Watching Myself

A week ago today, nearly to the very hour, I got the call that my favorite Joseph's House resident had died, suddenly and unexpectedly. Ethan was a quiet, unassuming man and though I have always known that I love him, I did not know that he was my favorite until he was gone. I did not know how important he was to my life until he was no longer there. My body entered into grief while my mind and spirit lingered in disbelieving shock. Nearly immediately I noticed tension in my neck, my shoulders, my legs. My chest felt tight and I found it hard to breathe. I was and am still achy, as if I have done an intense workout. I did not know that I could carry sorrow physically like this.

The past week has been strange. For much of it, I have felt like a spectator watching someone who looks and talks just like me go through the motions of my life. Getting out of bed has never been so difficult. I watch myself get up, get ready, go to work. And to be honest, I have been so grateful for and proud of this Neshia who is living my life for me. She made it to work everyday, even though Ethan's prominent absence made it feel like I was arriving at Joseph's House for the first time all over again, and she was wonderful. I watched myself taking care of the other residents, refusing to not love them with all I have even though I am reeling from the results of the loss that comes when that kind of relationship is severed. I watched myself genuinely laugh and feel joy with others in spite of the sorrow. I watched myself bravely come to the dinner table that my intentional community gathers at every night. Normally, that table is a place of restoration for me, but this week it has been intimidating. So much gets shared there, but what I have to share feels too big, too painful for our wobbly, wooden table. So I watched myself come anyway and was glad that this Neshia was bold enough to be in community for me instead of curled up under my covers where the rest of me wanted to be.

This strange, compassionate self of mine went in my place and spent time with my younger brother and his 8th grade class on their East Coast trip. She stood up for me, and then lovingly held me as I sobbed, when the relative I have worshipfully loved and tried to please all my life said that I was not strong enough to do the work that I am doing and should reconsider my career goals, comments perhaps even more hurtful than the premature death of my dear friend. This other Neshia managed all my e-mails, phone calls, texts, and even bought my sister a sweet 16 gift. She has been great, and as each day gets a little easier and I come little by little back to my full self, I am glad that this is who I am. She is strong, kind, laughs, and loves without fear and one day I will wake up and not even realize that I am fully her again.

I am also extremely grateful for the others in my life who have been there completely and with their full selves to carry me this week. My housemate Liz, who found me alone in my dark bedroom gasping through my tears, and crawled into my bed to hold me to her heart. Thanks, Kitten. I appreciate all of the ways that you have loved me this week, and I want you to know that each small act was a huge comfort to me. My amazing co-workers and friends at Joseph's House who have held the sacred mourning space and lived through and because of the sorrow with bowls of ice cream and Fruit Loops, shared memories of Ethan, and lots of loving touches. No grief can undermine how blessed I am to be exactly where I am. To the admissions committee who accepted me into my grad program for next year without interviewing me. That did a lot for my self-worth this week. A professor from college whose e-mail was filled with pride and love for me. I was deeply moved and hope I will grow to be half the healer you are. My spiritual director, who thinks even in my utmost brokenness that I am a gift. What a grace.

This was not what I imagined this post to be. I had a plan and it was going to be great. But for whatever reason, this was what needed to be written so you will just have to read my Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants musings tomorrow. Until then, thank you, whoever you wherever you are. By reading this, you also help carry me. Even when it hurts, I still think we need each other.

This I Believe

Tonight, my house was brimming with guests. Every JV community is given a spiritual liason who helps guide and support the volunteers. Bill is ours and he has been fantastic. He believes in inter-faith dialogue so we have visited a Jewish synagogue, a Sikh temple, a Muslim mosque, and will be going to a Buddhist monastery next month. Once a month, he also comes to our house with pizza to lead a reflection. More importantly though, Bill believes in each of us. His pride in our work and his appreciation of our experiences has been such an encouragement for me and my housemates.

For this month, Bill brought pizza and seven former Jesuit Volunteers (FJVs) who all live in the city. Three of them had lived in our house and all were eager to be with us. One of them, a lady named Grace who had done her service year in Seattle, led us all in a reflection inspired by NPR's 'This I Believe' series. We listened to a recent interview by Father Greg Boyle and then to a 'This I Believe' list by a really impressive 6 year-old. Grace then gave us time to write our own belief list. Here is mine.

I believe that no one should die alone.
I believe in not speaking unless your words are more beautiful than the silence.
I believe that God is faithful, even when I am not.
I believe that hands are meant to be held.
I believe in answering phone calls at 3 in the morning.
I believe in watching the Sun rise.
I believe in loving someone even though you know he or she will die.
I believe in being honest.
I believe in holding yourself gently.

Being the "Other" for the "Other"

Joseph's House has its year-long volunteers take two classes to supplement the service experience. The first was led by my friend Emily (her blog is on the list on the left) and focused on mindfulness, compassion, and self-reflection. The second class, which I am in now, is facilitated by David, the Joseph's House founder (whose blog is also on the left). This class looks at racism in our country, how it is still perpetuated, and the effects it has on poverty and other areas of social injustice.

My time with Emily was challenging yet deeply restorative as she guided me and my co-workers Amy and Anand through a gentle stretching of our minds and spirits. She helped me face things about myself and my job that I could not address on my own. Somehow I left each of our meetings feeling as if I had answers to questions that I never knew I had.

David's class has proved to be more difficult for me and I always leave with more questions. Oftentimes, I find myself shaking with emotion as we discuss issues of prejudice and racism. These things affect my Joseph's House residents, who are mostly Black, poor, and undereducated, but they also affect me. I am well-educated and from a middle-class family, but that cannot lighten the darkness of my skin or the enslavement of my ancestors. JVC spends a significant amount of time telling its volunteers not to think of the people we serve as the "other" but as individuals who are like us. This is important when the volunteer is a privileged, fairly affluent, and Caucasian individual serving minority populations in cultures very different from his or her own. In actuality, the lesson of accompaniment and solidarity is important for all.

However, my experience is also different. The "other" in society has always been my family, has always been me. When I hold the hand of a dying resident at Joseph's House, the brown of my skin will look like the brown of his. When my classmates or housemates talk abut feeling like a minority for the first time here in DC because of the whiteness of their skin and how uncomfortable it is, I know how they feel. It is what I have felt every day everywhere else but in DC. I know what it is like to be the token minority in the classroom, the dance studio, the leadership groups, the church, the family. I am the only JV on the East Coast of Polynesian descent, and the only one in DC of African-American descent as well. While my peers may approach racism and prejudice from an intellectual and then relational perspective, my knowledge of these issues are rooted in the personal experiences of myself and my family and then look towards the objective lens. The systems of oppression that we as volunteers study in order to help those who are marginalized are the same systems I am still learning how to overcome.

It can be difficult being the "other" in a group, and I have been wrestling with what it means to be a privileged, though in some ways still marginalized, woman of color serving impoverished and completely marginalized people of color. It feels hypocritical sometimes, as if somehow I am better than them since I am young, healthy, educated, and have a stable enough future where I can make no money for a year and that not negatively affect me. I hope my service is not seen like that. I find myself wondering if my Joseph's House residents trust me because I am compassionate and good at my job or because I look like them.

And yet by being the "other" I fit in. DC has such a diverse, brown population that for the first time in my life I blend into the crowd. When people stare at me on the street it is because I look interesting and not because I am the only person of color walking around. I understand how my residents speak and how they show affection because my family does it the same way. My frustrations, dreams, and joys are the same as theirs. And when my residents need love, I am able to give it, because my "other" is the same as theirs.

My housemates and I almost did not get to go to the Presidential Inauguration in January. I advocated  on behalf of my house though, partially because the Inauguration is such a big deal in DC, but also because Obama is one of my role models. Don't get me wrong, he is by no means an ideal President (drones and sequesters are awful things to have attached to your legacy), but he represents me and countless people in our country who are the "other." Growing up, my parents always told me I could be anything I wanted to be, but that dream can get discouraging when you see no one doing the things you want to do who are like you. Obama is like me. He is a child of a multi-racial family, he is strongly connected to the Pacific, and though he makes mistakes, he believes in the work of social justice too. Watching him get inaugurated, with his hand on Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr's Bible, was one of the most inspiring moments of my life. It showed me that being different from what society normally sees as desirable can change history, especially when done with courage and hope. I remember that when the segregation in our capital makes me angry, or when I have to watch another person I love die from a disease that should no longer kill anyone. You have to be different to make things different. So I will keep on being the "other." I'm in good company.

The People Shaping Me

I have some pretty incredible people in my life whom I get to call friends and family. I am able to do what I do and be where I am because I have people in my life who support my hopes and dreams. Many of them devote their lives to service and social justice themselves. Some of them even keep blogs. While I hope my words encourage and challenge you, I want you to also hear the stories of my friends. These are individuals - a best friend from college, fellow volunteers, inspirational mentors - who encourage and challenge me. Their lives enrich mine. Some are abroad and some may be in your neighborhood. All are shaping me. I have added a list of their blogs to the left. Go check them out. These people are my companions and role models. There are breathtaking photos, snap-worthy poetry, and genuine reflections on what it means to be true to the life a person has been given.

Love, love.

I am Because We are

Good thing I am trying to follow the spirit of Lent more than the law of Lent because I completely failed blogging every day this week. Oops. Hey, life happens.

I have reached the halfway point in my JVC experience and that in turn has made me reflect on why I am here. Why am I doing what I am doing where I am doing it? I do not think I will know the actual answer to these questions this year, or for many years, or perhaps ever. However, I do know that a desire to be in community played a significant role in my choice to do a service year. Two years ago this spring, I was preparing to study abroad in Zambia. There is a saying in Africa that translates to "I am because we are and we are because I am." This idiom speaks to the heart of what it means to be community. We are all interconnected. Humanity draws strength and creativity from humanity. This in turn fosters the ability to be a unique individual and contribute something essential to the community. We all need each other.

Nine out of ten Gonzaga students (yes, I just made up that statistic but I guarantee you that the actual number is very close to this) when asked what they love most about my alma mater will say community, myself included. Part of why I joined JVC was because my college experience showed me how important it is for me to be in meaningful relationships with those around me. My time on the East Coast has been defined by these relationships.

Yesterday, I spent my Friday off with my roommate Marlena at her placement. Mar works as an after-school coordinator at an inner-city charter school in SE DC. She is in charge of 100ish kindergarten through third grade students plus staff. Marlena's work environment is nearly a complete opposite of mine. At Joseph's House, I work with adults and though it can get busy, my work practically drips with the quiet of peaceful afternoons, soothing voices, and gentle touches. On Friday I found myself surrounded by kids and noise seemed to come from every corner. No one was meditating or taking mindful breaths. Everything was chaos and fast and full of an energy that I am not used to.

Yet in the midst of a place that is not my place, there was community. Marlena, who is nearly six feet tall and has extremely blonde hair, had told her students that she was bringing her sister, me, to work. When I walked in, her students started jumping from excitement. In the time it took me to blink, I had second and third graders hanging off my arms. I was Marlena's sister and since they loved her they automatically loved me. It did not matter that I looked more like the black students than I did my Italian roommate. I was family and I was there and that was all that mattered.

Community holds us together. On Thursday night, I stayed at work late to sit with Mama as she was beginning her long process of dying. That morning, after many days of being together, she had looked at me and had not known who I was. I had to walk away to keep from crying in front of her. And just as quickly as I had been hurt, I returned to her side. She is my community. Part of my identity is shaped by her and I needed to fulfill the part of her that is shaped by me even in those final moments when she was going in and out of lucidity. Mama passed away this morning, peacefully and in a community that loved her.

Community, even on the days that are challenging and annoying, is a blessing. It is an awesome thing to be able to share life together. Who are those people that have and continue to shape who you are? Where is your community? Thank them, even if in the moment the process hurt you. For some reason, that made you stronger, wiser, more human. And in turn, your life shaped them, too.

I am because we are. We are because I am.

Sharing Yourself

"Sharing yourself is always better than not sharing yourself (within safe confines)."

- Dr. David Hilfiker

Joseph's House was founded by Dr. David Hilfiker. At the time, David was practicing medicine at Christ House, a residential medical facility for those who are homeless. He noticed that many of his patients were not only homeless, but alo suffering from HIV/AIDS. He saw a need for a place of both healing and community. Joseph's House, just around the corner from Christ House, became that place.

I am still a bit star-struck by David. If he had not been brave enough to listen to the calling that inspired Joseph's House I would not be where I am right now in my life. You can feel David's intelligence and passion when you are with him. He practiced medicine for nearly two decades, has written extensively on issues of social justice, and teaches classes - one on urban poverty in which I am in now. I am walking in a legacy that David created. His brilliance and compassion has very literally changed my life.

A few weeks ago, David very honestly shared with his wide network of friends, acquaintances, and colleagues through an e-mail his experience so far of having Alzheimer's disease. Today, at the Joseph's House staff meeting, he spoke about how the disease is changing his relationship with his sense of identity. Throughout his entire life, David has identified as an intellectual. So much of his success has been based on his mental prowess. He took pride in this, established a life through this, created good because of this. Now things are different. Now this man who I admire so, so much is literally losing his mind - and he is in tune with himself well enough to know it. Furthermore, he is embracing this process that many people fight. He is letting go of the identity he gave himself and is allowing himself to be more than he ever realized he could be.

As someone who has also self-identified as an intellectual throughout my life, David's situation scares me. The thought of forgetting memories, loved ones, and then myself is terrifying. Yet David says that this is the happiest time of his life. That he feels both freedom and beloved. He is documenting his disease through his blog, sharing what is most vulnerable in order to create a space for something sacred. David says that he is not courageous in his choosing to share his personal loss so openly, but he accepted when my staff insisted that he was being generous. Wonderfully generous in letting us into his life to experience with him something so new, intimidating, and real.

Alzheimer's disease takes a lot away, both from the person losing cognitive function and from the people around him or her. Yet many people note that relationships do not disappear. Memories and details may be forgotten, but love still remains. How miraculous are humans that our minds may lose strength but our hearts do not? It made me think, if I was to get Alzheimer's today, what loves would my heart remember? What relationships would sustain what my brain no longer could?

I am aware that I am learning things at a very young age that some people never learn. How not to fear disease and loss. How not to cling tightly to things that were never mine to keep. How to be gentle with myself. Today I am thankful for the many loving, life-giving relationships that have brought me here and to David for continuing to leave a legacy of courage (even though he would never agree to that) and peace for me and everyone who is touched by Joseph's House.

Why are Irish People so Cool?

Liz is the eldest of my housemates and the only one of us who has done JVC before. Last year, as a member of JVC Northwest, she was placed in Wenatchee, Washington. Maybe that is why she reminds me so much of home. I admire Liz because she is always asking questions and seeking truth. A couple of months ago she lent me a book by John O'Donohue called Anam Cara. O'Donohue was a Celtic mystic, and though it is taking me forever to read it, Anam Cara is beautifully written. The poem that O'Donohue uses to dedicate the book is particularly poignant to me, and when I am having a rough day I re-read it for encouragement. Here is the poem:

BEANNACHT
For Josie

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the gray window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colors,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the curach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.