I said I was going to start blogging again in a post sometime last September...pretty positive that was the only post that made it up in the last year. Which is kind of a shame, because the last year was fairly interesting, intensely crazy, and probably entertaining.
Well....here I go again. "I think I'm going to start blogging again". Gee haven't you heard that before.
So stay tuned...my goal is to blog once a week...and this one doesn't count.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Friday, October 23, 2009
a letter from in inner-city kid
I borrowed this letter from another blog...it was written by someone who participates in a beautiful organization called Urban Homeworks
To the caring and capable adult who wants to help me, but sometimes does not want to see me;
To the one who plays with me, and who shows me lots of fun, but then like a grandparent, sends me home again when I get too tiring;
To the one who faithfully comes into the neighborhood twice a week and never misses an appointment;
To the one who really does love me with all their heart, but who still recoils when I get too close because of my smell, or my runny nose, or my ringworm;
To the one who buys me stuff, even though I ain’t their kid;
To the one who reads books with me, and helps me with my homework, and mentors me, and comes to my court review.
This letter is for you.
Thank you.
I don’t say that very often, do I? At least, not in ways you hear. Even though I may not show outward signs of appreciation, you must realize how important you are to me. You take time out of your busy life to come and visit me. I am a kid you don’t know too well, and one you don’t fully trust, but you come see me anyway. You are not my mamma or her baby daddy, and the courts didn’t make you come here. So when you spend time with me, I know it is because you want to. I’m too tough to tell you, but I need that kind of care. I crave it. I love you for doing it.
But you got to remember that you and me are different, okay? You got to remember that there are some things that I know better than you.
You drive into my neighborhood to work, but I live here all the time.
That’s not a bad thing, I am glad you come to see me. But you got to remember that you’re the guest here. You are not in charge all the time. You don’t always set the agenda.
Long after you leave, I will still be here.
When you are waking up for work and drinking your morning coffee, I am dragging my younger siblings out of bed and dressing them and making sure they eat something so we can get to the bus stop on time. And I don’t wake mamma.
When you are sleeping in your bed at night, I am curled up in a trembling mass in the corner of a shadowy den hoping and praying that my new daddy don’t come home drunk again.
I know you want to help, but you got to remember you don’t make the rules.
I need to drive sometimes. I know I am a little kid, but there are some things that I know better than you.You forget that sometimes, but hey, nobody’s perfect.
I know you like to visit me, but I also know that I scare you. You come from somewhere different than me and you can’t figure out why I act like I do.
For example, when you give popcorn to the kid on my left, I want some too. Do I simply ask for some, or patiently wait my turn? You wish I would.
“Hey! No fair! Why does he get popcorn? Where’s mine? Gimme some!”
This is my default.
There is a whining sound in my voice that annoys you, or I sound angry and aggressive.
What I want to say is this: “The popcorn looks delicious. I would like to have some, please.”
But I don’t know how to say that.
You tell me I have poor manners. You tell me I am rude. Well, I don’t know much about that, but I do know that you are trying to rip me off.
At home, and everywhere else I go, the assumption is that I am going to get screwed. See, I live with my mom and her boyfriend, and he has kids of his own that he brought with him when he moved in with us. And my brother has a different dad too.
At my house, there are favorite kids. At my house, I don’t get a new toy just because my brother did. At my house, I get left out.
But my mamma doesn’t say anything because it might make Joey mad. So, at my house, I am on my own.
Then you come along, and you seem nice enough. But how do I know that there is enough popcorn for me? How do I know that you are going to serve me just like you served that other kid? How do I know that you won’t ignore me?
I don’t.
I don’t know until I can trust you. Because, even though I am here in a church or school or kids club, I forget that I don’t have to fight. I forget that you try to be fair.
So, I will demand popcorn if I have to.
I say “fuck” a lot. And “bitch” and “shit” and “pussy.” You tell me I am bad, but really I am just talking like everybody else.
You got stuff you say, and I got stuff I say. It’s not because I am dumber than you, it is just my language.
I need you to fight against something. You will be tempted to judge me based on my speech patterns. My informal register will cause you to feel intellectually superior, and my use of profanity will cause you to feel morally superior.
Battle those urges with everything you’ve got.
I need you to talk to me without lecturing. I need you to include me in discussions. I don’t need condescension, I need conversation. I know you’re convinced that your language is the “correct” one and mine is somehow broken. But Jesus speaks Ebonics too.
By the way, it is okay for you to talk your talk. I don’t mind. But don’t try to mimic me, because I don’t know how to respond to that.
I don’t need someone who looks like me and sounds like me. I don’t need someone more ghetto or someone who fits into the neighborhood.
I need someone who truly cares. I need the love that turns things upside down. That will be enough.
I like to laugh, just like you do. I want to have a good time. But I laugh at different things than you.
You laugh at clever remarks and ironic situations and cunning satire.
I laugh when I tease the boy next to me until he cries. He walks funny and his clothes are too big. (My clothes are too big too, but I crucify him for it.)
Then I flip open my cousin’s cell phone and show everybody an animation I downloaded for $1.99.
It is Scooby Doo having sex with Daphne.
I laugh loud and long so everyone around me hears. I pass it around because there is great value in being the entertainer.
You tell me I am mean and inappropriate, but I don’t know how else I am supposed to laugh. The only things funny to me are people and sex. And when I showed it to my uncle, he laughed too.
That animation on my phone is the best way for you to understand me. That animation shows the clash of two worlds.
Scooby and Daphne: icons of silliness and youth.
Graphic depiction of sex: a mysterious siren song beckoning me to the big people world.
I clash with myself every day.
I am a kid, a normal kid, just like in your family. I go through all the same phases and want all the same things. I am just as likely as your kid to beg for a toy or have a scary dream or cry when I don’t get my way. I am just as likely to bite my Tootsie Pop or enjoy Dr. Seuss or forget to tie my shoe laces. And sometimes I just need a nap.
But I am also an adult, a small adult, who sees the real world every day. I go through all the same phases and want all the same things. I may not understand it, but I am likely to be intrigued by sex and marvel over money and watch while my brother gets high. I look up to Scarface and I’m wary of police and I see through your lies about school. And sometimes I just need a drink.
I’m kind of schizophrenic. A half-kid half-adult hybrid. That’s why I can be vulgar and innocent at the same time. That’s why I will tell you of my sexual exploits in graphic detail and then ask you to blow bubbles with me. That’s why I will quote the movies “How High” and “Alvin and the Chipmunks” over dinner and laugh just as loud over both of them.
You might think I have no impulse control. You might think that I am overly emotional, or terribly dramatic, or blatantly offensive. You can’t figure out why I act like I do.
You feel like you can’t get close to me because I fly off the handle every now and then, or I am cold or hostile toward your sappy Christian advances. I’m totally inconsistent and you think I may be mentally imbalanced.
You know nothing stays the same? Ask me my phone number. I probably won’t know it.
Ask for my address. I might be able to give you the street name we just moved to.
Ask me who my parent or legal guardian is, or which of those kids is really my cousin. I’m not being rude when I don’t answer. I just can’t keep up.
And I don’t know if my mom will bring home groceries, and I don’t know if I will make it to middle school. I don’t know if I am safe in my bed, and I don’t know where my daddy went. The things I don’t know far outweigh the things I do know.
I can’t control what happens to any extent, and I have trouble predicting outcomes.
Things happen to me.
I don’t wake up and plan for my day. I wake up and brace myself.
That’s why I cry at the drop of a hat, and that is why I launch into manic fits. That is why, when my brother asks for help on his homework, he may start fuming and kick the hell out of something.
We’re wearing roller skates on a merry-go-round. We can’t catch our balance and no one is helping us up.
We are trying to climb the wrong way up an icy sliding board while the bully at the top keeps throwing snow balls.
We’re in a cage match with reality, and there is no way to tap out.
And so we do things.
Maybe you’ve seen those scars on my arms. No, not the cigarette burns. Those came from something else.
I mean the cuts. Those straight and narrow cuts that criss-cross all over my skin and make patterns like a railroad track.
They look suspiciously like I put them there myself. You wonder about it when you catch a glimpse, but it takes you a couple of weeks to ask.
Let me tell you about my day. Let me tell you about my day that is the same day every day, and how boring and tedious it becomes to climb out of bed. Everything seems broken sometimes, and I don’t believe it can be fixed. There is nowhere to go from here, nothing to do.
I am bored.
Boredom leads to apathy, apathy leads to numbness, and numbness is the enemy of hope. I am the walking dead and it doesn’t take long for me to yearn to feel something. I want to feel that little sting, that rush of endorphins, that cleansing release as I purge my body of pent up self-worthlessness. I feel something. And I am in control. I am causing the sensation and no one is doing it to me. I am causing the sensation and I can make it stop.
Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Don’t talk to me! I hate you! I hate you!
I’ll run away and hide from you because you’re getting too close. I will say things just to make you hurt inside, and sometimes I get satisfaction in knowing you cried over me. I’ll cuss at you sometimes. I will jump out of your car and refuse to get back in, telling you the whole time that you are a liar who doesn’t care about me at all. Then I will walk home by myself in the rain, tossing the gift you gave me on the ground.
And I will watch over my shoulder to see you driving slowly behind me until I arrive safely at my destination.
I’m mad at you. I am not speaking to you. We both know that it’s not your fault, but I want to be mad at someone. I fume and vent, and you shrink and listen. You will try really hard in this situation, but I don’t want you to win. I want you to come back, but I don’t want you to win. I’m pissed.
I need you to be patient. Most people stick around until I lose my temper, or steal from them, or resist their love. They get tired, or hurt, or bored, or mad and I never see them again. When you wipe my spit from your face and search me out in the streets, I get it. Then I start to believe you. I’ll be baffled by your mercy and puzzled by your grace, and the yearning of my heart will be satisfied by your faithfulness. I’ll probably still act mad for a while, and I may teach you some new choice phrases. But I will also end the conversation with, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
So, thanks for reading my letter. I don’t know if you’ll understand what I am saying, I am really not that articulate. I don’t know how to express these things. Sometimes I have to wrestle with my tongue to make the words come out. But I still wanted someone to hear me out, to engage my opinions, to recognize my voice.
And I cherish you for doing that.
From the kid you want to work with, but keep at arm’s length;
From the child you pick up for church on Sunday and play basketball with on Monday;
From the one who loves your reading voice and wishes he had a dad like you;
From the boy who needs to learn to shave and the girl who needs a chick flick night;
From the 1 in 4 who is living in poverty;
From the one who is close enough to touch.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Bring candy.
To the caring and capable adult who wants to help me, but sometimes does not want to see me;
To the one who plays with me, and who shows me lots of fun, but then like a grandparent, sends me home again when I get too tiring;
To the one who faithfully comes into the neighborhood twice a week and never misses an appointment;
To the one who really does love me with all their heart, but who still recoils when I get too close because of my smell, or my runny nose, or my ringworm;
To the one who buys me stuff, even though I ain’t their kid;
To the one who reads books with me, and helps me with my homework, and mentors me, and comes to my court review.
This letter is for you.
Thank you.
I don’t say that very often, do I? At least, not in ways you hear. Even though I may not show outward signs of appreciation, you must realize how important you are to me. You take time out of your busy life to come and visit me. I am a kid you don’t know too well, and one you don’t fully trust, but you come see me anyway. You are not my mamma or her baby daddy, and the courts didn’t make you come here. So when you spend time with me, I know it is because you want to. I’m too tough to tell you, but I need that kind of care. I crave it. I love you for doing it.
But you got to remember that you and me are different, okay? You got to remember that there are some things that I know better than you.
You drive into my neighborhood to work, but I live here all the time.
That’s not a bad thing, I am glad you come to see me. But you got to remember that you’re the guest here. You are not in charge all the time. You don’t always set the agenda.
Long after you leave, I will still be here.
When you are waking up for work and drinking your morning coffee, I am dragging my younger siblings out of bed and dressing them and making sure they eat something so we can get to the bus stop on time. And I don’t wake mamma.
When you are sleeping in your bed at night, I am curled up in a trembling mass in the corner of a shadowy den hoping and praying that my new daddy don’t come home drunk again.
I know you want to help, but you got to remember you don’t make the rules.
I need to drive sometimes. I know I am a little kid, but there are some things that I know better than you.You forget that sometimes, but hey, nobody’s perfect.
I know you like to visit me, but I also know that I scare you. You come from somewhere different than me and you can’t figure out why I act like I do.
For example, when you give popcorn to the kid on my left, I want some too. Do I simply ask for some, or patiently wait my turn? You wish I would.
“Hey! No fair! Why does he get popcorn? Where’s mine? Gimme some!”
This is my default.
There is a whining sound in my voice that annoys you, or I sound angry and aggressive.
What I want to say is this: “The popcorn looks delicious. I would like to have some, please.”
But I don’t know how to say that.
You tell me I have poor manners. You tell me I am rude. Well, I don’t know much about that, but I do know that you are trying to rip me off.
At home, and everywhere else I go, the assumption is that I am going to get screwed. See, I live with my mom and her boyfriend, and he has kids of his own that he brought with him when he moved in with us. And my brother has a different dad too.
At my house, there are favorite kids. At my house, I don’t get a new toy just because my brother did. At my house, I get left out.
But my mamma doesn’t say anything because it might make Joey mad. So, at my house, I am on my own.
Then you come along, and you seem nice enough. But how do I know that there is enough popcorn for me? How do I know that you are going to serve me just like you served that other kid? How do I know that you won’t ignore me?
I don’t.
I don’t know until I can trust you. Because, even though I am here in a church or school or kids club, I forget that I don’t have to fight. I forget that you try to be fair.
So, I will demand popcorn if I have to.
I say “fuck” a lot. And “bitch” and “shit” and “pussy.” You tell me I am bad, but really I am just talking like everybody else.
You got stuff you say, and I got stuff I say. It’s not because I am dumber than you, it is just my language.
I need you to fight against something. You will be tempted to judge me based on my speech patterns. My informal register will cause you to feel intellectually superior, and my use of profanity will cause you to feel morally superior.
Battle those urges with everything you’ve got.
I need you to talk to me without lecturing. I need you to include me in discussions. I don’t need condescension, I need conversation. I know you’re convinced that your language is the “correct” one and mine is somehow broken. But Jesus speaks Ebonics too.
By the way, it is okay for you to talk your talk. I don’t mind. But don’t try to mimic me, because I don’t know how to respond to that.
I don’t need someone who looks like me and sounds like me. I don’t need someone more ghetto or someone who fits into the neighborhood.
I need someone who truly cares. I need the love that turns things upside down. That will be enough.
I like to laugh, just like you do. I want to have a good time. But I laugh at different things than you.
You laugh at clever remarks and ironic situations and cunning satire.
I laugh when I tease the boy next to me until he cries. He walks funny and his clothes are too big. (My clothes are too big too, but I crucify him for it.)
Then I flip open my cousin’s cell phone and show everybody an animation I downloaded for $1.99.
It is Scooby Doo having sex with Daphne.
I laugh loud and long so everyone around me hears. I pass it around because there is great value in being the entertainer.
You tell me I am mean and inappropriate, but I don’t know how else I am supposed to laugh. The only things funny to me are people and sex. And when I showed it to my uncle, he laughed too.
That animation on my phone is the best way for you to understand me. That animation shows the clash of two worlds.
Scooby and Daphne: icons of silliness and youth.
Graphic depiction of sex: a mysterious siren song beckoning me to the big people world.
I clash with myself every day.
I am a kid, a normal kid, just like in your family. I go through all the same phases and want all the same things. I am just as likely as your kid to beg for a toy or have a scary dream or cry when I don’t get my way. I am just as likely to bite my Tootsie Pop or enjoy Dr. Seuss or forget to tie my shoe laces. And sometimes I just need a nap.
But I am also an adult, a small adult, who sees the real world every day. I go through all the same phases and want all the same things. I may not understand it, but I am likely to be intrigued by sex and marvel over money and watch while my brother gets high. I look up to Scarface and I’m wary of police and I see through your lies about school. And sometimes I just need a drink.
I’m kind of schizophrenic. A half-kid half-adult hybrid. That’s why I can be vulgar and innocent at the same time. That’s why I will tell you of my sexual exploits in graphic detail and then ask you to blow bubbles with me. That’s why I will quote the movies “How High” and “Alvin and the Chipmunks” over dinner and laugh just as loud over both of them.
You might think I have no impulse control. You might think that I am overly emotional, or terribly dramatic, or blatantly offensive. You can’t figure out why I act like I do.
You feel like you can’t get close to me because I fly off the handle every now and then, or I am cold or hostile toward your sappy Christian advances. I’m totally inconsistent and you think I may be mentally imbalanced.
You know nothing stays the same? Ask me my phone number. I probably won’t know it.
Ask for my address. I might be able to give you the street name we just moved to.
Ask me who my parent or legal guardian is, or which of those kids is really my cousin. I’m not being rude when I don’t answer. I just can’t keep up.
And I don’t know if my mom will bring home groceries, and I don’t know if I will make it to middle school. I don’t know if I am safe in my bed, and I don’t know where my daddy went. The things I don’t know far outweigh the things I do know.
I can’t control what happens to any extent, and I have trouble predicting outcomes.
Things happen to me.
I don’t wake up and plan for my day. I wake up and brace myself.
That’s why I cry at the drop of a hat, and that is why I launch into manic fits. That is why, when my brother asks for help on his homework, he may start fuming and kick the hell out of something.
We’re wearing roller skates on a merry-go-round. We can’t catch our balance and no one is helping us up.
We are trying to climb the wrong way up an icy sliding board while the bully at the top keeps throwing snow balls.
We’re in a cage match with reality, and there is no way to tap out.
And so we do things.
Maybe you’ve seen those scars on my arms. No, not the cigarette burns. Those came from something else.
I mean the cuts. Those straight and narrow cuts that criss-cross all over my skin and make patterns like a railroad track.
They look suspiciously like I put them there myself. You wonder about it when you catch a glimpse, but it takes you a couple of weeks to ask.
Let me tell you about my day. Let me tell you about my day that is the same day every day, and how boring and tedious it becomes to climb out of bed. Everything seems broken sometimes, and I don’t believe it can be fixed. There is nowhere to go from here, nothing to do.
I am bored.
Boredom leads to apathy, apathy leads to numbness, and numbness is the enemy of hope. I am the walking dead and it doesn’t take long for me to yearn to feel something. I want to feel that little sting, that rush of endorphins, that cleansing release as I purge my body of pent up self-worthlessness. I feel something. And I am in control. I am causing the sensation and no one is doing it to me. I am causing the sensation and I can make it stop.
Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Don’t talk to me! I hate you! I hate you!
I’ll run away and hide from you because you’re getting too close. I will say things just to make you hurt inside, and sometimes I get satisfaction in knowing you cried over me. I’ll cuss at you sometimes. I will jump out of your car and refuse to get back in, telling you the whole time that you are a liar who doesn’t care about me at all. Then I will walk home by myself in the rain, tossing the gift you gave me on the ground.
And I will watch over my shoulder to see you driving slowly behind me until I arrive safely at my destination.
I’m mad at you. I am not speaking to you. We both know that it’s not your fault, but I want to be mad at someone. I fume and vent, and you shrink and listen. You will try really hard in this situation, but I don’t want you to win. I want you to come back, but I don’t want you to win. I’m pissed.
I need you to be patient. Most people stick around until I lose my temper, or steal from them, or resist their love. They get tired, or hurt, or bored, or mad and I never see them again. When you wipe my spit from your face and search me out in the streets, I get it. Then I start to believe you. I’ll be baffled by your mercy and puzzled by your grace, and the yearning of my heart will be satisfied by your faithfulness. I’ll probably still act mad for a while, and I may teach you some new choice phrases. But I will also end the conversation with, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
So, thanks for reading my letter. I don’t know if you’ll understand what I am saying, I am really not that articulate. I don’t know how to express these things. Sometimes I have to wrestle with my tongue to make the words come out. But I still wanted someone to hear me out, to engage my opinions, to recognize my voice.
And I cherish you for doing that.
From the kid you want to work with, but keep at arm’s length;
From the child you pick up for church on Sunday and play basketball with on Monday;
From the one who loves your reading voice and wishes he had a dad like you;
From the boy who needs to learn to shave and the girl who needs a chick flick night;
From the 1 in 4 who is living in poverty;
From the one who is close enough to touch.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Bring candy.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Life Interrupted
We all live our lives by a plan. Sometimes it is our plan, sometimes it's someone else's, but there is a sense of progression; of forward movement towards the things we are supposed to accomplish in our lives.
I've discovered that in attempting to live my life sacrificially for God....I live a life interrupted.
I continually move along according to my own plans and am continually interrupted by things I never thought I'd do, people I never thought I'd meet, and circumstances I don't know how to deal with.
I've been looking for a job in an office, working in training and leadership development, corporate communication, within a consistent and professional environment.
I've found a job at a non-profit working in relationship building, problem solving, intercultural communication within a crazy travel schedule and semi-chaotic environment.
I'm leaving behind my to do lists and appointments. Instead, showing up for a 4 day community trip with some people to meet and places I might be able to find them.
I'm leaving behind my pencil skirts and heels. Instead adopting a wardrobe of jeans and serious snow boots.
I'm leaving behind my friends and family. Instead traveling the country alone.
I'm leaving behind my desire for comfort and belonging. Instead I become the minority. The white girl who doesn't belong.
I'm a Youthworks Western Region Area Director. I work on Native American Indian Reservations and small towns in South Dakota, Colorado, and Arizona.
My life has been Interrupted. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've discovered that in attempting to live my life sacrificially for God....I live a life interrupted.
I continually move along according to my own plans and am continually interrupted by things I never thought I'd do, people I never thought I'd meet, and circumstances I don't know how to deal with.
I've been looking for a job in an office, working in training and leadership development, corporate communication, within a consistent and professional environment.
I've found a job at a non-profit working in relationship building, problem solving, intercultural communication within a crazy travel schedule and semi-chaotic environment.
I'm leaving behind my to do lists and appointments. Instead, showing up for a 4 day community trip with some people to meet and places I might be able to find them.
I'm leaving behind my pencil skirts and heels. Instead adopting a wardrobe of jeans and serious snow boots.
I'm leaving behind my friends and family. Instead traveling the country alone.
I'm leaving behind my desire for comfort and belonging. Instead I become the minority. The white girl who doesn't belong.
I'm a Youthworks Western Region Area Director. I work on Native American Indian Reservations and small towns in South Dakota, Colorado, and Arizona.
My life has been Interrupted. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Friday, August 7, 2009
saying goodbye part 3
We have been packing all day...and saying goodbye to people. I'm sad...and I can' believe I will be driving away from heart butte in the morning, in Denver on Sunday and back home on Tuesday.
This summer has absolutely flown by!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
saying goodbye part 2
I'm having deja vu....I remember packing up my dorm room after freshman and sophomore year...and then packing up my house after senior year...now I'm packing up my room at Heart Butte Elementary School. I'm taking down bulletin boards and putting resource boxes back together. Collecting the gifts I bought for family, and generally getting ready to leave on Saturday. It is sad...I realize how much this horrible little room has really begun to feel like home.
sadness...again.
I feel the same way that Lido felt after kid's club yesterday "I don't want to go home! Why do I have to go home? I'm just sad sad sad."
Lido is the one in the picture with his hand raised...he is my favorite!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
saying goodbye part 1
So I’m sitting on the couch…I’m supposed to be doing staff evaluations, but I just keep thinking about everything that has happened during the summer and all of the wonderful people I have met. And after a few minutes of reflection…I’m leaving teardrop stains on Heather’s evaluation paperwork.
I never expected to come here. If you had asked me 6 months ago…I never would have said that I would be living in a town of 730 people with no gas station on a native reservation in Montana. Never. In two days Destiny won’t be able to throw open the door of my office looking for me, Francis won’t be able to come find me for her daily hug,
I won’t be sending people driving all over with directions like “turn at the blue house after the bridge and go to the green house with the broken down chevy pick up in the driveway”, I won’t be seeing people’s faces light up with joy because we mowed their lawn….something they just couldn’t do.
I won’t be dancing with MeKenna, or chasing Cobyn around. I won’t be joining in the drum circle or yelling at my staff to go to bed. I won’t be laughing at Smokey or learning how to bead.
When we tell people in other places around Montana where we live and what we’re doing ….they look at us like we are crazy and tell us to be careful because we are in danger and that they would never even dream of stopping in Heart Butte Montana.
They are the crazy ones. Crazy for not stopping. I’ve landed for a summer in a beautiful little pocket of the world and now I don’t want to leave. Don’t get me wrong…there is drama and craziness up the wazoo and sometimes I want to pull my hair out and just walk away. But it has been worth every single tense conversation, every time I’ve been yelled at. Worth the dark circles under my eyes, the airmattress, wearing dirty clothes, and eating nasty food.
Heart Butte Montana is a place you will never see unless you go looking for it….I’m glad to be found here. Even for just another 3 days.
I never expected to come here. If you had asked me 6 months ago…I never would have said that I would be living in a town of 730 people with no gas station on a native reservation in Montana. Never. In two days Destiny won’t be able to throw open the door of my office looking for me, Francis won’t be able to come find me for her daily hug,
I won’t be sending people driving all over with directions like “turn at the blue house after the bridge and go to the green house with the broken down chevy pick up in the driveway”, I won’t be seeing people’s faces light up with joy because we mowed their lawn….something they just couldn’t do.
I won’t be dancing with MeKenna, or chasing Cobyn around. I won’t be joining in the drum circle or yelling at my staff to go to bed. I won’t be laughing at Smokey or learning how to bead.
When we tell people in other places around Montana where we live and what we’re doing ….they look at us like we are crazy and tell us to be careful because we are in danger and that they would never even dream of stopping in Heart Butte Montana.
They are the crazy ones. Crazy for not stopping. I’ve landed for a summer in a beautiful little pocket of the world and now I don’t want to leave. Don’t get me wrong…there is drama and craziness up the wazoo and sometimes I want to pull my hair out and just walk away. But it has been worth every single tense conversation, every time I’ve been yelled at. Worth the dark circles under my eyes, the airmattress, wearing dirty clothes, and eating nasty food.
Heart Butte Montana is a place you will never see unless you go looking for it….I’m glad to be found here. Even for just another 3 days.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Get Ready
This week is our last week.
This week is like prep week but twice as bad.
We have to do everything we did during prep weeks....backwards...with participants here.
I anticipate a lot of late nights.
Here we go....
This week is like prep week but twice as bad.
We have to do everything we did during prep weeks....backwards...with participants here.
I anticipate a lot of late nights.
Here we go....
Friday, July 31, 2009
one of my biggest flaws
Why am I so incapable of keeping things clean?? Really...I don't understand.
This is Heather and I's bedroom/Kid's club supply room/team meeting room/office.I hate it. It is a disaster and there are no windows and no ventilation.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Coming Home
I am leaving to come home in 12 days. That is crazy! I can't believe how fast this summer has gone and I know this last week will fly by as well. I've starting to think about coming home. Not about leaving here...that is too hard to think about just yet...but I have been excited about returning home!
Here are some things I've been contemplating:
What I will do when I get home:
1. Sleep in a bed
2. eat healthy food
3. get margaritas with Emily
4. go to starbucks with sara
5. watch a movie
6. sleep in....past 8am
7. have windows in my room
8. have a closet
9. sit on the patio with a cup of tea and a pointlessly entertaining novel
10. talk on my cell phone
11. go to target
12. hang out with the fam
13. check facebook
14. go to church...it's been 7 weeks!
15. walk around barefoot
What I will not do when I get home:
1. have meetings
2. go to sam's club
3. use a calling card
4. go to bed at midnight or later
5. get up at 6:30 or earlier
6. sing in front of people
7. get people's attention by screaming "holla back"
8. wear the same t-shirt every day
9. keep reciepts
10. constanly remind people to wear seatbelts, lock doors, pick up after themselves, and go to bed
11. paint...anything
12. give piggyback rides
13. fight with a scanner
14. do paperwork
15. check my voicemail every 4 hours
Here are some things I've been contemplating:
What I will do when I get home:
1. Sleep in a bed
2. eat healthy food
3. get margaritas with Emily
4. go to starbucks with sara
5. watch a movie
6. sleep in....past 8am
7. have windows in my room
8. have a closet
9. sit on the patio with a cup of tea and a pointlessly entertaining novel
10. talk on my cell phone
11. go to target
12. hang out with the fam
13. check facebook
14. go to church...it's been 7 weeks!
15. walk around barefoot
What I will not do when I get home:
1. have meetings
2. go to sam's club
3. use a calling card
4. go to bed at midnight or later
5. get up at 6:30 or earlier
6. sing in front of people
7. get people's attention by screaming "holla back"
8. wear the same t-shirt every day
9. keep reciepts
10. constanly remind people to wear seatbelts, lock doors, pick up after themselves, and go to bed
11. paint...anything
12. give piggyback rides
13. fight with a scanner
14. do paperwork
15. check my voicemail every 4 hours
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
some random thoughts
1.
One of our adult leaders is calling me "Molly Mom" this week. I feel like this is kind of fits. I think I wrote about this a little bit at the beginning of the summer...but it continues to make me laugh. Especially in light of the fact that a few years ago I wasn't even sure I wanted to have kids....to set the record straight : I do. But I guess I'm more of the "mom".."take care of people" type than I ever realized before.
*this is a picture of me and the boys and the yummy cake I made for our team*
2. When did I become such a klutz? I fell down at glacier. When I fell: I broke my camera, and severly bruised my shin and my ankle. They are both turning purple now and still hurt quite a bit. I also stabbed myself with a plastic fork yesterday...who does that?
3. I'm ready to go home. I love it here...a lot! But I'm worn out and I need some time off to hang out with friends and family, sleep in my bed, and not be on the job 24/7.
4. I really don't like paperwork. and there is a lot of it to do right now. too much.
5. I really need to go do my paperwork now.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Weekend Retreat!
This is a picture of our staff team + Area Director Ashley!
It was a wonderful weekend full of adventure and relaxation!
More pictures and stories to come.
Friday, July 24, 2009
So Tired
I'm so tired.
More than not getting enough sleep...the wear and tear of working 18 hour days with 1 day a week off for 8 weeks is catching up to me. I want to sleep and sleep and sleep.
I could barely get out of bed this morning...and I'm not the only one. We had to send Dillon to wake Ranger up, and if you had given me a few more minutes, someone would have had to come get me too. I knew what time it was and I knew I needed to get up but I could not physically pull myself out of bed.
This weekend we are going to West Glaceier National Park to stay in a cabin, go whitewater rafting, and drive "going to the sun" road. It is going to be a glorious weekend...and one of the best parts is that tonight I get to sleep in a real bed.
A real bed with real sheets, a mattress, and glory!!!!!
Be excited to see pictures when we get back!
More than not getting enough sleep...the wear and tear of working 18 hour days with 1 day a week off for 8 weeks is catching up to me. I want to sleep and sleep and sleep.
I could barely get out of bed this morning...and I'm not the only one. We had to send Dillon to wake Ranger up, and if you had given me a few more minutes, someone would have had to come get me too. I knew what time it was and I knew I needed to get up but I could not physically pull myself out of bed.
This weekend we are going to West Glaceier National Park to stay in a cabin, go whitewater rafting, and drive "going to the sun" road. It is going to be a glorious weekend...and one of the best parts is that tonight I get to sleep in a real bed.
A real bed with real sheets, a mattress, and glory!!!!!
Be excited to see pictures when we get back!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Moving on...
I remember very clearly sitting on a hill at our training week in Denver thinking "what have I gotten myself into?" I'd been listening to people talk for days about what my summer was going to look like and all the daunting tasks we had to do. They were giving us piles and piles of paperwork and binders of information and saying "don't forget this" and "don't forget that". "
What did I sign up for?"
"What have I gotten myself into?"
I have been here for 8 weeks. I have 2 left. I know that when we leave here and I go back to Denver for our debrief I will be asking myself "What just happned?" "What was that?"
Everything here happens so fast. One minute you are in crisis mode. Taking kids to the hospital to get stitches and then dealing with conflict and then making dinner...battling high school students over lights out and then you crash into bed and wake up the next day to go full force again....forgetting that yesterday I was kneeling next to a 10 year old girl busting out my first aid skills and then taking her to the hospital.
When did that become an everyday kind of thing? When I joined Youthworks...that's when.
Bottom line: things break...like cars, fridges, dishwasher disposals, toilets.
adult leaders get angry.
staff get into conflict.
kids get hurt.
community members yell at you.
the school board spends a good chunk of their meeting discussing how clean you keep the school.
mice eat your food.
you don't sleep.
In any given day, 3-5 of these things could happen one after the other. And they are not little things. When Adult leaders get upset...it is a big deal. When staff are in conflict...you have to resolve it...when the school board is upset...you have to spend 2 hours cleaning.
Here is the point of this post: Stuff happens. you have to face it head-on...deal with it...let it go...and move on to the next thing. I don't have the luxury of time to process through every situation and how it impacted me and what I learned. I know I'm learning, I know I'm growing, but sometimes you take the kid to get stitches and then you go home to make a snack for 72 people and calm down the anger of an adult leader...and no one even knows that you spent an hour at the hospital comforting the kid and answering to the parents whose kid got hurt while in your program.
Never thought I'd say it...but it's all in a day's work. A very long 18 hour day's work. I love it. and right now...I'm really tired.
What did I sign up for?"
"What have I gotten myself into?"
I have been here for 8 weeks. I have 2 left. I know that when we leave here and I go back to Denver for our debrief I will be asking myself "What just happned?" "What was that?"
Everything here happens so fast. One minute you are in crisis mode. Taking kids to the hospital to get stitches and then dealing with conflict and then making dinner...battling high school students over lights out and then you crash into bed and wake up the next day to go full force again....forgetting that yesterday I was kneeling next to a 10 year old girl busting out my first aid skills and then taking her to the hospital.
When did that become an everyday kind of thing? When I joined Youthworks...that's when.
Bottom line: things break...like cars, fridges, dishwasher disposals, toilets.
adult leaders get angry.
staff get into conflict.
kids get hurt.
community members yell at you.
the school board spends a good chunk of their meeting discussing how clean you keep the school.
mice eat your food.
you don't sleep.
In any given day, 3-5 of these things could happen one after the other. And they are not little things. When Adult leaders get upset...it is a big deal. When staff are in conflict...you have to resolve it...when the school board is upset...you have to spend 2 hours cleaning.
Here is the point of this post: Stuff happens. you have to face it head-on...deal with it...let it go...and move on to the next thing. I don't have the luxury of time to process through every situation and how it impacted me and what I learned. I know I'm learning, I know I'm growing, but sometimes you take the kid to get stitches and then you go home to make a snack for 72 people and calm down the anger of an adult leader...and no one even knows that you spent an hour at the hospital comforting the kid and answering to the parents whose kid got hurt while in your program.
Never thought I'd say it...but it's all in a day's work. A very long 18 hour day's work. I love it. and right now...I'm really tired.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
new addictions
I have become addicted to Cinnamon Toast Crunch..or as the off-brand calls them: Cinnamon Toasters.
I used to be a cereal snob...but off-brand cereal that comes in a bag is so much cheaper and it tastes the same.
Why are these toasters so good?? I'm sure they are not good for me!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Is this real life?
Today I was struck by some of the completely ridiculous and amazing things that I do on a daily basis that I never in my life would have expected to do. Here are a few.
1. I drive around in either a beat up 15 passenger van with no air conditioning or a dented green chevy pick-up truck.
2. I buy lattes at a coffee shop that's literally a white cement tipi.
3. I hang out at a beautiful crystal clear lake with views of the mountains all around.
4. I load up 5 flatbeds at Sam's club every week and pay $1200 for groceries
5. I live in a classroom of a school and sleep on an air mattress...and I think it is completely adequate
6. I use packing boxes as my clothing dresser
7. I lead worship
8. I have a 22 digit phone card number memorized
9. I go to glacier national park multiple times a week
10. I teach native dances to high school students
11. I teach people how to paint....(I don't know anything about painting)
12. I warn people about the hazards of grizzly bears, mountain lions, and stepping in cow manure
13. I make high school students clean toilets
14. I have three people in their 20's who call me "mom" on a daily basis
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Unexpected Friends
Making friends is something that has always come pretty easily to me. And I've always been okay with the concept that I can't be friends with everyone so sometimes it's okay if I just don't hit it off with someone I meet.
This whole lifestyle is a little bit different. I've made some amazing friends in the community....but it has taken a lot of work. It's required a lot of initiative and intentionality on my part to get the friendships started and to keep them moving forward. There are so many little cultural things that impact relationships here. I'm just not used to it. A lot of times I feel like I'm not wanted or that my attempt at friendship is annoying and I'm just that pesky white girl with that crazy youth organization. That's the lie I've been believing, but the truth is: my friendship is wanted and appreciated...but that appreciation and mutuality in relationships just looks a little bit different here.
Over the last few weeks...I've stepped my game up with being intentional and seeking out time (what very little time we have) to spend with friends and to be present in the community. Now I can honestly say that people who started out the summer as "community contacts" have become friends. The friendships are new and they need work...but they have so much beautiful potential.
The awful....horrible...makes me want to cry part is that I'm leaving in three weeks. I seriously feel like I just got here. Like I showed up a week ago...but I know that these relationships could not have possilby been built in a week. It has taken 6 weeks to build up to this beginning stage of friendship and in 3 weeks...I have to walk away.
They're used to it. This happens every summer and so they have a great attitude that we are friends for the summer and they get to help us become aquainted with the community and hang out....but for me: it hurts a lot. After we spent time with them last night, it really hit me that I'm leaving and I don't want to leave these people who have drastically impacted my time here. I can't even imagine showing up in this community...that is not an easy place to enter...and not having them here. They have made all the difference and when I think of Heart Butte and the Blackfeet Reservation it is them that I will think of.
** The picture is of me and my friend McKenna. She is 5 and was crowned the Blackfeet Tiny Tot Princess this weekend!**
Monday, July 13, 2009
Canoe Trip!
We went on an amazingly relaxing and restful canoe trip this weekend! We did a few hours in the canoe broken up by a wonderful picnic lunch!!
It was a fantastic day of rest that was much needed by all our staff! Praise the Lord for peaceful surroundings and fun times on the water!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Pow-Wow
This weekend I experienced my first Pow-Wow. I'm not exactly sure how to describe it. It was kind of like a cultural fair. There was drumming competitions, dancing competitions, fair rides, fair food (yummy fry bread), and vendors. It was amazing!! I loved the dancing and the costumes and all the great explanations that our native friends provided!! I posted a video of some dancing!! Check it out!
These are Fancy Dancers...it is my favorite!
These are Fancy Dancers...it is my favorite!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)