I rediscovered a song today that really hit home in light of the things that I've been processing through with my neighborhood. It's called "Give me your eyes" by Brandon Heath, and this is my prayer as I walk through my neighborhood each day - the song for my journey right now...
"Looked down from a broken sky
Traced out by the city lights
My world from a mile high
Best seat in the house tonight
Touched down on the cold black top
Hold on for the sudden stop
Breath in the familiar shock
Of confusion and chaos
All those people going somewhere,
Why have I never cared?
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
Ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
Yeah
Yeah
yeah
yeah
Step out on a busy street
See a girl and our eyes meet
Does her best to smile at me
To hide what's underneath
There's a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie
Too ashamed to tell his wife
He's out of work
He's buying time
All those people going somewhere
Why have I never cared?
(Chorus)
I've Been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
Just moving past me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all along
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
Ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
Yeah
Yeah
yeah
yeah
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
"Streetwise"
The end of this month will mark the fourth month that I have lived "on the Hill" here in Harrisburg. Oddly enough, though, this last week or so has been one of the most challenging for me, bringing up many questions for me to wrestle with about how I interact with this neighborhood and its people.
Principle among these questions has been an issue of respect - why can't I walk down the street and be acknowledged as a human being instead of treated like an object by so many of the men here? From the beginning I knew that I would have to deal with rude comments from men, and resolved to brush them off. My first rule of interaction, though, was that I wouldn't ignore the people or look past them as I had been accustomed to before - at the very least I would make eye contact, recognizing them as human beings.
However, when so many of my attempts to acknowledge men as I pass them have been met with derisive comments, I begin to rethink my strategy. The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again expecting different results. I have felt systematically disrespected here despite my best efforts, and this week something in me snapped. For the first time I was really angry at my neighborhood and the segment of people who have repeatedly violated me. This no longer seemed like a diverse and welcoming place, but a hostile environment that I must navigate at my peril.
Unfortunately, my first reaction was to break my own rule and completely ignore every man I encountered on the street. I tried that for a day, and although I succeeded in avoiding unwelcome comments, it only fueled the anger and resentment that I was feeling.
Fortunately, my second reaction was to explore why. I know that I am living in a culture that is vastly different from my own, and I recognized that rather than resist that culture with all my might, it would be more productive and ultimately helpful to seek to understand it instead.
So yesterday I biked to Midtown Scholar's new bookstore, and lost myself in their Sociology section for hours. And I found exactly the kind of book that I needed right now - "Streetwise" by Elijah Anderson. He's an African-American sociologist who has done a lot of work in Philly, and gave very practical insights into how "the streets" operate and what signals and body language are used to navigate them effectively. I was hooked, and finished the entire book yesterday!
It was not only extremely insightful, but very convicting for me. He makes the distinction between "street etiquette", which applies rules of interaction broadly based on stereotypes, and "street wisdom", which recognizes people as individuals and tailors interactions accordingly. I realized that I was guilty of using "street etiquette" - I had created rules for how to interact with different types of people, and so when I encountered people on the street I did not see them, but rather I saw their race, their gender, their age and fit them into one of the categories I had created in my head to program a response. Granted, these programmed responses were based on my past experiences, but they were prejudiced nonetheless and wrong.
I want to become "streetwise" as the author calls it - not sticking to rigid rules based on crudely constructed stereotypes, but encountering people as individuals, treating them as people, and allowing for the possibility of a genuine interaction. After all, if I cannot see them as a human being not defined by their race, gender, and age, how can I expect them to do the same for me?
In reading my Bible this morning, I was also convicted that I have not really been loving people here like I should - like Jesus would. I've been loving my neighbors who are easy to love, but writing off those who are too difficult. I pray now that God will forgive me for this, and give me the "Agape" love that he has for the people of Allison Hill - so that I may truly love those who I encounter here.
Principle among these questions has been an issue of respect - why can't I walk down the street and be acknowledged as a human being instead of treated like an object by so many of the men here? From the beginning I knew that I would have to deal with rude comments from men, and resolved to brush them off. My first rule of interaction, though, was that I wouldn't ignore the people or look past them as I had been accustomed to before - at the very least I would make eye contact, recognizing them as human beings.
However, when so many of my attempts to acknowledge men as I pass them have been met with derisive comments, I begin to rethink my strategy. The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again expecting different results. I have felt systematically disrespected here despite my best efforts, and this week something in me snapped. For the first time I was really angry at my neighborhood and the segment of people who have repeatedly violated me. This no longer seemed like a diverse and welcoming place, but a hostile environment that I must navigate at my peril.
Unfortunately, my first reaction was to break my own rule and completely ignore every man I encountered on the street. I tried that for a day, and although I succeeded in avoiding unwelcome comments, it only fueled the anger and resentment that I was feeling.
Fortunately, my second reaction was to explore why. I know that I am living in a culture that is vastly different from my own, and I recognized that rather than resist that culture with all my might, it would be more productive and ultimately helpful to seek to understand it instead.
So yesterday I biked to Midtown Scholar's new bookstore, and lost myself in their Sociology section for hours. And I found exactly the kind of book that I needed right now - "Streetwise" by Elijah Anderson. He's an African-American sociologist who has done a lot of work in Philly, and gave very practical insights into how "the streets" operate and what signals and body language are used to navigate them effectively. I was hooked, and finished the entire book yesterday!
It was not only extremely insightful, but very convicting for me. He makes the distinction between "street etiquette", which applies rules of interaction broadly based on stereotypes, and "street wisdom", which recognizes people as individuals and tailors interactions accordingly. I realized that I was guilty of using "street etiquette" - I had created rules for how to interact with different types of people, and so when I encountered people on the street I did not see them, but rather I saw their race, their gender, their age and fit them into one of the categories I had created in my head to program a response. Granted, these programmed responses were based on my past experiences, but they were prejudiced nonetheless and wrong.
I want to become "streetwise" as the author calls it - not sticking to rigid rules based on crudely constructed stereotypes, but encountering people as individuals, treating them as people, and allowing for the possibility of a genuine interaction. After all, if I cannot see them as a human being not defined by their race, gender, and age, how can I expect them to do the same for me?
In reading my Bible this morning, I was also convicted that I have not really been loving people here like I should - like Jesus would. I've been loving my neighbors who are easy to love, but writing off those who are too difficult. I pray now that God will forgive me for this, and give me the "Agape" love that he has for the people of Allison Hill - so that I may truly love those who I encounter here.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
This is what it's all about
There are moments in life when things suddenly crystallize for you, and it suddenly becomes clear why you're doing what you're doing. I had such a moment tonight. It had been a stressful day - only my fourth day in my new job at the Agape Center - and by this evening I was feeling drained. I hadn't gotten everything done that I had hoped to, unexpected problems had come up that I had to deal with, and even though I was doing the Harrisburg tour - one of my favorite things - I was burdened with feelings of inadequacy.
All of the things that I wish I had done better were running through my head as we gathered at the end of the night to reflect on our day. It was obvious that everyone was tired, and I thought "sharing time" would be like pulling teeth. But it wasn't. Student after student, with barely a pause, voiced something meaningful about their day. Many of them shared about something that had impacted them from the Harrisburg tour - seeing true community amidst the brokenness in Allison Hill, having the experience of getting out of the cars and engaging with people, appreciating the really beautiful art that is everywhere, learning about the different parts of the city and the inequalities, discovering that there really are fun things to do here, and on and on.
As they spoke, I was moved - this was hands-down the most meaningful part of my day. Although I didn't say that out-loud, this made all of the stress of preparing for the tour absolutely worth it. This is why I'm here - to introduce students to a place and ideas and a lifestyle that means so much to me. Although I often fall short of my own expectations, this is what it's all about - what students are experiencing and learning. My work is producing fruit, but really it isn't about me at all. The words of Oscar Romero speak to this so eloquently, and I take comfort in them:
"It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own."
AMEN.
All of the things that I wish I had done better were running through my head as we gathered at the end of the night to reflect on our day. It was obvious that everyone was tired, and I thought "sharing time" would be like pulling teeth. But it wasn't. Student after student, with barely a pause, voiced something meaningful about their day. Many of them shared about something that had impacted them from the Harrisburg tour - seeing true community amidst the brokenness in Allison Hill, having the experience of getting out of the cars and engaging with people, appreciating the really beautiful art that is everywhere, learning about the different parts of the city and the inequalities, discovering that there really are fun things to do here, and on and on.
As they spoke, I was moved - this was hands-down the most meaningful part of my day. Although I didn't say that out-loud, this made all of the stress of preparing for the tour absolutely worth it. This is why I'm here - to introduce students to a place and ideas and a lifestyle that means so much to me. Although I often fall short of my own expectations, this is what it's all about - what students are experiencing and learning. My work is producing fruit, but really it isn't about me at all. The words of Oscar Romero speak to this so eloquently, and I take comfort in them:
"It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own."
AMEN.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Finding encouragement...
Lately it's been easy for me to get discouraged. The job search often seems to be going nowhere. The State Budget isn't getting much closer to being passed. It continues to be challenging to get to know our neighbors. I find myself too tired sometimes to exert the effort to reach out. My efforts at hospitality and building relationships don't always turn out the way I hope. I don't seem to have enough time to do everything that I want to, and end up feeling pulled in too many directions. Sometimes I feel like I've failed my ideals.
But every time these things bring me down, God finds a way to bring encouragement and lift me up. Spontaneous dinner with Agape Center friends. Play-time with the little boys next door. An elaborate African meal with our wonderful and talkative neighbor from Burkina Faso. Late night chats with my amazing roomies. Beautiful sunsets and gentle breezes. Unexpected naps. Joyous bike rides along the river. These are the things that give me life here. And most days the encouragements outweigh the discouragements - thank you, God.
But every time these things bring me down, God finds a way to bring encouragement and lift me up. Spontaneous dinner with Agape Center friends. Play-time with the little boys next door. An elaborate African meal with our wonderful and talkative neighbor from Burkina Faso. Late night chats with my amazing roomies. Beautiful sunsets and gentle breezes. Unexpected naps. Joyous bike rides along the river. These are the things that give me life here. And most days the encouragements outweigh the discouragements - thank you, God.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
What am I to do?
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...
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...
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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