over her own long legs. Ernest cried because Queenie wouldn't dance with him. Chola was mildly baffled, and Theresa tried really hard but couldn't quite get the counting down.
And then there was Elias.
Going into it, I didn't expect any participation from him at all. We had played group games like soccer and kickball several times through the summer, and many times he simply refused to participate. He generally did okay with Duck Duck Goose, but if there was a ball involved then he wanted no part of it. Every other kid had their thing that they excelled at, but I just couldn't figure out where Elias fit (other than in the time-out chair). Johnny loved the pig organs I showed them, but Elias was thoroughly disgusted.
 |
| Photo credit Zeger Van den Broele |
Elias didn't just lack the general gusto of avid participation, but he also frequently deliberately acted up. He took a pair of scissors to his new book and beanie baby and shredded them both. Here he is picking up the innards of the poor stuffed walrus that he disemboweled.
But the second that music turned on, something clicked for him. It was as though music ran in his veins instead of blood. I tried to walk him through how to do the Jig, but he was having a hard time doing it and learning it simultaneously. So he stepped back and watched my footwork as I walked through it one time. Then he did it perfectly.
Not only did he pick it up almost instantly, but he clearly loved it. His eyes lit up and he looked at me with wonder shining from his eyes, as if to say, "Look! I did something right!" We danced for an hour or so, and then they all scurried off to their next activity. Several times over the next few days, he would come and tug on my shirt and say, "Auntie Meghan, will you dance with me?" Here we are mid-jig:
There was kind of a running joke this summer concerning Elias's lovability. I would often inform Amy that she would have a few free beds come August when I had to leave, because I fully intended to take a few... or all... of the kids with me. I had two suitcases and a carry-on to work with, so I was pretty sure I could fit most of them. "I'm taking them all!" I would threaten. Her innocent reply was usually, "Except Elias?"
After much deliberation, I've decided I would take him too. I could teach him to play the saxaphone and the piano. I have some friends in a (freaking amazing) a capella group here on campus, and I would love for him to see and hear them sing. His little head would probably just explode from sheer delight. The sounds and beats of Nashville might just sync up to the odd little rhythm of his michievous, trouble-making, jig-dancing soul. I think he should come and visit Auntie Meghan for a while...
Then I would at least have someone to dance with.
Monday, November 14, 2011
My Little Doctor
Pharmacology class makes me think of Johnny.
In a way, I'm kind of okay with that. It means I have something to daydream about during the 3 painful hours of lecture every Monday morning.
I think he would love this class. In a few years, I mean. I love the way that kid thinks. I think it's partly because he reminds me of myself as a kid, only he's smarter. He loves the complexities of how things work, how the body functions, how to make something out of nothing. He can look at a pile of trash and see a completed project. He figured out he could run a string taut between two sticks to make a straight line so that his wall wouldn't be crooked. When I was teaching the kids about the major organs in the body, he was always one step ahead, making connections that they others didn't even grasp at and asking questions that logically led to the next step in whatever process we were discussing. I had to teach him about some of the accessory organs that the other kids never learned about because it was the only way to answer his questions. He is both curious and brilliant, and that is a beautiful combination.
I know he's only a kindergartener, but I've got pretty high hopes for this kid. I'm itching all over to get back over there and keep teaching him. He absorbed an awful lot of information in the 2.5 months that I was there, but I suspect he will not retain much of the science based material. He simply doesn't use it enough. I bet he picks it up again quickly, though. He really loves to learn, and he loves to make other people proud of him. There were many times when he would finish a worksheet or a book and say, "Auntie Meghan, I did it for you!"
Maybe I'm a little biased (yay science yay!), but I think he would make a simply fantastic doctor. He wouldn't have nearly the bedside manner that Chola would have, and he doesn't have Queenie's natural compassion and protectiveness...
Still, that doesn't mean he hasn't shown those attributes many, many times. And he has a tenacity and a sense of justice that might just convince him he can make a difference in the world. Lord willing, he will never outgrow that. But I digress...
Look at his face here. He's pushing in on the lung to see it deflate.
He asked why I sometimes gave him medicine when he was sick and sometimes did not. This led to a discussion about the difference between bacteria and viruses. He's asking if the spot on his left arm needs antibacterial or if his white blood cells can just eat the germs.
He usually plays pretty independently if he is making or building something, but every once in a while he would grudgingly allow one of the little ones to play with him. He wasn't always exceptionally happy about it, but...
I gotta say, folks-- I really miss this kid.
In a way, I'm kind of okay with that. It means I have something to daydream about during the 3 painful hours of lecture every Monday morning.
I think he would love this class. In a few years, I mean. I love the way that kid thinks. I think it's partly because he reminds me of myself as a kid, only he's smarter. He loves the complexities of how things work, how the body functions, how to make something out of nothing. He can look at a pile of trash and see a completed project. He figured out he could run a string taut between two sticks to make a straight line so that his wall wouldn't be crooked. When I was teaching the kids about the major organs in the body, he was always one step ahead, making connections that they others didn't even grasp at and asking questions that logically led to the next step in whatever process we were discussing. I had to teach him about some of the accessory organs that the other kids never learned about because it was the only way to answer his questions. He is both curious and brilliant, and that is a beautiful combination.
I know he's only a kindergartener, but I've got pretty high hopes for this kid. I'm itching all over to get back over there and keep teaching him. He absorbed an awful lot of information in the 2.5 months that I was there, but I suspect he will not retain much of the science based material. He simply doesn't use it enough. I bet he picks it up again quickly, though. He really loves to learn, and he loves to make other people proud of him. There were many times when he would finish a worksheet or a book and say, "Auntie Meghan, I did it for you!"
Maybe I'm a little biased (yay science yay!), but I think he would make a simply fantastic doctor. He wouldn't have nearly the bedside manner that Chola would have, and he doesn't have Queenie's natural compassion and protectiveness...
Still, that doesn't mean he hasn't shown those attributes many, many times. And he has a tenacity and a sense of justice that might just convince him he can make a difference in the world. Lord willing, he will never outgrow that. But I digress...
Look at his face here. He's pushing in on the lung to see it deflate.
 |
| Photo credit Zeger Van den Broele |
He probably had no idea this one was being taken. He's hard at work building a fortress.
 |
| Photo credit Zeger Van den Broele |
He asked why I sometimes gave him medicine when he was sick and sometimes did not. This led to a discussion about the difference between bacteria and viruses. He's asking if the spot on his left arm needs antibacterial or if his white blood cells can just eat the germs.
 |
| Photo credit Zeger Van den Broele |
 |
| Photo credit Zeger Van den Broele |
I gotta say, folks-- I really miss this kid.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
I shall...
My freshman year of college, I took an Honors writing class in which we were required to write a personal credo. I stumbled upon it as I was organizing the hundreds of random files saved in every place imaginable on my computer, and I had to pause for a moment and wonder: Have I held true to this? If I were to write it today, would it say the same thing? More on that to follow later, but for now...
This is what I shall do: forgive those who do not deserve it, love the unlovable, fight for those who cannot fight for themselves, and refuse to over-look injustice. I shall be bold in my endeavors, never relenting in the pursuit of truth and the greater good. I shall attempt in every way to truly be the body of Christ, to see people through His eyes, to bless and not curse, and to touch the lepers. I shall put my heart on the line, knowing full well that it will probably get trampled, for in doing so I invite others to trust their own hearts. I shall rise above my circumstances, for although they have shaped my path, they will not define my life. I shall find victory in surrender and worth in poverty. I shall dwell in the moment, fearing neither the present nor the future, but embracing this amazing gift called life. I shall cherish the promise of the sunrise, dancing in my heart for the joy of the morning, for each day is a gift, and I shall never wish one away. I shall lead by serving, throwing every ounce of my being into alleviating the human agony, both physical and spiritual, in order that I might spend my life on something that is worth the price. I shall fervently try to judge no person by his outward appearance, but rather by the overflow of his heart. I shall avoid self-pity and empty excuses. I shall shoulder the responsibility for my own mistakes. I shall push myself always, refusing the stagnant dry-rot of complacency. I shall build my relationships on trust and honesty, my standards on the scriptures, and my life on Jesus Christ. I shall not limit God by boxing him in with my narrow expectations and stunted understanding. I shall be open to new ideas and acceptant of differing perspectives, yet I shall not compromise my convictions to please the crowd. I shall be financially wise and prudent, yet I shall give freely where the need is true. I shall never stop learning, and I shall never consider myself better than others. I shall dance is if no one is watching, for even if they are, the dance is not for them. I shall love passionately, trust deeply, and laugh freely. I shall live adventurously, for life is simply too short to waste on boredom.
This is what I shall do: forgive those who do not deserve it, love the unlovable, fight for those who cannot fight for themselves, and refuse to over-look injustice. I shall be bold in my endeavors, never relenting in the pursuit of truth and the greater good. I shall attempt in every way to truly be the body of Christ, to see people through His eyes, to bless and not curse, and to touch the lepers. I shall put my heart on the line, knowing full well that it will probably get trampled, for in doing so I invite others to trust their own hearts. I shall rise above my circumstances, for although they have shaped my path, they will not define my life. I shall find victory in surrender and worth in poverty. I shall dwell in the moment, fearing neither the present nor the future, but embracing this amazing gift called life. I shall cherish the promise of the sunrise, dancing in my heart for the joy of the morning, for each day is a gift, and I shall never wish one away. I shall lead by serving, throwing every ounce of my being into alleviating the human agony, both physical and spiritual, in order that I might spend my life on something that is worth the price. I shall fervently try to judge no person by his outward appearance, but rather by the overflow of his heart. I shall avoid self-pity and empty excuses. I shall shoulder the responsibility for my own mistakes. I shall push myself always, refusing the stagnant dry-rot of complacency. I shall build my relationships on trust and honesty, my standards on the scriptures, and my life on Jesus Christ. I shall not limit God by boxing him in with my narrow expectations and stunted understanding. I shall be open to new ideas and acceptant of differing perspectives, yet I shall not compromise my convictions to please the crowd. I shall be financially wise and prudent, yet I shall give freely where the need is true. I shall never stop learning, and I shall never consider myself better than others. I shall dance is if no one is watching, for even if they are, the dance is not for them. I shall love passionately, trust deeply, and laugh freely. I shall live adventurously, for life is simply too short to waste on boredom.
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