A Year of Service for a Lifetime of Change

Post YAV life is strange.

I walked into Walmart today. I spent most of the trip feeling guilty that I was shopping at a store that contributes to the cycle of poverty by frequently not paying workers a living wage. Much of the stuff in the store isn’t particularly durable—a side effect of its affordability. Shorter product life means buying more stuff over time, which then piles up in landfills. The canvas bags I finally remembered to bring and the reusable produce bags I was proud to purchase suddenly seem so small.

Everyone around me is moving so slowly, while my Midwestern self is trying to move quickly. Even though I’ve lived in the south for half of my life, including last year, the Asheville “South” is very different than the Decatur/Atlanta/Georgia “South”. As I navigate the crowd, I’m newly reminded that I’m living in a town that is not on the spectrum of mostly to overwhelmingly white like almost everywhere else I’ve lived. Even after my YAV year, this doesn’t feel normal yet. I’m embarrassed to find myself occasionally subconsciously looking for people who look like me.

I think about buying a small prank item for my family that caught my eye as I walked past the clearance aisle. Even though it’s relatively small and less than a $1, everything in me rebels. “You don’t need it.” “That’s a waste of money.” “What would anyone do with this?” “It’s just going to end up in a landfill.” “Think about how much clutter that would create.” “What message does it send if you just buy stuff that doesn’t have a purpose? Is that the kind of person you want to be?” I send Dad a picture of it instead and set it down. Some part of me is proud for walking by it. Some part of me is sad that I can’t even buy a small joke item without feeling sick over the waste.

I get overwhelmed in the middle of the trip, and everything gets a little hazy and off balance. I don’t know if it’s the day I’ve had, the store atmosphere, or something else entirely, but something isn’t right. I go to the in-store Subway and order two cookies for a sugar kick and a water to ward off dehydration. I sit there until I feel better and can reclaim my abandoned cart. I’ve spent all of last year buying almost everything at Harris Teeter—between the YAV apartments being furnished and budgeting based on a simple living stipend, I didn’t have much to buy anyway. I forgot how overwhelming Walmart is.

I head to the grocery section, where I feel the absence of my YAV housemates most strongly. For one, we generally went shopping in pairs, but today I have to push the cart myself (thanks for usually being the cart pusher, Brit!). I’m also used to buying food for several people—buying for 5 means everything is cheaper per person, and I frequently got to eat good meals that I didn’t have to cook. Sharing groceries and meals expanded my food repertoire in a good way. Now, food is somehow both more expensive and less inspirational. Regrettably, this past year did almost nothing for my cooking ability. Cooking for several people stressed me out to the point of ruining the entire day, so I would shoot for the easiest thing possible and consider it a relative victory if I didn’t shed any tears.  I settle for a combination of what I used to buy as a graduate student, and what I got in the habit of buying for the community last year, but in smaller quantities.

When I get to the register, I’m not sure if the cashier is actually annoyed that I brought my own bags, which slowed down the checkout process slightly, or if I’m only projecting. This past year taught me that while my intuition is usually very good, sometimes my personal emotions and experiences can skew it.

With all of the “start up” groceries and apartment supplies I’m still having to purchase two weeks after moving in, I spend almost $90 at the register. I absentmindedly put this on my credit card like it’s nothing. Once you factor in the bookshelf I bought for my apartment earlier and the Taco Bell I picked up when first dinner wasn’t quite filling enough, I’ve spent almost $150 today. It occurs to me that $150, the money I spent today on just myself, is more than half of the budget I had to work with for an entire month in my “previous life” as a YAV. This feels both sickening and normal. The part of me that feels sick about it wonders how long spending money (of any amount) will feel dirty, gross, and even shameful. The part of me that feels normal feels sick about feeling normal. How long will it take for me to form a healthy relationship with money post-YAV that is neither freewheeling nor excessively stingy?

I carry the stuff to my car, drive home, park in the parking lot, figure out how to carry everything in one trip, take the stairs to my second floor apartment after briefly considering the elevator, and put everything away. It’s funny how that sentence could be talking about either Brooks Howell, the retirement community I lived in last year with 5 people, or the graduate student dorm I now live in by myself at Columbia.

I’ve felt isolated and lonely so often the past month, despite all of the incredibly warm welcomes and goodbyes from family, friends, and church communities. How do you explain to the people you love that while many of the daily patterns look the same from the outside, everything feels forever different?

The day I left Asheville, I knew there were some things that I’d never forget, and others I frankly hoped to forget soon. Today, I’m amazed, alarmed, upset, and conflicted about both the moments that felt strange, and the moments that felt normal. Driving away from Asheville was just the first part of the journey. The second part—making sense of the YAV year in new ways, and deciding how I want to live the rest of my life in response to my experience—begins now. I think I finally understand the YAV motto:

“A year of service for a lifetime of change.”

No Answers, Just Different Questions

It was my first week on the job. We were going door-to-door in each public housing area, recruiting people for the Green Opportunities training programs. I went with my boss one day to the complex right across the street from my work building, and that went perfectly fine. However, there was an argument the next day. The team was split about whether to go to one of the other complexes, due to its reputation. Someone on the team had lived there and said it was fine. Someone else said it was a bad idea. A third person said maybe, if we had the right person/people who knew some people in the neighborhood and would have facial recognition. First week me was bewildered, having never heard of this place, knowing nothing about the reputation, and torn about who I should side with/whether to go. I ultimately elected to stay at the office.

Debriefing with a coworker the next day, I had expressed my confusion: I didn’t know anyone, I didn’t know Asheville, and I didn’t know how I would react in such situations. What light could he shed, and had I made the right decision? He sighed, and gave me my first introduction to the many layers of racial politics and public housing tensions in Asheville. I greatly appreciated this, and it has led to many more enlightening and productive conversations throughout the year. However, he ended with this: “At the end of the day, staying here was probably a good choice. However, it likely would have been fine if you had decided to go. They’re much more likely to mess with someone like me than someone like you.” Hearing those words spoken by a black man to a white woman, followed by, “The social consequences of messing with a white female are too high,” have never left me, and never will.

But then, a few weeks ago, I found myself needing to drive into one of the public housing complexes by myself to drop something off for a student. While I’ve been in and out of several of the public housing complexes over the course of the year, it’s generally been with another staff member (we are required to have 3 people in the car when the student is a minor), and I had never been to this particular complex.

I was nervous. Really nervous.

This neighborhood is considered to be one of the “more risky” ones. Students of mine have mentioned used syringes on the ground, the occasional gunshot, and searching for any way to move themselves and/or their mothers out of the neighborhood. That being said, this is a really tight community where everyone knows everyone. Outsiders might be treated with major suspicion, but for those who are thoroughly entrenched in the area with strong relationships, this may be where they feel safest. As I drove up, I found myself getting scared. But when I pulled up to the entrance, I was shocked to find a gatehouse, complete with a gate. Unlike the other complexes I’ve been in, this community is cut off from the rest of the town.

One way in. One way out.

Why is there only one entrance/exit? Why is there a gatehouse in the first place? Is it to keep people out? Or, more insidiously, is it to keep people in?

Then I felt guilty for feeling scared. I started to ask myself what made me that nervous, and whether I should have been.

I know the stories. I know that there are sometimes gunshots, which means the city bus (the only transportation that many residents have) likely won’t run to that area for the whole day. I know that I drove in as an outsider, and a white wealthy outsider at that, without knowing exactly where I was going. Was this an unnecessary risk? Should I have figured out a way to bring someone with me, even though it was the end of the work day?

I also know that in Asheville, which is predominantly white and wealthy, people are extremely skittish around the public housing complexes that are composed of primarily low-income people of color. I hear different stories at work, from the people who live there, who may know some of the people involved, and who have a grasp on the back story, than I hear through the official media. Conflicts tend to happen between known people in the community and their rivals, while rarely directed toward outsiders. I know  that a few people making waves can reflect unfairly and negatively on everyone. Many of our best Green Opportunities clients have come from this neighborhood, and I was wearing my GO shirt, which may have offered some layer of recognition.

So was my nervousness an overreaction? Would I have felt differently if this complex was predominantly white? As much as this kills me, I’m not sure. Have I fallen prey to the panic and uncertainty of the higher-income Asheville residents’ mentality of discomfort about the complex, despite an overwhelming majority of those people having never set foot in the area, or even interacted with anyone who lives there? I don’t know. Should I feel guilty about my own jumpiness? Maybe, maybe not.

As I drove home that day reflecting on my reaction to the trip, and the privileged freedom of movement I have as a person with a car, I flashed back to that first week: “They’re much more likely to mess with someone like me than someone like you.” Even there, as an outsider, my privilege surrounded me. While I’m not invincible, my white skin meant that anything that could have happened to me (already way less likely) would have been handled differently than if the same thing happened to a person of color. I am not more valuable than anyone else. Somehow, society has decided that I am. Why? Why why why?

There are some answers to this that can be traced through the complicated strands of privilege, racism, capitalism/consumerism and colonialism. These things have been conditioned into us individually and as a society. What can I, as a person of privilege, yet only a single person, do about it? I can advocate, elevate voices of those without a platform, become an activist, bring issues of justice to the forefront of whatever I do, support organizations that serve people stuck in cyclical poverty, etc. But how do I integrate this into my career in ministry? What does that look like in practice?

Over the past nine months, I haven’t had any dazzling insights into how to combat economic inequality, or reduce societal racism, or solve cyclical poverty. My thoughts have simply become more nuanced as I work and learn alongside people who are deeply affected by injustice every day.

No answers. Just different questions.

Allowed to be Imperfect

This semester, I am taking an online vocational discernment class with several other YAVs through McCormick, a PC(USA) seminary in Chicago. We meet face to face via video each week, in addition to writing blog posts and commenting on each other’s work. Every week, our assignments are a combination of reading, videos, and activities, which can be anything from interview someone in your community, to try a new self-care practice, to doing some sort of spiritual practice.

I was totally unmotivated to try out the different spiritual practices that were assigned for class this week (Lectio Divina and Centering Prayer). At first, I thought it was just laziness or procrastination–after all, we did have a retreat last weekend. However, when I got to tonight, and was seriously considering writing about past experiences with Lectio Divina and Centering Prayer–one was two weeks ago, one two years ago–rather than “having to do them again,” I realized that it’s more than that. This isn’t just lack of motivation, this is some part of me that’s actively resisting even doing it this once. What and why am I so desperately fighting?

I ultimately decided to “buckle down” and try out Lectio Divina– not because I wanted to, but to avoid the guilt I would feel if I didn’t complete the class assignment. Academic perfectionism is no joke for me, y’all. Since I haven’t opened my physical Bible in far longer than I care to admit, I went to the Lectionary and pulled out a passage for this week: 1 Corinthians 1:18-31. The second half of the passage talks about how God works through imperfect people as an example of God’s power and wisdom. This lead to the phrase from verse 26 that I used as a pondering point: “Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called.”

Think of what you were when you were called. I’m one of the people who can clearly identify a call moment, so I took this suggestion literally. Where was I that day, not physically, but as a state of being? I was just as broken then as I am now, and I can see the work God has been doing in me since that day, if I can step back enough to think about it. This year hurts, because things that I don’t like about myself have come to the forefront of my daily experience. Yet, discovering and naming those painful things is a step toward growth and God’s work in me.

I’m really struggling right now with deeply believing in the inherent worth of people–both others and myself–completely independently of words, actions, and choices. I have sky high standards for myself that I can’t meet. When my site coordinator, Selena, asked a few weeks ago if I could believe that other people’s ways of existing in the world were just as valid as mine, I was devastated to discover that my answer was no. I think my way is best, and I nonetheless can’t live up to what I expect from myself, so I am a failure. I don’t want to do something wrong, so it’s better not to try. Right?

Think of what you were when you were called. Why was I fighting trying out these new (to me) spiritual practices? I ended up receiving an incredible gift, because this phrase brought me back to reality, and my developing understanding of who God is and how God works. God created, claims, and calls (Massanetta theme reference!) people who can’t live up to the expectations! That’s still not an easy sell for me, and let’s be honest, it will take more than just this experience for me to innately believe it. Nonetheless, when I confessed my inadequacies and reasons that I’m not cut out for ministry to Selena, she pointed out that I probably just doomed myself to a life of servanthood. The Bible is full of fundamentally flawed, broken people that God then uses to do great things. This leaves space for people to grow through ministry, and for God’s power to shine through the human imperfections. Thus, this is my current work: to believe that I, just like everyone around me, am made in the image of God, am allowed to be imperfect, and can be fully loved, just as I am.

 

 

P.S. I have officially accepted a full ride offer to attend Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia in pursuit of my Masters of Divinity! I will be completing my YAV year on July 31st, and then moving to Georgia a few weeks later. Please keep me in your prayers as I handle moving logistics, figure out the remaining financial costs (my tuition, fees, and housing will be paid for; I still need to eat and handle other living expenses!), and prepare my heart and mind for this next step.

P.P.S. I’m so grateful to be done with the mandatory part of YAV fundraising! This lets me continue doing so joyfully, because I believe this program is a worthy cause that uproots lives for the better. If you would like to contribute, you can do so online here. Also, the final deadline to apply for the 2019-2020 YAV program is June 1st! If you know of any young adults ages 19-30 who need a next step or might want to do a year of service, I’d love to talk and share more information with you and/or them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

19 Events in 2019

Hello everyone! I haven’t written in awhile, so I thought I would do an “update” post with 19 things that have happened since January 1st, 2019. Here goes…

 

1.I rang in the new year with some of my roommates at a place with go karts, laser tag, mini golf, and arcade games all under the same roof! It was a New Years to remember.

2.My dreams of attending Montreat College Conference have finally been fulfilled! 4 of us went to MCC for the day to help with a YAV program informational workshop, and then stayed for worship and the evening keynote. I ran into Massanetta friend Anna Owens-Sweeney at the YAV Alum dinner, which was a wonderful chance to connect to the broader YAV community. I further embraced my Presbyterian roots through my newest t-shirt acquisition–see picture below. Have You Hugged a Presbyterian Today?

3.Retreat weekend! My YAV roommates, site coordinator Selena, and I went to Chimney Rock State Park for our winter retreat. We stayed in a beautiful wooden cabin/lodge, complete with a hot tub that we took full advantage of! The combination of hiking, game playing, and community bonding was a much needed chance to refresh and re-center after the scramble of Christmas travel.

4.My roommate Katie and I went on my first major shopping trip of my YAV year, where I bought a few shirts from Goodwill. Almost all of my budget the last several months has gone toward food, transportation, and the occasional paid fun experience, so it was weird to be spending money on clothes. It was nice to get a change of scenery and spend time with Katie, but I didn’t quite feel right spending money on clothes I don’t really need. I’ll think twice before doing that again in the future. I hope this careful consideration of “Do I really need this?” will carry forward beyond this year.

5.I got a 10 minute chair massage while Katie was shopping for tennis shoes at the mall. I’m always amazed at how much better I feel physically and emotionally for days after a massage. This felt like a much better use of money than buying clothes, so I’ll remember that in the future. Yay for taking care of my physical health!

6.We had our annual Hands and Feet of Asheville “Friendraiser” event on January 14th, in which all 6 of us shared a story from our first several months in Asheville. We got to gather with H&F board members, bosses/coworkers, and other supporters of the YAV program. I posted my story as an earlier blog post, so feel free to check it out! I always appreciate a chance to reflect and share stories with my community.

7.I served my first Sunday as an usher, and also led the Call to Worship at Grace Covenant PC. Something about that felt right to me, in a way I wasn’t expecting…Food for thought.

8.My roommate Brittany and I went to Well Played, a board game cafe in downtown Asheville. I had a great time playing an old favorite (Forbidden Island), and playing the “Heart of Africa” expansion of the classic Ticket to Ride.

9.The Grace Covenant PC 20s/30s group went bowling! This led to following up with a few new friends in the group, including dinner with an Americorps volunteer and a game night with my new member sponsor.

10.I took some alone time to go hiking in DuPont state forest. I decided to try the 3 mile waterfall loop, and I was not disappointed. Between this and Chimney Rock, I had no idea that North Carolina had such beautiful waterfalls! I also took some time to journal by the river, which has been an excellent restorative practice for me. External processor that I am, I’m grateful for the chance to sort out my feelings before talking to others.

11.Katie, Klari, and I attended “531,” a monthly community gathering that features 5 stories, 3 songs, 1 community. Proving how interconnected Asheville is, the final story this month was replaced with a clergy improv group performance that included two of the three Grace Covenant pastors (Samantha and Richard), the keynoter from Montreat College Conference, and a local pastor I’ve met several times over the course of the year. The group was an absolute riot, and I loved every second of it.

12.I’ve started an online Vocational Discernment class through McCormick Theological Seminary, a PC(USA) school in Chicago. Our 12 person class meets “online face-to-face” every Thursday evening from 7-9pm. I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with the several other YAVs from different cities who are taking the class, as well as meeting some new people as well.

13.Katie, Brittany, and I ventured to Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia to check out the seminary. I went last year during my initial seminary hunt, and was glad to return, while Katie and Brittany were visiting for the first time. I walked away impressed with the school, although still conflicted about where I want to attend in the fall.

14.Visiting Columbia had the added bonus of visiting with my friend Hannah, a Columbia student I know from my days as a high school counselor at Massanetta. Our friendship is proof that connections can be sustained long-term, even if you don’t talk for years. I’m so grateful that she has re-entered my life!

15.Brooks Howell started serving Hersheys ice cream, including my favorite strawberry bars. I’m ecstatic enough about this to include it in this life event blog post!

16.I attended an Asheville Symphony concert! A Brooks Howell resident had an extra ticket that she graciously gave me, so I was able to see them perform a Kodaly piece, Dvorak’s violin concerto, and Beethoven 6.

17.A prank war has ensued in our house with ridiculously creepy ceramic dolls. I found one “reading” my book on my bed, and hid one buckled into a roommate’s car seat. We’ll see how this plays out…

18.Katie and I went to visit Louisville Seminary. Although I discovered I’m not called to Louisville, it was a wonderful visit full of good conversation and free food.

19.One of the most exciting things to happen so far this year was getting to see my best friend Mary Pearson unexpectedly!! When we realized that Louisville is only 1.5-2 hours away from Bloomington, she made the drive to come spend a few hours with me. I am so grateful to have Mary as a best friend, and glad to know that even though we aren’t roommates in Bloomington anymore, we will remain close friends.

 

Seat at the Table

I recently shared this story from my YAV year at a Hands and Feet of Asheville event. I now share it with all of you 🙂

 

It had been a long day, and I did not want to go. After spending much of the day in staff training meetings doing important yet exhausting work, the last thing that I wanted to do was attend a holiday party. With the stress of impending Christmas travel on my brain, I wanted to go home, pack, and take time to “introvert”, as my sister calls it. However, I knew that our chef had worked very hard to bring this gathering together, so I headed down to the kitchen out of obligation.

Then something funny happened. As the staff filed in, wrapped white elephant gifts in one hand and a holiday food or treat in the other, the mood started to lift. People slowly switched out of “all day meeting” mode and into enjoying themselves and being fully present in the moment. The kitchen staff brought out 3 whole turkeys, and the side table was suddenly full of gifts. The room only got louder as we marveled over homemade macaroni and cheese, met each other’s spouses and families, and went back for seconds.

One huge highlight of the gathering was when a staff member volunteered to share his talent as a rapper. As he performed an original song about accepting and loving ALL of the people around you and wanting the same in return, the whole room was captivated, with tears falling from a few eyes during the huge round of applause at the end.

Our executive director gave a short but meaningful toast to the room, thanking everyone for the hard work and dedication over the course of the year, and then invited others to share as well. The rapper speaks up. He thanks us for letting him share his talent, saying this is the best place that he has ever worked, and he’s so grateful for all of us and the community we share together.  Then another staff member stood up, and said something like this:

“I am so grateful for you all. As someone who came through the Green Opportunities kitchen training program and is now part of the staff, I have felt so welcome and included by every person here. There are days when I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. But then you all tell me that you believe in me, and that I can do it. And that makes me start to believe in myself too.”

And that’s when I got it.

I finally understood for myself what Selena told me on week 2. The true beauty of Green Opportunities isn’t in the training programs we have or the services we offer, although we work very hard at those. The beauty of Green Opportunities is in how the people in that room come together as a family. Wallflower that I am, as I stood and observed the room, I saw so much diversity. Our staff has people who are black and white. Gay, straight, and non-binary. Of Christian and Jewish faith traditions, and no faith traditions at all. Some people have been in jail or prison. Some have partners and or kids. Some are GO graduates. Some have college degrees. There is so much diversity in our staff AND we find ways every day to work together.

I stood with another case manager and met his wife as we chatted with our communications manager. Our executive director and one of the accountants were yelling over the din for someone to find a pack of cards so they could play right then and there. As I looked around in this crystallized moment, it was so meaningful to see everyone across all levels of staff swapping gifts and spending time together over food.

Here at Green Opportunities, and in this moment, we all have a seat at the table.

In my work as a case manager, it’s so easy to focus on the setbacks and get stuck in the weeds. Recently, I’d been missing the point, the bigger picture. At the end of the day, what we as Green Opportunities offer to our community is proof that it’s possible for people from all different circumstances, in both the past and the present, to come together to support each other and work for the good of the community.

We choose to celebrate and honor our differences rather than letting them divide us.

I’m so grateful to be a part of this organization, and I have so much more to learn from these people who show me every day how to be an intentional community.

 

 

Finally, thank you to everyone who has donated to my YAV fundraising! I’m incredibly happy to announce that I hit my goal on Christmas Eve 🙂 I am so glad to have a community that supports me personally, emotionally, and financially. The work of fundraising in the non-profit world is never done though! If you feel led to do so, you can donate here or by mailing a check made out to Hands and Feet of Asheville to 789 Merrimon Ave. Asheville, NC 28804. Any donations made at this point go toward reaching our Asheville YAV group goal and making our final retreat possible!

Everything I Wanted

Today, I went out for coffee with a friend who is interested in doing the Young Adult Volunteer program. Toward the end, the conversation naturally turned toward what the program is really like on a day to day basis. So I told my friend the truth.

This is hard, y’all. It is so, so hard. I told her how hard it is to live with 5 roommates I didn’t pick, with my extreme introversion and desire to do things in a particular way. I’m frustrated and ashamed that even when I’m constantly checking my privilege, it pops up again in ways I didn’t expect. I miss being around friends I’ve known for years, who know what I need before I know it myself. I’m embarrassed that I even have needs that my community then has to accommodate. Sometimes I resent being asked to get up early and volunteer during “my” weekend. I’m conflicted about the ethics of having a short-term volunteer with no social work training doing case management work; I fail my students frequently, often in ways I don’t even realize until later. As much as I swore I wouldn’t, I (sometimes) miss the high performance demands of academia, and I definitely miss the deep life conversations that were so frequent with my friends in graduate school. Simply put, when I get caught in the daily grind, I very quickly lose sight of why I chose to do this in the first place. Then my friend asked a question:

“Is it what you wanted? I know it isn’t what you expected, but is it what you wanted?”

I had to sit there for a moment and think. What drew me here? Am I having the experience that I claimed to want? That’s when I realized: yes. This is everything I wanted. I started this year so I could challenge myself, to see beyond the life I’ve lived, to love recklessly, to live and serve in different types of community; I wanted to turn my world upside down. And that is exactly what happened.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot that I didn’t want it to be easy. I forgot that there is joy to be found in the struggle. I forgot that I am a broken, beautiful, wonderfully imperfect child of God. As I scrolled through my past blog posts this evening, I found the hopes I expressed for myself before I ever left home: “So let this be my rebellion. Let my love, compassion, and determination to see beyond myself overtake my desire to take a logical step, play by the rules, and know what to expect. It will be challenging, frustrating, and heartbreaking. But I pray that this time will also be uplifting, soul nourishing, and freeing.”

Challenge, frustration, and heartbreak are ever-present this year. Finding the moments of love, joy, freedom, and purpose is always a work in progress. This time of growth has been painful, as I am daily forced to confront my privilege, my imperfections, and my limitations that I so desperately want to wish away. But after years of striving for excellence no matter the cost, I’m learning what it means to be present in the moment, to feel emotions strongly, and to be deeply human.

As I had this epiphany in a coffee shop in Asheville, I found freedom and joy as I remembered that while this experience comes at great cost, the reward is even greater. I’m happy that I’m here experiencing life with these people, in this community, in our broken world. So I told my friend: This is so much harder than I anticipated, and almost nothing is the way I expected it to be. It is incredibly challenging, and I am stretched past my limits far more than I care to admit. But this is how my world is expanded, and this is how growth happens.

This is everything I wanted.

 

If you are able, please help support me financially! I’m in the final stages of fundraising, and would really appreciate any amount that you can give! Donations can be made through the Hands and Feet of Asheville website (make sure to fill in my name where it asks if you want to support a specific volunteer!), or by mailing a check made out to Hands and Feet of Asheville with my name in the subject line to 789 Merrimon Ave. Asheville, NC 28804.

 

“This isn’t a game for me.”

I sat down with a YouthBuild student I work with at Green Opportunities about a month ago. At one point, she asked for a ride home. I told her I didn’t have a car, and reminded her that she could catch the bus like I do. “Really?” she looked at me skeptically. “You seem like the type of person who has a car.” After further questioning, I admitted that I do own a car, and would have access to it again next year. She looked directly at me, frustrated, and said, “This isn’t a game for me. I’ve been riding the bus my whole life, and I’m just not going to do it.”

“This isn’t a game for me.”

Those words shook me to my core. This interaction told me that I need to put a lot more thought into how to frame this year for the students I’m working with. If they believe that I think this is a game, then I have failed them. I must learn how to verbally position myself not as a (white) savior, or as someone using them as a stepping stone in my own life. I want to be someone who is there to listen, to walk beside them, and to help and support them as I am able. Power differentials aside, I need them to know that I see their humanity, even as I struggle to understand some of their stories when our lives to this point have been so different.

“This isn’t a game for me.”

This also bothered me on a personal level. It isn’t a game for me either. Yes, there is tremendous privilege that accompanies making the choice to step in for a year, knowing I will then step back out. However, it isn’t about “having fun” or “winning” for me; in some ways, it’s even the opposite. I may not live simply and in community forever, but this experience will (hopefully) leave me forever changed. It’s not a game. It’s infinitely more than that.

“This isn’t a game for me.”

I’ve put off writing this post for a month. I wanted to be able to say with certainty, “This year is not a game for me. It is _______.” However, I can’t find those words. I don’t know how to express what this experience is, what it means for me now and in the future, or the many painful and wonderful ways it has already changed me. I can’t name it, and that drives me nuts.

I’m a problem solver. I have a systems oriented mind, a gift for identifying problems, and a strong drive to find ways to move forward and make things better. But what happens when there are problems that I can’t solve? When there isn’t an answer? When it’s all messy, and every half answer leads to three different and harder questions?

“This isn’t a game for me.”

One of my biggest challenges this year is to sit with difficult, messy, complicated, frustrating, and painful situations, and let that be enough. I can’t and won’t solve each problem I encounter. I can show up and be present every day, and I can try to make a small impact. However, I have to learn the terribly difficult mindset of being able to accept difficult situations for what they are, even when I don’t like them.

I hate that lack of control. I want to fix, to solve, to find an answer. But I can’t. Instead, I have to come face to face with the truth. Not every pain can be healed. Not every question has an answer. May God help me accept that I have much less control than I would like, and give me the strength to be fully present anyway.

 

Please consider donating toward my fundraising that helps to make this year possible. I’m $700 away from my goal, so every dollar counts! You can donate online here, or mail a check made out to Hands and Feet of Asheville with my name in the subject line to 789 Merrimon Ave. Asheville, NC 28804. Thank you for your support!

Trials of Transportation

I had this blog post written in my head on my third day at Green Opportunities. I was going to talk about how frustrating it is to take the bus to work. How any time I want to go anywhere, I have to transfer through the downtown hub. The buses are rarely on time, which wreaks havoc with those transfers. The open-air bus station is full of air pollution and noises that hurt my ears. My commute takes me 1-2 hours daily, despite my workplace only being four miles away.

But then I started learning how to complete intake paperwork for my job, which involves assessing client needs in categories such as housing, financial literacy, food stability, etc. That’s when I learned that on a scale of 0-5 (0 being “I am isolated and cannot go anywhere, drastically hindering my ability to function” and 5 being “I can generally go where I want, when I want, and how I want”), my transportation situation for this year is somewhere between a 3 and a 4. Despite my constant frustration, I’m still near the top of the scale.

This post about transportation, originally full of righteous indignation, suddenly became a humbling opportunity to check my privilege.

As always, it was through interactions with people that I was led to challenge my worldview. I met a potential student who wanted to make positive choices for himself. He wanted to participate in our program, but lived five hilly miles away from the nearest bus stop. I see people resting on benches at the bus station, until they’re reminded by intercom that “if you’re not here to catch a bus, you’re trespassing.” I talk to a woman on the bus who is leaving three hours early for an appointment, because there will be serious consequences if she’s late. I notice the occasional person sleeping on the bus, where at least they don’t have to worry about the rain or 90 degree heat.

I used to think the worst case scenario was missing my transfer by 30 seconds, having to leave an hour early for work, or being dissuaded from going to the library because of the inconvenience. Instead, I’ve started to recognize I’m still wrapped in my privilege. My workplace allows me to be flexible with my arrival time, and coworkers have offered me rides home that I sometimes accept. I can afford a bus pass, and the bus drivers sometimes say “have a nice day” to a white female in “professional” clothing with a friendliness that doesn’t extend to all passengers. I have two roommates who can drive me somewhere in an emergency, and make the grocery shopping process much easier. I’m able-bodied, and can choose to walk the 1.3 miles from my apartment to the transfer station if that’s my preference.

Perhaps the biggest realization of all? I had the privilege to choose this. I made the choice to leave my car parked in my parents’ driveway, store most of my belongings in their basement, and experience something different. When this year is up, I will reclaim my car, likely for the rest of my life. Somehow, that makes me sad. As frustrated as I still get when I miss the bus and have to wait 30-60 minutes or walk home, I’m learning valuable lessons that I never could have learned from the driver’s seat. For that, I’m grateful.

 

Please note that I am still fundraising to make this year possible! I’m currently $1,000 away from my goal. Are you willing and able to support me financially? If so, you can donate online through Hands and Feet of Asheville (make sure to write my name when it asks if you want to support a specific volunteer!), or by mailing a check made out to Hands and Feet of Asheville with my name in the subject line to 789 Merrimon Ave. Asheville, NC 28804.

“No teaching, just learning.”

Hello from Asheville, North Carolina! My five housemates and I arrived on Monday evening after a week of YAV program orientation in Stony Point, New York. Orientation in New York with the other approximately 60 YAVs serving across the nation and world was both amazing and exhausting (more on that later!), but I’m happy to finally be settling into my new home for the year. We’ve spent this past week moving into our two shared apartments, getting to know our site coordinator, exploring Asheville, and starting to establish our intentional Christian community. Here we are checking out one of Asheville’s most unique activities: Friday night drum circles!

 

A particular moment stands out to me as I reflect on the week. One of my housemates will be working at AHOPE, a day center for people experiencing homelessness. Here, people can receive mail, store belongings, take a shower, grab some coffee, and start to meet with agencies who can help match them with housing. While witnessing the lively chaos of the center on a tour, my mind flipped back to a recurring theme of our (dis)orientation week in New York. We were constantly talking about the people at the “Center” of society (think: White, heterosexual, male, able-bodied, housed, middle class, etc.) and people in the “Borderlands” (people of color, LGBTQ+, women, people with disabilities, experiencing homelessness, working class, etc.). Everyone’s positionality in this model is unique: for example, my Whiteness places me at the center, while being female places me in the borderlands. While not simple, it is a helpful way to think about what pieces of identity are rewarded by society or pushed to the margins.

AHOPE is serving people deeply entrenched in the Borderlands. Many of the people experiencing homelessness were also marginalized in other ways. As we walked through the center, I was both amazed and ashamed at how I have been taught by society to shrink away, to avoid, to dehumanize these people who are children of God just like me. The seven of us (my site coordinator, 5 housemates, and me) were clearly conspicuous in this space, because as we left, a man called out to us: “What are you going to teach us this time?” I was floored. This man saw people he identified as out of place, and concluded that we must be there to teach — with all of the condescension and judgment that so easily comes with service. As I struggled with how to respond, our site coordinator jumped in and said: “No teaching, just learning!”

What Selena articulated so beautifully is what I struggle to explain. For me, and for this program, it isn’t about “fixing.” We’re asked to learn: by working alongside people who are already doing great work in their community, by listening to people who get brushed aside by society, and by holding each other accountable to simple living in our intentional Christian community. YAV is designed to be “A year of service for a lifetime of change.” I look forward to leaning into discomfort, sharing my stories, and living alongside my YAV community in Asheville.

 

If you would like to help support my YAV year financially, you can do so online (make sure to write in my name when it asks if you want to support a specific volunteer!), or by mailing a check made out to Hands and Feet of Asheville, 789 Merrimon Ave, Asheville, NC 28804 (my name in the subject line).

 

Let This Be My Rebellion

I went on a walk with a friend several weeks ago, and the topic of conversation turned toward teenage rebellion–or rather, the lack of it. I certainly wasn’t perfect, as anyone can attest, but my teenage years were more about being constantly moody than sneaking out at midnight. Only half-joking, my friend and I lamented that we’d missed our window of opportunity to do stupid things/break some rules that only resulted in being grounded, rather than the real-life consequences of actions that emerge as one becomes an adult.

My lack of rebellion continued into college. I made wonderful friends, and found ways to have fun that didn’t involve alcohol or interfere with my studies. This certainly served me well, and I loved my college experience. However, I still couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that I’d spent my life doing everything I “should” be doing. That’s when, one year into a PhD program, God asked me to go to seminary. And in the process of researching/visiting seminaries, pulled me toward the YAV program. And asked me to throw my plans out the window, and go with His plan instead.

Last year was a rough year. As I thought about the future (should I start seminary now, or wait until I finish my PhD? Does a YAV year fit into this? What does this mean for a career?), I struggled to balance those big questions with my coursework, graduate assistantship responsibilities, and overall well-being. I eventually decided the Learning Sciences PhD program was not for me, in that I enjoyed the relationships I made, but the field itself was not a perfect match for my interests. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to become a professor in the ivory tower, forced to prioritize academic writing/publishing/conferencing/researching over working directly with people with immediate tangible results.

The reasons behind my dissatisfaction with academia ended up being similar to my ultimate decision to participate in the YAV program. By any measure, I had everything I should have wanted at IU. I was around talented and passionate people. I received excellent research training through my assistantship that also paid for my schooling. I was published multiple times in my two years, and started to travel to conferences. When it comes to graduate school, I pretty much had it all. Almost everyone was supportive of my decision, but with many, I could see the confusion, concern, and unspoken questions in their eyes. Why I would pass up the opportunity I had as a PhD student? And to go volunteer in a Christian program for a year and then take on even more schooling by going to seminary…? It doesn’t have the prestige of academia, it doesn’t pay well, where does it lead…That’s not what our society tells you you’re supposed to do.

But I don’t want to play it safe. I want to be serving, loving, and working with people. I’m tired of putting myself and my career over my desire to love God and love all of His people. I’ve found that there’s no faster way for me to burn out than to make life all about me. I’d rather know that an action I took today helped someone else, rather than advanced my comfort (financial, personal, career). For that matter, my faith demands it. “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)

So let this be my rebellion. Let my love, compassion, and determination to see beyond myself overtake my desire to take a logical step, play by the rules, and know what to expect. It will be challenging, frustrating, and heartbreaking. But I pray that this time will also be uplifting, soul nourishing, and freeing. I want to find joy in living counter culturally, and in immersing myself in community. I pray that God will guide my imperfect attempts to act with love and mercy, to pursue justice, and to follow his plan for me.

As I get ready to leave on Monday, please pray for traveling mercies for myself and my soon-to-be friends, for open hearts, and for God to work through all of His imperfect people! The love, prayers, and support of my community mean the world to me. Thank you.

If you would like to support me financially, you can do so through the Hands and Feet of Asheville website (make sure to fill in my name where it asks if you want to support a specific volunteer!), or by mailing a check made out to Hands and Feet of Asheville with my name in the subject line to 789 Merrimon Ave. Asheville, NC 28804.