I am in the throes of intensive job-searching - with fall coming up quickly and no employment secured yet, I am exploring all possibilities and pulling out all the stops. It's rather stressful.
In moving to Harrisburg in June, I viewed this summer as a sorely-needed break - I did not want to jump into full-time employment after juggling too many commitments for too long. And for the most part it has been just that - doing nannying two days a week and enjoying the freedom of choosing what to do with the rest of my time. But in the past few weeks I have begun to feel restless - I'm ready to be doing something different now. Although there is value in dipping my toes into many different pools, you cannot make as much of a ripple that way. And as I've been doing bits of many different things, I have been feeling unfocused and ineffective.
The irony is that earlier this summer I was concerned that I had become lazy - I was so enjoying my "time off" that I dreaded the idea of full-time employment again. But now I see that there was nothing to fear - I needed a break, but now I am ready for the next challenge to sink my teeth into.
I long for meaningful work - something that I can throw myself into that allows me to work for the things that I am passionate about and effectively use the gifts and skills that I have to offer. There is so much that I want to do, to change, if only I am given the opportunities!
Yet for now I must continue the search - despite my frustrations - while practicing patience and trust. I know that God has placed me here in Harrisburg for a specific purpose, and I know that He has a plan. He did not give me these passions and gifts for nothing - He will use me. I just need to be content with His timetable, not mine...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Serendipity: Breaking down stereotypes in the most unexpected ways
On Friday morning I was up early to drop off DJ (one of the kids I nanny) at Spanish camp at the local school. Then I went across the street to the Rite Aid to pick out a birthday card, and while I was there got the paper too. Then, as part of my goal of being more connected to my neighborhood, I decided to sit outside on my stoop and read the paper. It was still early, so not many people were out.
I settled into reading, but before long I started to notice people coming by with big garbage bags and picking up trash. I looked up and said "hi", but to be honest some of them looked like delinquents - I assumed that they must be doing a community service project as part of their sentence or something. How terribly stereotypical of me, I know. There has been little that has scared me about living in this neighborhood, although people seem to think I should be. However, I felt like I could be afraid of some of the guys walking past my stoop.
However, when other people continued to go past who looked "normal" (again, stereotypical, I know) I started to wonder if this was a community event that I was missing out on. And when someone asked me if I wanted to join in, I asked what was happening - and learned that this is through Weed & Seed and happens every Friday. My mind started racing - this was exactly the kind of opportunity I was looking for to get to know the neighborhood better and contribute in some way. Did I have the guts to get up off my stoop and go do it? I saw clearly that this was one of those things that would probably be uncomfortable and stretching, but that I would kick myself if I didn't do it. So I went.
Catching up with a group, I joined in. Someone asked if I had signed my name, and when I gave a puzzled look someone else laughed - "Does she look like she's on parole?" Ahh, so I had been right. This may be Weed & Seed community clean-up, but I had joined the group that was on parole - in fact the very people who had made me uncomfortable before!
I was clearly out of place, and it was kind of uncomfortable, but also really cool. They may be forced to do this because of things that they had done, but they were a really fun group to pick up trash with. Despite the swear words that were used as a regular part of their vocabulary, they never said anything rude to me - and were really interesting and funny people. And they seemed amazed that I had just gotten up off my stoop to come help when I saw them picking up trash. It's not like we are best friends now, and there are still plenty of barriers that stand between us. But I feel so thankful to have my stereotypes confronted and deconstructed a bit - to see these parolees as human beings rather than just people to be afraid of them. I will make this a regular part of my Fridays from now on, and I hope that I get to be in their group again.
The word "serendipity" is defined as: the act of finding something valuable or delightful when you are not looking for it. This was certainly a serendipitous morning for me - happening upon this experience totally unexpected, but finding something so valuable in it. And really, it had to be a God thing because there are so many "ifs": If Doug hadn't borrowed Des' car I would've gone to the Agape Center and not been there that morning. If Kirsten hadn't asked me to take DJ to Spanish Camp I wouldn't have been awake that morning. If I hadn't needed to get a birthday card at Rite Aid I wouldn't have bought the paper. And if I hadn't decided to read the paper outside I would've missed all of this. Thank you, God. I want to live in a way that is always open to these kinds of opportunities.
I settled into reading, but before long I started to notice people coming by with big garbage bags and picking up trash. I looked up and said "hi", but to be honest some of them looked like delinquents - I assumed that they must be doing a community service project as part of their sentence or something. How terribly stereotypical of me, I know. There has been little that has scared me about living in this neighborhood, although people seem to think I should be. However, I felt like I could be afraid of some of the guys walking past my stoop.
However, when other people continued to go past who looked "normal" (again, stereotypical, I know) I started to wonder if this was a community event that I was missing out on. And when someone asked me if I wanted to join in, I asked what was happening - and learned that this is through Weed & Seed and happens every Friday. My mind started racing - this was exactly the kind of opportunity I was looking for to get to know the neighborhood better and contribute in some way. Did I have the guts to get up off my stoop and go do it? I saw clearly that this was one of those things that would probably be uncomfortable and stretching, but that I would kick myself if I didn't do it. So I went.
Catching up with a group, I joined in. Someone asked if I had signed my name, and when I gave a puzzled look someone else laughed - "Does she look like she's on parole?" Ahh, so I had been right. This may be Weed & Seed community clean-up, but I had joined the group that was on parole - in fact the very people who had made me uncomfortable before!
I was clearly out of place, and it was kind of uncomfortable, but also really cool. They may be forced to do this because of things that they had done, but they were a really fun group to pick up trash with. Despite the swear words that were used as a regular part of their vocabulary, they never said anything rude to me - and were really interesting and funny people. And they seemed amazed that I had just gotten up off my stoop to come help when I saw them picking up trash. It's not like we are best friends now, and there are still plenty of barriers that stand between us. But I feel so thankful to have my stereotypes confronted and deconstructed a bit - to see these parolees as human beings rather than just people to be afraid of them. I will make this a regular part of my Fridays from now on, and I hope that I get to be in their group again.
The word "serendipity" is defined as: the act of finding something valuable or delightful when you are not looking for it. This was certainly a serendipitous morning for me - happening upon this experience totally unexpected, but finding something so valuable in it. And really, it had to be a God thing because there are so many "ifs": If Doug hadn't borrowed Des' car I would've gone to the Agape Center and not been there that morning. If Kirsten hadn't asked me to take DJ to Spanish Camp I wouldn't have been awake that morning. If I hadn't needed to get a birthday card at Rite Aid I wouldn't have bought the paper. And if I hadn't decided to read the paper outside I would've missed all of this. Thank you, God. I want to live in a way that is always open to these kinds of opportunities.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Becoming neighbors...
It's hard to believe that I have been here in my apartment on Derry St for over a month now. This is the neighborhood I fell in love with during my time at Messiah - and after years of driving in and out, it feels so right to live here now. I love that I am surrounded by people from so many different backgrounds - on my block alone, there are folks from Niger, Burkina Faso, Pakistan, and Puerto Rico! I love that people blare rap and hip-hop from their cars. I love that kids play outside on the sidewalks, and that people talk and laugh loudly outside my window. I also love the "roughness" of this neighborhood in a way that I can't explain. This place is so alive. Yet I won't pretend that it's free from problems - there are shootings sometimes, drug deals go down not far from here, and the cracked sidewalks and abandoned houses attest to the poverty that plagues this area. But there is also a lot of hope - so many organizations working for positive change here, so many people committed to making this a better place. And I am here to be one of them.
I have felt welcomed by the other "transplants" - our neighbors from Niger and Burkina Faso have become friends who watch out for us; our landlord and his family next-door are wonderful, sharing their children and telling us about ways to get involved in the neighborhood; Burmese refugee friends stop by all the time; and we have connected with other like-minded folks who moved onto the Hill intentionally. It has felt good to befriend other "outsiders".
Being welcomed by the natives of "the Hill" has not been so easy... I've quickly discovered that living in this neighborhood and being part of this neighborhood are two very different things. There's no question that us three white girls stick out. Most of the time it is something that is unspoken but tangible - when I walk down the street I can feel people looking and wondering what the heck this white girl is doing here. And sometimes there are comments - ranging from the curious: "what are you girls doing in this neighborhood? you're too nice to live here!" ...to the belligerent: "F*** white people!"
I so badly want to become a part of the community that exists in this neighborhood, but I underestimated how difficult it would be to connect across very real barriers of race, class, and culture. Because this really is a different culture - with its own history, identity, and way of life that I don't share, and ways of communicating and interacting that I don't fully understand yet. I long to understand, though, and even more to belong. But I know that will take time and a great deal of intentionality on my part.
I'm still figuring out how to interact with people - which is odd, because I'm no stranger to urban neighborhoods and grew up in one not that different from Allison Hill. Yet I was never a part of the neighborhoods I lived in before - I had been taught to put up my guard whenever I was out, so lived parallel lives to my neighbors, rarely interacting. That is not how I want to live anymore, but it is difficult to unlearn that now, and without intentionality I can easily default to just shutting everyone out. This is not driven by fear of bodily harm, because I'm not scared. But perhaps it is driven by fear of awkward interactions, fear of rude comments that can be the result of friendliness. Some days I'm tired and would rather just stay inside my apartment instead of dealing with it all, but most days I am up for the challenge. This is what I chose, and nobody ever said it would be easy.
One of my roommates commented recently that this place is hard - not like hard soil that just needs to be turned a few times to soften up, but like the concrete sidewalks that aren't easy to crack. However, I am reminded of a parting gift from my former boss at the Agape Center - a beautiful picture of a dandelion, with an encouragement to always plant ourselves in hard places, to grow where little else can, and flourish with a tenacity like that of this flower. That is what I hold onto now - I will be that dandelion here in South Allison Hill.
I have felt welcomed by the other "transplants" - our neighbors from Niger and Burkina Faso have become friends who watch out for us; our landlord and his family next-door are wonderful, sharing their children and telling us about ways to get involved in the neighborhood; Burmese refugee friends stop by all the time; and we have connected with other like-minded folks who moved onto the Hill intentionally. It has felt good to befriend other "outsiders".
Being welcomed by the natives of "the Hill" has not been so easy... I've quickly discovered that living in this neighborhood and being part of this neighborhood are two very different things. There's no question that us three white girls stick out. Most of the time it is something that is unspoken but tangible - when I walk down the street I can feel people looking and wondering what the heck this white girl is doing here. And sometimes there are comments - ranging from the curious: "what are you girls doing in this neighborhood? you're too nice to live here!" ...to the belligerent: "F*** white people!"
I so badly want to become a part of the community that exists in this neighborhood, but I underestimated how difficult it would be to connect across very real barriers of race, class, and culture. Because this really is a different culture - with its own history, identity, and way of life that I don't share, and ways of communicating and interacting that I don't fully understand yet. I long to understand, though, and even more to belong. But I know that will take time and a great deal of intentionality on my part.
I'm still figuring out how to interact with people - which is odd, because I'm no stranger to urban neighborhoods and grew up in one not that different from Allison Hill. Yet I was never a part of the neighborhoods I lived in before - I had been taught to put up my guard whenever I was out, so lived parallel lives to my neighbors, rarely interacting. That is not how I want to live anymore, but it is difficult to unlearn that now, and without intentionality I can easily default to just shutting everyone out. This is not driven by fear of bodily harm, because I'm not scared. But perhaps it is driven by fear of awkward interactions, fear of rude comments that can be the result of friendliness. Some days I'm tired and would rather just stay inside my apartment instead of dealing with it all, but most days I am up for the challenge. This is what I chose, and nobody ever said it would be easy.
One of my roommates commented recently that this place is hard - not like hard soil that just needs to be turned a few times to soften up, but like the concrete sidewalks that aren't easy to crack. However, I am reminded of a parting gift from my former boss at the Agape Center - a beautiful picture of a dandelion, with an encouragement to always plant ourselves in hard places, to grow where little else can, and flourish with a tenacity like that of this flower. That is what I hold onto now - I will be that dandelion here in South Allison Hill.
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