the romance of orthodoxy

Reason #452 why I will miss Denver

2008-06-17T16:09:00.002-04:00

My co-workers are amazing. Today they threw a going-away party for me in Swansea park, a short walk from our building. Everyone brought such delicious food, from strawberries to gorditos (this lives up to its name of 'little fat ones' - meat and and potatoes fried in thick hand-sized tortilla shells) to macaroni salad to ice cream cake, which Griselda bought not even knowing it was my favorite! My contribution was Ants on a Log, that classic mom-treat that I was pleased to share with the Mexican-American children who had never heard of it. They were just as thrilled to be eating ants as any red-blooded US child. And it started an interesting train of conversation about who has eaten the strangest things ever.

I wish everyone in the world could meet all of my co-workers! My boss, Eric, wrote a farewell song and serenaded all of us on his guitar:

(My two favorite stanzas):

She started by helping the students
At the homework help club after school
Soon she had lots of kids learning knitting
At Swansea now, knitting is cool.

Bethany's made lots of friends here
And there's a sad part in our good-bye song
But as she moves on to her next adventure
We send lots of good wishes along.

Rosario presented me with three red roses that she had put in the freezer last night, not realizing that they would suffer acute freezer burn, and look quite droopy.

Sonia and her girls, who I tutored after school, gave me a lovely striped journal and a signed card.

My workplace as a whole presented me with an official 'staff' T-shirt (even though I'm not paid!) and money towards a new camera, since my digital one is no longer working.

But of course, gifts are an expression of love, which is the true reason to celebrate. I will miss all of these people dearly. They have certainly been an integral part of my service year, teaching me what it means to serve the poor while affirming their dignity, how to integrate family life and work, the riskiness of investing yourself in your work, but how very inhuman it would be not to do so.

Goodbyes are hard.

Oh the Joys of Homemaking!

2008-06-07T10:27:00.002-04:00

Yes indeed - we had quite a feast of a fiesta last night.

The menu:
- Chicken breast, both BBQ and A1 marinated
- Skish-ka-bobs of yellow squash, tomato, mushroom, and green pepper
- Baked sweet potatoes
- Fruit salad, including yellow watermelon! Who would've thunk!
- Peach pie
- Homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies

Out of that menu, only the chicken breast was purchased at the store. Most else was leftovers from Broadway Assistance Center food bank, where I work on Fridays. I glean after 60 families have gone through the line and filled their baskets with fruits and vegetables. I wonder how anyone is hungry in Denver, with what we throw away for lack of anyone claiming it.

The cookies were from Meg's mom, who was visiting with her dad and Meg's sister-in-law, from Minnesota which, she tells us, is just now starting spring. And yes, she does listen to Garrison Keiller, which I find Perfect.

Good food, good company (Meg's family plus all the housemates minus one), good conversation, good decoration (fresh-picked flowers from our yard) = amazement.

Afterwards, we biked downtown to an Art Walk held every first Friday, where galleries are open, bands play live music, and the streets are crowded with people on cultured dates.

On the Up and Up

2008-06-01T10:26:00.002-04:00

Well, faithful blog readers (and you know who you are!), as you can no doubt tell, there have been many things that have distracted me from posting recently, some pleasant and some not as much. To begin with the latter, I seem to have contracted a bizarre stomach bug-thing during our time in Moab, which resulted in a comically distended (I'm looking for the fancy word for 'bloated' here) tummy, an absolute lack of appetite, and rather strange noises from my GI tract. Praise God, after a week the bug vacated my interior and I feel just bursting with energy and appetite, both of which I've put to good use already!

On the pleasanter side of things: this past week was the final one of the school year for the kids I tutor, so there were many festivities. I went to the fifth graders' "continuation" ceremony on Tuesday. There seems to be quite heated opinion in various quarters whether a continuation ceremony is a) unnecessary; b) redundant; or c) charming. I whole-heartedly affirm option c, insisting that there's never a reason too small for a celebration, and that having been an eyewitness in the fifth grade classes this year, continuing really is a cause for joy. I got choked up multiple times at the sight of girls and boys rising to their full stature in minituare suits and dresses, belting out R. Kelly's "World's Greatest" (Hey, I made it! I'm the world's greatest!) and parents scrambling to get shots with wind-up cameras of their kid shaking the teacher's hand. Plus, the cake frosting was amazing, not too sugary.

In other news, literally, I had the chance to do an interview with a reporter from the Rocky Mountain News, one of Denver's two main papers. You can read it here. Pretty cool, huh?

The excitement just goes on and on:

One of my coworkers, Yesenia, and eight months y pico (Spanish for 'just a little bit') pregnant with her fourth daughter, Lupita Alba Nunez. Her other girls are 9, 7, and 2, and just the most splendid people ever. The eldest, Christina Maria, invited me a week or so ago to accompany her on an overnight camping trip with her 3rd grade class, her very first experience of camping and sleeping away from home. Of course I said yes: the combo of being with her, hiking, and sleeping outside is, naturally, irresistable. The trip was this past Friday and Saturday, at a Denver park at the very edge of Denver, called Genessee. Feeling quite distended still, and sleeping only un pico the night before, I took a deep breath, prayed, and went anyway! I'm so glad I did. I mainly stuck with Christina and her little friends Araceli and Esmerelda the whole time.

Best moments: Twilight. The setting sun kissed the curve of the mountains pink and purple, and backlight a grove of aspen trees in our campsite. The fire was roaring by this time, and a gaggle of 3rd graders crowded around, happily roasting two, three, four mallows at a time, and mostly devouring them right from the stick. The lighting was absolutely perfect, and seeing such joy bouncing up and down brought a lump to my throat (if you can't tell, it doesn't take much to emotionally move me). Several families had come along, enjoying the woods with their children. I turned around, and at the picnic table was a little brother, Angel, who had roasted a mallow but then apparantly ran out of energy before he could eat it; his little head had fallen, plop! on the table and he was fast asleep, his chubby hand still holding a stick with a burnt mallow on the end of it. You just go, go, go, and bam! you're done.

Other best moments: seeing Christina happy. I feel very maternal toward her, and she has taught me what kind of deep, deep joy it is to see a child happy, dancing around, giggling bent over, both hands over her mouth. She became fascinated with moss during the trip, and plucked probably too many chunks of thick green 'carpet', meant to be a gift to her mom and siblings, but forgotten at our tent. And! She used! the outdoor non-flushing toilet! It took about a half hour, and the immanent threat of shame from wetting her pants, but she did it!

Finally, the garden has consumed a good amount of my time lately, sans distended-tummy-era. I just staked up the snow peas, and some morning glory vines for good measure. What the garden is growing now: Seedlings: small, medium, and large tomatoes; eggplant; hot and mild peppers; broccoli; large onions; carrots. Looking mighty fine: spring onions, turnip tops, bok choy, basil. Yet-to-sprout: corn, cucumbers, oregano, more basil. Hooray for spring and growing things and love and new life and God's mercies which are fresh every morning!

Peace to you all, take deep breaths, enjoy all the goodness in this world!

So much to look forward to

2008-05-08T11:00:00.003-04:00

So our own indefatigable Betsy secured the very last campsite available at Moab, Utah for Memorial Day weekend! Woot! It's called WindWhistle and looks absolutely amazing. All of the companions (11) are going, from early Saturday morning to late Monday night. I had hoped to explore more of the West while being in Colorado, and now's my chance! Apparently the star-gazing in phenomenal in Moab, giving me a chance to brush up on my rusty astronomy knowledge =)

Happy May!

2008-05-04T20:17:00.002-04:00

Two months and counting! Having the end in sight gives a special poignancy to the remaining days here in Denver.

The weather has been wacky lately. As a pleasant present for the start of May, the skies emptied snow and freezing rain upon us. It was beautiful, indeed, but cold! In May! Thankfully this weekend has been much more Spring-like. I spent a blissful hour in the hammock outside. Yesterday a housemate and I biked 45 minutes to the Denver Seminary to attend Vigil Praise, a time of praise and worship in front of the Blessed Sacrament, led by the seminarians. Afterwards, we biked home in the dark, on a bike path that paralleled the Platte River. There's something about hearing running water nearby when you can't see it that is so mesmerizing.

I believe that I forgot to mention that I now have three job placements. I'm still tutoring through the family resource center and giving out food at the Food Bank once a week, but now on Mondays I am working at a health clinic for uninsured patients called Clinica Tepeyac. I'm grateful that I'm being kept busy, and it's interesting to see three totally different aspects of service.

Today was a wonderful Sabbath, the first time in a long while I've had nothing to do on Sunday but attend mass in the morning and prayer in the evening. I'm glad to have the time to ponder, daydream, read, and play piano.

The days are just packed!

2008-04-24T15:57:00.003-04:00

An update of life in the past few weeks:

1. Last Tuesday and Wednesday, I went with Mrs. Kolch's fifth grade class to Balarat, the outdoor education site run by Denver Public Schools. It's about two hours north of Denver. The buses that transported us were decked out - four-wheel drive, immense snow tires, and luggage racks. I had a splendid time with the kids, learning about gold mining, pioneer life, trappers and traders, and of course the splendid natural environment in the Rocky Mountains. For example, did you know that Ponderosa pine trees' bark smells like vanilla and its needles have a faint orange flavor? Also, did you know that at the entrance of mines, each miner would have a little tag with his number on it, which he would take with him into the mine so that the demolition crew would know not to explode TNT when tags were absent? (We hammered our intials into tags as a little keepsake; I sent mine to my mom for her birthday).

In the evening, we roasted marshmallows and I read the kids two Native American stories, made sufficiently thrilling by the full moon. Then we had the famed 'Night Hike' that older kids never tire of telling the current fifth graders about. Basically, after dark, we all walk about five minutes down a wide trail. Then, one by one, in silence, the director taps each child on the shoulder and they have the chance to walk back down the path...alone. In the dark. I was so proud of our kids, they ALL did the hike, even the tiniest girl Claudia who cried to leave her mom when we boarded the bus. When she got to the group of waiting fifth graders, the round of hugs and high-fives lit her up like Northern Lights.

2. I have a place to live in DC! It is the aforementioned house on Monroe Street, within walking distance of the Institute. I will live with 6 women: Carol, Catherine, Karen, Abigail, Glynnis, and Martha, who have their own band, called the Snowflakes. Indeed, I aspire to great heights - perhaps even to be a backup whistler! I assume I'll have to choose my own stage name...

3. Last Saturday, I attended a day of vocational discernment at the local seminary, with three Religious Sisters of Mercy of Alma, Michigan. They are all seminary professors, and have degrees in such things as neonatal pulmonology, plant genetics, and sacred liturgy. They spoke about the fundamentals of religious life (including the symbolism of the habit), communion between persons, and liturgy. It was so fun, intellectually stimulating, and invigorating to interact with these women who have dedicated their lives to the service of Christ. My own vocation remains a mystery, but I am grateful to see the beauty of concescrated religious life.

4. That afternoon, I stayed behind with the Sisters to watch Pope Benedict speak to 25,000 seminarians and youth in Yonkers, New York. When he showed up in the Popemobile, the cheering must have lasted 10 minutes solid. And every sentence of Cardinal Egan's address was interrupted with more wild applause. Really, when else does an 81-year-old man, a German, a professor, different of language and generation, receive the adulation of thousands of American adults under 25? To me, it spoke of the possibility of real communion between persons, regardless of the barriers between them. And that communion is based in a common belief. The Pope humbly accepted the praise heaped upon him by saying, "I am so glad you love Jesus so much!" It was a wonderful encounter. The youth presented him with icons of saints who lived and served in Americas (only one was native-born, a clear indication of our immigrant Church!) and the Pope encouraged all to follow their examples to live courageous, holy lives. I loved to hear him speak, see his gentleness, his total freedom to speak truth in love.

5. Our garden is doing...okay. Due to heavy winds and a little over-eager watering on my part, the tiny seedlings are most decisively NOT where I planted them. So far bok choy (a kind of minitaure cabbage) is the winner, having spread far beyond the one row in which I planted it. Red beets are doing well, as are snow peas, but the carrots and turnip tops have yet to make an appearance. I'm not too disheartened, recognizing both my ametaeur state as a gardener and a new climate in which to plant.

6. One more little tidbit - all of us housemates got free tickets to watch the Phillies slam the Rockies this past Monday. It was a heck of a game, with an inside the park homer, a double play that killed the Rockies' rally, and some exciting steals. I watch baseball like my mom does, cheering for whoever does well, but I was gratified at my hometown Phils pulling it out strong. To be honest, the real highlight was when we all got filmed on the Jumbo Screen, thanks to Budd's amazing dance skills =)

Peace to you all! Happy Easter!

spring has sprung

2008-04-02T15:27:00.003-04:00

This past Saturday, I finally figured out my calling in life: to be a farm wife.

I woke up at about the time night revellers were finally tucked in, and felt anticipation in my bones. Coffee! Shovel! Seeds! called to me, in that order. After a delicious 3-egg omelet with peppers, cheese made by Trappist monks, and rosemary, I headed outside to tackle the 50-foot square area of our parking lot that had been turned into dirt, or rather, a garden.

There is something about solitary manual labor early in the morning that I find invigorating, that reminds me of the joy of having limbs to move, and that infuses purpose into my day as bracing as the caffeine soaking into my bloodstream.

I shoveled four bucketfuls of thick dark compost into the garden, then methodically churned the soil with a spade again and again, plucking out debris, sticks, and rocks that had collected over the winter. As I dug, I was reminded of the veritable magic of organic growth. To think that something as ordinary as dirt can embrace a speck of matter called a seed, and nurture it well enough that all the world's people can be sustained by its fruit is astounding.

Really, all seeds are as magic as Jack's beans. When you drop seeds on the soil, especially really tiny ones like turnip tops or really ugly ones like red beets, even the next second you have to squint because they blend in with the other tiny ugly blobs around them. And to think that an entire plant exists within that seed, waiting to unfold. A brief aside: does not this plant embryology shed light on how we should treat very very young humans, i.e. embryos? The debate about when personhood begins is so heated, but I thought while gardening that if someone waltzed up to me and crushed a few seeds between their fingertips, and proceeded to explain calmly that they had not harmed a plant, merely a seed, I would think them cruel and also illogical. How can I expect to grow beautiful onions if all my seeds are destroyed? And really, if I lose my seeds in the ruckamarole of the garden, and expect blobs of dirt to sprout just as well as onion seeds, my larder will rue the day come winter. In other words, the inner being of seeds really is different than that of other similiar-looking things.

I worked in the garden for about five hours, time interspersed by snippets of Pope Benedict's On Conscience and an icy-pop. By dusk, eight rows lay serene and gently rounded in the garden: snow peas, red beets, onions, turnip tops, bok choy, and carrots. There is still room left for tomatoes and peppers later in the season.

Back to the vocation awareness: I say mostly tongue in cheek that 'farm wife' is my preferred destiny, but I do love the mornings, the labor, the gift of self for the sake of growth, both of plants and people, and the steady rythym of a life tied to the soil is much more appealing than that of an arbitrary city dweller's schedule. For now, I am content to have a chunk of dirt to play in, and I await expectantly the first little shoots that poke through into the Denver sky. More to come as produce develops....

The joy of cakes

2008-03-27T13:46:00.002-04:00

Per the title, two cakes have delivered much joy in the last 24 hours.

1. Last night was our house's 'fun night.' Since the weather was so beautifully springy, we decided to have a good ol' round of kickball in the park. 4 v 4 turned out to be quite different than the 5th grade style of 20 v 20. Then, we had a delicious re-invention of our Easter leftovers. And after dinner, Meg and Rachel bring out a covered cake pan. Underneath was a beautiful, homemade cake with "Felicitades JPII" written on it in chocolate chips - "I meant to say, congratulations Bethany," Rachel told me. "But your name was too long, so I put your school instead." Everyone toasted me, "The only one with a future!" ha ha and we feasted on this work of love in cake and icing.

2. This morning, I accompanied my coworker Paul to deliver a birthday cake. It was from a young woman named Marisol, who had attended Paul's after-school program from kindergarten on. When she was 16, she got pregnant, had her baby, and was sent to Chicago to live with relatives more financially capable of caring for her and the little one. Today is her mom's birthday, and Marisol had asked Paul to give her a cake. It was a gorgeous tres leches cake, topped with coconut, tropical fruit, and pink lacy icing - "Te amo, Mami". When Marisol's mom answered the door, and we explained our mission, she started to cry, I'm sure from the surprise and from missing Marisol. "Entra, entra," she beckoned us, and we chatted for a few minutes, as she wiped away tears. On the way back, Paul told me in an unusually quavering voice, "I can't imagine having one of your children live so far away. And your grandchild."

God incarnate, you show us love through the simplest things. And remind us of the love that lives between us.

Like velcro on asphalt

2008-03-20T14:48:00.004-04:00

I would like to take a moment in my day to extol the merits of my faithful bicycle, which as of late I have dubbed 'Limon Alta Milla' which loosely translated means 'Mile-high Lemon', an indication not of its dubious quality, but rather of its light yellow sheen, and of course the locale where I get to ride such a laudable contraption. Benefits abound from bike-riding, including not only exercise and kindness to the environment, but also speed and daring, especially when riding cheek to cheek with Denver traffic. My handy bike basket (thanks Mom!) has saved my back this year, and I've got two cool little blinky lights, front and back, that illuminate my path.

But lately, my favorite aspect of riding Limon Alta Milla has been that for 20 minutes a small segment of my brain takes care of repetitive leg motions and hand clenching, while the rest of me blissfully ponders and prayers, or sings to myself (I ride at such an incredible rate, no one can hear me for the rushing wind!)

Lately, I've been pondering Lent, and as Easter draws near, the sacred mystery which is the Crucifixion and Resurrection. God has taught me much this Lent, through the mainstays of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving. Fasting is the most humbling activity, I think, because I realize that often much of my level-headedness and general cheerful outlook come from being satisfied in my tummy, and when I'm not, fogginess and irritability creep in quicker than I'd like to admit.

I'm excited to celebrate Easter in Denver. Most of my housemates are attending the Easter Vigil together on Saturday, then celebrating with a meal on Sunday.

And today, what was I pondering on my morning ride but HOUSING and why I was pondering it is because in August I will be in a new LOCATION, namely Washington DC, doing nothing other than studying at GRADUATE SCHOOL!!! Hooray hooray, after five months' wait, I received a phone call and letter on the same day letting me know that indeed, I have been accepted into the masters of theological studies program at (take a deep breath) the Pontifical John Paul II Institute on Studies of Marriage and Family at the Catholic University of America!! Whew!!

'Thrilled' is quite too gentle a word to describe my inner state. Perhaps 'ecstatic,' 'euphoric,' 'in shock' - I have been wanting to go to this school since I graduated from college, and the more that time has passed, the more my desire has grown. So perhaps 'grateful' is the best word to describe my sentiment at this moment.

Please pray as I try to decide where I am going to live in DC! Anyone with any leads, send them my way! Here is one option: a lovely 7-bedroom house with a garden and here's another: a Dominican convent Other options include 2 more convents that offer housing to women students, and a house a bit removed from the Institute, offered through their admissions' department.

Please share in my joy, and thank you one and all for your support and encouragement!!

Three views of the border

2008-03-13T16:13:00.007-04:00

A little belated, but here are three 'border snapshots' that we saw on our Immersion Trip. All are before we officially crossed the border into Juarez.

#1: What Border?

From this view, high above the city of El Paso, the U.S. and Mexico flow into each other, the seam denoted only by El Paso's skyscrapers. To the right of this view is Cristo Rey mountain, upon which meet Mexico, Texas, and New Mexico.

#2: The not-so-impenetrable Fence

Erin looks into Mexico, possibly wondering about the purpose of a fence that stretches for merely a mile and a quarter and has no barbed wire on tip. Further down the fence, a two-foot-high drainage ditch under the fence practically invited you to scooch on into Mexico (or vice versa) on your belly.

#3: Painted White Rocks

Here, rocks mark the border, along with the first of hundreds of white pillars that stretch throughout the desert between El Paso and the Pacific Ocean. On the left of the rocks is Mexico, where futbolistas play soccer on the weekends, paying little heed to the border when the ball goes international.

Published!

2008-03-13T15:52:00.003-04:00

Recently, I had the good fortune to publish a brief letter to the Editor in the National Catholic Register. For those of you who are not subscribers, the letter reads:

"I was encouraged to read in the Feb. 17 issue your article 'Mexican Bishops: NAFTA is Leading to Country's Cultural Death.'

I recently spent a weekend in Juarez, Mexico, experiencing up-close the cultural and economic dynamics of the border region. I was shocked to find that even when both parents and several children work full-time in foreign-owned factories, they still struggle to obtain sufficient food and shelter, let alone education and time for cultural growth.

The factories so blatantly consider their workers as mere extensions of machinery that many force women to take birth control and fire them if they get pregnant.

Overcrowded, violent, immigrant-producing Juarez will continue to worsen if Southern Mexican farmers cannot make a living from their crops, which flounder unprotected against subsidized U.S. agribusiness.

The immigration debate in the United States is incomplete if it ignores the tenuous condition of countless Mexican farmers and workers, conditions often induced by our own trade policies.

I hope that the Mexican bishops find U.S. Catholic legislators willing to put the needs of their Mexican brethren ahead of large corporations' profit when renegotiating trade treaties."

mid-march reflections

2008-03-13T15:38:00.004-04:00

I am currently in the throes of anticipation, waiting for a reply from the graduate school I applied to back in October. They said they would respond in mid-March, and as the calendar days pass, I sense my anticipation turning into impatience and, in the not-so-distant future, panic! I pray that I remain in the first stage, which is a much better reflection, I think, of the fact that my future plans and their timing are safely couched in that ubiquituous term "Providence." And so I wait, and hope.

Tomorrow my housemates and I will travel again to the mountains, this time to St. Benedict's Monastery in Snowmass, Colorado, where we will spend three days joining with the monks in their rythym of prayer, silence, work, and recreation. I'm grateful that we'll spend both the feast of St. Joseph (March 15) and Palm Sunday (March 16) in such a contemplative setting, although all of us regret missing the St. Patrick's festivities that will take place in Denver on Saturday!

I've been spending more time lately in the first grade classroom at Swansea, mainly reading with the children. In addition, Ms. Champi has appointed me 'door control' and so I guard the escape route of several particularly high-strung 6-year-olds. What a task Ms. Champi has: engaging the attention of and nourishing the minds of 30 young children while assuring that no one flees or bites or screeches or floats off into daydream land. Today a group of horse trainers with their horses came to the school to show the kids Clydesdales, Arabians, and others. My favorite was a bloke from Australia who flew the flag proudly and demonstrated his whip skills.

Tonight we're eating at the home of the Sisters of St. Francis in Denver. I have met more religious sisters here than ever before. A few weeks ago, we dined with the Sisters of Charity in their convent on the 11th floor of St. Joseph hospital, complete with a wall of windows that offered a panorama of the cityscape and the mountains.

Thoughts about recent news: The Chaldean Archbishop in Iraq was kidnapped and today was found dead. Pray for all those suffering in Iraq; my heart goes out particularly to the small Christian community (2% of the population) that is targeted and labelled abetters of the US invaders.

In like a very moody lamb

2008-03-03T13:03:00.002-05:00

March has started out predictably fickle. On Saturday, the temperature soared into the '60s, and on Sunday I awoke to slushy snow whipped around by a tempetuous wind. "Such is Denver," the locals tell me. As it is still technically winter, I suppose I'll be grateful for the Saturday respite and try my best to appreciate the beauty of white-blanketed city streets.

Some exciting happenings lately:

On Saturday evening, I went with the Transitions Club to see a performance of 'Fiddler on the Roof' at a Littleton theater. Transitions Club is composed of young adults with developmental disabilities, primarily Down's Syndrome, and is headed by a CVV alumna, Julie. I adore these kids - John, who asked me if I thought Oscar the Grouch and the Grinch would be friends - Michael and Danny, friends since infancy, who work at the same grocery store together - Maura, who speaks in an unintentionally sultry voice - and Meg, whose sequinned top was the envy of all the girls. I am proud to know them all.

The show itself was exceptional; from 'Matchmaker' to 'Anatevka,' my eyes were moist. What a story - of love, devotion, heartache, change, and, of course, tradition. This was my first time seeing 'Fiddler' live. I was most impacted by the last scenes, when a wicked edict is forcing the Jews out of their home, and their village and family are disembarking to different countries. I thought to myself, 'This still happens!' Just this past week, a coworker confided to me that her husband was deported back to Mexico, and she was terrified of being alone with her three young girls and one on the way. I saw her face in Golda's, seeing her family disintegrating, not finding a place on earth where she can live close to her daughters and grand-children.

Also, I went skiing for the second time on Friday, again with the after-school children. We went to Beaver Creek this time, and I found it more suited to children than Vail. The weather was phenomenal, as noted, and the slopes were uncrowded. Two mishaps: one girl fell and bruised her leg, but was so tired and frustrated that she insisted that it was broken, and I got my first up-close encounter with the ski patrol, who gently took her down the hill on a toboggan. Second, a third-grade boy lost his nerve on the ski lift and began screaming. Besides for that, the kids were well-behaved and rosy-cheeked, coping well with the challenges and soreness of navigating down the hill.

Finally, I get to see a long-lost cousin today: Brian Giesbrecht, who lives in far-away Saskatchewan with his wife and new baby boy, has a layover tonight in Denver, and I'm hoping to get dinner with him and catch up. Thank you, God, for family far and near!

Oh Mexico! Part 2

2008-02-20T13:42:00.002-05:00

Continuamos!

Other less-than-savory facts about Juarez:

- Since the mid-80's, over 600 women have been murdered in Juarez, a phenomenon known in Spanish as femenecidio. A large portion are victims to domestic violence, whether by their parents or by lovers. Other women have been raped and murdered on their commute to work, which often necessitates long time spent alone and in darkness, as street lights are scarce outside of downtown. Few arrests and fewer sentences have been procured for the murderers, creating a climate of impunity and fear.

- Thousands of people have migrated to Juarez to work in the maquilas, huge foreign-owned factories that benefit from proximity to the US market, minimal or non-existent tariffs, and a broad base of workers willing to work for cheap. We spent an afternoon with Pancho and Erlinda, lifetime maquiladoras who are on constant watch by their employers for standing up against abuses from time to time. Pancho and Erlinda still have no running water, despite petitioning the municipal government for years. They detailed to us their elaborate steps to conserve water, such as using shower water to water their trees outside. "El agua es oro," Pancho told us - "Water is gold." Yet before we left, they offered us a cafecito, an early afternoon snack break with cookies and, of course, coffee, made with, what else, water. We all drank gold that day, alchemied by generosity.

Beyond the fact that maquila salaries often do not stretch to cover a family's basic needs of food and shelter, the cultural damage the maquila industry wreaks is catastrophic, especially as regards the family, the basic building block of society. A few examples: Even when husbands and wives work at the same maquila, they are prohibited from working the same shift because companies fear theft by submissive wives, and because even the smallest dose of camraderie among workers could blossom into communal defiance of company rules. Add to separate shifts an hour or more commute, and you have both couples who rarely see each other, families who spend a scant amount of time all together, and kids who are left unsupervised for large portions of the day. How can families build strong bonds when work is all-consuming?

Another example: It is a common practice for maquilas to demand that all female workers take birth control, regardless of their age or marital status. Furthermore, if a women gets pregnant while an employee, she is often fired. Such practices treat workers not as human persons with a life beyond the factory walls, and a family, but as mere extensions of the rest of the machinery used to make dashboards or lights or whatever.

A bleak picture, no?

Poverty up close looks like...me and you and my great-aunt Josephine

People can never be reduced to statistics. As helpful as percentages and GDPs are to understand the stability of a society, the persons whose lives produce numbers to crunch are not quantifiable and, in my opinion, the largest benefit of traveling to an impoverished region is that up close, the fabulous variety of personalities and identity is clear on faces and in voices, even of the most impoverished. So on our trip, the strongest notes of hope came not from a (needed) proliferance of programs to feed the poor and gain justice for victims, but from the people at the source of those programs who had an unsatiable thirst and hunger for righteousness.

Still to be continued...

Oh Mexico!

2008-02-18T17:23:00.002-05:00

Whew! The whirlwind tour of America's borderlands is over, and here I sit trying to encapsulate the weekend in order to share it with all of you faithful blog readers. So here goes!

To Mexico via Limosina

At 5:15 PM Valentine's Day, we gathered in the prayer room for a brief reflection and prayer before embarking. At 7, we were snuggled into the bus, ready or not, Mexico, here we come! Our route headed south out of Denver via highway 25, with stops in Colorado Springs, Pueblo, and Albuquerque. Suffice it to say that early into the 12-hour bus ride, all comfortable positions were utterly exhausted. Our bus driver drove his rig with gusto, and we arrived in El Paso an hour ahead of schedule, good news for our cramped limbs!

Where's the line in the sand?

We were met at the station by West Cosgrove, a former Maryknoll missionary who now, with his family, runs Casa Puente, a center for education about border issues for groups such as ourselves who travel south to see immigration up close. West treated us to a delicious breakfast before engaging us in conversation about what we knew about the border and what we would like to know. After whetting our appetite, he drove us to three 'snapshots' of the border.

The first was high aloft a ridge. El Paso lay at our feet, with Juarez not far beyond. In fact, from this height, it was nearly impossible to tell where one country ended and another began, besides for the skyscrapers absent from Juarez's skyline. West pointed out to us Monte Cristo Rey, a peak divided between Mexico, Texas, and New Mexico. At its pinnacle stands a large cross, and every year on the feast of Christ the King, pilgrims from both countries climb to the top for mass and fellowship.

Our next snapshot was the border as fence, demarcating the boundary between Juarez and Sunland Park, New Mexico. For all the rhetoric about border enforcement, this fence was shockingly inept. Only about a mile long, it is easily walked around; only about eight feet tall, easily surmounted; and the best irony came from the two-foot tall drainage tunnel that offered an unhindered passageway under the fence for those humble enough to crawl. All in all, it was easy to wonder what exactly the purpose of such as structure was.

Finally, we met the border at the Rio Grande, known locally as Ni Grande Ni Brave for its paltry stream of water that snakes through Texas, having been ransacked for irrigation in New Mexico and Arizona. The Rio Grande forms the border the Gulf of Mexico and El Paso, where it heads north through US territory. Hence, at the breaking-off point, there begins a series of 276 concrete posts that deliniate the border through the desert lands past El Paso. We posed by the first marker, which stands next to a plot of dry soil used by Mexicans for weekend soccer games. The ball often escapes onto the US side, and is chased by futbolistsas.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us

We visited the Annunciation House in El Paso, a shelter for migrants and their families from Mexico. One of four current volunteers, Charlie, gave us a tour of the cramped dormitories and sparse chapel. From the roof, he pointed out where one of their former residents, a 19-year-old, was shot and killed by the Border Patrol while taking out the trash. Several other residents were witnesses to the shooting, and when they testified at the local police office, they were arrested by the Border Patrol and deported.

Theoretical questions about immigration policy, border enforcement, and migrants' rights become concrete and unaviodable in El Paso, the third-poorest city in the US. Charlie spoke of the fine legal line he and the other workers walk every day. As a private residence, they are protected from entry by the Patrol without a warrant. The legal quandry hinges on whether they are offering food and shelter to migrants who entered the states illegally, and passions run high on both sides. One sign that frequented El Paso read, "Humanitarian aid is never a crime."

Do bridges divide or unite?

At 5 PM, we walked the five-minute stroll from US to Mexican soil, over one of several International Bridges. We paid 35 cents for the priveledge, and didn't have to show passports, id, nothing. At the bridge's peak, where it rises above the middle of the Rio (not) Grande, the view beneath gives a glimpse into Mexico's opinions about US policy. Painted onto the Rio's concrete shores were slogans decrying the numbers of migrants killed in the journey each other, others exalting Latin American heroes such as the iconic Che, Fidel Castro, and Simon Bolivar, and still others denounced Bush as the real terrorista.

At the end of the bridge was Juarez, loud and cramped, with no buffer before the plunge into sensory Mexican cityscape. We met our Juarez guide, Jim Weaver, who with his wife and three small children serves as a Maryknoll missionary for a Juarez parish. Together we hopped on a public bus until we arrived at the Centro for Derechos Humanos, a human rights advocacy center where Jim also works. By this time, I was feeling drained, over-stimulated, and ready for a long extended siesta. Thankfully, after a talk about domestic violence and workers' rights in Juarez, we were treated to a delcious meal of stuffed meatloaf, and then - finally - a flat and stationary place to rest my head!

Saturday: Un Perfil de Juarez

'Perfil' - a profile, snapshot, outline sketch. Such we received Friday of the sprawling metropolis south of the border, Ciudad Juarez. Named for the first and only indigenous president of Mexico, Juarez is a city of children, migrants, and Catholics, explained Oscar, a former seminarian who now works at the human rights center. In the last few decades, the population of Juarez has exploded, mainly with migrants from poorer rural states in southern Mexico, propelled north by financial distress. Juarez is in the desert, and with little infrastructure in place to accomadate such a population boom, has undergone growing pains on a massive scale.

In brief: why do they come?

Mexico's social stability has long been tenuous, having endured a civil war and several revolutions in her short life as a republic. The majority of her people have lived for generations as subsistence farmers, surviving but without much excess profit. Hence, disasters both natural and manmade have long had potential to wreak havoc on her economy. However, when in 1994 leaders from the US, Mexico, and Canada signed a free trade pact known as NAFTA, the bottom fell out of Mexico's economy. While NAFTA is not the only factor in mass migration, it is a huge one.

Immigration analysts speak of 'push' and 'pull' factors in migration. The 'push' factor during the '90s in southern Mexico was that farmers whose crops had previously been protected by national tariffs were subjected to a tariff-free international economy with countries like the US, who heavily subsidizes their farmers. Unable to compete in the race to the bottom, countless rural farmers gave up the ghost.

But why move north? Hence the 'pull' factor: Juarez is a mecca for foreign companies because of its proximity to the US market, the tariff-free economy and (the pull) supply of steady low-wage labor (read: bankrupt peasants). Yes, jobs are widely available in Juarez, which attracts a steady stream of immigrant workers. However, the salaries of such jobs are not enough to support a family unless mom, dad, and maybe a few kids are working fulltime. Employment alone does not mean comfortable standard of living.

To be continued...

On nothing that has to do with Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T14:31:00.003-05:00

Apparently I am not a very active blogger...but here's what's new in Bethany's mile high life:

Coming Adventures

- I'm going to spend my Valentine's Day evening on a public bus (La Limosina, no less) traveling to El Paso, Texas with my housemates. Romantic, indeed, in the Chestertonian sense of this blog's title - none of us know exactly what to expect in our long weekend in the borderlands, a land fraught with the woes of migrants and toasted red-hot by political debates.

What I do know: we leave Denver at 7 PM and arrive in El Paso at 7 AM. We will spend Friday in El Paso, attending a seminar about the economics and politics of immigration policy. Later Friday evening, we'll cross the puenta into Juarez (my first journey onto Mexican soil) and will spend the night either at local families' homes. Saturday and Sunday will treat us to more seminars, mass at a local church, and (collectively the most anticipated event) a soccer game between 'Equipo CVV' and 'Equipo Brasil'! Like we stand a chance!

Several of my coworkers and virtually all of the kids I tutor are Mexican-American, a handful from Juarez itself, so I'm greatly anticipating the opportunity to see their homeland, to imbibe Mexico for a weekend. Questions on which I hope to gain some clarity: What compels rural Mexicans to leave the countryside for an urban desert? And what compels Mexicans of all stripes to come to the US, often illegally and through murderous terrain? What role does or should the US play vis a vis Mexican immigration? In an election year, all of these questions seem highly pertinent, and I hope to travel beyond the land of shock and rhetoric to more solid ground of conviction. Finally, I am first of all Catholic and only secondly American, so how does my faith shape my approach to immigration policy and immigrants themselves?

Work

I continue to work Mon-Thurs at Cross Community, and Fridays at a food bank. The nature of a non-profit geared toward community organizing often feels very indirect, and I still struggle to find enough profitable tasks to fill my time. But some opportunities have developed, and I enjoy the work that I am doing, especially with the schoolkids, very much. In the thick of helping a fifth grader with her equivalent fractions or reading Mercer Mayer to a first grader, I feel like I should pay my boss for the chance to see knowledge bubble up in young minds.

- The knitting club is well, still clicking away! Two kids have finished their squares, others are making progress, but one girl told me today that her mom is using her needles to knit a scarf for her grandma...not really what I had intended, but I'm glad grannie will be warm.

- I'm helping to teach a gardening/nutrition class to 5th graders with a woman from Denver Urban Gardens. It is ridiculously fun. So far we've planted a budding bumper crop of spring onions in little plastic containers, and the kids have learned such salient vocabulary as cotelydon and germination.

- On Fridays, I spend my mornings at the Broadway Assistance Center, which is also more fun than can be believed - normally I am engaged for an hour or so in sorting vegetables and fruits into their proper boxes, as well as transforming bags of cast-off clothing into a presentable clothing bank. Every last fiber of my OCD tendency comes out in full force.

Community

- Last Saturday we hosted a Euchre tournament at our house. For those of you uninitiated to Euchre (i.e. non-Midwesterners), it's a trump card game that has a lovely combination of skill and luck. We had a great turnout, five games going at once in a battle for the prize, a two-foot tall trophy made out of beer cans. The winners, who were not CVV members, graciously left the trophy at our house, where it now graces our mantle.

- What I have noticed as the single greatest challenge of community life: discerning when refraining from group activities is necessary to nourish one's soul, and when it is selfish. Do others struggle with this? It seems that even in the healthiest communities (ex: CVV), there still exists subtle pressure to fit within a certain...aura...of the group, expressed in ways of speaking, preferred activities, and dare I say worldview? Why is this? Perhaps the more well-formed we are ourselves, the more we are able to be free from the tendency toward conformity.

The sweetness of life

- Lent has begun! This year I'm participating in an 'Armchair Retreat,' meaning that I read Scripture prayerfully in my comfy orange chair, and then meet with a spiritual director once a week to talk about what God whispers to me, or not, during times of silence and meditation. My director is a mother of 10 named Donna who already has challenged me to grow more mature in my faith. Funny thing, I've been hoping for someone who could spur me on in my spiritual life, and now that I have someone who speaks truth to me without frills or gloss, it's a humbling and disconcerting experience to recognize how much further I have to go on this journey to Heaven!

- I am still teaching a confirmation class to 5 middle schoolers. They will be confirmed April 25. It has been a joy to share the faith with them, and I am so invigorated by the two hours of solid theology/spirituality I enjoy each week.

Peace to all of you, forgive me for not posting more often, but know that it is because my life is very full and not out of nothing to say!

Vail

2008-01-24T15:19:00.001-05:00

4:30 AM: Was I sleeping? Had I slept? My groggy body fumbled around for a light and for layers of clothing to warm the cold morning. It seemed minutes since I had closed my eyes the night before, and yet here was morning (almost), the day of the Anticipated Ski Trip. The house was eerily calm as all my housemates fluttered along in eye-blinking sleep while I double-checked my supply of extra hats, my two marmalade, honey, and craisin sandwiches (who knew peanut butter vanishes so quickly?) and most importantly, my long underwear on top and bottom.

6:30 AM: On the road in two large white vans, packed with 24 sleepy children. We climbed west out of Denver to the ski mecca of Vail. Before leaving, we made sure coats were unzipped and hats removed, not wanting to repeat the episode of half a dozen overheated children last ski trip. As prompted by the Vail program who organized the trip, we asked the children what courage meant. "Courage is when I went to middle school," one said. "And it's doing something even though it's scary," adds another.

8:20 AM: Vail is packed with pleasure seekers enjoying the first flush of a long weekend. The kids practically vibrate with excitement, straining their eyes to see where the gondola was about to take them. Maternally, I circulate zipping jackets and tucking in gloves. With so many buttons to snap and cords to tie, how did I spend so many hours in the snow as a child? "I can't wait until we start skating," proclaims Ilse. "Skiing! We're skiing!" I correct her. "Skiing!" she shouts, unperturbed.

We pile eight into the gondola and are whisked up, up, up into the clouds. Seven little faces and one big one press against the window, and there is a collective 'oooooh' each time the cable bumps us over another huge gear. By the time we reach the top, the city of Vail below is nowhere in sight.

9:15 AM: Finally, ready for the hill! Second grader Giovanny pulls me aside near the door. "This day," he says solemnly, "will be a day I remember for the rest of my life."

10:30 AM: Downward ho! The kids have learned how to put on their skies, how to take them off, how to move forward, and are still mastering the art of stop. Naiya, a second-grader with floppy bangs and a cheeky grin, has spent more time flat on the mountain than upright, and her legs buckle under her in impossible ways. But her grin stays cheeky as she climbs up the leg of our instructor, Mark, for the umpteenth time. How guileless she is, and how unswayed by her repeated wipe-outs.

12:15 PM: Lunchtime, inside the lodge. Unzip, unsnap, unbuckle. The kids sound like an army of miniture Huns in their ski boots, tromp tromp tromping up and down the staircase. They walk bow-legged, like little snow cowboys. Our table opts for cheeseburgers and fries, a happy indulgement for me, justified by the energy spent that morning! We talk about bones we've broken before, and times we've gotten stitches - a topic just dangerous enough, considering our afternoon still left on the slope, to be thrilling.

1:00 PM: Back on the slopes! The kids have mastered the top, gentle half of the bunny hill, which deposited them at the base of the 'magic carpet,' a moving sidewalk you stand on to get back up the hill. It's time for the 'Thundercat Cave'! We enter one by one into a large fiberglass tunnel. Inside it's a bit darker. Three ski strokes, and on the left is a glass case with a mountain lion poised to pounce. Three more strokes, and we're out into the sunshine! Now across the hill one by one, most falling at the end in anticipation of having to wait for everyone else.

We make it down the hill to the ski lift. Oh day of unending thrills! I ride up between Giovanny and third-grader Eddie. Giovanny gets a bit overeager, perhaps because of nerves, and flops over when it's our turn for the lift. No harm done - the lift slows and we're scooped up. How I want to bottle the joy of children at all things new and good! The boys' faces glowed all the way up the hill, and this time they watched the skiiers with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that they too, navigated their way to the bottom. Side by side with the fresh faces of these youth, everything was exciting, a chance for bravery or disaster. Tips up! We're off the lift, Giovanny falls again, and we're back on top.

2:30 PM: Time to head inside, unzip unbutton unsnap all over again. The kids are windburned and sore, but elated. "I love this!" squeals Naiya. "Did you see me make it down the hill?" Of course I did. Naiya earned our instructor's Most Improved Skiier accolade. I indulge one solo run down the bunny slope while the kids trudge up to the lodge. I had forgotten how fun skiing is! The view was breath-taking, ridge upon snowy ridge stretching far into the distance. And funny thing, when I'm gliding down the hill, I forget all about the ache in my shins, probably rubbed raw by this point.

3:30 PM: In the vans, on the road. The kids are still bursting with adrenaline, recounting every run, bump, and spill that day. We play 'Twenty Questions' for most of the ride home. Little Carolina doesn't quite grasp the concept. She asks all in a rush, "Whatcolorisit??" No, Carolina, a yes or no question! She thinks for a bit. "Howbigisit??" Thinks again. "Isitalion??" Games certainly take a twist with five year olds!

5:42 PM: Again in the parking lot at work, again dark. All the kids are dropped off, by now sleepy from their day of sun and snow. I am filled with gratitude at God's creation, both the mountains and the people who swarmed all over them. I have not yet got my fill of children!! How good it was to see these kids in an out-of-school setting, where math drills have no place unless it helps us count the seconds we stay aloft on our skies! And how wonderful the kids were - they were not bitter that this was their first time skiing, and potentially their last. Past and future have no foothold when the present is so lovely!

Good day, good people, good God how beautiful life can be!

mid-January

2008-01-13T15:39:00.000-05:00

Happy Feast of the Baptism of our Lord!

What life has been filled with lately:

- The knitting club is set to start this week!! I am filled with gratitude for the generous souls who have contributed to its beginning: thanks to Aunt Kay, Grandma, Mom, and my co-worker Harriet for their donations of yarn and needles. Also thanks to Sherrie Lubowitz, owner of the Shivering Sheep, a yarn shop in Denver that hosts knitting clubs to make hats for the homeless. I met with her on Friday and she gave me a dozen pairs of gently-used needles, along with two bags of hats and an offer of technical assistance when needed. I will post some photos of the kids knitting as soon as they learn how, and of course will send along photos of the semi-finished and finished products!

- On Saturday, I attended a conference at Regis University sponsored by the Denver Archdiocese and entitled "Life-Giving Freedom: A Holistic Approach to Reproductive Health." There were talks on Natural Family Planning, infertility, the symbolism inherent in male-female reproductive systems, and cultural consequences of a contraceptive mentality, among others. My brain felt quite stimulated! One thing I found particularly thought-provoking was the proposal that God, as creator, speaks truth through his creation. We, as persons created by God, have divine truth written into our very bodies - not just our minds, but our bodies and their functioning. In other words, how are bodies work and what they need tells us a lot about who we are as humans and who our Creator is.

Sorry this update is so short!!! Life is packed, in a good and wholesome way.
Peace to you all.

Christmas joys

2007-12-31T14:32:00.000-05:00

After 12 days at home, I return to Denver on Jan. 2. Hence, a brief recap of the Christmas season so far:

Above: Kristin, Ben, Mom, Dad, Bethany at the family reunion

- On Dec 30th, we enjoyed a grand time with relatives at our bi-annual Musser get-together. Folks were visiting from out of town (Uncle Ken and Aunt Fran from Boston) and I got to welcome the newest member of our family, Myra Jane Musser, born this August to my cousin Andy and his wife Kelly. That makes 13 great-grandchildren for my grandparents, with 4 more on the way! Our family keeps blossoming. Also, my cousin Nick returned from Japan and the far East, with about 8000 photos (!)

Below: Bethany with Myra Jane, aged 4 months

- My brother Ben's birthday was Dec 28th, and his girlfriend, Kristin, came down from Boston to celebrate with us. They are both so much fun, and I loved their company, playing 'Dicecapades', watching Penn State and the Patriots, shopping, and playing croquet outside on an unseasonably warm December afternoon.

Below: Dad, Bethany, Ben, and Kristin playing Dicecapades

- It's been such a joy to see friends from high school and college after separations of a few months. The loyalty and consistency of my friends buoys me up, and gives me an anchor for these years, when we're all figuring out where and how to stake our lives.

- In other news: I'm starting up a knitting club with the kids at the after-school program in Denver, and the response from folks at home has been most generous! Between Grandma, Aunt Kay, and Ben's girlfriend, I've collected over 30 skeins of yarn in various colors and thicknesses, along with 14 pairs of knitting needles. I hope to acquire more needles in Denver and get the Club started in about two weeks. The kids are so excited! Three third-grade boys rushed up to me the day before coming home, exclaiming, "When are we going to start that sewing thing???"

Below: Third-grade Knitting Enthusiasts

- One more picture, while we're at it! On Dec. 20, my agency in Denver had a splendidly fun Christmas party. Instead of exchanging gifts among ourselves, we pooled our money and hosted a party for the senior citizens who attend our senior lunches and thermal pool trips. We were able to give each of them a beautiful gift basket with fruit, tea, and other goodies. The entertainment at the party was provided by a group of preschoolers and their moms who attend a school-readiness program called 'Estoy Listo!' (I am Ready!). Thanks to the magical touch of Maria Campos, our in-house designer and decorater extraordinaire, all the kids were decked out in elf costumes, down to their little pointy shoes!

To me, the party was a taste of what the world could be like: folks of all different ages, from babes in arms to those in their golden years, from different cultures and homelands, the employed and not, articulate and not, educated and not, all enjoying each other's company and cooking, laughing together at a bunch of junior elves clapping their hands at the wrong times and trying to squirm out of their felt enclosures. Plus, in the middle of a rollicking Feliz Navidad, Santa himself made an appearance! (I should say 'herself,' since Yesenia, our four-month-pregnant janitor, wore the red and white: no extra padding necessary!) To hear the kids' squeals of delight, you would have thought that this is it, mom, come look! what they've been waiting for all their short lives! Santa! Is not some of the charm of Ole Saint Nick that he presents himself as the embodiment of our hopes, coming to make our lives more merrier, less dull, sweeter? Watching the children made me think of the shepherds that first Christmas, bored by watching their sheep for another long night, when behold! a great multitude of angels appeared, giving glory to God and pointing to a wee manger, where Hope lay sleeping under the watching and wondering eye of his mama. I don't think we can live without hope, and I don't really want to try! And what better person to stick our hopes to than the Creator who became humble to share in our tiny joys and sorrows?

May the rest of your Christmas season be blessed and abundant in hope!

Final photo: Bethany and Santa-Yesenia!

When it rains, it pours

2007-12-22T21:01:00.000-05:00

And is that rain cleansing, the gentle rain from heaven we await in the Christ child? Or will we drown? Sometimes it's hard to tell.

I'm home now, here in Mechanicsburg, not quite sure what time it is or why everything is so quiet! No hum of traffic, no loud laughter three floors below, only the sound of 'Elf' on TV. Flying is so surreal - you lift up into the sky, and land a few hours later an unthinkable number of miles away, having skimmed over all the countours of a landscape just as quick and smooth as can be.

Every end is a beginning - in every death comes new life, and every hello has an embedded goodbye within it. So as I say goodbye to my housemates, missing them the minute I drag my luggage inside the airport, I anticipate saying hello to my family, and then goodbye to them, and hello to my housemates, and all over again!

But when I return to Denver, there will be one less housemate to say hello to - one of our twelve will not be returning, and the lot of us are broken-hearted and numb. I don't feel at liberty to disclose the details, and besides, they don't change the lopsided sensation we have now, the tragedy of memories fixed in time with no chance for progression.

In Spanish, there's a wonderfully descriptive word, tuerco, that denotes literally someone with one eye, figuratively someone without the proper perspective. And now, after we've been accustomed to living with 12, we will feel tuerco all together for a while (how long?) as not just one person but eleven dynamic relationships are gone, with an unsettling feeling as the result.

Goodbye and hello, coming home and leaving what has become home. Where do I belong now? I think too much time spent in an airport leads to thoughts of life's transitoriness, how often we feel neither here nor there! I need the grounding of the manger, a God in time and space, to give me a little breathing room.

Christmas drawing ever nearer....

2007-12-18T16:31:00.000-05:00

Happy third week of Advent! Our three tall tapers on our table are burning brightly, and only one remains to be lit!

Joy is abundant and over-flowing. My housemates and I celebrated our gift exchange on Sunday night, complete with a poem written for each person. I'll include mine later; right now it's at home on my wall. We also filled the house with sweet smells of fresh baked cookies: white chocolate cranberry cookies by Erin, powder puffs by Betsy, and peanut butter cookies by yours truly.

Last night I attended Annunciation grade school's Christmas play, "Christmas in Lone Star Gulch." Endearing, especially the handbell choir and one kindergarten whose voice carried over everyone else's, defiantly singing one, long, note.

And today I saw the Christmas play at the school I've been working at, Swansea elementary. It was wonderful!! "We need a little Christmas (vacation)" was the title, and the kids were splendid.

Tomorrow my housemates and I are going ice skating outdoors, and then having dinner at our directors' place, and Thursday is the Christmas party at work, complete with little kids dressed like elves singing songs!

O come, O come, Emmanuel! May you find us watching in prayer, our hearts filled with joy and wonder.

Incarnational

2007-12-10T10:53:00.000-05:00

While waiting for the 24 North bus this morning, I realized my new favorite thing about winter: In wintertime, the invisible is made visible. Like always, I breathe in and out, but surprise! my breath materializes right in front of me. I can see myself living in a way impossible when the temperature is warmer. My misty breath rises up, like incense, like prayers, borne aloft as a testament of life and its steady rythym.

And of course, the invisible is made visible in the babe of Christmas, the incarnation of a God we could not previously see or touch. This Advent I have had often in my mind a lyric: "Marvel now, both heaven and earth, that the Lord chose such a birth." A birth of obscurity, to a young, poor couple in the back eddy of an empire. The familiarity of the Nativity scene can dull my senses to its immensity, and it is a grace to gain fresh wonder at that night in Bethlehem.

I gain fresh wonder from my confirmation class. "God became a baby?" they ask. "You mean, he cried and was little and couldn't talk??" The Incarnation shatters our false icon of a God so removed from our lives as to be pointless, like a distant benefactor who foots our bills reluctantly.

I get fresh wonder from the expectant mothers I know. A few weeks ago, my coworker Yesenia told me she was pregnant, and I had the distinct sensation that a moment ago, I thought I was talking only with Yesenia, but truly there was another present in the room, silent but real, hidden within a woman.

And I get fresh wonder from our prayer room decoration: a large painting of Joseph and very-pregnant Mary, traveling on donkey to Bethlehem. A simple painting, their faces are blank. Could they not be any other young, poor, jubilant and terrified expectant couple? How often do I meet Joseph and Mary, and baby Jesus, hidden right in front of me?

The winter chill makes me recognize my breathing, which is always there but seldom noticed. And when I do, I am more reverent of its continual presence, of my exsistence. Perhaps if mysteries were always concrete, we would become dependant on signs, and our faith would atrophy. So we're given glimpses here and there, at the bus stop, at the manger, and thus are taught to hone our senses to see what lies beneath our daily lives. To see the Incarnation in every face. O come, O come, Emmanuel!

Parades, Protests, and Preparations

2007-12-03T10:52:00.000-05:00

A packed weekend:

1. On Friday night, we went to the 'Parade of Lights' that wound through downtown Denver. There were floats, marching bands, pom-pom dancers, a couple in a rickshaw with a sign on back that read, "She said yes!", and of course, Santa made his grand appearance in a gigantic sleigh as the parade's finale.

2. Saturday morning, I 'put my feet where my beliefs are,' to paraphrase a wise housemate, and attended a pro-life rally in northeast Denver to protest the impending construction of the largest Planned Parenthood building in the US. I'd never been to a rally before, and was super-nervous, not sure if I would find angry, single-issue voters fixated on other people's mistakes. I was pleasantly surprised to find a mild, amiable group (plenty of parents with young children). We listened to a speaker talk about Planned Parenthood's philosophy and underhanded business strategies (learn more at Pro-life work in Denver) and then marched around the block once, while singing 'Amazing Grace.'

So this is what I've learned about the value of protests: a) They force you to choose sides, to speak with your presence a stance that previously had been affirmed more hesitantly, and for me this forces me to not make the fact that many issues are 'gray and complicated' into an excuse to not make a decision about them. b) They remind you of the heart of a democratic society - the freedom to assemble and to speak, and to engage in public life about the most important and delicate of issues.

Needless to say, I've been thinking a lot lately about the sanctity of life, cultural messages about sex, and political implications latent in the pro-life movement (like: just because something is legal does not mean it is right. What else could this apply to?)

Link to Planned Parenthood to learn more about their philosophy and programs.

3. Saturday afternoon - back at our cozy house, making Christmas crafty gifts with a dozen 'Transition students,' young adults with developmental disabilities. We made greeting cards, napkin ring holders, snowflake spa mix, magnets, you name it, we made it!

4. Sunday - Happy Advent!!!! O come, O come Emmanuel. I love Advent. So much. We got out the Nativity scene (Baby Jesus is carefully hidden...) and for prayer last night we made a 'Jesse tree' and lit the first candle in our Advent wreath. Advent is so...expectant. It makes me think a lot about Mary being pregnant and about the hope latent in unexpected places.

Happy belated Thanksgiving!

2007-11-26T13:56:00.000-05:00

I hope you all have enjoyed your Thanksgiving to the fullest! I had a lovely time. We here at CVV celebrated with a huge meal on Monday, hosting about 50 people in our house. We each made a different dish (my contribution was pumpkin roll) and overall, it was simply delectable.

Then on Thursday, I hopped on the Greyhound and spent my Thanksgiving heading east to Lincoln, Nebraska, to visit my dear friend Megan Kelley, her fiancee Raj, and Megan's family. I spent a lovely long weekend there. How strange and sweet it is to be with old friends! It was a luxury to reminisce with someone who has known me longer than three months, but we also looked ahead - Megan is getting married in July, and so I spent a lot of time cavorting with her and her mom, looking for wedding cakes, photographers, catering, and wedding dresses. I am sworn to secrecy about everything! So no prying!

I took the nine-hour trip back west on Sunday, was treated to a magnificent sunset and a glad reunion with my housemates. And now, back at work! It was good to go, and it was good to return.

The fate of the grasshopper

2007-11-21T13:18:00.000-05:00

As an Americorps volunteer with an agency that serves three predominantly Mexican neighborhoods in north Denver, I have followed with vested interest the latest developments of immigration policy. In doing so, I have noticed that underlying understandings of culture have great potency to affect how we treat immigrants and legislate their fate.

It seems that one main assumption about culture is that it is both static and vulnerable. Once solidified in its particular values and rituals, a culture is in constant danger of disintegration. More specifically, many seem to regard American culture as fixed and threatened, while Mexican culture (or that of any entering immigrant group) is insidious and clever enough to deteriorate the host culture, tugging with sharpened nails this or that cultural vulnerability until the whole tapestry is a pile of thread on the floor.

Adherents to such an understanding of culture would understandably retreat into a protective mode, barricading themselves from potentially corrosive foreign cultural influences. Hence the heated rhetoric about education and societal affairs conducted in two languages, a sure sign that (English-speaking) American culture is one adios away from vanishing from world history to a chorus of trilled ‘r’s.

At the same time, in a fascinating burst of exploitative schizophrenia, Mexican imports such as burritos and tamales are hotter than the frontera sun for non-Mexican consumers. A recent Qdoba ad features ecstatic Mexican food lovers, with nary an accent nor Hispanic face among them.

Or take the example of a student in my English class. Electrician by day and bartender on weekends, he told me of a patron who, once sufficiently drunk on tequila, would lambaste in slurred expletives any Mexican within earshot. “Go back to your own country!” he would scream. I presume he hoped the deportees would leave the tequila behind.

Perhaps culture is neither as static nor as vulnerable as we presume; rather, perhaps it is a dynamic entity, constantly but subtly transforming in response to both internal (i.e. native) and external (i.e. foreign) influences. Historically speaking, this principle seems obvious to the point of absurdity; how can one speak of any culture without reference to the leaders, inventions, and events that shaped its identity?

But also historically speaking, it is clear that the development of culture is not desirable in and of itself, such as the development of slavery as an institution in the South. The question du jour, then, is how does a culture develop well, to be more worthy of human beings, to take care of its little ones, and to provide opportunities for all persons to flourish? It is in response to this question that an encounter between two cultures can be beneficial for both. Every culture, even (gasp!) our own, has blind spots and malformed organs that are often better diagnosed by outsiders than by those who bear the deformity.

Hence, a great challenge and opportunity arrives with every new immigrant: to reexamine our own culture in the presence of someone foreign, to be honest about our shortcomings, and to humbly share our successes that can improve another culture’s deficiency. Such an approach to immigration, an embrace, is admittedly messier than the alternative, a barricade. But then again, love is more complicated than isolation. And in the long run, if we aim to preserve our culture with fences and threats, we’ll find that it indeed keeps well, as well as a grasshopper that a child loves so much that he seals tight in a glass jar, and finds it marvelously unchanged come the next morning.

Some alphabet soup: GSN and NFP

2007-11-17T12:06:00.000-05:00

Wednesday: 7:45 PM. Time for GSN, or "Gender Separation Night" Once a month, we gals buddy up with Mary Frances, while the menfolk join Bill and Tom and we each talk about issues particularly pertaining to our gender. Tonight we're deep into a discussion about contraception, led by Maura, a former volunteer and mother of six-month-old H'nora.

We talk a lot about the benefits of NFP (Natural Family Planning), and Maura adds thoughtful insights from her training as a nurse and her current vocation as a wife and mother. For those of you unfamiliar with NFP, it is, narrowly speaking, a method of recognizing the woman's fertility at various parts of her menstrual cycle, based on body temperature and cervical mucus. It is known secularly as 'fertility awareness' and when practiced faithfully, is highly effective in both avoiding and acheiving pregnancy, depending on the couples' aim.

Speaking more broadly, and from a theological perspective, NFP is a way for a couple to approach their sexual relationship that is in harmony with the Christian vision of marriage and sexuality. Marriage as a sacrament is meant to embody the relationship of Christ with his Church, a relationship that is total, faithful, free, and fruitful. In not artificially curtailing the potential of their fertility, couples are able to freely give themselves to each other, not just emotionally but physically as well.

I confess that I'm a pretty big fan of NFP =) (Look at Couple to Couple League for more info) From what I know about it and from what I've heard from those who practice it, I find it appealing and beautiful, and such an amazing antidote to our fallen tendency to split body and spirit, or to objectify one another. One fascinating aspect that came up in our GSN discussion, unsurprisingly for CVV, was that of the social ethics of contraception, and ways they tend to foster disharmony between the genders. I offer 3 examples:

1. When scientists were developing the Pill in England in the 1950s, they pioneered a form of hormonal contraception for men and for women. One man from the study group suffered an abnormality in a testicle; one woman from the study group died. Hence, the male form of hormonal contraception was definitely stopped, while the woman's dose was merely lowered.

2. In arenas where the Pill is promoted as the most effective and practical form of contraception, the burden of preventing pregnancy falls squarely on the woman's shoulders. Not only does she ingest powerful hormones, it could be argued that if it is the woman's responsibility not to conceive, then it is also her culpability if she does. Can men, who hear constantly that women's bodies are their own to control, be blamed if they don't stick around to provide for that woman's body's mistake?

3. Hormonal contraceptives are powerful stuff. According to an article in the National Catholic Register, the Pill is a known carcinogenic, i.e. it can cause cancer and has been shown to elevate chances of breast cancer in women. Less fatally but as significant, hormones can alter your personality, your appetite, and even your libido. How ironic that a pill to let you have 'safe sex' can lower the woman's desire for any sex! What cost do women take on their own bodies by using hormonal contraception? Steriods for men, especially young men, are soundly derided. Why is the same treatment not given to contraceptives for women, especially young women?

Enough soap-boxing =) The last thing I want to say is that I am so grateful for the 7 women that I live with. We undoubtably have our disagreements, but as the eight of us girls talked about our questions, confusions, and opinions regarding such a potentially important topic as contraception, I was struck by both our candor and our vigor, a fresh honesty grounded in affection for one another that has been steeping over these past few months. It seems that to live in a harmony that is truthful, I have to be able to disagree with someone, yet next morning get up, talk about the shopping list, and eat breakfast together without our disagreement bubbling up as snappiness or any type of ill-will. In other words, community life denies me the luxury of speaking your mind to someone whom you'll never see again. Instead, it challenges me to speak the truth in love, and gives me plenty of practice for both.

Gleaning

2007-11-09T14:56:00.000-05:00

What is gleaning? you may ask. Good question! If you are familiar with the Old Testament, gleaning is mentioned a number of times. At harvest time, farmers would deliberately leave part of their field unpicked, or not hassle about collecting every last head of grain. Therefore, the poor and hungry could follow behind the harvesters and 'glean' a portion of the crop.

Gleaning for us at CVV is a bit different, seeing how the number of grain fields in downtown Denver is slim =) However, we do gain a sizeable portion of our monthly food by gleaning from local supermarkets and coffee shops. Several establishments, including Spinelli's Markets and It's A Grind, gladly give us almost-overripe produce, dented cans, and pastries that would otherwise be pitched due to stringent food safety regulations. Every week our gleaning dividends vary, depending on the current foods in season and/or almost out of season. Tuesday is like Christmas, a new surprise every week!

Early in our year, one of my housemates posed a question - "Isn't gleaning like stealing from the poor? Aren't there other people who need this food more than we do, for example non-college graduates, without a food stipend?" A reply was posed, along with a modern definition of gleaning - "Gleaning is living off the excess of others." Think about your own pantry and trash can. Even with the best intentions, how often does food, particularly perishable items, travel from the store to the trash can, bypassing the table due to lack of time or mere overabundance? This scenario on a commerical scale translates into boxes upon boxes of food thrown away, willingly or not, by food markets and cafes.

On Fridays, I see gleaning up-close. I spend the morning sorting fruits and vegetables for Broadway Assistance Center, a downtown food pantry. BAC receives superfluous food from local markets and gives it away to folks in need. Every Friday, I estimate about 80 people make their way through the line, requesting semi-fresh produce and slightly-stale pastries. But even after the dust settles and everyone has received their desired amount, there still remain several dozen crates of food, destined to either a subsequent food pantry or, more likely at this bottom-rung stage of the food distribution system, the dumpster.

It makes me wonder - how is it that anyone goes hungry? Is it lack of accessibility? Not being in the right place at the right time? Lack of knowledge that such legal avenues such as gleaning exist to get fine food for free? I for one have become a enthusiastic fan of gleaning - despite the lack of choice in what Spinelli's gifts us with, the price is right, and, arguably more important, we gleaners are transforming the refuge of a saturated society into our daily bread.

the Romance of the Rockies

2007-10-31T13:09:00.000-04:00

Please forgive the sad delay in posting! It would be a lie to say that I have been too busy - my days have been satisfyingly full, but I have also savored the hours with nothing in particular to do, a creature so foreign to my recent life as a student!

We here in Denver have been watching breathlessly and with high hopes the rise and tragic fall of the Rockies. I've never been a huge baseball fan, but living in a World Series city, bursting with pride over their Blake Street Sluggers, has made baseball fever nearly irresistable. I watched all four games, three from various taverns near our house and one from the comfort of a friend's home, with knife in hand, taking out my frustration at their lack of runs by carving a pumpkin!

Watching the games has helped me to understand why so many people expend so much time and energy watching or playing sports. I was struck again and again by the romance of the game - used in the same sense as 'the romance of orthodoxy' in my blog title - how every single moment, something entirely unexpected could happen. A wavering of the wrist, and a run is walked in; a cut of the bat centimeters too high or too low, and a grand slam becomes a double play; indeed, the very best baseball moments, the two-out ninth-inning homerun over the left field fence, are all a breath, a wobble, a millimeter away from heartbreak and disaster. Nothing is scripted once the game begins.

In C.S. Lewis' memoir about his wife's death, he comments, "We all think we've got each other taped." Too often we anticipate what each other will say before actually hearing it, or we are content to sum up another's personhood with a handful of adjectives based on what we have seen so far. Example from the Series: after the pentultimate out of Game 3, with the Rockies trailing by 5 and their last hope in the batter's box, the announcers proceeded to thank the producers, directors, etc, for the fine job of televising the game. Loyalty surged in us, and we shouted at the TV, "It's not over yet!" Sure, statistically speaking, the Rockies' chance of a 6-run, 2-out rally was just about nil. But that doesn't mean it couldn't have happened! Hope defeated and trampled over en route to the next block of programming corrodes the spirit and is just plain not fun! Give me any day the anticipation of the next best surprise, the thrill of mystery in people I think I know so well, and a childlike sense of expectation that maybe, just maybe, the improbable will, this time around, be.

CVV by the numbers

2007-10-23T14:45:00.000-04:00

And now, for your enjoyment, a numerical look at life as a Colorado Vincentian Volunteer:

12 - volunteers who live at Woody's Place in downtown Denver

5280 - miles that Denver is above sea level

13 - years that CVV has existed

4 - loaves of zuchinni bread I've successfully made

100% - students in my ESL class who are from Mexico

1 - times I've been told by a 4th grader that I'm mean

46 - steps from the ground floor to my 3rd floor bedroom (51 including the porch steps)

2 - buses I take to work

0 - the amount of money I spent to go to the zoo on Saturday

4 - squirrels that frequent our backyard

1 - times I've felt nauseous from the altitude

1700 - hours of service needed to get the Americorps education award

4 - weekends I've spent in the mountains so far

7 - books I've read so far (and counting...)

10,000 - residents of Swansea, Elyria, and Globeville, the three neighborhoods where I work

5 - regular students in my confirmation class

3 - CVVers from Pennsylvania

75 - dollars in monthly stipend

4 - the amount of games needed for the Rockies to sweep the Phillies

1 - herb I have successfully grown on my windowsill, basil (RIP mint and chives)

60 - registered students in the after school progam I volunteer for

25 - minutes of my bike ride to work

3 - times I have been asked if I come from the land of Dracula (get it - Transylvania, Pennsylvania, ha ha ha)

1 - flat tires so far

1 - dollars my Mom has sent me =)

562 - students at Swansea elementary school, K-5

12 - days of vacation over Christmas

2 - hours of time zone difference from PA

3 - refrigerators in our house

4 - times I've been asked, while wearing my bib-overalls, if I am a farmer

Like shining from shook foil

2007-10-15T10:42:00.000-04:00

This morning, while I was on Bus 24 en route to work, I happened to glance up from my book and what through the plexiglass did I spy but...snow! Not falling snow, or even in Denver, but far to the west, on the crest of the Rockies. I blinked a few times, thinking it was just the normal morning cloud cover, but no, the sharp profile of the mountains were there, and each was capped by snow, sparkling in the rising sun. How glorious! Snow! In October!

In honor of unexpected beauty that sneaks in, even to a Monday morning, I include here a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Come away with me

2007-10-12T14:24:00.000-04:00

At last! The promised Fall Retreat blog post! Let me first say that my favorite, favorite activity during retreat was...swinging! There was an adorable little playground right next to our lodge, complete with a swingset, tetherball court, see-saw (or teeter-totter depending on what side of the country you are from), overgrown sandbox and jungle gym. It was so fun to be a child for a while, enjoy the wind blowing through my hair.

Swings and tetherball

Even better - the view from the swing was magnifique: glowing aspens everywhere, with bluegreen mountains behind, followed by even bluer sky. Our director Bill said that he had never been at this retreat spot at a beautiful time of where. I believe him. I wish I had eyes on all sides of my head, because everywhere you look, the earth was bursting with color.

Our retreat lodge, called St. Anne's, was nestled in the mountains about an hour southwest of Denver. It was right next to a camp called Santa Maria, which had a large lake stocked with fish. We took a hike the first night we were there, in search of the giant statue of Jesus that looms over the mountain. You can see Jesus from wherever you are; at night, he is illuminated by flood lights and outshines the moon - no flashlights necessary! Fortunately for us, we got lost en route to Jesus, and ended up in an aspen grove as beautiful as a dream.

The Aspen Grove

These are called 'quaking aspens,' because when the wind so much as whispers to them, they come alive, shimmying and shivering and shaking and making a tremendous rushing noise. I lay beneath the aspens, watching them tumble down all around.

Lounging at Jesus' feet

Don't worry - we eventually found our way to Jesus! The view from his feet was breath-taking. You could see up and down the valley and across to the adjacent mountain range. On the way back down, we came across a little waterfall and followed the stations of the cross (backward) back to the lodge.

Rachel & Rachel at the waterfall

I am so grateful for the time to go on retreat. We studied the Walk to Emmaus passage (in Luke 24), led by a wonderful married couple named Cathy and Kurt. I'm especially grateful that I had so much time to be alone, to think and examine what the year has been so far, and to let my mind wander until all my colliding thoughts work out their harmony and leave room to listen to the gentle voice of God.

More than anything, the retreat encapsulated for me a theme that has occured lately - the intermingling of joy and sorrow in the marrow of life. Lately it has seemed that ecstasy has followed on the heels of despair, and vice versa. At one point in the retreat, we reflected on various losses in our lives, just as the disciples reflected on Jesus' death en route to Emmaus (not knowing yet of his resurrection). To dig up past hurts and betrayals was very tender, and to share them with my housemates even more so. The weight of our collective sorrow lay heavy upon me, and at break time I fled outdoors. One step outdoors, and the beauty of the aspens, the sky, and the autumn air once again impresses itself upon me, and now I'm not sure whether to cry because of sorrow or because of joy. How can it be that such beauty inhabits the same world as broken marriages, prematures deaths, and heartache?? I cannot comprehend it.

Colorado in all its glory

Later, while relaying this experience to Mary Frances, she says to me - "the whole of life is found in Jesus' Paschal mystery - passion, death, and resurrection. We share in that daily." Oh what a thought to chew on, to ponder, to let it soak in until truly my very being is shaped by the swell of hope admist the darkest night. We are in some ways like the disciples going to Emmaus, stumbling along in confusion, in desparate need that Jesus come and talk with us, reveal himself in the breaking of the bread; but also, we know of the resurrection! As a dear friend wrote to me this week, in the context of two young people who recently died suddenly, "How could one live without the hope of the resurrection?"

Golden Sunrise

My soul is refreshed from time apart and time together with my always vibrant housemates. I hope you all are well, and find refreshment in the beauty of the autumn and the hope we have in Christ. Pax et bonum.

in between shovels and math manipulatives

2007-10-09T14:09:00.000-04:00

I am in between activities today, Tuesday. In the morning I had the supreme delight of introducing fifth graders to the joy of feeling dirt between your fingers and using a good old fashioned shovel to turn soil in preparation for planting next spring. A talented gardener named Judy from Denver Urban Gardens comes to Swansea Elementary to teach the kids about nutrition, healthy foods, and the miraculous process from tiny, tiny seed to baby seedling to fresh plant bursting green with life. I am so excited to be a part of this.

And in fifteen minutes, I'm due back at the school to tutor a small group of 5th graders in math. So many of my desires for this year are being answered at this elementary school - to have a tangible, worthwhile task to do; to get to know young children and encourage them as they learn and explore their curiosities; to work with the immigrant population (over 90% of Swansea students are 1st or 2nd generation Mexican immigrants); and to have fun!!! I think most days I enjoy the math games and manipulatives more than the kids do! (Today we have an activity involving measuring cups. My favorite so far are the fraction tiles =))

In other words, life is very full!!!!! Praise be to God.

[More to come later about the fabulous retreat we had this past weekend...And hopefully some pictures of the mountain autumn beauty!!!]

Gloria on a Monday morning

2007-10-01T13:30:00.001-04:00

A quick post to praise God for new fresh joys:

1. My dear friend Megan is now engaged, to the worthy and always surprising Raj! Congratulations to both of you!

2. My coworker Yesenia's daughter, Angela Alba, was baptized this weekend along with about 30 other children at a beautiful service at Our Lady of Guadalupe church here in Denver. What hope is present in children! And what promise of abundant life God pours on us in baptism!

dances with elk

2007-09-25T13:40:00.000-04:00

left: Us posing at Estes Park sign, the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park

This weekend, nine of us traveled to Rocky Mountain National Park to experience a quintessential Colorado fall day - a hike through aspen groves to a mountain lake, followed by a picnic lunch and elk-watching. The beauty of the Park is hard to describe. It is a rugged beauty, almost austere with its dramatic peaks scratching high and treeless into the baby blue sky. But it is also a delicate beauty, and the keen observer is well awarded by graceful harebells (like bluebells, but larger and darker blue) or heartleaf arnica (butter-yellow petals and heart-shaped leaves) or pearly everlasting (clumps of circular creamy white blossoms). In fact, austerity and delicacy intertwine in the Park; at over 7000 feet, harsh weather arrives so soon and stays so long that every creature, no matter how delicate it appears, has hidden a broad repertoire of hard-nosed tactics to survive to see another spring.

Our hike wound through a valley en route to Cub Lake. Whoever said that Colorado's 'other gold' is the aspen trees in fall was right; at points along the hike, we were entirely surrounded above, below, and beside by flaming yellow aspen leaves quivering in the wind. The very air seemed transformed, more illuminated, alive,energetic, as if you could see the golden molecules bouncing around leaf to leaf.

left: Cub Lake

Cub Lake was well worth the 2.3 mile hike. It was vaguely oval-shaped and half-filled with water lilies that sadly were past their blooming prime. I read a poem once about a woman lying on the grass being a 'bowl full of sunshine' and indeed we were, all sprawled out on a lovely boulder beside the water, watching a duck amble along in search of the trail mix we (accidentally!) dropped into the lake. Soak it in! is all I wanted to do, filling my eyes with evergreens and aspens, water and lilies, beauty unfolded beneath the blue sky.

left: female elk moving left across a meadow. About 5 minutes later, a rather flustered looking male came in hot pursuit

And more fun was yet to come! After our hike, we chose a picnic spot that overlooked a meadow, in order to view the seasonal 'bugling' of the elk. Picture this: a herd of around 10 female elk, calmy grazing at twilight. Enter stage right a male elk, epitomizing the meaning of the word 'strut.' Tossing his impressive rack of antlers in the air, he sizes up the situation and boldly approaches the female crowd. At about 15 feet away, he rears back and bugles, emitting a bellow that begins in bass and ends with a triumphant tenor. The females graze, unaffected. The male bugles again. More grazing. And so on.

I assume the end result of bugling, once the females tear themselves away from the grass at their hooves, is tiny elklings in the spring, but we didn't stick around long enough to make sure. However, as we left the Park, the streets were just lined up and down with cars unloading family after family, stocked with snacks and lawn chairs, to watch the elk. Colorado dinner theater at its finest! Which brings up an interesting question - Could elk bugling be a convenient opportunity to broach the subject of the birds and the bees with young children? Continuation of a species, broadcast live. I wonder if any parents have tried it...But as one housemate pointed out, how exactly would you address the issue of monogomy ("Mom, why does the guy elk bugle to all the girl elks?") or, for that matter, why people crowd to watch what in the realm of humans occurs behind closed doors. Nonetheless, for a born and bred suburbanite, such a close encounter with nature at its most necessary level was fascinating.

Overall, the day was magnifique, bursting with color and life and fresh, fresh mountain air. Glory be to God for the richness of creation.

I-opener

2007-09-20T13:12:00.000-04:00

[This is a sneak-peek at an essay that will be in CVV's fall newsletter, due to come out at the end of September. Let me know if you want added to the mailing list! It's free =) ]

For me, coming to Denver as a Vincentian Volunteer was a pivotal life change; for my parents, it was a chance for a family vacation. In mid-July, we saddled up our big blue van and headed west from PA. Two weeks and seven states later, we merged onto I-70, which escorted us through Kansas’ amber waves of grain and into Denver. As night fell, the downtown skyscrapers rose to meet us, framed against the blue peaks of the Rockies. My heart raced at finally arriving in the city that was to be my home for the next year. What will I learn here? I wondered. How will I be changed?

To my surprise, answers have unfolded beneath the very road we drove to Denver; I-70 rumbles non-stop through the three neighborhoods in north Denver served by my agency, Cross Community Coalition. All three struggle with common scourges of the urban poor: lack of quality educational facilities, lack of green space, and heavy concentrations of large industries. Our neighborhoods’ zip code, 80216, is the most polluted in Denver, and the only nearby high school reopened this fall after having been shut down by the city for its failing performance.

Clearly, north Denver residents have greater concerns than I-70’s proximity. Still, the highway drones ceaseless noise and complicates inter-neighborhood travel. It has even forced the local elementary school to reduce its playground size so children wouldn’t be hurt by debris careening off speeding trucks.

Of course, I realized none of this while zooming wide-eyed into Denver. To me, I-70 was a means of transit, nothing more or less. But after weeks of listening to residents and observing neighborhood life, I can no longer view I-70 as neutral. Instead, I suspect that it is a classic case of NIMBY: bring on the highways, but Not In My Back Yard! (And how does a city decide in whose back yard to build a highway?)

On a recent trip to Austria, Pope Benedict said, “Jesus Christ does not teach us a spirituality ‘of closed eyes,’ but one of ‘alertness,’ one which entails an absolute duty to take notice of the needs of others and of situations involving those whom the Gospel tells us are our neighbors.” As a Vincentian Volunteer, I am indeed learning to notice with wide open eyes the present realities of our society, including seemingly benign chunks of concrete, in order to work more effectively for a blossoming of abundant life for all persons.

Sing it with me now: Yode-leh-eeh-ooh

2007-09-15T12:03:00.000-04:00

Once a year, as part of their ongoing fundraising, Bill and Mary Frances raffle off the chance to eat a meal at the house, prepared by the volunteers, Last night the raffle winner, Janet, along with seven other guests, came to our house to claim their prize. We prepared most of the afternoon - cooking, cleaning, and re-seeding the lawn. It was quite an elegant dinner - stuffed mushrooms and bruschetta for appetizers, chicken marsala and baked zucchini as an entree, and peach cobbler with ice cream for desert.

But the best part (in my opinion) was the entertainment. Rachel P and Rachel B devised some pretty ingenious ways to share with our guests what it means to be a CVV volunteer.

First, we introduced our group to the tune of the Brady Bunch theme song:

"Now here's a story of a man named Billy / who created a volunteer program with his wife / The vision called for 12 young adults / to serve a year of life...Then one day when Bill sat down with Mary Frances / And they knew that it was much more than a hunch / That this group would somehow become a family / And that's the way we became the Vincentian Bunch!" followed by 'doo-doo-doo's' and dancing =)

But wait...there's more!

After dinner, we took the liberty of performing a montage of songs from the great theatrical classic, the Sound of Music, altered to introduce each of us and our worksite. A small snippet for your enjoyment:

[sung to tune of 'Do Re Mi']
Bethany: "Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start. When you read, you begin with

All: "ABC!"

Bethany: "When you sing, you begin with Beth - A - Ny"

All: "Beth - A - Ny"

Bethany: "The first three notes just happen to be Beth - A - Ny"

All: "Beth - A - Ny"

Bethany: "Beth - A - Ny - Fa - Sol - La - Ti...Let's see if I can make it any easier.
Cross Community Coalition / is the place where I work. / We care about the environment / And tutoring children is a perk."

[Did I mention what a strange feeling it was to sing my own name repeatedly? When do you ever do that?]

Erin: [still tune of 'do re mi'] "I work at house of Sacred Heart / My name is Erin O'Sullivan / I help give women a fresh start / And that brings us back to Meg Oh Oh Oh Neill!"

[Sung to tune of "I have confidence"]

Meg O'Neill: "I have confidence in children / I work at Mt. Saint Vincent Home / I have confidence that they won't be a alone / Besides what you see I have confidence in me!"

[Sung to tune of the Yodeling Song]

Budd: "High on a hill was a man named Budd, Yode-lay-ee Yode-lay-ee Yode-lay-ee-oo! He works with Medicare, Medicaid, and all that crud, Yode-lay-ee Yode-lay-ee Yode-loo."

[Sung to the tune of "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"]

Nick: "How do solve a problem such as poverty? How do you serve the homeless on the street? How do you do your job at St. Francis Center?"

Betsy: "A mail sorter?"

Daniel: "A shower washer?"

Nick: "A Nick!"

And on, and on. Our great encore was "So long, farewell!" after which we paraded up the stairs quite dramatically and waved goodbye to all our guests while singing loudly in various keys. I think it was a pretty big hit, and we're already thinking of possible encores.

Point of the story: life is so much fun with a soundtrack!!!

Other point of the story: cooking, cleaning, and all domestic chores are so much more fun when done communally!!!! Thanks, housemates =)

Felix, worms, and dice games

2007-09-11T15:53:00.000-04:00

Quick update: Felix did no significant damage to the mission sites in Honduras. There was some minor flooding at the sites along the coast, but nothing more critical than that. Thank you for your prayers!

Life is so full lately, and I am grateful! This weekend my housemates and I attended a composting class offered by Denver Recycles and Denver Urban Gardens. Two master composters, who took a 10-week class to earn their titles, ushered us into the nuances of transforming your leftover food, yard refuge, and paper scraps into thick hearty black dirt stockpiled with nutrients. I learned that even dryer lint and coffee filters can be composted! Also, we are currently deciding on whether or not to venture into verma-composting, a fancy name for worm composting. Because with 12 people living together we will most likely have a steady supply of veggie scraps the whole year, and because in winter traditional composting (i.e. heaping leftovers in a pile outside) takes a lot longer due to the colder temperatures, worm composting could be a fine option for us. Basically, we would buy a 'worm box,' about four by two feet and standing waist high, create a bedding out of shredded newspaper, place about a pound of Red Wriggler worms inside, and feed them all of our table scraps. Pretty cool, huh? I've never heard of such of things, but hey, we don't have any pets, so why not? =)

Also this weekend we spent Saturday night at our house with a group called Transitions, who are young adults with developmental disabilities such as Down's syndrome. Together, we ate eight pizzas and played a dice game called LCR - quite fun, very little skill involved, and just enough unpredictability to make it interesting. The 'differentness' of the Transitions members varied from person to person; some spoke with a strong speech impediment, others had distinct facial features, and others acted in ways usually inappropriate for social settings, like reapplying makeup (all of it) during the game. But there was so much more to see beyond the instantly apparent. I talked for a long time with two young men, Danny and Michael, who work together at a grocery store and share both an apartment and a passion for superhero movies. Michael won a joke book during the course of the night and kept us giggling with jokes (For example, "Why did the mummy go on a cruise?" "He needed some time to unwind!")

I imagine that caring for Danny, Michael, and all of the youth there was a challenge for their parents, and perhaps a financial and emotional strain beyond what most parents shoulder. And as far as I understand, pre-natal diagnoses of genetic defects such as Down's syndrome have a very strong correlation with the decision to abort the child. So I was struck, in the midst of tossing dice and chowing down hawaiian pizza, by the courage of the adults that chose to love these children who spoke funny and got their left and right mixed up and would probably never 'succeed' in the common worldly sense of the word. But also I couldn't help but think again of Jesus' surprising image of himself, hidden in the distressing guise of the hungry, thirsty, naked, cold, and (I venture) the disabled. Why does it seem that the more intently one looks at life, the more it seems to be a fairy tale, in this case the kind where the prince is disguised as a frog or beggar? It seems that both courage and imagination are needed to love others well.

To conclude, another awesome outcome of the night was that I won a starbucks card, soon to be put to good use, especially because fall is coming!

Peace to you all.

Felix

2007-09-06T12:49:00.000-04:00

Please pray for the people of Honduras and Nicaragua affected by hurricane Felix - tens of thousands have lost homes, and dozens have been killed. Many of those affected are very poor Miskito Indians, who live in the low-lying coastal areas along the Caribbean. The Franciscan mission where I spent last summer, Mission Honduras, has its main site much further south, near Comayagua, but also has sites throughout Honduras, including closer to the coast. So far I haven't heard if the Mission sites were damaged, but I'll keep you posted.

While I was in Honduras, I spent a weekend on the Atlantic Coast, at Tela. We toured a pristine national forest and snorkled in crystal clear water, and I met a few garibundi folks, darker-skinned residents of the coastal areas who trace their heritage through Caribbean islands to Africa. One gentleman in particular has stuck in my mind - his name is Benjamin (the same as my brother) and he was selling earrings made from coconuts on the beach. We had a good chat about life by the ocean and our different cultural backgrounds. I pray Benjamin is safe, and all of his neighbors.

There is also more info on bbc.com, under "The Americas," along with photos of the damages inflicted by Felix. Thank you for your prayers!

Yanneth

2007-09-05T12:07:00.001-04:00

An immense joy so far - in the afternoons, I have been informally tutoring a ninth grade student, Yanneth (pronounced 'Janet') with her math homework. Yanneth speaks and reads very little English, so the majority of my time with her has been spent simply explaining the problems to her. Many of them are word problems, such as figuring out how many persons will be needed at the community garden to collect 30 bags of weeds if 1 person collects 2 bags, 2 people collect 5, etc. As I see it, math is hard enough without not understanding the language in which it's written! I think back to my time in Costa Rica, struggling to understand what people were saying to me and feeling very displaced because of it. Can you imagine experiencing such a discomfort every single day at school? The exertion needed to understand the foreign words spinning out of your teachers' mouths?

And yet despite it all, Yanneth is a joy to work with. We laugh at the mysterious nuances of math lingo, and wrinkle our foreheads trying to figure out hard problems. And when finally the light bulb flickers on, and she grasps the purpose and solution of a problem, the relief and satisfaction reflects from her forehead to her shoulders, and her hands spring into motion, scurrying to transform the concepts she understands in her mind in Spanish into fluent English sentences to put on the paper. I am honored to experience such moments with Yanneth, and I find myself experiencing awe as I witness the expansion of her mind and her grasp of knowledge. Teaching reverberates with me.

photos!!! (I hope =))

2007-09-01T11:58:00.000-04:00

Happy Saturday, all! Today is just packed - after fiddling at the computer for a while in a desparate attempt to share with you some photos, I'm going to the newly remodeled Denver Art Museum with some housemates, since today is a FREE day! Living on a 75$/month stipend gives a certain extra sheen to the word 'free' =) After that, we're going to a downtown festival that's happening all Labor Day weekend - it's called 'Taste of Colorado' and features tons of local restaurants and artisans, along with games and rides.

Below, I put a link to the Kodak Photo Gallery where I put some photos of my time here so far. I took a bunch this morning to show you, but I couldn't figure out how to upload them, so for now these are shared photos from friends. I hope you can access the link! Here it is: http://www.kodakgallery.com/MyGallery.jsp?& Be warned - the pictures are fairly blurry. Sorry! I'm still working out the kinks of the best way to post photos. There are a few that are clear, and you can see my housemates, where we live, where we were in the mountains for our opening retreat, and some views of Denver.

ESL class was fabulous on Thursday - I have 8 students currently, all from Mexico, 2 men and 6 women. They are such a fun bunch, eager to learn and laugh and ask all kinds of questions about the mysterious English language. We talked about letters, numbers, the verb 'to be' and other sundry items.

Also, yesterday (Friday) since my agency isn't open, I rode with Betsy to the Broadway Assistance Center, a food bank that gives out foods of all sorts on Mondays and Fridays. After sorting through racks and racks of breads to weed out the moldy or stale ones, I took my station at the vegetable table, and handed out fresh veggies to customers. The pace was fast and non-stop, and I got satisfyingly dirty handling all the food. It was such a great change from the rest of my week, which still consisted mainly of daydreaming about what I could do in the weeks to come and trying to set up some concrete activites to do. It looks likely that I'll be able to tutor pretty consistently in the mornings at the local elementary school, working with the 5th grade class on math and social studies.

Yesterday afternoon I went to Annunciation school to help with their afterschool program. Before it started, I was making some copies for the social worker and guess whose photo was above the copy machine?? Our dear Virgen of Guadalupe! (Read the old post entitled 'Our Lady of the Copier' to understand the irony =)) The afterschool program was fun, I played chess with a few middle schoolers and appreciated afresh the energy and wackiness of elementary school students.

One more thing (so much news today!) - I'm going to be co-teaching a confirmation class at Annunciation parish with Franciscan Brother Joe. It starts next Sunday, so we have a week to prepare. I'm so excited for this, our class is 13-16 year olds who have had one year of confirmation training so far and will be confirmed this Easter. Please pray for us as we prepare to teach these students about their faith!

ESL begins tonight!

2007-08-30T15:43:00.000-04:00

Tonight I'm starting to teach an ESL class here at Cross Community! It will be from 5 to 7 on Thursday nights, geared toward those who work during the day or who have to watch their kids during the day. The janitor here, Yesenia, introduced the idea to me, and she had a list of 7 people who were also interested in ESL classes. Word of mouth is a remarkably effecient way to spread news about community events, and so I have a roster of 12 students now. I'm not sure how many will actually show up, or who will come that I'm not expecting, and after I see what the class size and level of English knowledge is, I'll be better able to plan for subsequent weeks.

The ESL teacher here, Harriet, has two classes that meet two times a week each, in the mornings. Harriet has been such a great help to me, giving me loads of suggestions about how to recruit students, what the general demographics of her classes have been, and so on. My favorite advice by far, however, has been the "ESL ball" that she keeps in a drawer in her room. It seems like a normal oversized ball of tape, but Harriet assured me that it is a key tool in the ESL profession, especially to practice series of information and involve the whole class. Basically, one person begins with the ball and says, for example, the letter A. The next person who catches the ball says B, then C, and so on. You can use the ball to practice numbers, days of weeks, months of the year, basically any grouping of information. Pretty fun, huh =)

I'm really hoping too that this class serves as a launching-off point, to build relationships with community members and to discern more clearly what my role can be here. I still don't feel like I have a well-defined task at the Coalition, and I still have a lot of free time. It's certainly teaching me patience, having to wait and wait and wait for people to call me back and for opportunities to materialize. I'm hoping that my schedule gets more solidified as the days go on!

prayer, CVV style

2007-08-27T10:05:00.000-04:00

Every Sunday night at 8:30, all twelve of us gather in the prayer room to pray together. The first duo that planned a prayer time made a really spiffy candle with all of our names written on the glass container, and so since then we've lit that candle to begin our prayer time.

Last night, we reflected on words of Henri Nouwen about abandoning what we cling to - possessions, fear, ambition - in order to fully respond "I do!" to the call of God. We talked about what it means to say yes to God in every aspect of our lives, and what holds us back from doing so. Every prayer time seems more comfortable and fruitful than the last, as we are knit closer together during the preceding week.

After prayer, Erin, Daniel and I stuck around and sang together - Erin on guitar, Daniel on jambay, and me just singing. It was perhaps my favorite half hour this whole weekend, which in itself was quite an awesome weekend. There is something just plain awesome about creating music not for performance but for the sheer joy of it.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace!

Daily life at CCC

2007-08-25T14:52:00.000-04:00

I realize that I've written very little about what I actually do here in Denver, at least on a 9 to 5 basis. Hence, I hope that this post explains a bit more about the agency I'm working for.

I work for an agency called Cross Community Coalition, located at 48th and Columbine in northern Denver. The Coalition began as a grassroots group of concerned citizens in three neighborhoods - Swansea, Elyria, and Globeville. Initially, the Coalition's work revolved around environmental issues. The 80216 zip code in northern Denver is the most industrialized and polluted area within city limits, thanks to a conglomeration of oil refineries, animal rendering plants, truck stops, and heavy metal processing plants. In fact, studies done of the soil and air in the neighborhoods revealed concentrations of arsenic, lead, and zinc in quantities far beyond what is healthy for human existence. When this information was revealed a few decades ago, the Coalition was instrumental in securing a settlement with one of the largest polluters, the Asarko metal refinery, that included the removal of 12 inches of soil in residents' yards and its replacement with clean soil.

Also, in the 1960's, highway 70, which extends from Kansas City to Denver and beyond, was constructed just about through the middle of Swansea, Elyria, and Globeville. Predictably, this has greatly affected the neighborhood dynamics, effectively splitting communities in two and necessitating the demolition of dozens of houses. The highway is noisy, dirty, and sometimes dangerous - it edges right up to Swansea Elementary school and in the past, objects from trucks have careened off the road and into the playground. All of this raises very interesting and (more crucially) important questions - how does a community decide where to erect infrastructure, and more generally, what are the moral principles that should govern any project of development? On the one hand, highways, factories, and buildings are testaments to humankind's ingenuity and ability to expand the parameters of our capabilities, not to mention providing more jobs. But is there a point where development becomes detrimental, either to the population as a whole, or a portion? Any thoughts on the subject, please send my way! =)

Over the years, the Coalition has expanded to address various needs of the community. They now have a sizeable grant from Denver Human Services in order to help residents with food stamps, medicaid, utility and rent payments, and other financial needs. Two mental therapists share an office at the Coalition and treat residents' psychological ailments. There is a food bank at the center once a month, computer classes, GED preparation, parenting skills classes, and much more.

The branch of the agency that I am working with is their services to youth. Along with Paul (Lorraine's son) and Sylvia (a Denver University college student and longtime resident of Swansea), I will tutor schoolage children three days a week at the local elementary school. I'm so, so excited to begin! In addition, I'm trying to start an ESL class in the evenings, for those who work during the day.

I hope this gives you more of a sense of the agency I work for and the 3 neighborhoods it serves. Thanks again for reading =)

Tomatoes and Talkers

2007-08-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

It is a glorious day here in Denver - did you know that because of the thinner air up here a mile high, the sky actually is bluer? I believe it. Today and all Fridays, the agency I work for isn't open, but since I need at least 1700 hours of service work between this past Monday and the end of the next June, I can't go along with the four-day work week. But such a scenario has its advantages, the best of which so far seems to be that I have great flexibility in planning my Friday schedule. Hence, today I have decided to take a self-guided-tour on my bike around the 3 neighborhoods that Cross Community Coalition serves, meeting people, visiting schools, gardens, rec centers, and my current location, the Valdez-Perry branch of the Denver public library. (To hedge any suspicions of over-extended definitions of 'service,' let me say that I'm not counting my blog-writing time towards my service hours =))

One of my favorite things about riding my bike around the city is that everything seems so up close. There's no pane of glass between me and the houses, the people, the rose bushes that flourish everywhere. And so I am continually caught off-guard by beauty, and rejoice in what I might have missed had my nose been immersed in a book as it usually is when I ride the bus.

Instead, today at the corner of High and 23rd, I noticed a bushy garden being tended by an elderly woman in a large plaid shirt and house slippers. The fence around her yard was engulfed in brillant blue morning glories, and the brick of her house's facade was barely visible for all the orange trumpet flowers and blooming plants in terra cotta. "What a lovely garden!" I called out. "Would you like a tomato?" she replied, apparently her habitual response to passerby's compliments. I couldn't deny it; I did want a tomato, and so after the usual back-and-forth of polite denial and insistence, I held a scarlet tomato with green tints and a gnarly appearance. "It's an heirloom," she noted, which perhaps explains the uncharacteristic knobby-ness of the fruit. As she turned back to her garden to continue whatever she was doing when my compliment interrupted her, she added, "It's juicy. Don't eat it all at once." Thus prompted my first minor disobedience of the day - I did eat it all at once, and it was good. And so juicy that I have dried tomato dribble all down my forearm, and in the crevices of my fingers.

A few more thoughts: First, it seems to me that people are very talktative here in Denver. There have been many instances in the past week, both at work and around the neighborhood, when a conversation has passed (in my estimation) the standard length allotted for acquaintances or co-workers, and I notice my toes tapping, my arms crossing and un-crossing, and my responses becoming quicker and more absent-minded. For example, I've made friends with an elderly gentleman, Manual Antonio, whom I met on the bus my second day at work and met again at mass this morning. He walked with me to the first stop on my self-tour, talking all the time about various incidents in his childhood, the vast array of cars he's owned and what subsequently happened to them, the jobs he has held despite of his lack of education, and the options of bus routes I could potentially take to work. This was all very pleasant while we were strolling, but after we paused for a while in front of the elementary school, inside of which I wished to go, my impatience began to leak out in the afore-mentioned warning signs. What can I blame for my reticence to stand and listen? Is it an East-coast mentality of 'time is money' that doesn't seem to have caught root as deeply here? Or a personal motor that churns to get things done, and now more things, and now still more? I had to remind myself - talking with Manual legitmately counts as service! For what else am I here for, but to love the people that I meet and get to know? And perhaps he has no one to listen to him talk about cars and children and bus routes. If that's what I can do, then God help me keep my toes in line and my face un-distracted! (I ancticipate getting lots of practice here in the particular virtue of patience.)

One more thought - What I'm doing here, is this preparation for an activity yet to be realized, or the actual work itself? In other words, am I improving my Spanish through interaction in order to communicate with more people in the future, or is the interaction enough in itself, an end? I ask because I have been considering this year a 'transition' year, between college and whatever lies ahead. And while I do hope that much discernment takes place between now and next autumn, I'm realizing that I have a preferred image of life as a set of building blocks, one added to another in straight order, the experiences and knowledge gained linear in style and quick to notice. I don't think that that's a very accurate image after all - I don't know what to replace it with, but something more jumbled and tangled and...alive. In other words, what I learn this year might not in fact translate as neatly as another line on my resume that is in turn transformed into a job. And that won't lessen the value of this year one iota, not when there is so much present beauty here, and joy, and learning how to love.

Well, back to the bike tour! Until next post!

Acclimation

2007-08-11T13:37:00.000-04:00

Noun: the process of adjusting one's body to a different climate; could involve an array of side-effects, including dizziness, fatigue, and disorientation. If treated properly and patiently, the body will fully adjust to the new climate.

Hello from Denver! A mile above sea level, prompting plenty of practice acclimating =) And hello as a Colorado Vincentian Volunteers, emotionally acclimating to live with 11 housemates in a new city and with a new task in front of me.

Orientation officially ended last night when we met our 'prayer families.' Each of us are welcomed into a local family who pledge to pray for us, feed us food from time to time (this will be especially wonderful as very few of us claim skills as cooks!), and provide familiar faces in an unknown city. Four of us, myself included, have Hispanic prayer families from a local Hispanic parish. We met last night and over a plate of fruit shared names, interests, and stories. It was a fitting end to orientation, because plunging into speaking Spanish reminded me of the challenge that this year will be. My job will bring me into much contact with many Spanish-speakers, and I'm quite nervous, mostly a sense of inadequacy and a fear that I am not qualified enough for the position. For that, I ask for your prayers.

Orientation was very comprehensive. Bill and Mary Frances, the directors, led us in many exercises to get to know each other, to know ourselves better, and to determine what our hopes and fears are for the year to come.

Already CVV has been so much FUN. The very first afternoon, Nicole and I were assigned the task of making ice-cream pies for the two volunteers who had celebrated birthdays in July. Just for fun and mischief, we hid a green bean in one of the pies. Our lucky winner Kevin received a complementary library card to alllll the many books in the CVV library! It seems that Nicole and I started a trend, because later another green veggie showed up in the chill, a large apple slice in the applesauce, and breakfast one day featured a contest as to who could determine the spices in two bowls of eggs.

It has also been so, so fun to start fresh here. With the exception of 3 volunteers who attended the same school, we are all spanking brand new to each other. After the rather exhausting prelimenary introductions were over (where are you from? what school? etc), it was an unexpected joy to explain ourselves to people who can't yet take each other for granted, since every story and personal detail is new and often surprising.

Speaking of community, I want to tell a story that hopefully encapsulate what our CVV life together has been so far and what I hope it will be.

It is entitled, "Peanut Butter and Jelly, mom style"

"As part of our preparation for going to the Rockies for 3 days, we were told to have lunches for the three hour journey. The night before, several of the volunteers went shopping for various camping needs. I stayed behind, plunking around on the piano and enjoying the anticipation of the mountains. After a while, I made my way into the kitchen, lured by the sound of '80s classics on the radio. There, I found Rachel P and Rachel B putting the final touches on 20-plus sandwiches, each cut triangularly and placed into baggies with an accompanying personalized note. And this is what touched me the most about their generosity - it was joyful. They made lunch for all of us not because they had to, or even thought they had to, but (I'm guessing here) because they saw it to be a loving thing to do, and because it was fun! Their preparation included music and laughter, and twenty sticky fingers between them. What a beautiful precursor to the year, with people such as this to live with!"

A bit more about the mountains: We stayed at the 'Eiseman Hut' above Vail. 'Hut' is a rather misleading term, since this lodging was, as one person described it, the Penthouse of the mountains. It was all log, and had a row of windows that overlooked the western ridge, providing an amazing view of the mountains and the sunset. We slept in bunkbeds in one large room, and met in a cozy living room with a wood stove. (Interesting historical note: this Hut and several others were built by 10th mountain division soldiers, who were skiers and mountaineers trained in Colorado in order to fight in the Alps during world war II.)

Every day we woke up in the moutains, breathed in the sweet smell of pine, and basked in the beauty of the ridges and wildflowers. A Vincentian priest had accompanied us for our retreat, and he said mass one afternoon outside. As a group, we will celebrate mass together every Monday evening (in addition to church on Sunday) - I'm so excited to share the bread of life together, to pray together, and to learn to see the face of Christ in each other and in the poor.

The stars were gorgeous, and we could easily see the milky way. We had a campfire and song-singing competition one evening, and many of us spent the other evening sitting under the stars and chatting in the crisp mountain air. The Hut was an amazing place to prepare for what is to come, and to spend time getting to know each other.

I hope to include pictures someday, but I forgot my camera today =( I don't have internet access at the house, so the blog posts might be a bit sporadic. Please call, email, write letters, I would love to hear from you! And if you're in Denver, come visit!!

Until next time, may the God of mercy enfold you all in his lavish love.

Crest of the World

2007-07-30T20:42:00.000-04:00

A one, a two, and all together now: "Colorado Rocky Mountain high! I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky. They say he'd be a poor boy if he never saw an eagle fly!"

We made it, up and up and up until we arrived at Denver, a full mile above sea level, and then up some more to Estes Park, about 7500 feet high. This tiny town of 10,000 people is nestled in the crook of the Rockies, which tower over us at every turn. It was an absolutely stunning drive to get here - I do believe my mouth hung open for about 10 miles! The land is so rugged, covered with pine trees and other hardy creatures (like sunflowers, believe it or not) that seem to hang on for dear life.

On Saturday and Sunday, we made our acquaintance with Denver. We drove on 1-70 the entire way across Kansas, which surpisingly was not totally flat - the eastern portion is quite hilly. Also, Colorado is not totally mountainous, another fact strange to my East coast mind. The plains of eastern Colorado allow Denver and the Rockies to make a dramatic entrance. After mile upon mile of nothing but fields punctuated by farmhouses, suddenly in front of us, we catch glimpses of peaks lost in the clouds. Planes descend rythymically, heading for Denver's airport off to our right. And slightly to the left, at this point seeming as tall as the Rockies, are the skyscrapers of downtown Denver. For miles they grow and grow until we arrived right in the midst of them at our motel.

As we approached Denver, it dawned on me that I wouldn't be leaving (i.e. going home) until Christmas. This was it, the final stopping point, at least for now. Being in Denver and walking her streets made the move here much more real and tangible, in a way that both thrilled and terrified me.

We attended mass at the Cathedral on Sunday, a breath-taking gothic church blocks away from both the Capitol and my new home on Pearl street. After church, we went to a thrilling Denver Rockies game (they bested the LA Dodgers 9-6) in Coors field. So many landmarks here boast of the mile elevation, and even at the stadium, there was a row of purple chairs high up in the nosebleed section - you guessed it, a mile above sea level.

Forgive the brevity and relative rambling-ness to this post! We'll be in Rocky Mountain National Park for 2 days, and then it's back to Denver! I ask for your prayers for our safety and joy in each other's company. Vaya con Dios.

the jumping-off point

2007-07-27T21:01:00.000-04:00

Hello faithful blog readers!

This update will be pathetically short, due to the expense of internet cafes (aka Kinko's) in the US! grrrr. We are here in Kansas City, MO, baking under the midwest sun. Tomorrow we leave for Denver, which means a 10 to 12 hour jaunt across the entire state of Kansas until arriving at the foot of the Rockies. I hope to see some sunflowers, and maybe a pair of ruby red shoes too...=)

There is way too much to say about the trip. It has been exhausting, exhilarating, nourishing, and long at various moments.

Highlights so far:

- Sunday mass at the Cathedral of the Incarnation, Nashville. More than any place so far, that felt like home. It wasn't just the beauty of the architechture or the calmness of the liturgical rhythm, but plain and simple it was Christ. Just the same as at home, and anywhere, Christ was there to nourish us in his body and blood, and it was very, very good.
- The Grand Ole Opry in Nashville was quite fun, even for a non-Southern belle like myself! I lovedddd the bluegrass, especially the bango finger-pickin' madness.
- Oceans of Fun waterpark with an amazing slide involving tunnels and getting soaked - need I say more?
- The World War I museum in Kansas City. Very sobering, very informative.
- The peanut butter cup + fizzy chocolate syrup I enjoyed this afternoon at Clinton's Soda Fountain in Independence, MO - the very same shop that former president Harry S. Truman had his first job at!

Also, this lovely poetic twist to our trip has come to my attention: Tomorrow we are leaving from very near Independence, MO. Its fame (besides for being the birthplace of Truman) is that in the 1830s-50s, it was the key departure site for wagon trains heading west to Oregon and beyond. How fitting that our foray west will begin at the same site, traveling toward the same sunset. Pioneers we are certainly not, but hopefully some of their pluck and determination will be ours!

Until later, hopefully Denver...

The Smokies

2007-07-20T19:39:00.000-04:00

July 17-19: Great Smoky Mountains National Park, TN

We arrived in Gatlinburg, Tennessee after 12 hours of driving over foothill after foothill of the Appalachian mountains, from southern Pennsylvania through Virginia through the upper-left corner of Tennessee and finally into Gatlinburg, which nestled in the crook of the Smokies, north-central. Our first taste of Tennessee, authentic off-the-highway Tennessee, was Pigeon Forge, a sprawling strip-mall town north of Gatlinburg that boasts Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede dinner show, along with shows hosted by Dick Clark, Elvis, and every variety of fiddler/honky-tonk combo imaginable.

The accents here are just lovely, smooth sliding over all the vowels. My yank way of speaking seems stunted and way too efficient in comparison.

Gatlinburg describes itself as the “Gateway to the Smokies,” which seems apt since even from the parking lot of our motel, a 360 degree turn gives views of the mountains in every direction. Our first morning here, we turned left at traffic light number 8 and drove for a few miles before arriving at the trailhead for Rainbow Falls, our destination of choice for a day hike. “A rainbow,” promises the brochure, “produced by mist from this 80-foot high waterfall is visible on sunny afternoons.” Unfortunately, our weather was anything but sunny. We sat in the nearly abandoned trailhead parking lot, listening to the rain pound on the van roof, and watching each other for signs of hesitation beneath the several pounds of bright plastic ponchos. Nope, none recorded, or at least shown.

The hike up was a wet, wet, wet 2.7 miles, culminating in a rather disappointing waterfall. But the day was certainly not wasted. Walking through the forest fosters contemplation, and with the added curtailment of conversation by noisy rain, our hike was supremely peaceful. I find that I think well while I walk, and my mind traversed many memories and dreams to come en route to Rainbow Falls.

The Smokies are home to around 1500 bears (although the sheer volume of salamanders actually awards the latter the prize for most combined weight) but the only one we’ve seen is the tiny stuffed black bear/backpack my mom bought at the giftshop. Our new traveling companion, “Smoky,” finds his way into most of our pictures, and really does look genuine if his straps are hidden and the picture is somewhat blurry.

I was surprised to find that plenty of people have at one time or another called the National Park, home. In fact, several thriving communities were established in the mountains when the land became a national park in 1935, and mountain-dwellers had to leave. Most went to nearby towns like Gatlinburg, and augmented the growing tourist industry, while others found logging work in the Northwest or factory detail in Detroit. All that remains of their years of plowing, clearing, loving, and living on the land are their abandoned homesteads, now preserved by the park system.

We drove by several former settlers’ homes on a scenic motor trail. They are shaded on all sides by new forest growth, a testament to the resiliency of the forest even after being transformed into cornfields a few decades earlier. According to a video at the visitors’ center, even the homesteaders who lost their land to the national park now are grateful that the land they loved is conserved for every generation. And yet, I wonder how difficult the decision was to create public land out of what had been someone’s private property. And the settlers weren’t the first to lose the ground they had cultivated; the Cherokee Indian tribe were the first recorded dwellers in the Smokies, and their heritage and lore draws deeply on the natural beauty and danger of the region. In the 1830s, because of white settlers’ thirst for land and the discovery of gold in Georgia, the U.S. government forcibly removed most of the Cherokees from the Smokies and relocated them in what became Oklahoma. Their journey west became known as the Trail of Tears.

Back to the more recent upheaval between white settlers and conservationists, two groups who had different and yet arguably positive uses for the land – to use it for the maintenance of one’s family and community, and to protect it from continual stripping and eroding. It’s not a black and white choice between people and land, as if to care for a tree disregards a person, because the settlers’ style of clearing and cultivating the land was slowly destroying it, and without change would have ended in a dearth of land on which to live. I’m grateful for the land set aside by the U.S. government for the enjoyment of natural beauty and the continuation of ecosystems and wildlife, and yet it tugs at my sympathy to see log cabins painstakingly built and now abandoned.

Tomorrow we leave Gatlinburg and continue on to Nashville, where country music and humidity awaits us. I ask for your on-going prayers for our safety.

P.S. - the cusp of ripeness

2007-07-16T22:50:00.001-04:00

Visions of plump cherry tomatoes have danced in my head since mid-May, when we planted a healthy-looking Supersweet 100 seedling. The infant plant grew gangly, and to date has yielded a miserly handful of its crimson bounty, just enough to whet my desire. And now, hours before our dawn departure to the far west, the Supersweet has passed its awkward puberty and is dripping with bulging bright green tomatoes, ready to burst into scarlet redness any moment, probably the instant our tailights fade from view.

What compels me to leave my garden just at the cusp of ripeness? I don't remember strapping wheels to my shoes in a fit of wanderlust, and I happily by-passed any stage of teenage angst that involved swearing to insert a distance of two oceans between yourself and your parents as soon as the ripe adulthood of 18 arrived.

Nonetheless, the fact remains that over the past 4 years, the longest time I've spent in one location has been 4 months, and that was in far-away Honduras. I place most of the blame on being an out-of-town college student, we're as transitory as migratory birds. But I also pinpoint as culpable the seismic shift from dating to unattached that took place about a year ago, involving me and one high school sweetheart. Such an earthquake couldn't help but embitter many joyful memories at home. Looking back, I see that my instant reaction to a broken heart to be the same as that expected in the presence of a charging ox: flee, or be mangled beyond recognition. And so I fled - to Costa Rica, to Honduras, to college, all basically ex-boyfriend-memory-free.

Of course, the ox eventually loses interest and the broken-hearted must pause, panting, and forgive as courageously as possible. This I did as well, and praise God, forgiveness has turned out to be the best balm for a bruised heart - in a strange way, for it is disguised as a brillo pad that scours the stubborn vestiges of bitterness.

My my, forgive such a rabbit trail, this is quite beside the point, which is that the tomatoes are ripe and I am leaving. But hallelujah, this transplant from home to elsewhere feels so different; it is moving forward in hoping, not away in fear.

I wonder now at two options: a) this constant wandering is a test of my ability to rest in God in lieu of a consistent dwelling-place, or b) it is rather a mere taste of much more of the same to come. Only time will tell. If someday I could grow tomatoes and still be there when they fall ripe into my eager hands, I will rejoice at such a gift. But if not, there will always be neighbors who (I'm sure) eye the luscious Supersweet as much as I do.

Eve of the departure

2007-07-16T21:32:00.000-04:00

All our bags are packed, and we're ready to go! Our big old blue van is stuffed to the gills with all the essentials (and probably quite a bit of non-essentials) for a three-week road trip. As I've gathered what I think I'll need for a year in Denver, the advice from the CVV directors has stuck with me: "As you pack, exercise discernment in what you bring. Let this year be a year of challenge. If you don't have something, it will be an opportunity for someone else to share with you." Have I packed according to these guidelines? I hope so. How do you know what to take and what to leave behind for a year away from home?

Several songs have been echoing through my mind: Somewhat predictably, John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High" is one of them. If I may have the liberty to do so, I'd like to change the words a bit, because I find my version quite fitting for the year to come - "She was born in the summer of her 22nd year / coming home to a place she'd never been before / She left yesterday behind her / you might say she was born again / You might say she found the key to every door."

I'm not sure of the author of the other song, but it is compelling and comforting all at once: "You will cross the burning deserts and you shall not die of thirst / You will wander far in safety though you do not know the way / You will share my word in foreign lands and all will understand / You shall see the face of God and live / Be not afraid! I go before you always / Come, follow me, and I will lead you home." May that be my mantra, may that be everyone's mantra - be not afraid! The same God who creates, completes his creation in tender and surprising ways.

I heartily ask for your prayers for our journey!!! We pull out at 6 AM tomorrow and, as Dad would say, "Lord willing and the creek don't rise!" we will arrive in Gatlinburg, Tennessee sometime after sunset. I hope to keep you posted, as internet is available. Until then, may the peace of Christ be with you.

Snapshots of the summer

2007-07-13T21:19:00.000-04:00

1st Top: The view from the top of Pole Steeple, a hike at Pine Grove state park. 2nd Top: My most successful herbs this summer, lemon basil and pineapple mint. Left: the view from my deck steps (you have to imagine the sweet fragrance of the butterfly bush). Right: Kara, Seretha, Carrie, Rebecca and me while on an afternoon stroll

Departure: 3 days and counting! My room is piling up with half-filled boxes, shopping lists, and the scent of nostalgia that grows stronger by the day. I am reminded of a beautiful scene from "The Little Princess" - as Sara's father prepares to leave her at a boarding school and travel halfway around the globe to India, she tenderly runs her fingers along his cheeks. "What are you doing?" he asks. "I'm memorizing your face," she answers.

In various ways, I have been doing the same thing as I prepare to leave. Every time I ride my bike into town, I am surprised by another nuance of beauty that had escaped the morning before - a tree bursting with tiny crab apples, the curve of the hill - and I want to remember it all, down to the last detail. The pictures above capture times of great joy this summer. I am blessed to know places and people of beauty. I want to live with that kind of awareness, always.

an extended farewell - one week and counting

2007-07-10T19:08:00.000-04:00

Hello again, faithful blog readers! Forgive the delay in posting even a jot of thought - but actually, I am confessedly grateful that during this week, my family and friends, prayer and reading have crowded out time for blog posting. I had a slight trepadation (sp?) upon beginning the blog that it would become addictive and now I'm glad to say that I feel happily in control of how much time I spend posting!

With that said, it's been a fabulous week. My parents and I leave one week from today (!!) for our epic journey across the continent. I'm already anticipating the sultry beauty of the Smokies, the crisp taste of southern fried chicken (is Tennessee far enough south for real fried chicken? I'm not sure) and the golden waves of grain in endless Kansas.

But for now, I'm quite enveloped in making the most of my extended good-bye to home and all its trappings. My mom has started getting teary-eyed about every other day, and more recently I've begun to do the same, thinking of the distance that will soon separate me from home. A few days ago, I was sitting in my favorite place on earth - three wooden steps that lead up to the deck out back. At this time of year, two huge butterfly bushes arch over the steps, creating a fragrant alcove of solitude. I love to gaze at my backyard, hopping with life in the form of lilies, black-eyed susans, and the hawk family that lives in the field. And as I sat there, I realized that after next Tuesday, the next time I would see this chunk of earth, aka home, will be in the wintertime, long after all the plants are dead or hibernating.

Why exactly am I going to Denver? Like the rational animal that I am, I've pondered this question countless times ever since making the decision, and somehow no answer entirely satisfies me. I want to live in a different part of the country for a while - True. I want to be with other single young adults, serving in a community of faith - True. I have no marriage prospects, career, or solidified grad school plans, so why not? - True. All of my reasons are fine and plausible, but not really complete in the sense of an air-tight case against which there is no arguing.

Instead, I find myself thinking, why am I leaving home? It's quite lovely to shop and bike ride and worship with people who know me, some since I was a toddler. I catch my breath at the beautiful rolling hills of Pennsylvania. Furthermore (this hesitation cuts the deepest) what if I spend bucketloads of energy planting roots and making a home in Denver, only to relcoate again after 11 months, leaving all the relationships I cultivated behind, and having to start from scratch to make another place my own? I know that it the feeling of transitoriness is part of being human - made of dust, we are meant for heaven. And yet my identity as a sojourner is now exaggerated by a cross-country move and it feels as uncomfortable as an itchy sweater that won't seem to fit right, no matter how much I squirm.

And it's not that I don't want to go! I received the list of the other volunteers this past week and I was thrilled to have names of the 11 people I'll live, work, and pray with. I daydream about hiking in the Rockies, and I can't wait to give 40 hours a week to the service of the poor instead of swiping credit cards and reshelving lampshades. Suffice it to say that my own second-guessing of moving to Denver seems strangely removed from my emotions. Instead, my hesitations are rather like reading a story about a heroine who decides on a path that doesn't seem the most logical, but sure does make the story interesting!

Okay, enough careening through the labyrinth of my mind. Besides, it's too late to turn back now. My feet are set toward the sunset and I'm not stopping until I'm a mile high =)

One more thing (I'm sure you hope by now that I post more than once a week instead of cramming it all together =)) - I would be remiss if I did not praise God for the gift of loyal friends. I had the bottomless joy this week to spend time with Allison, Kara, Carrie, Seretha, and Rebecca - 5 amazing gals from Eastern (among many more) with whom my heart has found a home. To be able to reunite after weeks apart and still laugh genuinely, share deeply, and love fervently smashes every fear I had about friendships fading after graduation. Love is an anchor, to ground those of us who wander. Alleluia.

After 60 years

2007-07-01T21:31:00.000-04:00

Their marriage demanded determination even before it began: on March 2, 1947, two days before John Musser and Mary Crider were to be married, a ferocious and untimely snowstorm blanketed the ground. Undaunted, John trudged several miles to town, suitcase in tow, to get a haircut before continuing to Mary's farm. The next day, the betrothed couple rode in a bob sleigh to a local pastor's home, where they took their vows. After a wedding meal prepared by Mary's sister, the newlyweds traveled to Chicago for their honeymoon.

On Sunday, surrounded by friends and descendants, John and Mary celebrated their marriage's snowy beginning 60 years ago. And it was good. Evidenced by a lack of appropriate cards at Hallmark, 60th anniversaries are rare, endangered by both death and divorce. Reflecting on my grandparents' 60 years of life together, I thought of how bold the wedding vow is, indeed the act of two daredevils. When John and Mary pledged themselves to each other at age 22, they did so with no idea of what was to come, in the form of children (or not), changes galore, hard work and tenacious joy. I mused at how much of an adventure marriage must be, with real peril and many close-calls. Perhaps my grandparents' marriage was not perfect (does such a thing exist?) and yet they have truly triumphed. Giggling, they fed each other cake while all around them stood evidence of their faithfulness and fruitfulness in all shapes and sizes. As of July 1, the progeny of John and Mary is 9 children, 23 grandchildren, and 13 great-grandchildren, with 3 on the way. Many of the branches and shoots of their family tree stood to applaud the beauty of a long and beautiful marriage. In the twilight of their lives, John and Mary can bask in their legacy, and be glad that John braved that snowstorm 60 years ago.

Creation, eh?

2007-06-30T21:25:00.000-04:00

I spent from Weds. evening to Fri. morning at Creation with my dad, Aunt Barb, and cousins Wendy and Donna, who hail from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (about 4 hours north of North Dakota). As you can see, Canadian pride ran high =)

What Creation is: well over 30,000 people who camp in a field in central PA for 4 days to listen to over 30 bands and a wide range of speakers. Highlights for me this year were David Crowder Band and speaker Duffy Robbins (from Eastern!) who spoke about the utter irrationality of passionate love, using the example of his dad, who cared for his mom for 10 years after she was diagnosed with Ahleizmer's. Also fun was the thunderstorm Weds. night and the s'more I made while it was raining!

At right is my dad, Donna, Wendy, me, and Aunt Barb at Lookout Point, from which you can see the main stage and the vast sprawl of campers.

Locks of love

2007-06-26T12:54:00.000-04:00

This morning I finally did it - I got 10 inches of hair cut off to donate to Locks of Love, a non-profit organization that uses donated hair to create wigs for children who have lost their hair. Most recipients of Locks of Love suffer from either cancer or alopecia areata, an auto-immune disease that causes hair follicles to shut down. Currently, about 4.7 million people in the US have alopecia areata, although the amount of hair loss varies from person to person.

Locks of Love uses about 6 to 10 ponytails of hair to make each hairpiece (known in technical lingo as a prostheses) that would fetch a price of $3500 - $6000 retail. Each recipient of a protheses has a mold made of their head to ensure a snug fit, and the protheses attaches to the head with a strong vacuum seal that can only be broken by the wearer.

Find out more about Locks of Love and how to donate your hair at: http://www.locksoflove.org/index.html

(On a more personal note, I think I understand better why many religious orders cut entering nuns' hair as one of the final steps in their journey to full membership in the community, because I have to confess that as the scissors came closer and closer to my head, I felt a stronger attraction to my tresses than I had expected! I knew the cut was for a good cause, but what would I look like without long hair? Vanity whispers and is fought at the most unexpected places.)

Friends don't let friends discern alone

2007-06-24T13:30:00.000-04:00

June 24 - Solemnity of the Birth of St. John the Baptist.

It is a well-known story: Zechariah and Elizabeth are past their childbearing years, and so when an angel appears to Zechariah in the temple and announces that Elizabeth will have a son named John, he responds with skepticism. In exchange for his doubt, he is struck speechless, until Elizabeth indeed gives birth to he who will be a messenger of Christ. Zechariah, whose doubt shriveled as his wife's belly grew large with this inconceivable child, declares after nine silent months that the baby boy will be named John. "Immediately," writes Luke, "his mouth was opened, his tongue freed, and he spoke blessing God." (1:64) Zechariah sings the beautiful Benedictus, declaring that his child will be the herald of the breaking day, of the light that will "shine on those who sit in darkness and death's shadow, to guide our feet into the path of peace." (1:79)

In his homily this morning, Fr. Snyder spoke eloquently on the response of Zechariah's countrymen to the bizarre events surrounding John's birth. As the news spread, "all who heard these things took them to heart, saying, 'What, then, will this child be?'" (1:66)

They took these things to heart, just as Mary six months later would reflect on her own astonishing circumstances, as the mother of a baby whose coming was greeted by angels. Fr. Snyder explained that when contempories of Mary and Elizabeth promised, "I'll think that over," they gestured to their heart, not to their head. To take events in our lives to heart, as Mary and Zechariah's neighbors did, is to contemplate their significance and discern the gentle whisper of God in the events that carry us across the calendar pages.

How do we 'take things to heart,' and understand more fully the meaning of both incredible and everday occurances? Fr. Snyder encouraged times of silence and solitude, as well as journaling. But he also called to mind the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth when both were pregnant, a rendezvous known as the Visitation. As these two women grasped hands and breathlessly exclaimed their wonder at the promised children within them, they helped each other to rejoice in such unexpected events, and to find courage and wisdom to proceed into an unknown future.

"Discernment," says Practicing Our Faith, "is the intentional practice by which a community or an individual seeks, recognizes, and intentionally takes part in the activity of God in concrete situations." In order to discern, it is good to be alone, to seek further understanding in the desert where external distractions are kept to a minimum. But, as Fr. Snyder so wisely pointed out, it is also good to be together, to share the various dreams and contours of our present lives with our friends so that we can help each other rejoice at what the Lord is doing in our midst, and to see more clearly what path we should take.

As a young woman currently discerning what profession or vocation to commit to, I took great courage from Fr. Snyder's homily. One's vocation is personal in the deepest sense of the word, belonging in all its particularity to one human being, but the act of discovering and living that vocation is, as the Visitation shows us, thoroughly shared. What excitement it is to walk each day alongside persons still being formed into who they were created to be! May we, like the onlookers of John the Baptist's birth, take what we see and hear to heart, pondering together the actions of God in our lives.

A Hymn to encourage our labors...

2007-06-23T11:18:00.000-04:00

...even Saturday morning yard work.

Lord, whose love in humble service bore the weight of human need,
Who did on the Cross, foresaken, show us mercy's perfect deed:
We, your servants, bring the worship not of voice alone, but heart;
Consecrating to your purpose every gift which you impart.

As we worship, grant us vision, till your love's revealing light,
Till the height and depth and greatness dawns upon our human sight;
Making know the needs and burdens your compassion bids us bear,
Stirring us to faithful service, your abundant life to share.

Called from worship into service, forth in your great name we go:
To the child, the youth, the aged, love in living deeds to show.
Hope and health, goodwill and comfort, counsel, aid, and peace we give,
That your children, Lord, in freedom, may your mercy know, and live.

- Text by Albert Bayly, Traditional Dutch Melody

Shopping, green style

2007-06-20T18:55:00.000-04:00

(This post was published as a Letter to the Editor in the Harrisburg Patriot News on Thursday, June 14.)

As the top international leaders convened for the G8 summit, with global warming high on their agendy, it's a fine time to assess our daily habits and prune any excess use of non-renewable resources. Here's one disarmingly simple idea: when shopping, bring reusable bags instead of accumulating more and more plastic bags that in all likelihood will end up in the trash.

I currently work as a cashier for Kmart, and I could count on exactly one finger the number of people I've observed using a canvas bag for their purchases instead of plastic. Don't worry: your receipt is proof of purchase, not a plastic bag, which could be easily smuggled in anyway. Plus, an added bonus: canvas or cloth bags are sturdier and often more comfortable to carry than plastic.

Decisions such as how to transport your groceries may seem, in the face of doomsday global warming predictions, like cleaning a skyscraper with a toothbrush. However, sustainable and Earth-friendly habits (like reusing shopping bags) are the vertebrae of a culture that values global health more than convenience.

Our Lady of the Copier

2007-06-20T08:01:00.001-04:00

I admit it: I hope to change the world. Perhaps other recent college grads fantasize about a plush corner office, but my dreams have been molded by the anthems of bravery and vocation proclaimed by the late Pope John Paul.

After spending eight months last year in Central America, the visions of my world-changing life have featured me, smiling calmly, confidently negotiating a fairer wage for banana workers in Costa Rica. Or me, patiently explaining the nuances of English relative-adverb clauses to a group of immigrants who bob their variously colored heads up and down with gratitude.

Because of such dreams, last semester I hopped on the local train every Thursday morning and traveled from my suburban college to a poor Philadelphian neighborhood. I disembarked at the Welcome Center, an immigrant ministry run by the Sisters of St. Joseph. It is a place inundated with love and service. Even the artwork at the Center, culled from the far reaches of the globe, silently speaks of a family bound together by common humanity. “This is exactly,” I mused, “how I would decorate such an organization.”

At the Center, my daydreams became more concrete; there I was, guiding a young Polish girl in her typing until her fingers danced over the keys; and there I was, using a beautiful Guatemalan weaving to explain the color words in English.

My first morning of volunteering, I arrived plumb full of eagerness. “Here I am!” I announced to Sister Judy, glancing around for immigrants to win over with a kind smile and simple sentences. “Put me to work!” And indeed she did; for the next four hours, I affixed labels to Valentine’s Day treats, I alphabetically arranged out-going mail, but most of all I developed a wary working relationship with the savviest yet most infuriating machine known to man, namely, the copier. I copied page after page of ESL books, exposing their contents to the gray monstrosity’s sleek belly and receiving in return fresh warm clones. Double-sided, check. Twelve copies, check. Sort and order, check.

The whole morning, along with negotiating paper jams and bizarrely-worded messages from the copier, I wrestled pride in all its sneaky guises. You got up at 7 for this? it whispered. Don’t they know how talented you are with languages? How good you are at making people feel welcome? Flailing for a response and not finding one, I glanced up from my work and noticed, above me on the wall, the Virgin of Guadalupe. She gazed down at the copier serenely, as if she were devoted to protect it from the hazards of electrical surges and paper jams.

A tiny task, sniffed pride. The Blessed Mother countered with a patient, almost amused smile, as if to say, “Peace. I am not the judge of a task’s worthiness, merely the handmaid of He who works in me in ways great and small.”

I thought of the Virgin in the stable at Bethlehem, in the hours after she posed for Christmas cards. What menial tasks occupied her, like fetching water, preparing a bed in the hay for her Son, and feeding the Bread of life? How mundane they must have seemed to an observer, just another mother enacting the same life rituals carried out since Eve and her babies. And yet Mary pondered a secret while nursing; her Son was the hoped-for fulfillment of the Promise, and every task geared toward Him was mysteriously enveloped into the one mission of the Redeemer, the Sanctifier of all things mundane.

So it was, and so it is. As I stood there duplicating pages and tussling with glory-hungry pride, Our Lady of the Copier gently reminded me of the premium her Son places on the tiny and forgotten tasks. As another great woman once said, there are no great tasks, but only small tasks done with great love. I do not rescind my dreams to change the world, but I pray for deeper humility to believe that even copying, stapling, and alphabetizing, when done with great love, bear much fruit in the Kingdom. Our Lady of the Copier, mistress of humility, pray for us would-be saviors.