My Home

Em asked me to post some pictures of the house so she could get an idea of where I live.  Here are a few to start with, and I'll post some of the inside in the coming weeks :)

Our little garden courtyard.  It was much greener in the summertime...

The Church next door - St. Maurice.  You can see it from the garden.

Some statues in the garden surrounded by plants

The leaves are changing - yaay!

The view walking down 36th Ave toward the house

A view of the front of the House

A beautiful view of the side of the house while the sun is shining

                                     

Welcome to Amate House!

"They're With the Band"

If you know my taste in music, you'll know how much I love Matt Maher.  A Christian music artist gradually gaining recognition in the genre, Matt has an incredible gift for creating beautiful music and leading inspiring worship.  I've seen him a few different times both in a typical concert setting and at prayer-centered events.  When I read online that he was coming to a suburb just 15 miles outside the city, I was convinced I HAD to see him.  Thankfully, one of my housemates is equally as obsessed with Matt as I am, and was instantly committed to coming with me even though it was on a Thursday night.

Everything felt perfect.  It was less than a full week away, but it was going to happen.  That is, until I spotted the ticket price: $20.  I stared at the screen for a solid two minutes until it fully registered.  $20?!  All right, any other time in my life I wouldn't have batted an eyelash at that price, especially to see one of my favorite artists.  But, when you're living on $100 a month, $20 is a hefty toll.  In a pitiful last ditch effort, I e-mailed any contact I could get my hold on - the Church, the booking agency, you name it - explaining the situation (i.e. we are poor volunteers serving the city who love Matt).  I got one response after another informing me that regrettably, there was nothing anyone could do.  Then (aaaahhh, hear the angel chorus) a lovely woman from the booking agency offered an out - if we worked the merchandise table, we could have free tickets. SOLD!

The prospect of the concert pulled me through the week at work.  That is, until Thursday came.  It was an average morning at work, until a frustrated coworker got snippy with me.  It was one of those scenarios where any other day, I would have brushed it off and we both would have moved on with our days.  Except instead of being any average day, it was a Deirdre-is-not-in-control-of-her-emotions-and-has-hit-her-breaking-point kind of day.  Instead of brushing off the remark, I stifled tears long enough to walk away from the conversation and return to the front desk.  I then proceeded to cry quietly until a coworker offered to take over the desk so I could take a walk.  I walked around the block until I composed myself, only to walk back into the office and lose my cool once again.  I took a lunch break, crying all over my peanut butter and jelly in a back corner of a storage room.  I met with my boss and a friendly coworker to discuss the incident, and was finally sent home early so I could cry the whole way home and for another hour afterward.  (Before you become alarmed, I feel the need to remind you I am by nature a crier, and yet have somehow managed to only cry a few times in the months I have been here.)

I used the afternoon to refresh and put myself back together.  I sipped tea and read my book and talked to my best friend back home.  I went on the computer for a bit and was surprised to find an e-mail from Matt's booking agency saying they no longer needed us at the "merch" table, but we should just say our names at Will Call and mention that we are on Matt's guest list.  (I'm sorry, what?  His guest list?!)  I took this as a sign that I needed to shake my funk because the day was going to have a happy ending after all.

When my housemate got home from school, we headed out to the Church hosting the concert.  Giddy as little children, we chatted the whole way there.  When we arrived we were bounced around from one person to another as we had to awkwardly repeat what we had been told - we were on "the list."  Finally we found the aforementioned list (a program with names scribbled on it) and told to go ahead into the theatre.  As we approached the doors, though, the two teenagers working as ushers asked us for tickets.  We had to awkwardly go back to the person who had granted us entrance who walked us back to the doors and said, "You can let them in, they're with the band."

Well, we nearly passed out.  It was just too surreal that these people all thought we actually knew Matt, and that we were actually about to see him perform.  Let me tell you, he did not disappoint.  The concert was incredible - my housemate and I laughed, cried, and sang along enthusiastically at different points in the night.  It was hands-down the most spiritually enriching experience I have had since coming to Chicago.  I felt the presence of God so strongly in that place - it was beautiful, and it simply could not have come at a more appropriate time.  (And beyond the spiritual effectiveness, the giddy preteen in me will inform you that I shook Matt's hand after the concert and thanked him for the gift of his music).

On the ride home, my housemate and I had a conversation that was almost as perfect as the concert itself.  We dissected the experience, raving about our favorite songs and the quality of the music, but then we delved deeper.  We opened up about our past experiences, explaining why the music meant so much to us and why we hold certain songs close to our hearts.  We also discussed in depth our faith experience at Amate.  I told her the realization I had come to during the concert:  some part of the sadness and emptiness I was feeling earlier in the day, while triggered by a snippy coworker, had a lot more behind it, and one major element was my lack of active faith expression.  I have faithfully gone to Mass every week and I pray daily on my own and with my community, but I had not managed to live out the faith I know that I have.  All the ways I practiced my faith back at school are missing here.  I don't lead faith groups or coordinate liturgies, I don't lector, I am not a Eucharistic minister, I don't sing in a choir, I don't go to adoration or pray the rosary regularly, and I have not been to reconciliation.  Who am I?

My housemate was very affirming, and said she had experienced similar difficulties over the past months.  Treading a new path for experiencing and living faith in this new place with these new people is a challenge.  We agreed that clinging to the past is not going to bring us forward, but it also doesn't mean we have to leave it all behind and never look back.

So now, with a thankful heart full of grace, I must put myself in true conversation with God to figure out just what it is God is calling me to this year - to understand how to love and serve God in a way that reflects my new life and experiences.

Here's to the journey.

Complacency

In the process of applying to Amate House, I was asked to consider what challenges this year of service might bring.  I named many things - conflict in community, difficult or unsatisfying experiences at a service site, or even struggles in practice or expression of faith.  While I have experienced each of these things in varying degrees over the past few months, I think perhaps the biggest challenge facing me now is complacency.

As may be evident from my lack of blog posts, things here are falling into a routine.  There are of course peaks and valleys - fun theme parties put on by my house, conflicts over whose responsibility it is to clean out the sink drain, angry clients criticizing my message taking abilities, and quality one-on-one meetings with my housemates - but overall things flow along smoothly without much disruption.  Don't get me wrong, routine isn't always bad.  I like that I know if I leave the house at exactly 7:45am I will make the 7:52am train  and be at work by 8:35am.  I like knowing that every Sunday morning we will have brunch together as a house, and I'll be responsible for the scrambled eggs.  I like knowing which housemate to go to when I need a hug, which one will make me laugh, and which one will listen to me vent.  But sometimes, when you're stuck in that smug complacency where you are content with everything around you, you get too comfortable and you stop paying attention.

Sometimes when you're too content, you don't notice that there's new graffiti at the L station, or that one of the regulars at Mass is missing.  You feel unfazed when person after person calls your office because they're being charged with possession of narcotics or unlawful use of a weapon or even battery of a minor.  When you are too settled in your surroundings you forget that hearing another person got shot a few blocks away is not normal or acceptable.  You forget that you are not entitled to the food you get or the house you live in - they are privileges not afforded to everyone you are surrounded by throughout the day.  Sometimes you're caught in contented peace and forget that you once believed in something more or something better for this world.

So now, the challenge lies before me - to open my eyes and really see what is happening, to be outraged by the violence, to be an instigator of change, to be a speaker of truth and a channel of peace, to not be content with the status quo but committed to a better future.

Here's to shattered complacency in the face of injustice.

Amate Volunteers 2012-2013

If you haven't been on the Amate House website recently, check it out.  The new pictures and info are up for all of this years current volunteers.  These are the people I am living and serving with for the year :)

http://www.amatehouse.org/Volunteer/CurrentVolunteers/tabid/1542/language/en-US/Default.aspx

SECURITY!

This weekend, a group of us decided to volunteer at St. Sabina’s Renaissance Fair.  One of our housemates is at St. Sabina’s for the year serving as an intake worker in their social services department.  Evidently, the Renaissance Fair is an annual street festival that is put on by St. Sabina’s to bring the community together.  Named for a local park, the fair spans a few blocks of 79^th Street and is not a fundraiser, but rather a fun event meant to offer some free or very low cost food and activities for people in the surrounding areas. 

Five of us woke up early Saturday morning to head over to St. Sabina’s to help set up the festival.  We had all signed up to volunteer until noon, but hadn’t found out what our positions were.  When we arrived, we noticed a list of different activities where people would be stationed – a petting zoo, a ferris wheel, a bouncy house, a face painting booth…and the list went on.  We were all excited as we waited for our names to be called.  The first of our group to learn his assignment was a quiet, docile housemate who is a little taller than me and about the same weight.  “Ok, you’ll be on the corner of 79^th and Elizabeth,” the woman reading off assignments said to him.  With a somewhat puzzled face, he waited for the rest of the instructions – a street corner didn’t really mean much.  Realizing he seemed confused, the woman said, “Make sure to grab a black shirt and a name tag.  You’ll be working security.”  It took everything in me not to burst out laughing. 

It may be important here to digress slightly and give a little background on the neighborhood St. Sabina’s is in – it borders Englewood, one of the toughest areas in Chicago.  The neighborhood is called Auburn Grisham, and it is somewhat notorious for its high crime rate and gang activity.  The poverty and unemployment rates are high in the neighborhood and the population is about 98% black.  There are about 56,000 people living in a span of about 4 square miles so the buildings are crowded and there are always people walking around on the streets.   

Anywho, back to the story.  I was barely containing my laughter as my housemate stood, still startled, in the doorway to the room where we were all standing.  Even though the woman had dismissed him, he didn’t move.  The rest of us waited patiently as a few other volunteers’ names were called.  They were dismissed to various places – vendor booths and children’s activities among other things.  Finally my name was called.  “Head to 79^th and Throop,” the woman said, “and make sure you stop by the information booth for your name tag and wristband.”  I silently prayed she was skipping my specific assignment because time was tight and she needed people to start moving.  I grabbed my housemate by the wrist and pulled him out the door so I wouldn’t have to go alone.  When I arrived at the information booth, my fear was confirmed – I was handed a black shirt and told I would be working security.  It is truly a miracle I did not pee my pants right then and there.  I mean picture it – I was standing there, 5’2”, 120 lbs, pale skin, blonde hair in a high side pony tail, wearing a tie-dyed shirt and converse.  Does anything about that say “security” to you?

I dutifully put on the black t-shirt (size Large, because it was the smallest they had in security shirts) and walked down a few blocks to my post.  I stood, half laughing at the hilarity of it all and half scared poop-less because I had no idea what the heck I was supposed to do if God-forbid something went down.  The first hour was quiet, there were not too many people at the festival and some vendors were still setting up.  The extent of my job consisted of shrugging my shoulders when other volunteers asked me questions and smiling at people as they passed by.  Thankfully after the first hour, I started seeing actually paid security officers and Chicago Police officers patrolling the streets.  One of the security officers approached me to thank me for volunteering, and reassured me that I was not being asked to intervene if anything bad happened, just to be vigilant and report to an actual paid officer.  This was certainly a relief, particularly because I had had no intentions of intervening anyway, but the conversation assuaged my feelings of guilt over that plan.

In the end, it really was no big deal.  I spent a few hours in the warm sun on a beautiful day being the extra presence St. Sabina felt they needed.  It was a cool way to people-watch, and a nice opportunity to be immersed in a different community than where I have been living or serving.  And now, I can officially say I have “worked” security (and I even have the t-shirt to prove it!).  Just another day in the life here at Amate J

The Failure Keeps You Humble

A few lines from one of my favorite songs have been playing over in my mind a lot lately.  It’s a part of a verse, and it goes like this:

 “Castles and cathedrals crumble/ pyramids and pipelines tumble/ the failure keeps you humble/ and leads us closer to peace”

Sometimes at work, I inevitably feel like a failure.  Sometimes it’s because I can’t remember how to do something I know I’ve already been taught.  Other times it’s because my Spanish skills are lagging that day, or because I realize too late that I missed a pre-screening question and already put the call through to my supervisor.  And sometimes, I feel like a failure because someone flat out tells me I am.

I deal with all sorts of clients (and potential clients) at my service site.  Some are moms, some are dads, some are happy because they’ve been helped by our attorneys, some are sad because they call on behalf of a loved one who is incarcerated, some are young, some are elderly, some are angry at a spouse or a stranger or the world, some are hard-working people facing unfair circumstances, some are ex-felons trying to start life over, and some are mentally ill and have been abandoned by friends and family and society.  While sometimes I am the person that gets to deliver the happy news that we can accept someone’s case or that we can get someone the right services, it seems like more often I am the bearer of bad news.

Sometimes when I have to direct a potential client to another agency, the person is grateful for the referral.  Other times, people are discouraged by being passed along from person to person.  And sometimes, people are just plain angry.  Most of the time, I am able to not take it personally.  People aren’t really mad at me, they are mad at “the system.”  They are mad at the injustices they face, they are mad that everyone seems to be working against them, and they are mad that they haven’t found help.  I think that’s justified – sometimes I’m mad too.  I hear stories from potential clients that get me so angry I feel my own stomach knotting and head aching, and I’m not even personally involved.  I can empathize with their pain and I wish with all my heart that there was something our organization could do.  In cases like that, I try to stay positive for the potential client.  I do my best to make a good referral, and to keep an optimistic tone, and to encourage potential clients not to give up hope.  Sometimes it helps the people, and sometimes I just get an angry grunt or a hang-up in response.  Either way, I try my best not to take it personally.  Admittedly, though, sometimes I can’t help but take the responses to heart.

The time that a client told me I was a terrible person for denying her help when she was both elderly and disabled – I took it personally.  I felt like I was failing her.  In truth, I was doing all I could – there was no way we could get her the help she needed in the timeframe she had, and I tried to refer her to another agency that could move more quickly, but she was already too jaded by the system to listen to or believe me.  Still, I felt like I had failed her because I became just another disembodied voice over the phone offering her nothing but more phone numbers to call, which would only use up more of her time - time that she did not have. 

That’s just one of several stories I could tell, but I think it gets the point across.  But this post isn’t meant to be all negative.  You see, the song says that failure keeps us humble, and in fact leads us closer to peace.  I think that’s true.  Moments where we feel a sense of failure – James Martin would say that’s God bringing us down just a peg, keeping our ego in check.  Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the successes – to feel good about the work you do and the people you serve.  Don’t get me wrong – that’s a good thing.  But when you go a long time of feeling good, sometimes you get too prideful, too self-serving, you forget the point of what you’re doing.  Sometimes we need those moments of failure to keep us humble, to remind us of the bigger picture or to remind us that we are not the be-all and end-all.  And I think when we are humble, we see the way to peace.  When we remember we are all human, all flawed, all inadequate, we can remember to be forgiving of one another; and in forgiving one another, we are better equipped to live in harmony.  And living in harmony, we come to know peace.  

Listen to the song I referenced ("Heaven" by Bret Dennen) here

"Well, That's Inconvenient."

One night last weekend, almost all of my housemates decided to go out for a night on the town.  One of my housemates and I decided to hang back since we were both tired from a long week and in the mood to just stay in with a good book or movie.  As we both sat in the living room, we got to talking about different things that had been happening at our service sites and in our community, and just about life in general.  As we were talking about some trivial thing that had happened, she said, “I thought to myself, well that’s inconvenient.”  I agreed, and as a lull came over the conversation and we both were a little lost in thought, she said, “You know, that phrase is kind of what Amate is about, I think.”

At first I didn’t understand what she meant, but as she continued I understood and agreed.  “Sometimes things are supposed to feel inconvenient here.  That’s part of the solidarity, you know?  We don’t need everything at our fingertips.  That’s not how the people we serve are living.”  She was right.  She had put to words what we had both been struggling with recently.  Sometimes it is easy to feel frustrated with the inconveniences we encounter here – things like having to wait a few extra days to cash your monthly stipend check because your train was late and the bank closed before you got home, or having to walk to the store because someone forgot to return car keys to the cork board in the kitchen.  Yes, these are little inconveniences we face living in a community of volunteers that sometimes feel like the most annoying things possible.  But how many inconveniences do the people we are serving face?  Waiting in line at a food pantry and being told you can only select a limited quantity of items from an already limited variety – that’s inconvenient.  Calling a legal aid firm because you’re about to be evicted from your apartment, only to be told no one can help you and that you should try another phone number (and another, and another) – that’s inconvenient.  Having to eat the crummy school lunch put in front of you because your parents can’t afford enough food for the whole family and it might be the only thing you eat all day – that’s inconvenient.  Hell, let’s be honest – those are BEYOND inconvenient.  They are unfair disparities people face because of their economic status.  They are stupid hoops people have to jump through just to survive.  So maybe this calls for a change of attitude.  Maybe my having to wait in line behind eleven other people to put food on my plate at dinner isn’t so inconvenient, because I have a dinner to eat.  Maybe riding the packed, hot, uncomfortable subway train for 55 minutes to and from my service site every day isn’t so inconvenient because at least I have a job to go to.  Maybe this year little inconveniences are put in our way to remind us just how privileged we really are.  

The Journey Continues...

For those of you still following my faith journey here at Amate (particularly the journey to find a place of Worship) – the journey continues.  So far, I have visited a few different Catholic parishes including St. Sabina’s, St. Maurice, Holy Name, and Our Lady of Good Counsel.  All of them have been nice in their own sort of way, but none have quite fit the bill.

As a new experience, over Labor Day weekend a few of my housemates and I visited a new kind of Church.  One of my housemates is Christian but not Catholic, and she does not identify with any particular denomination but has attended many different types of services in her life.  She has been kind enough to come along with the rest of us to a Mass each weekend, and some of us decided it was time for us to broaden our minds and share in her preferred faith experience too.  On Sunday, we went to Judson Baptist Church – the congregation her parents are presently a part of during their search for a consistent place to worship.  I was excited to go because I wanted to support my housemate and to gain a better understanding of her faith experience.  She and I have shared some beautiful conversations about how we have learned to live out our faith and express our spirituality, so I was anxious for a first hand view.

Overall, it was an interesting experience.  There was upbeat praise and worship meeting, an obvious sense of fellowship and welcoming atmosphere, and a sermon full of many references to Scripture.  While I knew that the service didn’t fill me the way that Catholic Mass does, it did nourish another part of me that needed attention to.  Let’s be real, I’m a bit of a Jesus freak at heart and I love me some quality praise and worship music.  I was able to remember the feeling I would get while singing and praying at an even like “LIFT” or “God in the North End” back at school.  It was nice to be surrounded by people who weren’t afraid to sing out loud and proud about how awesome God is J.

After church, my housemate’s parents were gracious enough to have the whole house over for a delicious meal.  It was so nice to have a family away from home to take care of us for a little while.  All in all it was a lovely day – I didn’t find my new home parish away from home, but I was most certainly fed in more ways than one.  And so, the journey continues…

Beauty in the Pain

Sometimes, working the front desk is monotonous.  There are times I cringe at the sound of my own voice cheerily saying “Thank you for calling, how may I help you?” because I’ve done it fifty or a hundred times in a day.  There are times it feels so mundane to type information into a computer or repeat the same instructions for our basic procedures.  Some days my heart physically aches to do what in my mind is real ministry, real service.  And then, there are days when I am reminded that my work is God’s work.

I had such a day a few weeks ago.  I received a call from a woman looking for help for her son.  At the beginning of the call, her voice was riddled with a tone of skepticism and concern.  I followed my standard line of pre-screening questions to figure out what exactly she needed.  She hesitated to explain his situation at first, and finally conceded that her son was facing criminal charges and was currently incarcerated.  She began unpacking the story further, saying with conviction she believed he was wrongfully accused and was scared for him.  She had no money for an attorney, but he didn’t qualify for a public defender because he had posted bond.  After a few minutes, in a flustered but tentatively hopeful tone she said,  “Is there any way y’all could do something for him?”  I told her from what I had heard we indeed might be able to help, and explained she would have to come in-person to the office to fill out some paperwork on his behalf so someone could visit him in prison.  Suddenly her voice grew louder and was full of joy.  She began praising God for his goodness and for leading her to the right place.  As we finished talking, I was about to hang up when she said “Wait! One more thing.”  “Sure,” I said, “what do you need?”  “When’s your lunch hour?” she asked.  I was so caught off guard – I had expected her to ask directions or remind her what information to bring.  “Oh, um, well sometimes at 12 or sometimes at 1,” I said,  “but no matter what someone will be at the desk to help you.”  “But I want to see YOU, I want to talk to YOU” she said.  I laughed and told her I looked forward to seeing her, and she said she’d come later in the afternoon.

When she walked through to door around 2:30, I immediately knew it was her.  Before she spoke a word, something in my heart felt the connection.  Our eyes met and we both just smiled.  I said “I’m glad you made it in” and she said “I’m glad you knew it was me.”  We both flashed big smiles as I got her the paperwork and showed her how to fill it out.  She sat down and diligently filled it out as I went back to entering data into our system.  When she finished, she handed me back the clipboard and thanked me again.  I sat back down and assured her I’d file the papers right away; she said goodbye and headed toward the door.  After a few steps, she stopped and turned around.  “Um, Deirdre?” she said.  “Do you think I could give you a hug?”

Surprised but thrilled, I walked around the desk and through the doors into the lobby.  We put our arms around each other and held tightly.  In that embrace, I felt so humbled and so blessed -  to walk a small piece of a painful journey with her, to know a fraction of her story, to hold her in her pain and be a part of the glimmer of hope she needed.  After a moment we let go of one another.  She wiped away a few tears then turned and walked away.  As I sat back down, I smiled through tears of gratefulness for God’s goodness.  That day, we both needed each other.  She needed someone to listen to her story, to believe in her, to tell her things would be ok.  I needed someone to remind me my service has meaning, that God is in the midst of it, that humble work is God’s work.  And together, we found a beauty in the pain.

Updates Coming Soon - I Promise!

Hello to anyone still following me!  I apologize for the delay in updates.  I have several blog posts ready to go, but haven't had much access to the house computer to get them posted.  I'm headed to bed now but promise to make time to post this weekend!

Missing you all dearly and sending lots of love <3

Some Pictures from Around the City

Here's a little slice of the city so you all can see some of the sights... Enjoy! 

At EdgeFest they had a "Before I die" board.  It was pretty full
when we got there so we didn't add to it, but here's what it looked like.  

One of the neat things about Chicago is that you can be
at a beach but still have a view of the skyline - a cool way to have
a bit of both worlds.

A shot of the bright lights downtown.  This area is nice to walk around ,
and sometimes we catch a bus right near here to get to Navy Pier.

One day when we were in the city a group of us splurged on some "Sprinkles"
cupcakes.  It was my first time trying them, and I would definitely say they
were worth the wait and the price.

The Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier is really pretty when it's lit up at night.

In the summer there are fireworks on Wednesday and Saturday nights.
I managed to make it there twice to see them, and they were
very well done.  One of many great free events in the city :)

This past Friday I got to go to my first ever professional baseball game.
My coworkers and I got free tickets to see the Cubs play the Giants at Wrigley Field.
It was a very warm summer afternoon but still a great experience.

The Cubs won the game!! (Which I understand to be a rarity...)

 That's just a little taste of some of the places I have seen and explored.  Hopefully there will be much more to come throughout the year :)

Sometimes You Have to Break to be Whole

This past Monday night was my house's first prayer night of the year.  Prayer nights are a long standing practice at Amate, and are different in each community based on the wants and needs of its members.  Basically, Amate House asks us to regularly schedule time to gather as a house community for prayer and/or reflection.  South House decided that this year we will have prayer together every Monday evening.  Each week, a different member of our house will lead the community in a discussion, meditation, prayer, or the like, based on his or her own faith background and spiritual practices.

This week, one of our house members decided to facilitate a discussion on how each one of us connects with God.  We gathered in the prayer room with dimmed lights and lit candles and shared what is so often taboo to discuss in other social contexts - our faith.  It was moving to hear everyone's stories about how they came into their faith, the struggles they have had, and the unique ways in which they each connect with God or the divine.  When I took my turn, I talked a lot about Stonehill.  I talked about how much I loved being in Campus Ministry, how I took advantage of every opportunity possible to try out different ministries, and how much I loved the Congregation of Holy Cross.  I spoke from the heart and it felt nice to share, but almost immediately after the next person began speaking, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.  Once the words had actually spilled out of my mouth, the reality set in and I realized just how much my time at Stonehill had shaped me.

Anyone who knows me knows I am prone to crying - it's how I've always been and likely how I always will be.  That being said, it was surprising that I had not really cried at all since coming to Chicago.  Well, Monday night - I cried.  I had a few tears during prayer night (easily concealed by the dim lighting), and then took some time alone in my room to really let it out.  I cried for my family and friends who felt so far away, I cried for my love of the CSCs and for Campus Ministry.  I cried for the people I serve, the people I have to turn away, the people in my community.  I cried for the world.  It was a solid half hour of feeling so heavy and so broken.  It sounds awful, but in truth it was healing.  Without realizing it, I had been bottling up so many different feelings in order to push through the many tasks thrown my way throughout orientation and the first week of work.  After taking time to breathe and relax again, I felt healed.  I felt ready to better face the year ahead, now more aware of the different things affecting me and more prepared to address and cope with them as they arise.  

In my time of reflection after prayer night, I also realized something else.  Much of the sadness I felt for not being at Stonehill related back to Campus Ministry.  While in part this is certainly due to the people that I spent time with there, it also had a lot to do with missing the act of ministry.  As I took my turn speaking during prayer night, I found myself saying how I best connected with God through service in liturgy.  In my time at Stonehill, I was a lector, a choir member, a Eucharistic Minister, a minister of hospitality, and a gift bearer (sometimes all in one liturgy!).  I also helped coordinate prayer services and liturgies for the Sem Community and for the Stonehill Community.  By senior year a large portion of my spare time was spent learning about ministry and putting what I learned into practice.  I spoke about how much I missed these opportunities now that I am in a new place where I don't have an established faith community or a place to practice my faith in this way.  As I reflected privately after prayer night, I realized that this was an important revelation.  Not only was my faith a very central part of my life, but ministry was a very critical part of my faith.

For several months now I have been considering getting an M.Div. in the near future and pursuing a career in ministry, but have recently been wavering and unsure if this was really my calling.  I'm not saying that one prayer night has made me 100% confident, but it has caused me to think and pray more about my future.  The longing in my heart to serve others in their faith experience is most certainly present.  Now, I suppose, it is time for me to start discerning just how I am supposed to go about living that vocation.

So in the end, shedding a few (all right, more than a few) tears was important.  It made me evaluate myself, my experience, and my future.  I guess sometimes you have to break in order to become more whole.

Getting Things Done for America

I can't believe how quickly the time is flying, but I have already finished two full work weeks at my service site!  It has been a great experience so far, but definitely a challenging one as well.  Here are some of the highlights:

My Duties:
Most days, I spend A LOT of time on the phone.  It's my job to answer all phone calls that come to the main line of the office.  These can be potential clients, current clients, people looking to volunteer, and social service agencies looking to learn about our organization.  I even recorded the new voicemail/automated menu today...eeek!  When I'm not on the phone, I spend time speaking with clients face-to-face when they come in for scheduled appointments or wander in hoping to find help.  I also do some data entry, mailing, and photocopying when I have down-time.

The Challenges:  
SPANISH.  Only one other person in the office speaks Spanish, so my minimal skills are put to ever-increasing use.  I swear that word is getting out in the Latino community because every day I have more and more phone calls and voicemails in Spanish.  I am hardcore riding the struggle-bus on this front, but am working to improve my skills every day.

RESOURCES.  So many things to learn about the services available in Chicago - it's unreal.  While we do our best to accommodate people at our office, sometimes we're unable to offer the help people need and I have to refer them out to other places.  I have a long list of organizations in Chicago that offer legal aid and it's broken down by categories (domestic violence, bankruptcy, etc.), but I still have so much to learn about what each of these places do so I can truly direct people to the best place for their case.

SAYING NO.  Quite possibly the thing I have the hardest time with at work - saying no.  Sometimes it happens when a person calls for services we don't offer, or for a department that is already overloaded with cases.  "Unfortunately that's not something we would be able to take on right now," I say in my most polite voice, followed by, "I do have the numbers for a few other places that might be able to assist you."  Sometimes it's fine - people are happy to take other referrals or are willing to wait and call back when we might have more availability.  Other times, it just plain sucks.  "I've already called everywhere else!" they'll say.  Or, "Please, miss, can't you do something?!"  Or, my least favorite, "Are you really qualified to make that decision?" (mostly because I really want to say no, probably not).  Even worse than this sometimes is answering calls on Tuesdays from potential clients who are inquiring about whether or not their cases have been accepted.  There's no nice way to go about it.  Sure, I avoid the word rejected and almost always have a referral handy, but it's painful.  I've had people cry, scream, swear - and I'm just so, so sorry that there's not a thing I can do to make it better.  

The Perks:
BLESSINGS.  If I had a nickle for every time I am blessed by a client on the phone, soon enough I'd be rich.  Sometimes it's casual as we're hanging up - "You have a blessed day now."  Other times it's more dramatic, "God bless you, darlin'.  You done made my day.  You're just wonderful.  God bless."  Maybe it really is true - people in the midwest are just plain friendlier :)

SMILES.  I don't get to see them as often as I'd like.  It's understandable - generally if you have to have an attorney and are going through a court case, it's not the most joyous of times.  But those rare occasions when I get to see people happy because they have finally won custody of their children, or they found out they won't be evicted, or they learn that their incarcerated child or spouse or parent is going to get the legal assistance he or she needs, it's beautiful.

CO-WORKERS.  They're fabulous.  Although they are all different ages, we seem to find a way to mesh nicely.  By and large everyone in the office has been very welcoming to me and very eager to help me learn.  I can't wait to start spending some more one-on-one time with each of them to learn more about what they do to serve their clients.


That's the long and the short of it for now.  Stay tuned for more stories and experiences from work as they come!



*If you are curious about the title of this post, read the "Americorps Pledge" found here: http://www.americorps.gov/about/pledge/index.asp.  All Americorps members are required to recite it at the beginning of their term of service.  Yes, apparently this year I will "get things done for America." (I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean or who writes these things....)*

A Journey of Faith

This year is meant to be a journey of faith for all of the Amate Volunteers.  For each of us, this may mean something different.  For some, it means deepening an already existing prayer life.  For others, it may mean a search for meaning, for religion, or for spirituality.  For others still, it may mean questioning long held beliefs and exploring different paths and traditions.

Taking into account our many and varied current views on faith, religion, and spirituality, we as a house have agreed to be open minded about different pathways to God and different interpretations of religion and spirituality.  This week, we decided to travel together to St. Sabina Church just outside of the Englewood neighborhood in Chicago.  Since one of the housemates will be working with Catholic Charities at St. Sabina and 3 others will be working at a school in Englewood, we decided it might be an interesting place to start.  We had heard from some Amate alumni that it was an interesting and engaging place to go, so we were anxious to check it out for ourselves.

We made the twenty minute drive this morning and arrived in plenty of time to attend the 11:15am service.  As we walked toward and into the Church, we were greeted by many smiling faces and kind words.  Person after person greeted us with "Good Morning" and "We are so happy you are here."  No one seemed to mind that we were an awkward group of 11 white kids in a church full of hundreds of African Americans.  They genuinely took joy in welcoming us to their community and family.

As we entered the main worship area of the Church, we were greeted by this image ( I snagged this actual picture off of Google images) :

Yes, that's a gigantic painting of Jesus in the palm of God's hands.  And, yes, that's a large, neon yellow, light-up sign that says JESUS hanging from the ceiling.

The Church was huge, with upholstered pews and beautiful hand-carved artwork all over the wooden walls.  As we settled in and made friends with the people around us, we were getting excited for what we anticipated would be a fun Mass.  It was certainly lively, and at times very powerful, and most certainly it was LONG.

To spare you, I will give you the highlights.  The music was beautiful - upbeat, sung by beautiful voices, and accompanied by liturgical dancers.  The sermon was probably over an hour long, and contained a lot of talking about the devil and his bad influences.  There was a lot of "Amen" and "Yes sir" and "Go on, PREACH!"  I don't think I ever heard the Creed, the Gloria, or any other exclusively Catholic prayers, but there was an Our Father thrown in there somewhere.  There was a point where the priest called up all of the young men and blessed them, thanking God that in the previous week the neighborhood had gone one whole night without a shooting, and praying that the gang violence would come to a halt all together.  There was also a blessing for all of the young men and women heading off to college, that they would one day come back and be beacons of hope for their neighborhood.  Overall, it was a 3.5 hour long mass that was technically Catholic in nature but felt like a strong Baptist service.

While it was a great cultural experience, and a powerful reminder of the reality that many people in Englewood face, I couldn't manage to connect spiritually with the service.  I tried to open my mind and my heart, but something just wouldn't jive.  I don't regret that I went, and I can't say I won't try it again some day, but I don't think it will be my regular parish.  So, on goes the journey with an open mind and an open heart to the next faith experience.

If you want to learn more about the faith community of St. Sabina or it's super controversial/radical pastor Fr. Michael Pfleger (or as the parishioners affectionately call him, "White Boy Preacher"), check out:

http://www.saintsabina.org/  and  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Pfleger

SoHo Group Shot

Last week, one "theme day" consisted of each house showing up to orientation with a matching colored shirt.  For example, everyone in North House came dressed in white shirts.  SoHo being SoHo, we chose plaid :)

The Grocery Shopping Challenge

For Sunday, the two items on our agenda were attending Church followed by hospitality at Amate House, and the “Grocery Shopping Challenge.”

Now, you all know I love me a good Catholic Mass, and hospitality is something I’ve been raised with through both the Sisters of Mercy and the Congregation of Holy Cross.  Despite this, the morning was nothing to write home about (and yet, I am doing just that – how ironic!).  The homily was mediocre, the congregation was small and elderly, and no one came to our coffee-and hospitality.  I was mildly disappointed but certainly not crushed – I set my expectations low, and that worked to my advantage this time.

After Mass, we chatted with John Lucas, the Executive Director of Amate House and his wife, since they had dropped by to do something work-related.  Once we cleaned up our food and changed out of our “Sunday Best,” we decided to hunker down for the “Grocery Shopping Challenge.”  In our orientation binders, the Staff had outlined our first shopping trip by giving us important information, discussion questions, and tips for preparing for our first excursion.  We were given $240 to last us at least 10 days (that works out to about $2 per person per day) and a tax exempt form to present to the cashier.  

We all came into the discussion/challenge with a range of feelings, concerns, and expectations.  Ultimately, it was probably the biggest test of our ability to work as a community thus far.  We agonized over details like how many times a week we could eat meat for dinner(right now we’re working on 2), exactly how many cups of flour go into a pizza crust, how many slices of bread are in loaf (turns out its 22, not 14 like we guessed…whoops), and how many jars of spaghetti sauce correspond to pounds of pasta.  We talked back and forth over long term and short term plans, wrote (and re-wrote, and re-wrote, and re-wrote again) our shopping list, each time rearranging our priorities.  We took stretch breaks when we felt too much tension, until we finally felt ready to shop around 1:30 in the afternoon.  

Grocery shopping at Aldi with 12 people is no easy feat.  We clogged every aisle and stood waiting as two people meticulously listed and calculated our selections – one by hand and one on a calculator.  Ultimately, we did well – even better than we expected.  We got our essentials at Aldi for about $170, leaving us room to go back around the store and stock up on more staple items (and admittedly a few treats).  We left about $40 to finish our shopping at a local produce marked where we got some fresh fruits and veggies.  

When all was said and done around 4:15 in the afternoon, we all took a few hours to unwind in our rooms.  Some people napped, some listened to music, and others (like me) read a book.  We were able to gather around 7pm for dinner, refreshed from the exhausting day, free from the stresses and tensions we had been harboring earlier, and grateful for the food in our kitchen.

While it was draining, I am grateful we were able to share in this first grocery shopping experience together.  I know personally, it makes me more grateful for each thing we have to eat, and for the people in my community that will be shopping for the rest of us throughout the year.

Think about it the next time you are shopping at the store or out to eat on a restaurant – what would it be like to feed yourself or your family for this kind of budget?  You and I, we have the choice.  But for many, it is simply a harsh reality.

A Weekend of Fun for $10 or Less!

This Friday and Saturday marked the first free weekend for all of us together at Amate.  Friday night, some people chose to go out and explore the city, while others (myself included) stayed in for some R&R.  I watched the Olympics with another housemate for an hour or so, then took some alone time to read before turning in early.

Saturday morning was low-key as well.  I woke up early, took some time to enjoy the nice weather outside in the courtyard, and caught up with my friend Emily back home via a phone call.  About mid-morning a few of us took a walk to the local library (thank you Liz Boback for sending me mail – it gave me proof of address for my new library card!) and explored the neighborhood a bit. 

This may seem a bit hum-drum so far, but I promise it was fun, and it get s more exciting.  After a light lunch, a group of us decided to head into the city.  I purchased a day pass (or a “Fun Pass” as it is officially called) for the CTA at Walgreens for $5.75 which would give me unlimited use of the L for 24 hours.  Our first adventure was an L ride and a 20 minute walk to Pilsen, another Chicago neighborhood, to visit the We Are Hip Hop festival.  Although the group of 6 or 7 of us looked and felt a bit out of place, it was a cool (and free!) cultural experience.  We heard a local hip hop artist perform an original work, observed a 10-canvas-wide graffiti competition, and even saw some local neighborhood kids show off their break dancing and circus-trick-performing skills.  

After the Hip Hop festival, we boarded the L to make our next plan.  Our group split in half, with some going off to explore millennium park and the rest (myself included) riding up toward the North to visit Edgefest in Edgewater, Chicago.  Edgefest, also affectionately known as “Bacon Fest,” is an annual festival held in a ritzy-ish neighborhood and is comprised of different art vendors, bands, and local food vendors.  By the time we arrived, it was clear that a storm was brewing.  We had heard talk on the train that Lollapalooza had been evacuated and everyone was being encouraged to take cover.  Fearlessly, we defied the warnings and carried on, determined to find out for ourselves what Bacon Fest was all about.  After a little haggling at the entrance booth, we each offered a $1 donation to enter, and quickly spun through the different booths before the owners closed up shop for the storm.  We even each snagged ourselves a bacon donut (don’t knock it til you try it) for the low, low price of $2.  We stayed long enough for the cover band to play a few hits before heading back toward the L.  As we were leaving the festival, the downpour started and we bolted down the street.  We decided to try riding for only a few stops since the lighting and rain were intense, hoping to seek refuge at North House until the storm cleared.  As we departed at the Sheridan stop, we ran down the steps toward the street only to find the station was completely flooded.  With our spirits down and shoes soaked to the bone, we trudged through until (ta-da!) we serendipitously ran into the other members of our house.  Yes, somehow even though all 12 of us had been in different places and out of communication all day, we ended up in the same place at the exact same time.  Since we were all together and it was nearing dinner time, we decided to just tough it out and head back to South House.

After a relatively uneventful ride home, we were lucky that the rain stopped before we departed our train and walked the few blocks home.  After our long day of adventuring, we decided to cook a light dinner and settle in for a movie before going to bed.

All in all, an eventful and exciting Saturday all for a grand total  of $8.75.  Not too shabby, Chicago.

When in Doubt, Wobble

(Apologies for the delay in posting these entries, but I haven’t been using the internet much!)

Thursday was quite the interesting night.

It was around 8:30 or 9pm and we were all in the basement living room preparing for the following day’s orientation session – a day at a low ropes course with an Olympic-based dress code – by making paper marathon bibs, gold medals, and various headbands and arm bands.  We ran out of paper, so I offered to walk upstairs and grab some more from a craft bin in the upstairs living room.  I came upstairs, flipped on the lights in the room, and began walking toward our shelves in front of the window.  As I bent down, I suddenly heard a loud BANG that sounded as if it were only a few feet away from our house.  I dropped to the ground in complete terror (NOTE: We live in a relatively safe neighborhood, I swear!  We are all just a bit jumpy after being pranked by our house coordinator and after another Amate House was robbed in a different neighborhood).  After my gut panic, I told myself I was being silly and it was probably a neighbor setting off fireworks.  I started to stand back up and BOOM another loud sound.  I grabbed paper and ran to the basement, where I was greeted by sheer panic on half my housemates’ faces.  We heard several more bangs, some sounding like they were right outside the house.  We debated if they were a genuine danger or not, all yelling to defend our opinions.  We decided to band together and check all the locks around the house.  As we heard some more bangs, we also saw bright lights outside the window.  After a thorough check of all doors and windows, we decided it was probably kids playing with firecrackers, and that perhaps they had thrown some over our fence and into our garden.  

Still on edge, we felt uneasy returning to the basement.  In a swift motion, one housemate grabbed her iPod and speakers and turned on “The Wobble.”  Evidently this is a hip new dance song I had never heard, but one I am now incredibly grateful for.  She cranked the volume and began teaching us the moves, and before we knew it we were all dancing (wobbling?) like fools around the living room, sweating in the heat and melting away the fears we had held just moments before.

The dance party lasted close to an hour and consisted of pop hits, 90s classics, and anything in between.  We danced, we laughed, we shouted at the tops of our lungs.  Not only had we relaxed a bit from the jumpiness after the firecrackers/”gunshots”, but we were also letting loose and allowing our sillier sides to show.  The same housemate that I had felt frustrated with earlier in the night had come to the rescue of all of us, and I had a new appreciation for the different strengths and skills different people might offer our community in the coming year.  I could not have been the brave one to start a dance party and distract everyone from their jitters in a new city, but I am very grateful that someone else was.  I can hardly wait to see what unique opportunities will arise to allow other people’s strengths to shine through. 

In conclusion, the new life lesson I have drawn from all of this is when in doubt, Wobble.

Orientation - Day 1

     The full group of 33 Amate Volunteers plus Program Staff

"This is Church."

Tonight was an incredible night for my community, in the most unexpected of ways.

As I mentioned previously, my community has been bonding through laughter very much over the past few days.  Today was no exception – after a long day of training we were all pretty tired and getting progressively goofier by the moment.  Around 5 I convinced my housemates to walk a few blocks to get an iced coffee (they were on sale – any size for $1!) to wake us up and keep us from eating dinner too early.  In the midst of a conversation on the walk back home, we somehow got to talking about what feminism is and how it is interpreted in today’s culture.

The conversation became lively and spanned throughout the early evening as a few people stepped to the kitchen to make dinner.  While topics rotated throughout dinner, we continually came back to major issues such as racism and sexism, among other more lighthearted stories.  We sat around the dinner table for two hours chatting and enjoying one another’s company before finally deciding to have a movie night.  Since we had discussed feminism and the role of women so much, we settled on the one hour documentary MissRepresentation (which I recommend everyone watch).  We headed to the basement and settled into the couches and watched the film.

While the film was extremely powerful and informative, it was the time that followed that was truly incredible.  The housemate who had brought the film casually asked if anyone had initial reactions.  Slowly but surely, people began sharing their thoughts and opinions.  One way or another, the conversation shifted to a discussion on Mary and the role of feminism and women in the Church.  This then evolved into a general discussion of faith and beliefs that I cannot even attempt to summarize in this small of a format.  For nearly 3 hours a group of twelve people in their twenties comprised of theology majors, devout Catholics, non-practicing Catholics, questioning people of faith, an Evangelical Christian and a non-practicing Buddhist had a dialogue that would be envied by religious leaders.  Not only was the conversation deep and thought provoking, but almost more importantly it took place in a natural and unstructured way, in a loving and open manner, and contained no yelling, anger, or hurt feelings despite a wide spectrum of beliefs.  Amidst the conversation, as we discussed the many sects of Christianity and ways of practicing the faith, one of my housemates astutely said, “This is Church.”  Amen, sister, Amen. 

Coming into my Amate year, I was hopeful I would have a chance to talk about faith and spirituality in order to grow and shape my own beliefs.  I envisioned this happening on organized retreats, at weekly community nights, and through discussions with my spiritual companion.  Never did I imagine such a beautiful and enriching conversation would happen so naturally, and especially so soon.  This night gave me such reassurance that I am in the right place, and God is here.

Towards the end of the conversation, we all stated how grateful we were that we had a safe space and a solid foundation for our community.  As tough as it was to think about, we acknowledged that we knew it would not always be this easy.  There would be times we would disagree – whether over how to spend house money, how to best keep cohesion, how to structure community nights.  But we all shared the hope that no matter what, we’d always remember this night and this feeling, and no matter how frustrated we might sometimes get with one another, we’d always try to keep in mind the loving foundation we build tonight.

This is Church.