i want a wedding.
yes, yes, i dooooo.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Jamaica: a recap
i wrote about everything. i wrote about the class i took, the church i attended, the kids i played with, the daily thunderstorms, our nightly meals...everything.
day one: "I don't know how you go back to America after this and settle back into USD and an American lifestyle of spending and wasting and shutting yourself off from what is truly good and important in life."
day two: "I am being ruined in the best possible way."
"I feel like the world has so much to offer us than what we accept from our culture. We settle for cheap and shallow experiences when we can have deep, rich experiences everywhere we go."
day three: "It's frustrating how we emphasize entertainment and economic prosperity and so many other things over human life...we don't value each other...there have always been issues of exploitation and injustice...our bombs are more sophisticated, but we're still using bombs. Where is the progress?"
day four: "We are so far from the life that the Lord originally intended for us, so I'm stuck between loving being alive and experiencing life here and grieving over the state of our world, longing for the promise of what is to come, what will be fulfilled, and soon!"
day five: "I want to do things that matter. I want to experience life."
day six: "...I'm still working it all out in my head."
day seven: "The Spirit moves as it wills, and that is enough for me."
day eight: "I'm not wasting my breath or my energy. Ever expenditure over the last week and into the next two matters. Every trip to Duncans has engaged me, taught me, expanded me and my ideas and perceptions in a way that is life-giving. This whole process has been so beautifully orchestrated."
day nine: "That bugs me. I see it in myself, too, and that bugs me even more."
day ten: "I'm so human."
day twelve: "I'm not quite sure how I'm feeling about going home yet...not ready to hit the reality of being an American...not sure if I'm ready to resituate myself into living at home again."
day thirteen: "It makes me sad to think that some people use other substances so often that it masks who they really are...like they're no longer real and aren't truly experiencing life because every experience is covered by something else...they eventually become slaves to that substance and lose the freedom to exist well without it."
day fourteen: "It constantly amazes me how unique each person is...how our personalities can blend or clash and how humans are seriously just so weird...how humans usually have some really awesome characteristic that differentiates us but somehow brings us together at the same time. It's cool to be a part of that kind of melding."
day fifteen: "I'm so glad that I am somehow here, at this school, in this country, doing what I'm doing...I feel so so blessed...and also, 10,000% tired, which, I think, is the best way to be."
day sixteen: "I don't understand why the Lord would let the name of Christ, the Messiah, the name of justice and of life, be manipulated in such a horrendous way...I don't understand why humans seem to have so much power even though we misuse it over and over again."
"This is just part of me longing for a heavenly reality that is soon coming, but isn't quite here yet...sometimes that inspires hope and excitement in me; sometimes it depresses me."
"I can do my part."
"I can't describe how good this kind of exhaustion feels--knowing that I've given myself completely...I can feel it in my arms and my legs, the fact that I'm constantly hungry. Every last bit of energy is being used up."
day seventeen: "I am going to significantly simplify my life when I get home."
"I'm in a completely different place than I was a few months ago...I'm a different person...sometimes I barely recognize myself..."
day eighteen: "Tomorrow is going to be a hard day. How do you say goodbye? I'm already so sad."
day twenty: "I'm on the plane right now. This is so so strange. Tonight will be hard."
"This is not Jamaica...everything is different and I'm not really a fan...I'm afraid that people are going to think that Jamaica was just beaches and sunshine and that they won't understand the depth of my experience...how intense it was, why it's so hard to be back."
Jamaica challenged me on every single level imaginable...so let me try to explain...
day one: "I don't know how you go back to America after this and settle back into USD and an American lifestyle of spending and wasting and shutting yourself off from what is truly good and important in life."
day two: "I am being ruined in the best possible way."
"I feel like the world has so much to offer us than what we accept from our culture. We settle for cheap and shallow experiences when we can have deep, rich experiences everywhere we go."
day three: "It's frustrating how we emphasize entertainment and economic prosperity and so many other things over human life...we don't value each other...there have always been issues of exploitation and injustice...our bombs are more sophisticated, but we're still using bombs. Where is the progress?"
day four: "We are so far from the life that the Lord originally intended for us, so I'm stuck between loving being alive and experiencing life here and grieving over the state of our world, longing for the promise of what is to come, what will be fulfilled, and soon!"
day five: "I want to do things that matter. I want to experience life."
day six: "...I'm still working it all out in my head."
day seven: "The Spirit moves as it wills, and that is enough for me."
day eight: "I'm not wasting my breath or my energy. Ever expenditure over the last week and into the next two matters. Every trip to Duncans has engaged me, taught me, expanded me and my ideas and perceptions in a way that is life-giving. This whole process has been so beautifully orchestrated."
day nine: "That bugs me. I see it in myself, too, and that bugs me even more."
day ten: "I'm so human."
day twelve: "I'm not quite sure how I'm feeling about going home yet...not ready to hit the reality of being an American...not sure if I'm ready to resituate myself into living at home again."
day thirteen: "It makes me sad to think that some people use other substances so often that it masks who they really are...like they're no longer real and aren't truly experiencing life because every experience is covered by something else...they eventually become slaves to that substance and lose the freedom to exist well without it."
day fourteen: "It constantly amazes me how unique each person is...how our personalities can blend or clash and how humans are seriously just so weird...how humans usually have some really awesome characteristic that differentiates us but somehow brings us together at the same time. It's cool to be a part of that kind of melding."
day fifteen: "I'm so glad that I am somehow here, at this school, in this country, doing what I'm doing...I feel so so blessed...and also, 10,000% tired, which, I think, is the best way to be."
day sixteen: "I don't understand why the Lord would let the name of Christ, the Messiah, the name of justice and of life, be manipulated in such a horrendous way...I don't understand why humans seem to have so much power even though we misuse it over and over again."
"This is just part of me longing for a heavenly reality that is soon coming, but isn't quite here yet...sometimes that inspires hope and excitement in me; sometimes it depresses me."
"I can do my part."
"I can't describe how good this kind of exhaustion feels--knowing that I've given myself completely...I can feel it in my arms and my legs, the fact that I'm constantly hungry. Every last bit of energy is being used up."
day seventeen: "I am going to significantly simplify my life when I get home."
"I'm in a completely different place than I was a few months ago...I'm a different person...sometimes I barely recognize myself..."
day eighteen: "Tomorrow is going to be a hard day. How do you say goodbye? I'm already so sad."
day twenty: "I'm on the plane right now. This is so so strange. Tonight will be hard."
"This is not Jamaica...everything is different and I'm not really a fan...I'm afraid that people are going to think that Jamaica was just beaches and sunshine and that they won't understand the depth of my experience...how intense it was, why it's so hard to be back."
Jamaica challenged me on every single level imaginable...so let me try to explain...
Monday, June 29, 2009
uh huh....
History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.
- Maya AngelouThursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
i'll start here
I have to start with this: the good, the beautiful, the hopeful.
Essentially, I just took a class on oppression and exploitation; I took a class on the ways that the world has failed, that humans have failed, that life has proved itself ugly; I took a class that forces me to doubt the goodness of humanity, that purity of spirit still exists, that God is present.
I have been ripped open, knowing that this is what the Lord wants me to know. I need to respond: I am angry and heartbroken and confused about the broken state of our world; I am scared for future generations; I am distressed.
So let me start with this, because what is good, what is beautiful, what is right in the world seems to poke its head through even the darkest of circumstances.
We painted a mural. We, four white American college students, painted a mural with ten Jamaican special education students, ranging from shy students to severely autistic students to one student with downs syndrome.
They’re kept separate from their peers, isolated behind literal bars, grouped together despite age, grade level, condition. And they’re beautiful. I’ve never seen such beautiful children.
It took more energy than I ever thought possible. I never thought that I would be drawn to such a group of kids, but I found myself wanting to invest myself in those kids so much more than other parts of the trip—more than class, more than down at Fisherman’s Beach. I wanted to be a part of their existence. I wanted this mural project to be meaningful for them.
I’ve never seen freedom in such a pure form. I am rooted in the things of this world, thus, I have, to a certain extent, lost my playful spirit and sense of purity and freedom; they have not lost any of these things.
More than “normal” kids, these special ed kids seemed to be even further removed from the reality of this world, the chains and pain. In some ways, it makes me sad for them, knowing that my brain functioning has allowed me to experience so so many wonderful things; in some ways, I am jealous. If only that innocence could remain, if only we were still filled with wonder at the smallest things, if only we were unattached to meaningless things. They are lucky. They love, and show affection, and show emotion; they are kind, and gentle (most of the time) and focused. In their own ways, they are brilliant.
I am absolutely unqualified to work with special ed students. I was anxious about this job, facilitating this project. But, the first day, I sat between Shevaughn and Oneika, both of whom can’t speak. To try to get inside of their brains was the most interesting and challenging thing I’ve done. They were not afraid of physical touch to show that they needed help, or they were excited, or they wanted me to see what they had drawn. They were quiet, but they knew. There is some sort of disconnect between internal and external functioning, but they are inspired and they are exceptional.
Shevaughn would attempt to write or draw, but somehow, the only thing that came out was the letter “p,” over and over again.
Oneika drew random lines and swirls and attempts at circles—the result was rainbow scribbles. But watching her, interacting with her, seeing her color her reality was incredible, seeing her smile after she finished her drawing, looking for my appreciation of her creation—it was amazing.
Sasha, I think, is autistic. She spoke very little, with a surprisingly high pitched voice; she could draw little images, but she was very good at names. She wrote all of our names over and over again on her piece of paper.
Dante (who may or may not have become my favorite, if that were okay to say…), seemed more shy than anything, though he has a disease which seems to have crippled his right hand.
Aphek, who is wide-eyed and has a sense of wonder, maybe a bit slow. She is content.
Jodiann is beautiful—shy and reserved, but so smiley and so affectionate.
Gary is quiet but totally capable, and a seriously fast runner.
Chayce is artistic and creative and funny. I’m not sure that he belongs behind the special ed bars.
I am fascinated by their brains, by their lives, by the life that they radiate. I keep using the word “beautiful,” because it’s the only word that seems to fit.
So we painted a mural. It was amazing to watch, and amazing to be a part of. It was amazing to watch Aphek’s eyes light up in wonder, as if to say, “I make a flower?” Of course you can.
• Aphek: Because of you, where there was once only white canvas, now there is a garden.
• Richard: where there was once only white canvas, there is a soccer field, where you can run and play and enjoy your childhood.
• Jodiann: Because of you, we have leaves! Our trees have come to life!
• Sasha: because of you, we have mangoes—we have sweet, sweet food to eat!
• Shevaughn, because of you, we have explosions of color, seemingly meaningless and chaotic, throughout our little canvas world.
• Tahjay—because of you, we have an ocean to play and swim in, where land animals meet marine life.
• Dante: because of you, we have a heart—the universal and eternally powerful symbol of love. We have a Jamaican flag, a Jamaican identity, a community.
• Oneika-you gave us a church, one that goes outside of our idea of what a church should look like.
You’ve expanded our world. It is so easy to love you. And your names are forever branded on this canvas—this wonderful world that your beautiful brains allowed us to create.
The mural is perfect. We went in and finished things, made the mural somewhat cohesive, altered shapes and added colors. It is not without flaws—it is random and chaotic and kind of all over the place, but it is absolutely perfect for this small group of beautiful, beautiful kids. I am so proud of them for creating something so beautiful, creating something that is wholly theirs.
When we revealed the mural to them, they responded almost giddily, with wonder and excitement. It’s their mural, their creation, their space. They pointed out the things that they had painted, their names, what they liked most. They loved it; I loved it; I love them…
Simultaneously, the harsh reality of injustice coexists with something so wholly life-giving and wonderful. So I start here, and use this as my anchor, because Jamaica was so much more than a mural project with my lovely little children.
Essentially, I just took a class on oppression and exploitation; I took a class on the ways that the world has failed, that humans have failed, that life has proved itself ugly; I took a class that forces me to doubt the goodness of humanity, that purity of spirit still exists, that God is present.
I have been ripped open, knowing that this is what the Lord wants me to know. I need to respond: I am angry and heartbroken and confused about the broken state of our world; I am scared for future generations; I am distressed.
So let me start with this, because what is good, what is beautiful, what is right in the world seems to poke its head through even the darkest of circumstances.
We painted a mural. We, four white American college students, painted a mural with ten Jamaican special education students, ranging from shy students to severely autistic students to one student with downs syndrome.
They’re kept separate from their peers, isolated behind literal bars, grouped together despite age, grade level, condition. And they’re beautiful. I’ve never seen such beautiful children.
It took more energy than I ever thought possible. I never thought that I would be drawn to such a group of kids, but I found myself wanting to invest myself in those kids so much more than other parts of the trip—more than class, more than down at Fisherman’s Beach. I wanted to be a part of their existence. I wanted this mural project to be meaningful for them.
I’ve never seen freedom in such a pure form. I am rooted in the things of this world, thus, I have, to a certain extent, lost my playful spirit and sense of purity and freedom; they have not lost any of these things.
More than “normal” kids, these special ed kids seemed to be even further removed from the reality of this world, the chains and pain. In some ways, it makes me sad for them, knowing that my brain functioning has allowed me to experience so so many wonderful things; in some ways, I am jealous. If only that innocence could remain, if only we were still filled with wonder at the smallest things, if only we were unattached to meaningless things. They are lucky. They love, and show affection, and show emotion; they are kind, and gentle (most of the time) and focused. In their own ways, they are brilliant.
I am absolutely unqualified to work with special ed students. I was anxious about this job, facilitating this project. But, the first day, I sat between Shevaughn and Oneika, both of whom can’t speak. To try to get inside of their brains was the most interesting and challenging thing I’ve done. They were not afraid of physical touch to show that they needed help, or they were excited, or they wanted me to see what they had drawn. They were quiet, but they knew. There is some sort of disconnect between internal and external functioning, but they are inspired and they are exceptional.
Shevaughn would attempt to write or draw, but somehow, the only thing that came out was the letter “p,” over and over again.
Oneika drew random lines and swirls and attempts at circles—the result was rainbow scribbles. But watching her, interacting with her, seeing her color her reality was incredible, seeing her smile after she finished her drawing, looking for my appreciation of her creation—it was amazing.
Sasha, I think, is autistic. She spoke very little, with a surprisingly high pitched voice; she could draw little images, but she was very good at names. She wrote all of our names over and over again on her piece of paper.
Dante (who may or may not have become my favorite, if that were okay to say…), seemed more shy than anything, though he has a disease which seems to have crippled his right hand.
Aphek, who is wide-eyed and has a sense of wonder, maybe a bit slow. She is content.
Jodiann is beautiful—shy and reserved, but so smiley and so affectionate.
Gary is quiet but totally capable, and a seriously fast runner.
Chayce is artistic and creative and funny. I’m not sure that he belongs behind the special ed bars.
I am fascinated by their brains, by their lives, by the life that they radiate. I keep using the word “beautiful,” because it’s the only word that seems to fit.
So we painted a mural. It was amazing to watch, and amazing to be a part of. It was amazing to watch Aphek’s eyes light up in wonder, as if to say, “I make a flower?” Of course you can.
• Aphek: Because of you, where there was once only white canvas, now there is a garden.
• Richard: where there was once only white canvas, there is a soccer field, where you can run and play and enjoy your childhood.
• Jodiann: Because of you, we have leaves! Our trees have come to life!
• Sasha: because of you, we have mangoes—we have sweet, sweet food to eat!
• Shevaughn, because of you, we have explosions of color, seemingly meaningless and chaotic, throughout our little canvas world.
• Tahjay—because of you, we have an ocean to play and swim in, where land animals meet marine life.
• Dante: because of you, we have a heart—the universal and eternally powerful symbol of love. We have a Jamaican flag, a Jamaican identity, a community.
• Oneika-you gave us a church, one that goes outside of our idea of what a church should look like.
You’ve expanded our world. It is so easy to love you. And your names are forever branded on this canvas—this wonderful world that your beautiful brains allowed us to create.
The mural is perfect. We went in and finished things, made the mural somewhat cohesive, altered shapes and added colors. It is not without flaws—it is random and chaotic and kind of all over the place, but it is absolutely perfect for this small group of beautiful, beautiful kids. I am so proud of them for creating something so beautiful, creating something that is wholly theirs.
When we revealed the mural to them, they responded almost giddily, with wonder and excitement. It’s their mural, their creation, their space. They pointed out the things that they had painted, their names, what they liked most. They loved it; I loved it; I love them…
Simultaneously, the harsh reality of injustice coexists with something so wholly life-giving and wonderful. So I start here, and use this as my anchor, because Jamaica was so much more than a mural project with my lovely little children.
what i need
Hope has two beautiful daughters; their names are anger and courage. Anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain as they are.
- St. AugustineSunday, June 21, 2009
i'm home
...and i don't know what to say
i want to write about jamaica so that you can understand everything
everything: beautiful, challenging, fun, intense, heartbreaking, incredible, life-giving moments
but i want to write nothing
because words don't seem to do it justice
and i don't want an overflow from my mouth to lessen the value that this experience has had in my life
so right now, i'm not sure what to say
except that i'm here and my heart is there
i'm going back, that is for certain
and in time, i'll find the words
i want to write about jamaica so that you can understand everything
everything: beautiful, challenging, fun, intense, heartbreaking, incredible, life-giving moments
but i want to write nothing
because words don't seem to do it justice
and i don't want an overflow from my mouth to lessen the value that this experience has had in my life
so right now, i'm not sure what to say
except that i'm here and my heart is there
i'm going back, that is for certain
and in time, i'll find the words
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