2013: Loss

This is an incredibly late "2013" essay, but it's been a whirlwind beginning to 2014 as well. So here it is anyway.

How else could I sum up last year without using the world "loss?"

Earlier in 2013, I used to have a living mom and a boyfriend. By August, I had neither. Mama died after a fifteen month battle with cancer. The boyfriend, of almost nine months at that point, chose not to come to her funeral. Talk about adding insult to injury. (Disclaimer: the boyfriend is not the villain in my life, and since our breakup, I have realized many other things that tell me we were not built to last, but it would be dishonest to not say how much that choice did hurt me.) I went into August motherless, single and unemployed.

Also at the end of July, I had a glitch in my phone that required me to do a "hard" reset to my phone so it would function normally again. The particular cord I had to connect to my laptop had become iffy and during the reset, it became disconnected and with that, everything on my phone was erased. Most was backed up, such as contacts and photos and apps, but what wasn't were the text messages. I had had that phone for two and a half years and every text message from that time had been erased. Now that's not the biggest deal, but when your mom had only died a week and a half earlier and you no longer could read text messages from her... it was a big deal.

But I took care of the unemployment situation quickly on August 1st, and was hired on to continue with Austin Learning Academy, where I had done my second AmeriCorps year. While in AmeriCorps, I co-teached/assisted in seven different classes, but since September, I've had my own Advanced ESL Class. The last couple of days of July, I even tried to demand of the universe that it be "Good News August'" because of how much crap had happened in July. The job was certainly good news, and my grandmother's health, which had been so precarious in July as well, was improving. August passed with no major bad news, but in September my pet betta fish (who had lived for four years!) died. I cried a lot more than I thought I would.

And then came the flood.

In mid-October, our family was planning on going to the Texas State Fair, and I had chosen to spend the night in Salado the night before we were going.

But the next morning, my dad woke me up to tell me that David had called in the night and the rainstorm had been so bad in Austin that our apartment had flooded... 3 in. of standing water, coming in through the front door and the walls on the side of the apartment where my room is, reaching almost to the back wall of our apartment.

So instead of getting ready to go to the fair, I got in the car and drove back to Austin to see the full extent of the damage.

I am not the neatest person, and we had only moved in to the apartment a month before, and many things were still in cardboard boxes or stacked in piles on the floor. Even of what was in plastic bins, a couple had been turned on their sides for more space-saving storage in one of my closets, so the water seeped in them as well.

After finally seeing what was damaged, we had several hundreds of dollars of books either ruined completely or warped by the water, much of David's record collection (that had not been unpacked and were in cardboard boxes) soaked, many of my journals soaked and warped, with whole pages unreadable now, all the letters and cards I have saved, about half of which went to recycling and the rest of which I laid out on the floor to dry. My college scrapbook materials were in a cardboard box, so most of that went straight to the trash or recycling--all of my photographs from my year as a photo student--stuck together.

2013 stripped me clean. I know that I am still so fortunate, but loss was very real to me this past year.

And it has taught me in a practical way the lesson I have long heard: You can't take it with you. None of this is permanent, and there's nothing we can do to make it so.

My grandma told me she was hoping that maybe we could have a Good News 2014 like our Good News August, but it certainly hasn't been great so far. Health problems and phone problems and weather problems and car problems... Can't escape.

But it's not that there hasn't been good news. And though I've said goodbye and good riddance to 2013 two months ago, I know I can't say goodbye to all bad news. I can only keep moving forward, every moment knowing that loss is simply part of life, and that life is just as impermanent as everything else.

But I have a choice on how to live my life.

New Year's Resolutions

Last year, I made a resolution to write in this blog once a week.

I only posted 10 entries in 2013.

In my defense, for the first half of the year, I was working an average of 50 hours a week with AmeriCorps. And my mom had cancer. And I had a boyfriend. Very little writing.

Then to start of the second half of the year, my mom died. No more AmeriCorps, no more cancer or mom, no more boyfriend, lots more grief and depression. Even less writing.

But I love writing. Even as I am in the midst of trying to finish my essays for graduate school, I am thinking about all these things I'd like to write about in this blog. So I made the same new year's resolution this year--I will try to write in here at least once a week.

Today was my first day back in class--as most of you know, I teach Advanced ESL to adults--and of course, part of our lesson was about new year's resolutions. We discussed the tradition, and I had them create a few of their own for 2014.

As for me, I have made new year's resolutions since I was a teenager. They used to be a really long list--like, 50 resolutions (I was inspired to change, but usually only managed to work toward about three of them). I love to make lists. (I also love to read lists, which is probably why I love Buzzfeed so much). I make to-do lists all the time--I have them on post-its in my classroom, varying from things I need to do this week to things I need to get done/want to do in the semester. I have separate lists for types of tasks.

I also make lists in my journal--just for funsies. Lists in my journals as a teen included gems such as "Boys I Think Are Cute But I Don't Necessarily Like" (a list of about 15 boys, one of which I didn't know his name and just called him Las Palmas boy), "The People I Knew Who Were At The Middle School Dance" (there were these for every dance and party I attended in middle school), "The 7th Grade Couples At Durham School Of The Arts In 2001-2002" (if anyone needs a copy of this, let me know), and "List Of Injuries I Have Right Now" (if you knew me as a child/teen.... or even now, you'll understand why this actually took a list). More recent lists in my journal as an adult have been "Dances I Have Choreographed" (that list was over 100 items), "Dances I Want To Choreograph" (not quite as long), "Places I Want To Visit" (ever-growing, though I am slowly getting to work on it), and "How Am I Going To Finish My AmeriCorps Hours?" (sometime we'll have to talk about all the random volunteer opportunities I did during AmeriCorps so I would make my hours). Oh, and occasionally, I'll list all the states and capitals in the U.S. just to make sure I still remember them all.

But back to new year's resolutions.

I've gotten somewhat better at picking actual concrete and attainable goals for my new year's resolutions. Starting in 2011, I've made it a resolution to read 50 books a year. That first year, I made it to 48. 2012, I only read 37. But in 2013, thanks to audiobooks on my commute, I read 51! I think it's a great challenge for me to read more, which I love to do but don't always make time for. Also in 2011, I challenged myself to lose weight. I did, I joined weight watchers and lost 15 lbs. But then I moved to LA and excuses, excuses, point is, I've gained it all back and then some since then.

In January 2012, I even led a spirituality night with my community based on The Happiness Project, one of the books I read in 2011. I focused it on resolutions to make ourselves happier that year.

For years, I made it a new year's resolution to stop biting my nails. I even got a little more creative last year by trying to say I would paint my nails every week (I am less inclined to bite them when they are pretty/nasty tasting polish on them), but nope, didn't work (well maybe it would have if I had actually painted my nails that often).

Resolutions are so full of optimism. We take the things we are most insecure about and try to change them. Or we decide that that thing we've always wanted to do--this will be that year.

As regular readers know, it's hard for me to be optimistic these days. Yet, on January 2nd this year, I went shopping and happened upon a new journal that I fell in love with. I bought it and later that day decided to start writing. But in the front of each journal I've had for the last few years--it starts with lists, of course! Lists of what I want to accomplish that year, lists of habits I'd like to change or maintain, lists of what was good about the previous year, lists of what I'm looking forward to in the year ahead.

So despite it all, I made my new year's resolutions as I do every year. There's eight, but let's be real, thats probably the fewest I've made in my entire life (even last year there were at least 20). I hope you'll send me good vibes as I embark on this journey of positive change and look forward to this coming year--and I send them along your way as well!

Thoughts on Grief

“If, as a culture, we don’t bear witness to grief, the burden of loss is placed entirely upon the bereaved, while the rest of us avert our eyes and wait for those in mourning to stop being sad, to let go, to move on, to cheer up. And if they don’t — if they have loved too deeply, if they do wake each morning thinking, I cannot continue to live — well, then we pathologize their pain; we call their suffering a disease. We do not help them: we tell them that they need to get help.”
--Cheryl Strayed


The loss of my mother has caused extreme upheaval to my life. It is very difficult to me to take this intensely personal and private loss and have to grieve publicly. I don't like crying. I don't like crying in private but I really hate crying in public. And this of course is such a strong reminder of my mother--who cried a lot. She was unafraid to show her emotions to anyone, from the grocery store clerk to a church member, which I honestly always found embarrassing.

I analyze my relationship with my mother too much these days. Though I absolutely was at peace with our relationship by the time of her death, I still think of how it could have been better, or wish that we'd had a stronger relationship earlier. Like many other teenagers, I didn't get along that well with my mom during middle and high school. I was fiercely independent and frustrated with rules that my parents had, and wanted nothing more than to escape. And I took that out on my mom. Mama and I are so much alike in terms of personality. And I take pride in that. But it is also why our relationship at times struggled. (We were both always right).

I hardly talk on the phone to anyone these days--partially because I have really bad service in my apartment, but also because it was my mom I talked to on the phone most--a few times a week. My relationship with some other friends and relatives are growing in response to Mama being gone--but I will never have a relationship with another person like the one I had with my mom.

I haven't been able to write much either. Not here on this blog, not on facebook, not even in my personal diary. It seems I have no words. But then, as you can see, once I actually start writing--I have so many words. I am just so wary of saying them sometimes, because I can't stand the pity--I can't stand the sympathetic faces. Grief is a fact of my life right now, and will always be, honestly, though I know things will also be less difficult than they are right now. I don't know how to speed up the process, or whether I should, though this dark night of the soul seems neverending.

One of the most difficult things about these last four months is that I have really lost my faith. I feel abandoned by God, and most days am not sure I believe in its existence. I hardly dance. It's too painful without Mama. Which I hate, because it was one of the things she has been incredibly supportive of in me my entire life. I feel lost and empty. As someone who has dealt with mood disorders in much of my teenage and adult life, it's not a new feeling. But I don't have Mama to talk to about it anymore. 

It seems impossible to imagine going forward each day, but somehow, someway, inexplicably, I do.

One of my students told me she would like to be a math teacher, and immediately my thought was, oh man, I gotta tell Mom! She'll love that! And a split second later I realized, I couldn't.

People ask "how are you?" even with the best intentions and I think how the fuck am I supposed to be? And I always say something like--"just one day at a time."

And I love teaching and every day all I want to do is share that joy with my mother and ask her advice from her vast experience teaching many different levels of learners.

Live life with no regrets? How is that possible? You can make your peace with the past and face forward in your life, but we cannot avoid making mistakes--we are human--and though it is important to learn from those mistakes and carry those lessons with us, I think it's impossible to live without some twinge of regret--maybe wishing we didn't have to make those mistakes in the first place--especially the big ones.

And though I was a teenager and though it was 6+ years before my mom would be diagnosed with terminal cancer--when I look back on some of the arguments we had and some of my strongest memories of that time of my mother was just a lot of yelling--I feel regret. I do. I couldn't have possibly known that I wouldn't have 30+ more years to fight with her but when I look back, I wish there had been less of it. I wish we'd been able to have a better relationship before I moved so far away. Before it turned to phone calls.

But then, I cherish the time when Mama moved back to Texas my junior year--and before the rest of the family followed, she and I were able to spend so much more time together. She was very lonely, and I was just so happy to have my mom nearby. We went out to eat, we went shopping, she came and watched me at dance practice, she came to my dance shows, and I loved it. And because this blessing for me was at the expense of my father and sister (it was the longest my parents spent apart in their 30 year marriage, and it was Lydia's senior year of high school), it was even more wonderful when the rest of the family moved to Texas and we were all able to spend much more time all together.

So this is what grief is like. This is what the loss of a mother is like (for me--I cannot speak to anyone else's experience). There is depression, emptiness, memories of joy, wishing for that conversation and word of advice, hoping someday it won't hurt so much, and praying that I'll never forget all the good things of my mother. Or even the bad things. It's hoping I'll have more dreams where we meet at Schlotzsky's and split a smoked turkey sandwich (that is the most vivid dream I've had of my mom in the last few months). This grief is present with me every day, and it is so difficult to grieve publicly, but I truly believe in our interconnectedness and community, so here is a glimpse as to what the last four months have been like.

Because She Existed//In Memory of My Mother

I want to write, but it's hard to find words to say. I'm a jumble of thoughts right now. I want to write eloquently of how much my mother meant to me, what the last month has been like wrapped in grief. But I don't even know where to start. I read the posts my dad has made on the caringbridge site--so profoundly beautiful, and I wish I could find those words right now.

Everly Jean Estes Broadway

October 3, 1958-July 18, 2013

On July 10, I turned 24 years old. That same day, our family had to make the decision to put my incredible mother into hospice care.

Not exactly how I imagined my birthday. In fact, we had planned a family dinner at one of my favorite restaurants and my boyfriend was going to meet my parents finally. Instead, we all sat in Mama's hospital room and cried a lot. The boyfriend came to see me and I cried in his arms for half an hour in the hospital cafeteria that I have spent too much time in for the last fifteen months.

Mama was able to spend six days at home in hospice care. We took shifts being present with her. My shifts for those six days were mostly spent singing for hours at a time--I went through the whole hymn book singing every song I knew--and folding paper cranes. It was all I could do. And every time she'd stir a little, I'd say "I love you, Mama." She couldn't respond. But I wanted her to hear those words intimately as long as she lived. Day 2 of hospice she asked me how long it was going to take for her to die. I told her it wasn't up to us, it was up to God.

When Mama was first diagnosed in April 2012, when I would talk to people about how scared and sad I was, I would also be sure to tell them I was hopeful. And that I had no doubt that she'd be dancing at my wedding.

I didn't know she'd only live 15 more months after I said those words. If I had known, maybe I'd have gotten a move on the whole marriage thing. Not really. I would've gotten a lot of long speeches about not rushing things. Which I actually got anyway, even though I was definitely not actually trying to get married so soon, despite the fact that it was breaking my heart to realize how unlikely it would be for her to be there.

My best friend is getting married next summer. She and her mom came to visit me a few days after Mama died and we talked about wedding planning and went bridesmaid dress shopping. And though we enjoyed ourselves, and I am so enjoying wedding planning with my beautiful best friend, the thought came to me that I would never do this with my mom, and I just had to walk out of the shop and cry outside in the 95 degree heat.

There will be many future days like that one. I hear a song that reminds me of her and smile or burst into tears. I don't have her to talk to about the boy problems or the work problems anymore. Mama was a giver of good advice and insight, or even just a listening ear if that's all I needed. One day, I may get married, and my mom won't be there. She won't be there to meet her future grandchildren. She won't be there for the future graduations, birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, Easters...

And yet, she will be. She permeates my entire being, and she has given so much to so many. She lived such a full life, despite how short it was and I will strive to live in her example. Through genetics and the fact she raised me, I am very much like my mother and I embrace that fact. I am independent, stubborn, perseverant, organized, determined and strong. And fiesty. 

A Maya Angelou poem read at Mama's funeral and her memorial service ends this way:

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

I am who I am and will continue to become who I become, because she existed. I am better, and we are all better, for having had her in our lives. 

Love you, Mama.

What JVC Taught Me

My last day of JVC/Casa DK/Urban Compass was August 3rd. The last few weeks were a prolonged goodbye--birthday celebrations for me and the Mikes, DisOrientation, blessings, goodbye parties... it was hard to say goodbye to everyone. The kids had varying reactions--some were genuinely angry with me that I was leaving, some cried, some didn't seem to grasp the situation. I fell in love with the children of Urban Compass and I miss them so much already. As they get older, they may not remember me, but I know I will never forget them.

As for my community and coworkers--I cannot imagine my life without them now. It has been bizarre having less contact with them in the last month and a half, but we are trying to still stay in touch and be involved in each others' lives, though obviously it cannot be at such a high level.

It's been almost two months since the end of JVC and I don't think I've adequately written about this year, so I present to you: What JVC Taught Me.

JVC taught me about humility. From the very beginning of orientation, we were warned that we would not be able to "save" our students/clients/the world with our work. And as much as I heard those words, I don't think I truly understood how small a piece of the puzzle I was until I had worked at Urban Compass for a while. Cerebrally, I knew the challenges and the struggles that my students faced, yet how could you be prepared for the stories they told? How could you be prepared to have a second grader tell you how she witnessed her uncle's murder in a carjacking? How could you be prepared to hear the story of a father's deportation? How could you be prepared to hear about the abuse? I was reminded daily of my humanity. There was no way I could just take these children out of the poverty and violence of their lives; there was no way I could even singlehandedly guarantee that they would make it to the next grade level.

But what I could do was commit myself wholeheartedly into my work at Urban Compass and give my kids my whole self every afternoon. I helped them with their homework. I listened to their stories. I encouraged them. I disciplined them when needed. I hugged them. I loved them--and that was all I could do. It's hard to realize how little control we have on other people's lives--but taught me an important lesson in humility. I will not save the world. But the world might save me.

JVC taught me about taking chances. Living in community, we ate meals together a few times a week. I'm not much of a cook, but to hold up my share, I started cooking more often. (Though, honestly, not nearly as often as other members of my community, but I did try to make an effort) Not every dish was excellent, but I started to have a few signatures that were even requested. I've always loved exploring, and living in LA for a year meant a whole new world to see. We made a LA Bucket List, and tried to knock off something every weekend. I went and saw Wicked at Pantages alone with Christmas money. LA has so many museums, and I loved exploring them. Moving to LA itself was taking a chance, and brought on a new mindset for me in my year in JVC.

JVC taught me about making connections. I have long made connections through dance--and this year was no different, even if I didn't dance as much as I would have liked. One of my favorite memories with one of my favorite students was a day we had a dance party in the classroom after homework time was over. Putnam and I went dancing a couple times, and I started actually letting him lead when we danced. I taught "Shackles," a dance we did in Heavenly Expressions at Mt. Level to my community. A fourth grader and I did the entire "Single Ladies" dance one day in the program (she knew it better than I did, I have to confess). The ladies of DK went to Richard Simmons' workout class, and sweated our butts off and had the time of our lives.

Besides dance, I learned to make connections other ways. Hayden and I sang duets occasionally; our best one was "Jackson" but I think "Another Day" was pretty good too. We had dinner as a community about four times a week, which I think was one of the most valuable aspects of our community. We'd recap our days, share our joys and struggles, laugh a lot and often get into deep discussions. This was one of the more informal ways we came together, while our support team, Shannon and Maria, had us come together more formally. Our support team came over every other week and we had structured time as a community--they facilitated conversations that needed to be had and brought out parts of us that we were more reluctant to show. I have learned there is a place for both of these situations in forming lasting connections. Sometimes you need to have structured conversations, but sometimes you just need to spend some time together, and laugh.

JVC taught me about faith. Once a week we did spirituality nights, and we took turns planning them, occasionally teaming up. We watched movies and documentaries, danced, prayed, wrote letters, poems and journal entries, read essays, listened to talks, faith shared, made resolutions, read the bible, meditated... We explored and expanded our spirituality both together and personally. The JVC Silent Retreat was in early May, and came at a time that I most needed to recharge my faith. Immediately after this retreat, I headed home to see my mom in the hospital. There were some structured activities, but in general it was up to us to be silent and listen to God and embrace ourselves as spiritual beings. At our final "DisO" retreat, different Casas led the group in prayer--and many were very powerful, all about making peace with the year and moving forward. It was a renewal of my faith that I could move forward and take this experience with me.

JVC taught me about perseverance. The first time I was in charge of a classroom was at age 18, teaching Vacation Bible School at Mt. Level in the 2/3 year old classroom. That week was one of the most stressful of my life and I was not too interested in teaching after that. Fast forward to the summer before JVC and teaching VBS at First Baptist--things went a lot smoother. I was teaching older kids (the same age as I would be teaching later at Urban Compass) and I had a better idea of what I was doing.

When I accepted the job at Urban Compass, I hoped I would be working with older elementary--age 8 to 10 or so, but instead I was placed in the K/1 classroom. I was very apprehensive about this, and I had a very difficult time at first establishing routine, rules and consequences. But as time passed, the job got easier. I became more comfortable and the kids started responding better to me. We had our bad days, but by the end of the year, I was much more confident in my teaching abilities.

JVC taught me about beauty. Through our exploration as a community, and mine personally, I found myself constantly encountering God's beautiful creation. As a community we traveled to San Diego, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite and Sequoia National Park. We went to the beach pretty often; the many beaches of the Southland area are all beautiful in their own way. One of my favorite places I found was the rose garden at USC. I fell in love with those gorgeous California roses and loved spending time there when I needed some time away from the house.

JVC taught me about compromise. I grew up in a big family in a small space, so I figured living in community wouldn't be too hard. Well, living in intentional community is hard. There's a lot of compromise that goes on, from taking turns cooking to taking turns doing the dishes, from noise levels to movie choices, from being chatty to being quiet, from diet restrictions to trying new foods, from keeping personal stuff in common areas to a minimum to hanging out in the common areas and intentionally spending time with one another... and then of course, what to do with the cat that just walked in the house. There were a lot of arguments. But when it came down to it, we were not willing to let these things come between us as a community, and we always managed to compromise.

JVC taught me about being silly. Taking on a full time volunteer job at a nonprofit that worked with children that live in the biggest housing development west of the Mississippi was a serious undertaking. Fortunately, children are silly, and brought out my silliness. Outside of work, as a community we also took time to unwind. A particularly memorable night was Halloween, when we bobbed for apples and ate donuts off a string... We threw and attended many house parties (that's how to have fun on a budget), many of which were themed, most notably 90's prom. We'd go to Yogurtland and only eat samples (dessert on a budget) and I began to perfect my rendition of Beyoncé's "Irreplaceable" as my go-to karaoke song. And the only celebrity I really had contact with was Wayne Brady when we went to a taping of "Let's Make a Deal," where I touched his leg when he walked by. (Yes, that's my big LA celeb moment)

JVC taught me about hope. At the beginning the year, I started the quote wall at DK. I updated it pretty often, and when we left, there was only the bottom quarter of the door uncovered. These quotes were a daily reminder to us of what we were doing, and why we were doing it. They reminded us to hope. The stories that we told at the dinner table or during community/spirituality nights gave me hope too. Though the stories were often painful, I was hopeful knowing that my community and I were working to give others hope; we were committing our lives to people who needed hope.

My classroom, Room 203, gave me hope. More specifically, the sixteen loud and crazy 5/6/7 year olds that seemed to rarely actually be sitting down in it. I loved seeing the Aha! moments on my students' faces when a math problem made sense or they read a sentence perfectly. The resiliency of those children gives me hope that they will be able to break the cycle of poverty and violence they were born into. And when the fifth grade of 112th St graduated and sang "We Are the World," I found hope that these children will change the world.

JVC taught me about strength. JVC is no picnic--we are placed in difficult, demanding jobs, live with strangers, are far away from family and friends... As someone who already struggles with depression, there were times during JVC that my spirits got to an all time low, but each day I managed to get out of bed in the morning was a victory. I marched for Trayvon Martin and it was a rare monsoon rainstorm in LA--my umbrella broke and still we marched in the flooded streets; all I could think was it was the least I could do. I may have been soaked all the way through, but Trayvon Martin had been murdered, and I wasn't going to let the rain stop me from showing my solidarity.

The real test of my strength, though, came in early April with my mom's diagnosis. I didn't know how to handle it. I spent a lot of time hiding in my closet, because it felt safer in there. My community supported me. And I found strength from my mother. The first thing she said to me after she was diagnosed was "I'm a fighter, baby. We can trust God. I gave my life to him long ago, and I do have a deep peace right now. It won't be easy tho, I'll need my number one fan to cheer me." Those words came from the woman I am so much like both from genetics and because she raised me--and I knew that her strength was in me too. And she told me she wanted me to stay in JVC for the rest of my year--so I did.

JVC taught me about love. I fell in love with Casa Dorothy Kazel. I fell in love with Urban Compass. I fell in love with the City of Angels. I saw whole new worlds through my community's and kids' eyes. I found love as Ms. B/Queen Bee/Nay/Shanaynay in a city with so much to offer. I lived and worked in South Central LA, a fact that makes people gasp. People gave it up as hopeless. I found love in that hopeless place. And I found that it was hopeful. I found love in a hopeful place.

DisOrientation: You Got Off the Boat

DisOrientation is currently happening, meaning there is a lot of reflection going on--how life has changed in the last year, how to say goodbye, etc.

Something that has struck me is remembering the night of August 6, 2011. We had an opening mass for JVC Orientation on the beach and the priest spoke about the story of Jesus's disciples on the boat. Jesus miraculously walked on the water toward the disciples' boat during a storm, and Peter called out, "if it is you, Lord, tell me to get off the boat and walk to you" (on the water, as Jesus was doing). Jesus does, and Peter walks toward him. He then gets scared and starts sinking, and Jesus saves him and tells him he should not have doubted.

The priest took this story to describe the journey we were embarking in our year of JVC. That we would need to have faith to carry us through, but the fact that we were even there at orientation meant that we had gotten off the boat.

Toward the end of orientation, we each got a piece of paper to write a simple reflection of what we learned/would carry with us for the coming year. We wrote many phrases such as "AMDG" or from different speakers we'd had or activities we'd done. We hung them up on the wall at the retreat center. What had continually stayed with me that week was that I had taken this chance, I had gotten off the boat. I wrote "YOU GOT OFF THE BOAT."

We got to DisO today and the retreat center is decorated with many of the things we have made at retreats over this year, including those phrases. Why, I don't know, but mine is hanging on the podium. I hope it serves as a reminder to have faith, and get off the boat.

Being Ms. B

For the last eight months, I've had an alter ego: "Ms. B." My roommate Jackie has told me that she even prays for "Ms. B" as a different part of me.

This is what I hear a lot of every day:

"Ms. B! Ms. B! Ms. B! I need help! Can I go to the bathroom? Can I play with this? Ms. B! She said a bad word! He hit me! Ms. B! Ms. B! Ms. B!"

Every afternoon, I transform into Ms. B. We have fun, but there are rules. We get to play outside, do fun arts and crafts, have snack... but mostly we have to do homework. And it's not negotiable, not matter how much my 5 & 6 year olds cry about how they don't want to do it. I have to be tough on them, but it would be a disservice to them not to be. At the same time, I make sure each and every one of the children in Urban Compass knows that I love them, that I care about their success and happiness, that I am rooting for them.

We have many volunteers that come once a week; the kids are always sooooo excited to see them. They run and hug them, insist that the volunteers sit with them, play with them, tutor them. I used to feel a little ignored in these cases until I started reminding myself that I have a different role in this. They expect to see me every day. It's a given that I'll be there. I help provide a consistency that they don't have in many areas of their lives, and that is even more valuable. They're not as excited to see me, because they trust that I will always be there, and is humbling knowing I can be there for these kids this way.

Every single day I am amazed by these children. They are so strong, smart, funny, beautiful and incredibly resilient. These kids keep me going in the times of darkness.

I cannot hope to completely change their lives. I am such a small piece of the puzzle, I can only hope to be a positive influence on them. I can do small things, like show them they are loved, they are valued, help them with their homework, provide them a safe place to go after school, encourage them that the sky is the limit. I can only hope that maybe some of those small things might make a bigger difference somewhere along the line; that I can be part of some small change in the direction their lives go.

I am so blessed to have the opportunity to work with these amazing children. They have taught me so much, and I am so proud of the progress they have all made. I love being Ms. B. These kids have so much love to give, and I am honored that some of it comes to me.

2011 Retrospective (Part 2)

As the year wraps up, I am spending a lot of time reflecting on what this year has brought to my life. This is the second in a series of these posts. See also Part 1.

Come August 6th, I was on a plane to California. I officially started JVC that day with orientation in Aptos, CA. It was a gorgeous place, but also so cold. Especially for me--it was 60 degrees and I had been dealing with 107 all summer in Austin. It was an interesting, fascinating week learning all about living in JVC and getting to know my housemates. On the way down from orientation in NorCal, we drove aways on the coast and then went to (most of us at least) our first In-N-Out experience!

The next week came my first week at Urban Compass. The kids didn't start school for almost a month after I began work, so it was mostly a lot of prep work and getting to know the ropes on the admin stuff. And then come September, the kids came back to school and though I may not have fallen in love immediately--I have now, and there's no going back. Read all Urban Compass related posts here.

At the same time, it has been a wonderful challenge to live in intentional community. My house-mates are all incredible people individually as well as a collective blessing to my life. We've had some wonderful times exploring LA and spirituality. These people help keeps me going in the foreign land that is Los Angeles. It's overwhelming at times, and we are all thankful for each other to work through the hard times together.

I have been working on driving again, and I have now officially failed the test three times. And I still hate driving, but doing my best to get my license.

It's a fascinating experience being part of JVC. We are put in such unique positions in many aspects of our lives and made to make the best of it. It's difficult, but especially with the support of my house-mates, church families, family and friends, it is do-able. As readers of my blog, you are part of my journey, and I appreciate each and every one of you. Blessings to you in 2012!

2011 Retrospective (Part 1)

As the year wraps up, I am spending a lot of time reflecting on what this year has brought to my life. This is the first in a series of these posts.

This has been an interesting year.

I would never have imagined on 1/1/11 that I would be living in Los Angeles.

I embarked on this year as a fresh college graduate joining the ranks of everyone else, trying to find a job and figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I spent about two months applying to jobs, interviewing for some, exploring post-graduate service programs and working on those applications. And a lot, a LOT of folklórico. I went to practice every day to have a concrete reason to get out of the house, and since I didn't really have much else to keep me from going. I also started going to zumba at St. Ed's pretty often (blending in with the students...). In January, I had started Weight Watchers, so the exercise went along with my eating better, and in the first half of 2011, I lost 15 lbs! (It has stagnated since then since I haven't been keeping up with as good exercise/eating habits, but I haven't gained it back either...)

Then came March, and I was hired as a temp at the IRS. One of the most interesting two months of my life. The job was... pretty boring. (I say that if my most boring job of my life is at age 21, then I'm doing pretty good). It was tedious work of opening envelopes, restapling, stamping, paperclipping and filing tax returns. That's what I did for 8 hours a day. And I also worked nights. But it paid well, and it was two blocks from my apartment so I could walk there. (David picked me up at night since it was 12:30 when I got off). And the people I worked with were really, really amazing. Don't miss the job itself, but I do miss those people.

In April, I also participated in the Relay for Life at St. Ed's, especially in honor of my friend Madeleine, whose seventh anniversary of her death passed on on April 28th.

Looking for the Light

When a classmate of mine died in tenth grade, a good friend told me to look for the light in my life. I have received a lot of good advice in my life, but this is something I try to always remember when the times are dark.

And tomorrow always comes. There's always a new, fresh day to start over with. There's a lot of things I would change about my life and many that I plan to work on now that I have the time. But there are so many more things that I wouldn't change for anything. I keep looking for the light. And I can always find it if I look hard enough and if I'm not afraid of what I'll see in the process.


It's something I've been trying to remind myself in the last few weeks, where there has seemingly been a lot of darkness in people that surround me. This darkness could affect any of us in a particular circumstance, and it is especially hard to see the young ones of Urban Compass have to deal with some of the struggles that they do. I remember at the beginning of this job, I would mostly just have fun with the kids and then something would remind me of the lives they live outside of us. Lately, I can't seem to forget.


With the stories these kids tell us, it puts a whole new perspective for me on what it means to have a good childhood. I didn't grow up oblivious to the world's problems but most of them weren't at my house. My home was a safe space, my neighborhood was pretty safe. I had parents that were around and made enough money for us to live comfortably. So many of the kids we work with in Urban Compass are missing out on one or more of those things--some even, all of the above.


So it's been harder for me to look for the light, but each one of these kids is a blessing. I learn from them each day. I hope that we at Urban Compass serve as a light in their lives, which is absolutely what we strive to do.


There's one particular Urban Compass student that has shown a lot of light to me recently. She and I butted heads a lot at the beginning, and she was the one I struggled with working with the most. But she has made so much improvement in the last 8 weeks, and then still seems to like me. And she made me this picture. On the back it also said "Ms B and me are special. Ms B is nice. I am nice. We are best friends."

"Ms B and me"

And I feel like I must be doing something right. 


There's the light.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hello all, I hope you are enjoying your post turkey hangovers, or waiting in anticipation for dinner start. I find myself in the latter group, as the turkey still has about another hour to cook, and then the feast will begin. We are in Phoenix; there are about 30 or so of us here, and all is set for a wonderful dinner--thanks to our fabulous hosts!! Best pre-dinner appetizer has been pumpkin dip. I had to move to the other side of the room to stop eating all of it...

Today I am thankful for many things and I am feeling incredibly blessed. I have such an amazing family and amazing friends, I cannot believe how lucky I am sometimes. I am grateful for the opportunity to do JVC, and really explore myself and the world for a year. I am grateful for my health. I am grateful for the children at Urban Compass, who teach me something new every day. I am thankful for my community, who are incredibly supportive and encourage me to be the best version of myself. And I am thankful that I feel like I am becoming that person.

Hope.

Originally written 5/5/10

"Though we must accept finite disappointment, we must never lose infinite hope."

-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King

My single greatest value is hope. 

Hope for my own life, that I am able to experience so many things that the world has to offer. That despite my struggles, I will always see a better day. Tomorrow always comes and joy comes in the morning.

And I believe in social change. I don't believe the world is perfect but I have hope and faith that by working together we can see a new world. I believe that we are all a part of this universe and we all have a responsibility to make it a better place. We must respect each other but we also have the responsibility to confront the issues we see that show injustice and need to be changed. It does not mean things aren't wrong if we ignore our problems. They don't just go away or solve themselves. We have to be active in our roles in the hope that things can always be better.

And while I strive to not cause anyone unnecessary pain, I will never be the one to keep silent when I see injustice. Yes, it's hard to see so many problems in the world and feel like I can't solve them all. But that's why I have the hope that working together we can cause real change. And I don't apologize for pointing out problems in the world that others are too blind to see. I should hope I'm not making up problems that don't exist, but I won't turn my head and ignore them.

This is who I am, this is how I've always been. It's one of those things I couldn't change if I tried, and I wouldn't ever want to.

This kind of hope is what got me here today. Got me through the struggles of having one of my best friends die, numerous family members die and church family members die that were also practically blood. This is the hope that got me through my bouts of depression. This is the hope that spurs me on to be so involved in so many things. And this is the hope that keeps my faith strong. There is a better world out there, and I want to be a part of its coming.

Spirituality Night: With Such a Cloud of Witnesses

I led Spirituality Night again a few weeks ago, as a combination of day of the dead honoring/remembrance, discussion of who has been influential in our spirituality/faith, and a bit of reflection through Bible verses. I read some passages, we reflected and shared with the community, and I wrapped it up with another passage.

I read Romans 8 first. Some of the most powerful verses I focused on:

Romans 8:28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.


Romans 8:31 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?

Then I read Hebrews 12.

Hebrews 12:1-3 Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

We then had a few minutes of silence to reflect on the passages, before sharing about our clouds of witnesses.

9/11/01-9/11/11

I was 12. I was in chorus class in 7th grade. I don't remember what song we were singing, but I remember vividly the other chorus teacher walking out of the office and whispering something in my teacher's ear. Then she told us a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. I didn't even know what that was. I'd never been to New York, and at 12, did not have a concept of what the WTC was. But I knew by the look of horror on my teacher's face that it was bad.

I sometimes get morbid obsessions, even now, and the next few days, I was reading every news article and watching the news at every chance. Not that there was much escaping, since that was all anyone could talk about. I remember carrying around the newspaper all day, mostly just full of images. The one that terrified me the most that day, and sticks with me still, is of a man who had jumped out of the building, perhaps because he knew death was near and wanted to choose how he died.

I didn't know anyone who died that day. But since time has passed, I have met people who have had family and friends who did. I have known people also who have had family members who have been lost in the resulting war in Afghanistan.

It's been ten years. I'm now 22, and have moved across the country. Last night, some of the other LA JV's and I went to an interfaith memorial vigil downtown. There was music, prayers in different faiths, reading of the names of the Southland people who were lost that day, and lighting of candles... over 500. We got there later so didn't have candles, but a few people gave us some. One of the other JV's was holding one, then passed it on to me. Soon after, a photographer started snapping a lot of pictures of me... I was wearing my shirt from the BPFNA conference from 2 years ago: "When there is justice, then peace will come." I haven't found the picture online yet, but will post it if I do.

9/11/01 shook our sense of security. The world changed to terror alerts and war and vengeance. I hope in the next decade we can instead confront our own actions, for we must be the change we want to see in the world. If we want peace, we must work for it.

All week, I've been listening to Ani DiFranco's "Self-Evident". I hesitate in posting it, because it is a little painful to listen to in parts, yet I also feel it captures the spectrum of emotion felt that day.

We all held hands and jumped into the sky.

Pro Women's Health

What does it mean when I say I'm pro-choice?

It doesn't mean I'm "pro-abortion" as John McCain liked to call it in the days of the 2008 presidential campaign. It means I think abortion should be legal and an option.

I wonder all the time why the subtlety is so hard for people to recognize.

I am attempting to refrain from showing just how angry I am right now about this whole issue. Which is not just one issue--it's a plethora ranging from lack of actual sex education to lack of accessible contraception to abortions.

Abortion is a last resort, and it shouldn't even have to be as prevalent of a problem (at least according to the right-wingers that say it is) if we recognized that there are so many ways to prevent unplanned pregnancies, and actually informed people about them. Not only that, but make it accessible.

I can't deal with all these people that act like it is the absolute end of the world that an embryo is aborted, yet would not have spent the money to take care of that child had it been carried to term.

If you won't adopt, if you don't support comprehensive sex education, if you won't pay for social programs for children, especially poor ones, if you just stand there and judge the people with so many kids trailing behind them... Shut up about abortion.

You don't get a say. It's not your life, it's not your body, it's not your choice.

I hate to disrespect people's religious views, but this is just something I do not agree at all with the church on. There's this huge disconnect with reality, and I can't understand it. Yeah, the church is often behind the times, but we need to look around us and stop pretending abstinence only sex education is actually working. I feel as if the church thinks as long as they stick with it, maybe it'll stick at some point.

And it hasn't. But you know what works? Comprehensive sex education. People are going to have sex. Get over it. Let's stop pretending that it doesn't happen unless someone gets pregnant or gets an STI. Because hey, it's a little too late by then. If we taught people, especially as teens, how to protect themselves and be safe about it, then maybe there would be less unplanned pregnancies. And then maybe, just maybe, there would be less abortions?

Shocker.

This is why I support organizations like Planned Parenthood. Planned Parenthood exists to provide resources on sexual and reproductive health. They provide sex education to people who have questions (especially since we as school systems and society are failing in that area) and low-cost or free contraception. They also provide cervical and breast cancer screenings. And yes, they do also provide abortion services. A mere 3% of their total services.

I just struggle a lot with the idea that making abortion illegal or practically impossible to get or afford is the answer. To me, there is very obviously a bigger problem at the root here, and somehow, society is still in denial that maybe we're going about this the wrong way.

A recent victory is that the US Dept. of Health & Human Services has mandated that preventative care for women, including birth control and IUDs, as well as cancer screenings and GYN appts, be paid for by insurance companies. Without a co-pay. This shows me that maybe women's health is actually starting to be taken seriously.

But then those "most dangerous place is in the womb" billboards pop up everywhere, and I know we've still got a long way to go before we really start becoming part of the solution instead of exacerbating the problem.

I'm pro comprehensive sex education. I'm pro contraception. I'm pro choice. I'm pro Planned Parenthood.

Most of all, I'm pro women's health.

2,000 Paper Cranes... And Counting.

I remember first learning to fold paper cranes... it was at Peace Camp 1999, in Vancouver, BC. I had just turned 10 and was BFF with Rachel who was a year older and therefore SO cool. I had sort of gotten the gist down, but I had this really shiny gold paper that was really pretty that I wanted to fold a crane with, but that paper is a little hard to use when you are a beginner. Rachel helped me smooth out some of the mistakes I had made and together we finished that gold crane. I thought of it as our friendship crane. And though Rachel and I have not spoken since that summer (I've been trying to find her on facebook but have been unsuccessful so far...), that crane brings me memories of our friendship that summer.

here it is, twelve years later

I was in fifth grade that next school year, and we read the story of Sadako. We folded cranes, and I, of course, was already an expert. 

Sometime around age 11, I started folding teeny tiny cranes, tearing my origami paper so I could make those little cranes. I'm not sure exactly what the draw was; perhaps the challenge? maybe I just thought they were cute? Anyway, the summer I turned 11, I decided I would fold a thousand cranes. Mostly just to see if I could do it. And I guess something to do with ~peace~. It was a slow start, but a pretty big undertaking for an eleven year old. I only folded maybe a hundred that first year.

In seventh grade, we studied Japan in social studies class, so we approached the subject of the atom bomb & Hiroshima & Nagasaki. As a seventh grade class, we folded 1000 cranes to send to the Sadako memorial in Japan. I donated some of my teeny tiny cranes to the cause, and folded many more, because again, I was an expert at this already.

In eighth grade I was very angsty. Reading my journals from back then is just drama, drama, drama, ~feelings~, ugh my lyf sux, etc. By then, folding cranes had become a calming activity, a coping mechanism. I'd play some music (angsty, of course), and fold. At this point, I barely needed to look down, my fingers knew exactly what to do.

It was the summer after eighth grade, the summer I turned 14, that I found out my friend Madeleine had cancer. When we departed that summer, we were confident we'd be seeing each other again. Her cancer was treatable, she was young and healthy, she'd be cancer free in no time. I'm not sure when exactly I decided that the cranes were now Madi's. It may have been right when I came home that summer after learning she had cancer. It may not have been until a few months later when we realized that this wouldn't be as easy as we'd thought. Nevertheless, I had folded maybe 400 cranes by that summer. And sometime in the next few months I did decide they were Madi's cranes, and it became almost urgent that I keep folding, that I make it to a thousand.

Time passed slowly or too quickly the next few months, who can say now. Come April, I got a phone call. I answered the phone and the person on the line asked to speak with one of my parents. I shrugged it off, I didn't know who it was. A few minutes later, my mom came to me with the phone. She told me it was Madi's dad on the phone; it was going to be soon. That conversation with bob is up there in the top ten hardest conversations I've ever had. I don't remember much of what was said. I remember sobbing. And I remember bob saying: "She was a great kid, eh?"

After I hung up the phone, I went and sat on my futon. I had 900 cranes. I folded a hundred that day. I sat there sobbing and folding, while each of my family members took turns sitting with me. I made it to a thousand. Madi departed to the heavens a few days later.

I put those cranes in a box. I couldn't be there for all of her illness, but this had been how I was present with her, how I had thought of her every day.

Months later, much too soon for me, a classmate of mine died of heart failure while playing basketball. I had never known him well, but it was all too real to have another fifteen year old die. That first day when we heard the news, teachers hardly expected us to do anthing. We made cards for his family, we wrote him letters. I folded cranes. I sent fifteen with a letter to his mom that first week. I had every intention of folding a thousand for him as well, but somewhere in there, time passed, and while I kept folding, I got busier, it went slower, and I had never met his family, only seen them from afar at his funeral. I know that they would have still appreciated it, but I never did give his family the rest of the cranes.

The summer of 2006, it was the 60th anniversary of the bombings in Japan. My aunt and uncle's church did a commemoration, and I folded the cranes for the service.

Time passed again. I grew older, didn't fold cranes as much. I finished Aaron's thousand, had Madi's thousand in a box, and had even more. Last summer, we began packing up the house to move to TX. I didn't know what to do with all those cranes. Madi's would of course, be making the trip. But Aaron and I hadn't been as close and I felt weird keeping them even if I didn't give them to his family. Though they may have been "Aaron's cranes", the truth is that there was a piece of my soul in every one of them. My pain, my suffering, my tears, my love, my joy, my hope.

That summer we returned to Keuka, NY for Peace Camp, which had been the last place I had seen Madeleine. I decided that I would take some of these cranes and we would have a small memorial service in the lake, giving the cranes to the water we'd had so much fun in at age fourteen. Her biological sister Genevieve, her spiritual sisters Frances, Sarah, Lydia and I put the cranes in the water. We told stories and remembered our beautiful sister.

cranes floating in the lake

I had only taken some to NY however, so I was still faced with the issue of what to do with all these cranes. My friend Sean suggested: "Use them to make one giant crane, charge admission to see it, and then take a bath in the millions of dollars you will inevitably make. Your welcome." Other suggestions were to make a mobile or donate to a children's hospital. My mom then suggested that maybe we give them out at church. We joined Mt. Level in 1997 just before I turned 8. This church is our family, and I liked the idea of giving them something to remember us by. The last Sunday that all of us were there as people living in Durham (we have gotten to visit a few times since), I brought a basket of cranes, I believe a few hundred. They were all different sizes and colors, people took one or many. After church was over, there were still some left, and we saved them for the kids I had worked with for years in Messiah's House.

We officially moved to Texas. I still had maybe a few hundred cranes left, just the teeny tiny ones, and I figured I would make art with them or something. My best intentions are often overcome by laziness, so mostly they have just sat in their box.

On the seventh anniversary of Madi's death, I had my own memorial service for her. I went to the grotto on St. Ed's campus, which had been a place of solace for me, especially my freshman year. I used to walk back from the photo lab pretty late, and would stop to chat with Madi a while before heading to my dorm. That day I took 22 cranes, for she would be 22 this year, and laid them at the altar. I chatted with her a while, cried a bit, and remembered my dear Madi.

This brings us to present day. Where are the cranes now? Still in a box. But I am leaving for LA soon, and have been struggling with how to say goodbye to my friends and family here.

And I came up with something to do with the cranes.

Yesterday I spent folding boxes to put cranes in. There is no significant number of cranes in each box, just sort of filled each one. My hope is that these become prayer cranes. I am going to be especially in need of prayer in this next year of my life as I embark on this next year of service with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. I want to give you something tangible to remember me by, something to guide your prayers (or positive thoughts, if you prefer) for me. I have also made prayer crane boxes for my new roommates that I will meet in less than two weeks, so we can share this journey together.

If you would like one, please let me know. Don't worry about me running out, I can easily fold more. Also, if you are not nearby, I'm not sure how well these will hold up in the mail, but if you would still like a crane, I can send you a bigger one.

If you have stuck with this entry for this long, props to you. Thank you for being part of my journey.