The following is a reflection written by Mark Florido, one of this year's volunteers living at the Little Village House.
I have a confession. I love boy bands. There’s just something about their non-threatening bubble gum lyrics, their bleached hairstyles, and their conformists dance moves that I find simply irresistible. This odd obsession of the otherwise nauseating is not just something that I reserve for ice breakers but also makes me part of the millennial generation. For those of us who are amateur sociologists (and for those of us who spent hours in a library writing papers on sociology), my millennialism not only predisposes me to an affinity for technology, a distaste for hierarchy, a need to question, but most importantly, it also makes me one that craves results, quick results at that.
In an age of high-speed internet, text messages and facebook, we now live in a time where things happen fast. In this day and age, we are busier. More things are expected of us. More things are vying for our attention. We are in the age of multi-tasking. We do so many things and we expect results.
Sometimes, I have to fight the millennial inside me and tell myself that sometimes results aren’t always quick, tangible and concrete. Some results I will never see or ever understand. Basic physics teaches us that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. What does that mean for us? It means everything. The clothes that I buy affect someone somewhere. The food that I eat affects someone somewhere. The words that I say affect someone somewhere. Everything that I do affects someone. Just because I do not see how people are affected by doesn’t mean that I’m not.
Sometimes we can get so caught up in these labels and boxes of what we think ought to be, what we should be, what Amate should be, what results we should be seeing, that we forget the real reason we are here. We are not here to save anyone. We are not here for results. We are here simply to be; to be ourselves as individuals but also ourselves as a community, not just our Amate communities, but our human communities.
We are strangers that depend on each other, that need each other. We are connected, more than anyone could ever know. Service is more than just 10 months at Amate. Service is recognizing that we are all connected, all the time. The moment we forget this interconnectedness is the moment we turn away from God. The moment we ignore the person on the street asking for money, is the moment we ignore God. The moment we pass judgment on the rich person, is the moment we pass judgment on God. The moment we stop challenging ourselves to experience discomfort, we deny ourselves a moment to grow. The moment that we focus solely on ourselves, we deny ourselves a chance to experience a moment of love.
I have to constantly remind myself that everything that I do has a purpose, has a result. Yeah, that should satisfy my millennial craving for results. Now, what to do about the strong urge to get a fade, watch some T.G.I.F and buy my sisters some slap bracelets?
Showing posts with label Amate House. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amate House. Show all posts
Friday, February 12, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Thoughts on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day
The following is a reflection written by Erin Buckley, one of this year's volunteers living at the North House.
I walk down the street, balancing two Styrofoam cups in my hands—in my left, water, in my right, Diet Coke. The sun glints off the snow, and I am glad to be approaching my destination, the apartment of one of the elders I visit through my work with Little Brothers, Friends of the Elderly. For although on this afternoon, January 13, Chicago is feeling temperatures above freezing for the first time in the new year, the cold creeps into my fingers. I carry a paper bag with an A&P corned beef sandwich on rye bread with mustard, and a wrap for myself. I am pleased to deliver such a specific lunch request to Luretta. (Note: name changed to protect privacy.)
Luretta buzzes me into her building and greets me at her door with a bright green and yellow sunflower sweater and a smile. I unload my goods, strip off my coat, sit beside her, and we catch up about Christmas and New Year’s. As we talk, I admire the display across the room from me—a Michella Obama doll in her glittering white inauguration gown, two smooth-faced dolls, a framed portrait of a uniformed woman holding a miniature space shuttle, presumably the first African American female astronaut. The scene looks similar to many of the shrine-like displays at the apartments I visit on Chicago’s South Side. The prominence of the Obama family among these shrines is rivaled only by portraits of Jesus Christ, and sometimes Mary.
Two bronze busts of Martin Luther King, Jr., nestled amongst the pictures, prompt me to ask Luretta if she had heard Martin Luther King, Jr., speak at Soldier Field in the 1960’s. I had learned of this event the previous day in speaking to an elder. Yes, she nods, s
he’d been there, and it was a hot day. “And didn’t Martin Luther King, Jr., live in Chicago for a while?” Yes, she confirms this.
Luretta seems a little more relaxed today. Perhaps it is the heavy sandwich which makes her space her thoughts a little more. After an hour or so, I leave Luretta’s with a Styrofoam cup holding an aloe Vera sprout, which she gave me from a plant burgeoning on her windowsill.
This year has been a year of building specific, intentional relationships with particular people in nooks and crannies throughout this city. Today, as I exit Luretta’s building, I think about winter, about warmth, about black and white. Also, I think about blindness. Luretta is 74 years old, has been blind for 5 years, and she lives alone. For Christmas, she was delighted to receive a 9-tape recorded set of the New Testament. I have no doubt that she has also heard the passage from the Old Testament, Isaiah Ch. 42: “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.”
Today, as it was in Martin Luther King, Jr.’s time, Chicago is one of the most segregated major cities in the country. Like many of my roommates, I am grateful for a job that affords me the opportunity to interact with people of different backgrounds and cultures than myself this year. If you were to see us, you might not think that Luretta and I share much in common. I am so fortunate to be able to visit this woman with a strong faith and a joyful spirit, this woman who cannot see me, who allows me to fulfill my job description every time I call her “friend.”
I walk down the street, balancing two Styrofoam cups in my hands—in my left, water, in my right, Diet Coke. The sun glints off the snow, and I am glad to be approaching my destination, the apartment of one of the elders I visit through my work with Little Brothers, Friends of the Elderly. For although on this afternoon, January 13, Chicago is feeling temperatures above freezing for the first time in the new year, the cold creeps into my fingers. I carry a paper bag with an A&P corned beef sandwich on rye bread with mustard, and a wrap for myself. I am pleased to deliver such a specific lunch request to Luretta. (Note: name changed to protect privacy.)
Luretta buzzes me into her building and greets me at her door with a bright green and yellow sunflower sweater and a smile. I unload my goods, strip off my coat, sit beside her, and we catch up about Christmas and New Year’s. As we talk, I admire the display across the room from me—a Michella Obama doll in her glittering white inauguration gown, two smooth-faced dolls, a framed portrait of a uniformed woman holding a miniature space shuttle, presumably the first African American female astronaut. The scene looks similar to many of the shrine-like displays at the apartments I visit on Chicago’s South Side. The prominence of the Obama family among these shrines is rivaled only by portraits of Jesus Christ, and sometimes Mary.
Two bronze busts of Martin Luther King, Jr., nestled amongst the pictures, prompt me to ask Luretta if she had heard Martin Luther King, Jr., speak at Soldier Field in the 1960’s. I had learned of this event the previous day in speaking to an elder. Yes, she nods, s
he’d been there, and it was a hot day. “And didn’t Martin Luther King, Jr., live in Chicago for a while?” Yes, she confirms this.Luretta seems a little more relaxed today. Perhaps it is the heavy sandwich which makes her space her thoughts a little more. After an hour or so, I leave Luretta’s with a Styrofoam cup holding an aloe Vera sprout, which she gave me from a plant burgeoning on her windowsill.
This year has been a year of building specific, intentional relationships with particular people in nooks and crannies throughout this city. Today, as I exit Luretta’s building, I think about winter, about warmth, about black and white. Also, I think about blindness. Luretta is 74 years old, has been blind for 5 years, and she lives alone. For Christmas, she was delighted to receive a 9-tape recorded set of the New Testament. I have no doubt that she has also heard the passage from the Old Testament, Isaiah Ch. 42: “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.”
Today, as it was in Martin Luther King, Jr.’s time, Chicago is one of the most segregated major cities in the country. Like many of my roommates, I am grateful for a job that affords me the opportunity to interact with people of different backgrounds and cultures than myself this year. If you were to see us, you might not think that Luretta and I share much in common. I am so fortunate to be able to visit this woman with a strong faith and a joyful spirit, this woman who cannot see me, who allows me to fulfill my job description every time I call her “friend.”
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Here We Are
The following is a reflection written by Beth Johnson, one of this year's Volunteers living at the South House.
Here we are! The year 2010 is upon us, and to be honest, it’s a year I hadn’t really thought much about before it came knocking on my door just a couple of weeks ago. As the clock struck 12:00 this year, to put it candidly, the thought that ran through my head was, “Whoa--here we go, ready or not-- onto a new decade??!”
The lack of planning may have been due to the fact that 2009 had been such a milestone year for me and many other Amate volunteers. With the goal of graduating college and moving on toward new adventures in mind, perhaps we failed to look beyond the present excitement of our goals playing out. Or maybe it was the fact that the year “20-10” just seemed like something straight out of a movie filled with robots and flying cars…too far off in the distance to really imagine it. But regardless, we are here now, and so far I have enjoyed looking toward the future-- full steam ahead, and with great optimism about what it has to offer each one of us.
Despite the confusion I have experienced in relation to just how it is we got to this point so quickly, I am overwhelmed with the number of new things in my life that I can be so thankful for. The changes I have experienced throughout the latter half of 2009 have brought my life an abundance of new experiences and relationships, and for that I am grateful.
During my time at Amate House, I have been living in the community’s South House, which is located in the McKinley Park neighborhood of Chicago, and my work has been with preschoolers at the Academy of St. Benedict the African School (A.S.B.A.). This school is located on the west side of the city’s Englewood neighborhood, a neighborhood that faces a tremendous amount of poverty and a prevalent theme of violence.
To be honest, I didn’t really know what to expect when I walked into my classroom for the first time in August. Was I even going to like the preschool setting? Would I be patient enough, generous enough, loving enough to meet the needs of my 3, 4, and 5 year old students, some of which are experiencing the school setting for the very first time?
Throughout my time with the 23 children that I have had the cherished opportunity to teach, I can tell you that my fears and anxieties have put to rest, not by walking into this experience with ease, but rather by learning from the lively, patient, ever-loving spirits of my students that not any one person is perfect, but that if we’re in it together, we can make light out of any situation, circumstance, or shortcoming that takes place both in the classroom and out of it.
Many of my students come from backgrounds that I will never be able to fully grasp. Throughout our time together though, I have enjoyed walking alongside them as they grow into, as they say, “big kids!”, or as I see them, into confident, strong-willed, and resilient young people.
It is from them that I have learned the lessons I would like to carry with me into the new year…First that no matter what happens today, there is always the opportunity for a fresh start tomorrow. Second, there is nothing a hug and an honest apology shouldn’t be able to fix, and third, we are all human, we all make mistakes (wet our pants, trip over our snow pants, cry when we wake up from naptime)….so why not treat ourselves and each other with a little extra love?
So, with that, I hope that no matter where this new year finds you, that ready or not, you can move into 2010 with peace in your heart and simplicity in your soul, as you remember to treat yourself gently, just as my preschoolers have so lovingly taught me to do.
Here we are! The year 2010 is upon us, and to be honest, it’s a year I hadn’t really thought much about before it came knocking on my door just a couple of weeks ago. As the clock struck 12:00 this year, to put it candidly, the thought that ran through my head was, “Whoa--here we go, ready or not-- onto a new decade??!”
The lack of planning may have been due to the fact that 2009 had been such a milestone year for me and many other Amate volunteers. With the goal of graduating college and moving on toward new adventures in mind, perhaps we failed to look beyond the present excitement of our goals playing out. Or maybe it was the fact that the year “20-10” just seemed like something straight out of a movie filled with robots and flying cars…too far off in the distance to really imagine it. But regardless, we are here now, and so far I have enjoyed looking toward the future-- full steam ahead, and with great optimism about what it has to offer each one of us.
Despite the confusion I have experienced in relation to just how it is we got to this point so quickly, I am overwhelmed with the number of new things in my life that I can be so thankful for. The changes I have experienced throughout the latter half of 2009 have brought my life an abundance of new experiences and relationships, and for that I am grateful.
During my time at Amate House, I have been living in the community’s South House, which is located in the McKinley Park neighborhood of Chicago, and my work has been with preschoolers at the Academy of St. Benedict the African School (A.S.B.A.). This school is located on the west side of the city’s Englewood neighborhood, a neighborhood that faces a tremendous amount of poverty and a prevalent theme of violence.
To be honest, I didn’t really know what to expect when I walked into my classroom for the first time in August. Was I even going to like the preschool setting? Would I be patient enough, generous enough, loving enough to meet the needs of my 3, 4, and 5 year old students, some of which are experiencing the school setting for the very first time?
Throughout my time with the 23 children that I have had the cherished opportunity to teach, I can tell you that my fears and anxieties have put to rest, not by walking into this experience with ease, but rather by learning from the lively, patient, ever-loving spirits of my students that not any one person is perfect, but that if we’re in it together, we can make light out of any situation, circumstance, or shortcoming that takes place both in the classroom and out of it.
Many of my students come from backgrounds that I will never be able to fully grasp. Throughout our time together though, I have enjoyed walking alongside them as they grow into, as they say, “big kids!”, or as I see them, into confident, strong-willed, and resilient young people.
It is from them that I have learned the lessons I would like to carry with me into the new year…First that no matter what happens today, there is always the opportunity for a fresh start tomorrow. Second, there is nothing a hug and an honest apology shouldn’t be able to fix, and third, we are all human, we all make mistakes (wet our pants, trip over our snow pants, cry when we wake up from naptime)….so why not treat ourselves and each other with a little extra love?
So, with that, I hope that no matter where this new year finds you, that ready or not, you can move into 2010 with peace in your heart and simplicity in your soul, as you remember to treat yourself gently, just as my preschoolers have so lovingly taught me to do.
Monday, December 07, 2009
O Come O Come Emmanuel
The following is a reflection written by Anne Krane, one of this year's Volunteers living at the North House.
When I asked my pre-schoolers how they were going to get ready for Jesus’ birthday during advent, I got some awesome answers:
“I’m going to make him a cake.”
“I’m going to buy him a car.”
“I’m going to take him to the zoo and to Chuck E. Cheese.”
We had talked about Advent. We had sung at least three songs about candles, and we had made wreaths. From all of the details, I think that they understood the most important part. They were excited to be able to plan and prepare to do something kind and generous for someone else. I try to carry what I learn from these students home with me each day. Our community is large and busy, and our days are long; when we settle down to dinner together each night, it is a challenge to shake off the fatigue from the day and facilitate the generosity and kindness the season encourages.
Our house didn’t have an advent wreath, so last Monday we got together our craft supplies and made one, pre-school style. Each member of our house traced their hand, and wrote something that they hoped for on it, along with their name. We surrounded it with candles, and it has served as a beautiful reminder of the season and what we are here to do. We have many hands in our community, and we are making sure that during this season of light and preparation, we are using them to do God’s work.
Sometimes we fail at this. Like all communities, we allow stress and anxiety to shake our faith, and complicate our purpose here. Sometimes instead of discussing, we argue; sometimes instead of supporting, we cut each other down.
The children I work with are young, weak, and mostly come from households that are in need; my community can also feel weak against the seemingly insurmountable problems in our community, at our work sites, and in the world. It seems as though we are unlikely and inadequate choices to be spreading the message of God; but we are often surprised with the choices God makes. God chose a simple carpenter, a frightened young girl, and a humble stable. From the seemingly hopeless and powerless can sometimes come extraordinary gifts.
When I asked my pre-schoolers how they were going to get ready for Jesus’ birthday during advent, I got some awesome answers:
“I’m going to make him a cake.”
“I’m going to buy him a car.”
“I’m going to take him to the zoo and to Chuck E. Cheese.”
We had talked about Advent. We had sung at least three songs about candles, and we had made wreaths. From all of the details, I think that they understood the most important part. They were excited to be able to plan and prepare to do something kind and generous for someone else. I try to carry what I learn from these students home with me each day. Our community is large and busy, and our days are long; when we settle down to dinner together each night, it is a challenge to shake off the fatigue from the day and facilitate the generosity and kindness the season encourages.
Our house didn’t have an advent wreath, so last Monday we got together our craft supplies and made one, pre-school style. Each member of our house traced their hand, and wrote something that they hoped for on it, along with their name. We surrounded it with candles, and it has served as a beautiful reminder of the season and what we are here to do. We have many hands in our community, and we are making sure that during this season of light and preparation, we are using them to do God’s work.
Sometimes we fail at this. Like all communities, we allow stress and anxiety to shake our faith, and complicate our purpose here. Sometimes instead of discussing, we argue; sometimes instead of supporting, we cut each other down.
The children I work with are young, weak, and mostly come from households that are in need; my community can also feel weak against the seemingly insurmountable problems in our community, at our work sites, and in the world. It seems as though we are unlikely and inadequate choices to be spreading the message of God; but we are often surprised with the choices God makes. God chose a simple carpenter, a frightened young girl, and a humble stable. From the seemingly hopeless and powerless can sometimes come extraordinary gifts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)