Friday, July 19, 2013

Family

Every year, the evangelical Friends churches of the northwest come together in a mass of meetings, discussions, meals, and worship services for one week in July.*  Each year that I’m able to go, I get really excited, as in REALLY excited.  It is, in fact, ridiculous. Firstly, I love coming back to my alma mater, which I wasn’t particularly enraptured by when I left with my cap and gown in 2003.  For another, I am always taken by the quaintness of this little town, even though on any other week I would never actually want to live there again.  But I'll take it all, because really, at its heart, it's an annual family reunion, and I can not wait to see the people I dearly love. 

I have not lived in a Quaker community since 2008.  Before that, I had never spent extensive time outside of one.  I went to a Quaker church every Sunday from the time I was a week old.  I didn’t miss a year of camp and even volunteered as an adult.  I participated in Bible quizzing, albeit rather lazily.  I went to a Quaker university and then a Quaker seminary.  Once college started and I lived conveniently in Quaker HQ (what non Quakers call Newberg), I attended the yearly meeting annual sessions and loved them, even the business meetings.  I couldn’t get enough. I even participated in the Faith and Practice committee, which I really enjoyed (who wouldn’t enjoy working with Tom Stave??). And then in August of 2008, I left for a different seminary.  I left all the way to Kentucky and landed in a nest of Wesleyans and Southerners and even some Texans.  

The move was challenging, excruciating, eye-opening, amazing, and life-altering.  It was vital that I spend time in a different world.  My perspective on the church broadened significantly.  I saw a variety of ordination processes, experienced nuanced and bold differences in theology, witnessed great challenges in leadership structure and hierarchy.  And I discovered with an inarguable certainty that I am Quaker down to the very roots of my soul.  I have soaked it into my very being.  It will always be a part of who I am and the lens through which I see and know God.  

These days, I live in a small town outside of Portland that does not have a Friends church. Without a car or money for bus fare, my little Quaker soul is still missing that community, so maybe it’s not quite so odd that I get a bit euphoric over the coming of the Yearly Meeting.  That’s not to say I’m not realistic about expectations.  I have been in the yearly meeting all of my nearly 32 years of life.  I have seen life-giving discussions and confirmations, and I have witnessed things that beg for forgiveness.  As always with family, it is the good, the bad, and the ugly, but on the whole, it is beautiful and curious and forgiving and welcoming.  For me, it is home.


*A couple notes of clarification for my non Quaker friends: 
1. Our Yearly Meeting is the equivalent of most denominations’ understanding of a Conference.  Everyone is invited to the annual sessions, though, not just the official church leadership. 
2. The term Friends and Quakers mean the same thing; I use them interchangeably. 
3. Quakers don’t have a thick, bound copy of “The Book of Discipline” like the United Methodists.  Historically, Quakers didn’t approve of heavy-set doctrine, so each yearly meeting creates its own Faith and Practice document (ours is around 90 or so pages) which remains in constant revision, as we don’t believe such things are set in stone.

Friday, April 19, 2013

With Liberty and Justice for All


On the news right now is the capture of suspect number two of the Boston Marathon bombing that happened earlier this week.  I’m watching my Facebook page slowly fill up with statuses about this currently live event, and it has gotten me thinking.  Thinking about America, thinking about justice, thinking about us.

Since 9/11/2001, patriotism has been hijacked by a sliver of our population and become narrowly defined.  If you are pro-specific things and anti-specific things, you are patriotic.  I am not these things, so I’ve been led to believe I must be unpatriotic.  And you know what?  I’d would like to say to those sliver of folks, “You’re wrong.”

I don’t explicitly talk much about my politics, but I will make an exception.  I am a pacifist.  I am an evangelical Quaker and hold an orthodox understanding of Jesus Christ.  I believe gay people have every governmental right to be married the same as we heterosexual folks.  I hold to a more socialist idea of economics.  I really do not like capitalism as it is practiced here (but I find great value in the free-market system).  I have really complicated views about abortion that can’t be solved with a yes or no vote.  I generally detest big business.  I believe all these things, and I am an American, 100%.

Let me tell you what I love about America:

  1. I love that I can vote as a woman, and I love that I don’t fear for my life on voting day.  In fact, I really enjoy the ability to vote by mail in my state, because I’m lazy that way.
  2. I have the constitutional right--as in, it’s written IN THE CONSTITUTION of my country--to practice my religion without fear of abduction, torture, or death, and to not have that religion dictated by the government.  It is not lost on me how precious that freedom is.
  3. I can speak what I believe about an idea and authorities won’t come to my door and arrest me.  Freedom of Speech is sometimes misused, but it is a wonderful thing, regardless.
  4. Especially important, I can outright disagree with my government and I have the constitutional right to do that, too.
  5. As a woman, I am a full citizen of my country.  I have the legal right to drive, work, vote, speak out in public, disagree with men, have sex without being married (even if I don’t choose to partake in that right), and dress how I choose.
  6. I generally feel safe when I walk out my door.
  7. I am so thankful for programs like AmeriCorps which was the only place that gave me employment that will actually get me somewhere in life and that is really fun all at the same time.
  8. I believe, as Americans, if we actually actively joined together, we really could make a difference in our government.  The problem if our rich, power-hungry congress is only there because we the people keep letting them back in.
  9. I do not have to testify against myself in a court of law. AMAZING (and something I hope I never have to use).
  10. My justice system ALWAYS presumes innocence, even when the media presumes guilt.

As I watch the news unfold, and I read the responses, I want to reiterate that last point.  We have become a country that assumes people are guilty because the media tells the story that way, because the authorities call them “suspects.”  But we are also a country of people who have every ability to think for ourselves.  What happened in Boston was a grave tragedy, and whoever did it, be this young man and his brother or someone else, is a coward, but our justice system was set up as it is for a reason and our justice system has something to say us.  Human life matters--all of it.  If we are going to decide to throw someone’s life away, we better do it carefully and with great trepidation.  There better be cause without a reasonable doubt.  

Our justice system is not perfect and at times is even corrupt.  But I choose to believe in it nonetheless because I believe this justice system still, for the most part, seeks truth.  Because of this, I still choose to believe people are innocent until proven guilty and to trust the ultimate verdict reached.  Maybe this idea has almost faded into oblivion.  Perhaps in our biased and untrusting world, it is outdated, but I have decided to stand by it.  Because if I can't believe this to be true, then I can't believe anything good about America.  And I simply refuse to do that.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

A Little January


I am a Christian.  I love Jesus in a way I can not express in words.  I owe my life, my entire life, my eternal life, to Jesus Christ, to the God of the cosmos, and it is such a weight off my shoulders to know I’m not the one who needs to control everything--I’m not the one ultimately in charge of my destiny.  This is great freedom.

Except when I forget, and the weight of the world IS on my shoulders, and I can’t bear the heaviness of the world’s aches and cries and tears.  And when conflict flares up in my life, I worry and worry.  I let it eat at me like a voracious virus until it invades my mind and sculpts visions of a horrid future, slowly nibbling away at my sanity and kindness.  I panic when I have to depend on people and they aren’t following through on my schedule.  I believe the worst in some situations instead of the best, and I wonder if I’m wrong when I believe the best instead of the worst.  I am not a pessimist, but I am an idealist, and sometimes idealists make pretty impressive pessimists, the worst kind, really.  

Does this make me a bad Christian?  Is God unhappy with me?  Sometimes, I think it’s my responsibility to change myself, that God expects this of me.  Now that I’m reflecting on it, I realize I think this quite a lot.  Of course, when I ponder intellectually about it, I know that, theologically, this is very problematic.  But sometimes it is so hard to get my heart to believe what my head knows.

I love Jesus more than anything.  God constantly floors me with her grace and faithfulness.  Also, sometimes I freak out about things.  There are so many paradoxes in being human.  Humanity is a bitch, and it is such a blessing.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

The Greatest Job


It’s hard to describe what my job is exposing me to.  In any given moment I am taking in profuse amounts of new information and experiences.  It is the best kind of schooling for me.  Hands-on, experiential, moment by moment--at times it feels like I have to shoot first and ask questions later (to use an unfortunately analogy).  

As the AmeriCorps member, I am thrown into an atmosphere full of people who spent at least four years learning about their jobs before getting into them, and in many cases who have amassed years and years of on-the-job training and research and even added months or years of coursework for a graduate degree.  I have walked into a world of PBIS, ERI, EBIS, ELD, CIT, Easy CBM, OAKS with more and more acronyms piling up constantly.  It’s worse than church.  I walk into meetings and lead tutoring sessions with four and a half years of training in English literature, five years of seminary training, and absolutely no training in public elementary education.  Time after time, day after day I feel like I’m applying what I’m learning and then being taught it.  My job is constantly busy, often overwhelming, very demanding of my mental creativity, and sometimes stressful.

And I love every minute of it.

Under AmeriCorps, I work as a member of Partnerships for Student Achievement.  Twenty of us work in elementary and high schools in four different school districts spread around Washington County (bordering the west end of Portland’s Multnomah County).  While we do generally the same thing, the specifics are catered to each district and each school.  

We all work in Title I schools.  Title I was created in 1965, and because I’m too lazy to try and summarize or paraphrase it, I will simply quote the Title I purpose in its entirety: “The purpose of this title is to ensure that all children have a fair, equal, and significant opportunity to obtain a high-quality education and reach, at a minimum, proficiency on challenging State academic achievement standards and state academic assessments.”  This is followed by a twelve part list of how this is accomplished.  In short, Title I exists in schools with a high percentage of low socio-economic students and under-performing test scores, especially where there is an achievement gap.  The achievement gap, if you don’t know (I didn’t until I started this job) is the performance gap between ethnic groups/races and/or economic levels.  Title I is what gives schools the budget to do free and reduced-price lunches and to do special academic interventions.  Many Title I schools have full-time certified Title I teachers.

These days I am learning how different it is to be poor because my current situation makes it so versus being poor because your family has never been anything other than poor.  At my good friend and mentor’s suggestion, I recently picked up a book called A Framework for Understanding Poverty. The author, Ruby Payne, makes a clear distinction between situational poverty and generational poverty.  Consider a few of these statements from her quiz, “Could you survive in poverty?”  She asks the reader to check off each item we understand how to do:

1. I know which churches and sections of town have the best rummage sales; 2. I know which grocery stores’ garbage bins can be accessed for thrown-away food; 3. I know how to get someone out of jail; 4. I know how to get a gun, even if I have a police record; 5. I know how to live without a checking account; 6. I know how to live without electricity and a phone; 7. I know how to move in half a day.

Now compare this to the middle class quiz: 1. I know how to properly set a table; 3. I know which stores are most likely to carry the clothing brands my family wears; 4. I talk to my children about going to college; 5. I understand the difference among the principal, interest, and escrow statements on my house payment; 6. I know how to get a library card; 7. I repair items in my house almost immediately when they break--or know a repair service and call it.

(She also has a “Could you survive in wealth?” quiz which includes items like, “I fly in my own plane, the company plane, or the Concorde.”  I can’t even comprehend this kind of life.)

At my school, approximately 78% of our students are on free or reduced lunch.  Many of them partake in our free breakfast option every morning.  We have a high number of children who read and do math well below their grade level, and a number of kids on behavioral plans. Starting last year, my school began offering our backpack program.  Parents who qualify for free or reduced lunch can sign their child up to receive a weekend backpack of meals and snacks for their child.  Currently, we have almost 30 students taking backpacks home.  Many of these students fall on the despairing side of the achievement gap.  The connection between poverty and low achievement levels can not be overlooked.  I have very few financial resources, but my other resources are bountiful and gracious.  I have emotional support, spiritual support, mental support, good health, fantastic role models, and what Ruby Payne labels “knowledge of middle-class hidden rules.”  I watch some of our children walk through the school doors every day looking like the weight of the world is on their shoulders.  Many of them have very few, if any, of these supports.  

But these kids are impressive.  Against all odds, they keep coming to school and they keep learning.  They struggle.  And fighting against the never ending machine of poverty coupled with ambitious public school budget cuts can feel crushing on those who work daily with these children.

I had given up on the public school system.  Someday when I had kids, I knew the only reason they would ever be in public school is if I couldn’t afford a good private school.  All I ever heard in the news was about failing test-scores and strikes and impossible budget deficits.  One of the school districts a couple of my fellow PSA members work in cut well over 200 teachers over the summer.  When I heard that number, I just about choked.  It was all over the news.  The problems of the public school system were too vast and too wrapped up in hierarchy, out-of-date tradition, and government red tape for any difference to really be made, so I had washed my hands of it.

And then I got a job working here, and that vast public school system became local and began to have little six-year-old names and seven-year-old smiles and five-year-old stories and started giving me hugs; their faces would light up when they saw me.  The public school system became human.  Giving up on this system became giving up on the 290 little faces I see every day.

These kids make this job amazing.  It’s a taxing job and the end of the week is welcoming, but I always look forward to seeing the kids walk through the door on Monday morning.  

Despite maddening budget shortfalls and nearly unmanageable class sizes, the teachers and other staff at my school take it in stride and are always far more positive than they by all rights should be.  There is not one teacher here whose class I would not want my child in.  They are each unique in their own style of teaching, and they are all fantastic at what they do.  I love to walk into their classrooms and see how their personalities shape their classroom structure and style.  It is teaching me that there is no one ideal way to teach, and I am learning the importance of having a variety of personality types in one place.  They stick together.  They rely on each other and learn from one another.  I hear stories from some of my AmeriCorps co-workers who won’t eat in their staff lunch rooms because the atmosphere is exceptionally negative.  I’ve never once felt discouraged or uncomfortable in our staff lounge.  Every teacher is glad to have me there and they are always willing to answer my questions.

This week, I begin my after-school programs.  I was originally slated to begin both of them, but I had to push one back another week after failing to consider the time it would take for the letter I’m sending home to first be translated into Spanish.  On Thursday, I will begin a knitting club, and the following Monday, I’ll start a photography club.  I get the joy of putting my ideas into action and developing projects and strategies for these clubs, but unfortunately the stress of having no budget to go along with them.  I am searching heavily for donations, but there is still a lot of work to be done.  But this is how it goes, right?  Some things come easily and other things we have to fight for; these often come wrapped in the same box.  

I don’t know what is going to come of this year.  I don’t know if I’ll stick around for another year, if the school will even want me, or if I’ll end up moving on to new things.  I don’t know if I’ll succeed in finding what I need for the programs I’m running.  And I don’t know if my principal will even be around at the end of the year considering how hard the district runs her into the ground every day with a workload crazier than any I’ve ever seen, and considering who some of my friends are, that is saying a lot.  I don’t know if I will still enjoy this job by the time June rolls around.  But right now, I love it.  My finances are miserably tight and most of my friends still live too far away for me to see, but despite that, I am having the time of my life.  I am so blessed, and I love my job!

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Whirlwind


My life has never been so busy.  It’s stressful and overwhelming and I absolutely love it.  Of the twenty schools who have Partnership for Student Achievement AmeriCorps members, mine is one of the best at utilizing my position.  I love it.  I feel both needed and wanted.  I’m always on the move, always working on something.  Right now, I am preparing for my extended day activities to begin.  It is time-consuming, and trying to get donations of supplies is an overwhelming task for me.  

It has left me little time to reflect.  I think everyday about writing on this blog, but the space hasn’t come yet to unpack my life.  I haven’t even finished unpacking all my actual stuff.  

A blog post will come.  One of these days.  Maybe.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Remembering school

My new job is pulling up every memory I have of elementary school, particularly the earlier years.  A few years ago I wrote a poem about the Kindergarten memory I will never forget.  I thought, today, I would post it.  I think I might also write a letter to my first grade teacher.

Something I Remembered Today
October 20, 2009
revised October 28, 2009

We gathered on the carpet every day
to watch her read, or was it twice a week
(for how should I recall such old details?)
and cross-legged we sat enwrapped in awe
of words that painted worlds for little brains.
We whispered of the pictures we’d create
and watercolor with our fingertips.
Except that one day when the wall rang.
And when she picked the phone up off the hook
she wept at what came from the other end.
We sat so still with nothing much to say—
for we were only five.

Turns out you died.
But I don’t recall your name
and I can’t call back your face
and I can see you in our class photo
but can’t point out which boy is you.
Cause what can we remember in the year
when we were five?

Except for this—my Kindergarten memory.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Or not

My part 2 of the previous post was in process, but it got sidelined by a project with a deadline.  And now, heavily into my new job, I'm just not going to get around to finishing it.  Suffice it to say, it was more fantastic than expected to be at yearly meeting and I got to spend really amazing time with some great old friends and even run into people I haven't seen in years.  It was a week I desperately needed, and one I'm so thankful for.