I had an experience yesterday that gave me a new appreciation for the fabulous University of Wisconsin.
I had acting class, as usual. But instead of hanging out in our classroom as usual, our teacher decided that it would be a good idea to move into a new environment ... you know, in front of an audience ...
We were led to the speaking platform on Library Mall, right at the beginning of State St. We did "trust" exercises with our scene partners. Sounds weird? It was, weirder than you can imagine. We were mirroring each other, making sound effects, contorting our bodies into strange positions ... and yes, all the while, crowds of students were making their way to their choice State St. establishments.
Then some kids went through their scenes. Acting on an outdoor stage, while the last of the fall leaves swirled around us.
I only have one question: Where are my dreadlocks?!
(PS: I'm sitting in my Rhetoric of Religion class right now. Professor Howard's advice for the day is: "If you get the opportunity to start a colony, make sure you name it after yourself." Thanks Howard. You're a wise man.)
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Doin' Good in the Hood
It's not that rare for me to have a whirlwind weekend. In fact, they seem to happen more frequently than the mellow, boring kind - which I'm totally alright with. But, it IS pretty rare for me (and probably anyone) to have a perspective-altering, paradigm-shifting, life-changing kind of whirlwind weekend.
Well, then, consider this past weekend rare indeed.
I spent the past three days in the Twin Cities, working with an organization called Lateria. Lateria (pronounced La-TRAY-ya) is a non-profit org based in Southern Minneapolis. It caters to groups of all kinds - youth groups, college groups, church groups, etc. - and aims to provide them with short-term, immersion-based urban service experiences. I first heard of this org through the church I frequent in Madison, called Blackhawk. Blackhawk's college ministry sent out an email, telling students to sign up for a weekend trip. I thought to myself, "Self, you've sort of sucked at life lately. You live in a bubble, you don't do much for other people, and faith has become easy for you. It's time to move out of your comfort zone." So, against my better scholastic judgment (I have an exam, two papers, and a paper proposal due this week, non of which I have started), I decided to take the plunge into the cities. What?! I'm a Carow. I am most certainly an upper-class white female from New Berlin. I shop at the Gap. I go on ski trips. And I certainly don't operate in the inner city.
I'm not going to lie: I was nervous. I spent a lot of the morning saying sporadic prayers in my head ... God, make me sick. I don't really want to go anymore. God, I don't want to run into anyone smelly or anything. God, will you change me?
After meeting up with the group and caravaning five hours northwest, we pulled up to a pretty old-looking building in a dark street with more potholes than pavement. I could feel my prejudices coming out as soon as we gathered our stuff and made our way in: there was a young black kid with baggy pants, smoking near the door. I didn't fit in here. I didn't like it.
We walked in. There were teenagers everywhere. Playing basketball, yelling, laughing. Talking in Ebonics. I was about as far away from Wautoma as I could get. We were staying in a building I now knew as the Hospitality House. It's a building run by an organization (different from Lateria, but they do a lot of partnering) that puts on after-school programs and other things, like Midnight Basketball (which we were in the midst of) to get kids off the streets. After being introduced to our leaders and the program, we were put to work right away. When the kids come for midnight basketball, they also get served a free meal. My job? Frying sausages. It was my first step out of my comfort zone, as I do not eat pork. We served the kids their meal, and then got the change to just hang out with them. Our group hung out with two kids., chatting about sports and college. Then we watched some serious street ball. It was pretty much amazing. A kid named Bingo also introduced himself to us, showing off his card tricks. (Also amazing.) Why do they call him Bingo? Cuz, he "got game."
And that was Night One. Already, the scales over the eyes my heart were being removed.
We woke up early the next morning, commencing our day jam-packed with volunteer opportunities. After a continental breakfast, we hit the road in the 15-passenger periwinkle-blue van. Our first service opp was to an organization called Feed My Starving Children (check 'em out at www.fmsc.org), a non-profit funded almost entirely through private donations. There, I learned that
I know this is getting long. But when you see things like this, when you look pain and despair in the face, you cannot be silent.
After dinner at an authentic Ecuadorian restaurant and a fun little scavenger hunt through a fun little place called Global Market, we went back to the H. House for some debriefing. After some relaxing (and digesting of massive burritos), we situated ourselves and watched a well-known documentary called Invisible Children. I knew that this film had been shown on campus at least once during my college career, but had never seen it. I knew it was very eye-opening, but had never been impacted by it myself. I was already emotionally drained after all I had seen and done that day, but was truly ill-prepared for the effect this film would have on me.
The Invisible Children movement was started by three college students who traveled to Northern Uganda to see the havoc in the war-torn country themselves. Armed with video cameras, they were looking for any story that presented itself to them. They found one - a story of children, children being abducted by rebel forces threatening to overthrown the government. After they are kidnapped and taken into the African bush, they are tortured and brainwashed into becoming soldiers, killing machines. The children who are left behind continue to face unimaginable horrors, and gather together nightly in a hospital because their own homes are unsafe from evil.
I'm a writer, and pride myself on using words to convey my messages to the world. But sometimes words can't cut it. Sometimes they can't show the agony of losing a loved one or the terror of another sleepless night. Now that I have seen these images, however, and have a deepened sense of understanding of the bloodshed in Uganda, it would be nothing short of a crime to stay silent. I want to tell everyone I know to explore the history of this overlooked crisis for themselves. Whatever you think about foreign policy or governmental spending is irrelevant, because this issue is one that is supremely human, one that can be stopped if we see our shared humanity and take action.
I wept that night, because I felt so helpless to do anything for these children, and for all the children I had seen throughout the day. But I found peace in the fact that these children are not invisible to my Father, nor is the evil in the world hidden to Him. He knows their agony, and is mighty to save. And he has not called us to do everything - because that's His job - but he
has called us to do something.
All these experiences, supplemented by an amazing service at an inner-city multi-ethic church, changed me deeply this weekend. I think that's the power of short-term missions. Perhaps I didn't do much this weekend. I did not change the world, and maybe I didn't even change one life. But the world changed me, and I can take that with me.
I'm not sure where these new experiences are going to lead me, but God often leads us in places we least expect it. If my future lies somewhere in the inner city, I'd ask for your support for me then. But right now, I'd just ask for your prayers for all those who touched my life this weekend, and for all those who need the light of God in dark places around the world.
Well, then, consider this past weekend rare indeed.
I spent the past three days in the Twin Cities, working with an organization called Lateria. Lateria (pronounced La-TRAY-ya) is a non-profit org based in Southern Minneapolis. It caters to groups of all kinds - youth groups, college groups, church groups, etc. - and aims to provide them with short-term, immersion-based urban service experiences. I first heard of this org through the church I frequent in Madison, called Blackhawk. Blackhawk's college ministry sent out an email, telling students to sign up for a weekend trip. I thought to myself, "Self, you've sort of sucked at life lately. You live in a bubble, you don't do much for other people, and faith has become easy for you. It's time to move out of your comfort zone." So, against my better scholastic judgment (I have an exam, two papers, and a paper proposal due this week, non of which I have started), I decided to take the plunge into the cities. What?! I'm a Carow. I am most certainly an upper-class white female from New Berlin. I shop at the Gap. I go on ski trips. And I certainly don't operate in the inner city.
I'm not going to lie: I was nervous. I spent a lot of the morning saying sporadic prayers in my head ... God, make me sick. I don't really want to go anymore. God, I don't want to run into anyone smelly or anything. God, will you change me?
After meeting up with the group and caravaning five hours northwest, we pulled up to a pretty old-looking building in a dark street with more potholes than pavement. I could feel my prejudices coming out as soon as we gathered our stuff and made our way in: there was a young black kid with baggy pants, smoking near the door. I didn't fit in here. I didn't like it.
We walked in. There were teenagers everywhere. Playing basketball, yelling, laughing. Talking in Ebonics. I was about as far away from Wautoma as I could get. We were staying in a building I now knew as the Hospitality House. It's a building run by an organization (different from Lateria, but they do a lot of partnering) that puts on after-school programs and other things, like Midnight Basketball (which we were in the midst of) to get kids off the streets. After being introduced to our leaders and the program, we were put to work right away. When the kids come for midnight basketball, they also get served a free meal. My job? Frying sausages. It was my first step out of my comfort zone, as I do not eat pork. We served the kids their meal, and then got the change to just hang out with them. Our group hung out with two kids., chatting about sports and college. Then we watched some serious street ball. It was pretty much amazing. A kid named Bingo also introduced himself to us, showing off his card tricks. (Also amazing.) Why do they call him Bingo? Cuz, he "got game."
And that was Night One. Already, the scales over the eyes my heart were being removed.
We woke up early the next morning, commencing our day jam-packed with volunteer opportunities. After a continental breakfast, we hit the road in the 15-passenger periwinkle-blue van. Our first service opp was to an organization called Feed My Starving Children (check 'em out at www.fmsc.org), a non-profit funded almost entirely through private donations. There, I learned that
16,000
starving
children
die
every
day.
starving
children
die
every
day.
Every day. We spent two hours doing our part to stop this madness. Through the work of 60 volunteers, we bagged scoops of chicken, veggies, soy, and rice. Chicken, veggies, soy, and rice. Chicken, veggies, soy, and rice. Over and over. Items on a grocery store list for us, a life-saving meal for them. We packaged 70 boxes of this mixture, with 36 bags to a box, and 6 meals to a bag. 15,120 meals. 41 kids will eat for a year because of two simple hours of our time.
After a quick lunch and Bible study, we went out to the streets again. This time, we worked with a program called Good in the Hood. It's a program run by a pastor of a church in Minneapolis. Through referrals, this pastor finds about about people in the community who are strapped. Maybe they can't pay their rent that month, maybe their car broke down. Then, he emails out his congregation of Minute Men, who will drop what they're doing to help this person in need. He'll notify volunteer groups such as Lateria, and they can also send down help. This pastor got word that a woman who couldn't afford rent in her old apartment anymore, so she needed to move to a new one. But, she didn't have any family in the world to help her move. We all know how stressful and exhausting moving can be, and to not have any help would be downright overwhelming.
Now, did you get a mental image of this woman in your mind?
Did you picture an elderly black woman?
Yeah, me too.
Except, the woman we met was a red-haired, slender woman named Emily. She was in her 20's. It's that damn prejudice showing its ugly head again.
"And just who is my neighbor?"
Emily was enormously creative, her house was filled with musical instruments and art. With about 20 volunteers, we helped her move from one apartment to another in under two hours. Emily was not a believer, and we got to pray for her and bless her new home. Maybe, maybe ... for once, Christians left a positive impression on someone.
I was getting exhausted, but we carried on. Our next stop was called Mary's Place, a shelter for homeless families. It was a brand new building, a beautifully structured apartment complex. Not the dreary hell-hole I was expecting. We didn't have much time, but our "task" here was to hang out with kids. A couple of us met a small Asian boy in 7th grade. His name was Chewy. We met a burly, African-American kid, an eighth-grader named Shawn. After passing around a football for awhile, we decided we'd be game for a little two-hand touch. Chewy was all-time quarterback, and Shawn was playbook extraordinare; we pretty much mastered this reverse lateral play he thought of. I had so much fun just running around with them - it was absolutely heart-breaking to leave. These guys were just KIDS. Kids no different from the kids I play with all summer. Kids who happened to be born in rough situations. Kids who really just wanted to play football in their backyard, but didn't have a backyard to call their own.
And all I could think of was how I had a dad to play catch with me in the yard ... and here these guys were, waiting for a chance for some stranger to show up and pass a ball around with them ... only to leave again in a hour.
Our final service stop was at another shelter called People Serving People. It is funded federaly but run almost entirely by volunteers. Our job was to serve dinner. Somehow, I wound up with the task of candy passer-outer. Now, I haven't gone to school for this, but I thought I could manage. Little did I know that it was arguably the most difficult thing I'd have to do that day.
So, what do you think of when you think of a homeless shelter?
A shabby, run-down building filled with babbling drunks?
Yeah, me too.
Except ... it wasn't. It was a new building, filled with families. Kids ... everywhere. A one week old baby. A nine year old girl. A four year old boy. They were laughing, crying, running around. It was like Chuck-E-Cheese, minus the ... wealth, the whiteness. They were just children who didn't have a safe place to come home to at night, who didn't have a bed to be tucked into. And parents who were trying, trying ... but just couldn't seem to pull things together. Mothers ashamed to be walking down a line taking hand-outs again, fathers unable to provide for their babies.
After a quick lunch and Bible study, we went out to the streets again. This time, we worked with a program called Good in the Hood. It's a program run by a pastor of a church in Minneapolis. Through referrals, this pastor finds about about people in the community who are strapped. Maybe they can't pay their rent that month, maybe their car broke down. Then, he emails out his congregation of Minute Men, who will drop what they're doing to help this person in need. He'll notify volunteer groups such as Lateria, and they can also send down help. This pastor got word that a woman who couldn't afford rent in her old apartment anymore, so she needed to move to a new one. But, she didn't have any family in the world to help her move. We all know how stressful and exhausting moving can be, and to not have any help would be downright overwhelming.
Now, did you get a mental image of this woman in your mind?
Did you picture an elderly black woman?
Yeah, me too.
Except, the woman we met was a red-haired, slender woman named Emily. She was in her 20's. It's that damn prejudice showing its ugly head again.
"And just who is my neighbor?"
Emily was enormously creative, her house was filled with musical instruments and art. With about 20 volunteers, we helped her move from one apartment to another in under two hours. Emily was not a believer, and we got to pray for her and bless her new home. Maybe, maybe ... for once, Christians left a positive impression on someone.
I was getting exhausted, but we carried on. Our next stop was called Mary's Place, a shelter for homeless families. It was a brand new building, a beautifully structured apartment complex. Not the dreary hell-hole I was expecting. We didn't have much time, but our "task" here was to hang out with kids. A couple of us met a small Asian boy in 7th grade. His name was Chewy. We met a burly, African-American kid, an eighth-grader named Shawn. After passing around a football for awhile, we decided we'd be game for a little two-hand touch. Chewy was all-time quarterback, and Shawn was playbook extraordinare; we pretty much mastered this reverse lateral play he thought of. I had so much fun just running around with them - it was absolutely heart-breaking to leave. These guys were just KIDS. Kids no different from the kids I play with all summer. Kids who happened to be born in rough situations. Kids who really just wanted to play football in their backyard, but didn't have a backyard to call their own.
And all I could think of was how I had a dad to play catch with me in the yard ... and here these guys were, waiting for a chance for some stranger to show up and pass a ball around with them ... only to leave again in a hour.
Our final service stop was at another shelter called People Serving People. It is funded federaly but run almost entirely by volunteers. Our job was to serve dinner. Somehow, I wound up with the task of candy passer-outer. Now, I haven't gone to school for this, but I thought I could manage. Little did I know that it was arguably the most difficult thing I'd have to do that day.
So, what do you think of when you think of a homeless shelter?
A shabby, run-down building filled with babbling drunks?
Yeah, me too.
Except ... it wasn't. It was a new building, filled with families. Kids ... everywhere. A one week old baby. A nine year old girl. A four year old boy. They were laughing, crying, running around. It was like Chuck-E-Cheese, minus the ... wealth, the whiteness. They were just children who didn't have a safe place to come home to at night, who didn't have a bed to be tucked into. And parents who were trying, trying ... but just couldn't seem to pull things together. Mothers ashamed to be walking down a line taking hand-outs again, fathers unable to provide for their babies.
I know this is getting long. But when you see things like this, when you look pain and despair in the face, you cannot be silent.
After dinner at an authentic Ecuadorian restaurant and a fun little scavenger hunt through a fun little place called Global Market, we went back to the H. House for some debriefing. After some relaxing (and digesting of massive burritos), we situated ourselves and watched a well-known documentary called Invisible Children. I knew that this film had been shown on campus at least once during my college career, but had never seen it. I knew it was very eye-opening, but had never been impacted by it myself. I was already emotionally drained after all I had seen and done that day, but was truly ill-prepared for the effect this film would have on me.
The Invisible Children movement was started by three college students who traveled to Northern Uganda to see the havoc in the war-torn country themselves. Armed with video cameras, they were looking for any story that presented itself to them. They found one - a story of children, children being abducted by rebel forces threatening to overthrown the government. After they are kidnapped and taken into the African bush, they are tortured and brainwashed into becoming soldiers, killing machines. The children who are left behind continue to face unimaginable horrors, and gather together nightly in a hospital because their own homes are unsafe from evil.
I'm a writer, and pride myself on using words to convey my messages to the world. But sometimes words can't cut it. Sometimes they can't show the agony of losing a loved one or the terror of another sleepless night. Now that I have seen these images, however, and have a deepened sense of understanding of the bloodshed in Uganda, it would be nothing short of a crime to stay silent. I want to tell everyone I know to explore the history of this overlooked crisis for themselves. Whatever you think about foreign policy or governmental spending is irrelevant, because this issue is one that is supremely human, one that can be stopped if we see our shared humanity and take action.
Perhaps your first step could be at
invisiblechildren.com
See for yourself the magnitude of this situation.
invisiblechildren.com
See for yourself the magnitude of this situation.
I wept that night, because I felt so helpless to do anything for these children, and for all the children I had seen throughout the day. But I found peace in the fact that these children are not invisible to my Father, nor is the evil in the world hidden to Him. He knows their agony, and is mighty to save. And he has not called us to do everything - because that's His job - but he
has called us to do something.
All these experiences, supplemented by an amazing service at an inner-city multi-ethic church, changed me deeply this weekend. I think that's the power of short-term missions. Perhaps I didn't do much this weekend. I did not change the world, and maybe I didn't even change one life. But the world changed me, and I can take that with me.
I'm not sure where these new experiences are going to lead me, but God often leads us in places we least expect it. If my future lies somewhere in the inner city, I'd ask for your support for me then. But right now, I'd just ask for your prayers for all those who touched my life this weekend, and for all those who need the light of God in dark places around the world.
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