Closing Time...for real.

9 days and I'm back in Wisconsin, helping Chuck load up his fair animals and hauling them to Seymour.

A stark contrast from crowded freeways, rumbling city buses, skinny jeans and palm trees!

Closing Time

I have exactly one month left at Dolores Mission.

Wow. It'll all be over soon. Hard to believe how fast 11 months can go by. Just like that.

Huh.

It's a runner's world...

"Alright, feelin good," I tell myself as I sync into a smooth rhythm, my dirtying white-and-pink Nikes sinking into pavement and my breath matching my flow. It's mile 12 of 26.2 and I'm about to run farther than I have ever run before. And I'm not completely freaked out.

Mile 14...15...16..17...they all pass by, breezy as pie and pretty soon I'm at 20 thinking, "This is kinda easy."

I hit a small wall at 21. My hips hurt, I've already taken more than enough ibuprofen and the thought of more Gatorade makes me nauseaous. But I keep going, one foot in front of the other, because I could scoot by my fan club at any minute and would hate to dissapoint them with a waddling, wandering, walking Teri.

I jog past my fan club, grab an envelope of French Vanilla Latte energy gel and keep going until they're out of sight. My hips burn and stab with every step and I need a break. "Just to that stoplight, I promise."

I toddle to the stoplight, take a deep breath and ugh. It's like I'm the Tinman and need some oil. A few staggered steps later, I'm back into the groove - rightleft rightleft inout inout - and I'm cruisin to Mile 22. Only 4 more left. I can do 4 more. Ain't no thang.

But 4 more miles are the longest 4 miles of my life. I keep going. Push through it. Mile 25 and an Asian drumming group is pounding away. I involuntarily speed up my rhythm to match their "pum pum pum", round a corner and can see the finish. It's farther than I'd like, but I'll make it.

Mile 26. Turn on the jet packs and go.

I finish my first marathon. With hardly any training at all. 5:33:30 baby. Oh yeah.

They never said it would be easy...

...but does it really have to be this hard?

I'm sitting in my office on a Thursday afternoon. I'm working on the letter of interest I'm going to send one of the schools I student taught at and a school that currently has an opening for an 8th grade English teacher. It's about 3:30 pm and the only way I know that is because Raul just walked in and plopped himself down in a metal folding chair next to my fancy, cushiony office chair.

"What's that, huh?" he asks facetiously, leaning over to catch a glimpse of my computer screen.
"Cover letter," I say, not thinking that I should try to keep it from him. His brow furrows and he quickly understands.
"So they fired you too?" He looks like he just got hit in the stomach with a pipe or something.
"No. I'm not coming back for another year."
"Wh-why?" he asks, his dark brown eyes becoming even more obscured with hurt.
"Because sometimes people do things they shouldn't and other people have to stand up against what's wrong."
"Hm." he says and quickly changes the subject.

Two weeks ago they fired my boss because they claimed they can't afford to pay him. I know that's not true. I'm not supposed to know it, but I do. So how can I stay here and act as their free labor when I know they're doing things that aren't in accordance with my own ethics?

Then again, how can I leave kids like Raul, with whom I've spent a year creating relationships and whose trust I have finally earned? How can I walk away from youth who have such a strong, undeniable need for someone stable in their lives, and who have such incredible potential to get out of this neighborhood someday?

Then again, how can any of that be realized when youth are only a priority in terms of lip service at this place and I will have no budget with which to do all the cool things that kids want to do. Right now I don't even have money to provide them snacks when we meet. When they fired my boss, everything in our space went with him save for two computers, three lounge chairs and a tv. Not exactly much to work with in creating a thriving youth ministry program.

I told my new boss - the pastor here - that I won't be coming back for another year. But now I'm wondering if it was the right choice. Maybe it shouldn't be about all the bull that's going on up in administration but about the kids. That'd be an easier mentality to hold if what's going on up in administration didn't have such a drastic effect on what resources are available to the kids.

I could work hard at fundraising and soliciting donations. I could pour all my energy into finding free stuff on Craigslist and begging people to come in a volunteer for our programs. I could create a youth program that would kick other youth programs' rear ends. But should I really do that for an organization that clearly has no plan; no walk to back up the talk; no conscience? Is my cooperation with them - my love for these kids - enabling them to continue abusing the people and resources they do have? What is my uncooperation achieving?

It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. And now I just don't know what to do.

Public Education

As a cradle-to-BA alumnus of Wisconsin's public schools, I have never appreciated the quality of education I received. Admittedly, I took it for granted. Living out in LA and hearing all the bad news about their public schools has brought me to a greater appreciation for not only the tax dollars that go into our schools, but also the teachers who put countless hours of preparation and immeasurable creativity and care into their lesson plans to give their students the best education they possibly can.

California's ranks 47th (out of 50...) in the amount of funding they send to their public schools, and has the Los Angeles Unified School District alone has laid of over 7,000 teachers. In the community where I work, if an adolescent doesn't get accepted into a Catholic or private school, that student barely has a 30% chance of graduating from high school. A 70% drop out rate is not a very encouraging statistic, especially given the problems with gangs and violence we deal with on a daily basis.

I'm not quite sure where the priorities lie here but when I talk to the 8th graders who go to school at Dolores Mission, I am proud that their desire to go to a Catholic high school will grant them success in the future. At the same time, when they tell me that they don't get the attention they need in public schools; that the teachers don't care; that they often walk away not understanding what was just taught to them, even after asking question upon question, I am disheartened and disappointed.

The point of this isn't to bash LAUSD. I don't know enough about the finances and politics surrounding all of that to make any judgements. Rather, the point is simply to acknowledge the quality education I have received and an appreciation for all of the stress I caused my teachers, kinder through college.

A little bit of home...

It shouldn't go without mentioning that my awesome little brother, Chuck, came out to LA for a visit over his spring break. He flew in on Sunday and left last night. It was hard to see him go.

A quick summary of his trip:

Sunday: Picked him up at the airport. Drove around Venice for 2 hours looking for parking. Gave up and went to Santa Monica to cruise around the 3rd Street Promenade and eat some din-din.

Monday: Headed up to Griffith Park and Observatory. Walked up a very steep hill to find that the Observatory is closed on Mondays. Ate at Yogurtland. Twice.

Tuesday: Read Bibles in front of the Scientology org. When we were done, went back to where we left the car to find that it was gone - got towed. Rode with two other ladies whose car got towed in the tiny cab of another tow truck to the impound lot. Pay $207 to get the car back. Still have to pay the $148 parking ticket. Ate dinner with the men of the Guadalupano Homeless Project at DM. Chuck discovered a general dislike for stuffed peppers.

Wednesday: Went to the Getty. Awesome place. Amazing art and beautiful gardens. Ate dinner at Teresitas (local Mexican restaurant) - tortilla chips and tacos, yum! Went to a presentation by Leslie Gelb about American foreign policy (not as boring as it sounds!)

Thursday: Stopped by the Museum of Natural history, where Chuck's dream of seeing a T-rex in person was realized. Also starred in the documentary they were filming - twice! Enjoyed El Pollo Loco for lunch, tried to find the La Brea Tar Pits (where they found a bunch of dino fossils) but just wasted a bunch of gas in the process. Drove 15 miles ( = 60 minutes in LA traffic) to Griffith Park again. Walked down a hill. Then back up it. Took a third trip to Yogurtland and brought Chuck to the airport.

I cried the whole way home.

East LA Sleep Out

Yesterday morning I was flipping through the LA Times and a title on page A12 in the "California Briefings" section caught my eye. It said "Come sleep with the homeless" and though it was barely a blurb among lots of other news, it was a press release detailing the action Dolores Mission would be taking that night to stand in solidarity with the homeless and those who have lost their homes to foreclosure. The event wasn't news to me - I was at the meeting when we decided to do it - but it was exciting to see it announced to all of LA!

We gathered in the plaza at Dolores Mission around 10 pm and held a short service where the story of Jesus' time of prayer in Gethsemane was read and we heard testimonies of the immigrants who stay at our homeless shelter as well as that of a woman who is currently going through the process of foreclosure.

The event was a huge success and we got a TON of press: 3 different news stations including Fox and Univision; Associate Press; International press and a photographer from a well-known local paper whose name I can't remember right now.

So last night I spent the night sleeping under the stars in the plaza of Dolores Mission. I was well prepared: sweat pants, thick sweatshirt, mummy bag rated to 20 degrees, a camping pad and another sleeping bag to cushion me from the hard brick plaza floor. I was a little concerned about being cold and not being to sleep, but I think it might have been the best night's sleep I've gotten all week (even if it was just a few hours!).

But as I lay next to friends and co-workers in my envelope of warmth and comfort - even on the hard ground - I couldn't ignore the fact that I was still sleeping in luxury compared to the countless people who sleep with dirty, ragged blankets under bridges and overpasses among strangers and in danger. Of course, thinking about those people doesn't do much to help them...

Last night's event was another great example of the emphasis on "walking with" here at Dolores Mission. We intentionally gave up the warmth and safety of our homes and beds to experience - if even in a minute way - what a myriad of people "less fortunate" than us endure on a daily basis. I'm grateful for the opportunity to have done something that contributes to the work of social justice.

Success!

Last weekend I led my very first retreat, and it was a hit! Three other confirmation leaders and I took a group of 19 girls to Loyola Marymount University for a day-long retreat covering relationships, dignity, sexual values and spiritual. Yep, it's as heavy as it sounds.

The day started at the beach, where the girls were asked to write their worries and fears for the day in the sand right where the water could reach them. Then they watched the ocean wash them away. Very symbolic (except my fear - that the retreat would bomb - seemed to be out of the ocean's reach for a while and I was starting to get nervous that it was a bad omen!)

Fortunately the girls came with the right mind set and my fear of failure was washed away with their depth of reflection and cooperation. It was a true joy to be able to open up to the girls after being the cell phone nazi for the last 6 monhts and just enjoy their company. We're hoping to beef up our retreat program for all the youth opportunities we're going to be offering, and I'm super excited for that!

Tender Moments

It's a beautiful day today - the sun is shining, there is a cool breeze sweeping through the plaza and the sky is free of clouds and smog. I'm sitting in the plaza outside of Dolores Mission, a rennovation project that has cost our parish hundreds of thousands of dollars but provides people an enjoyable place to sit. It's covered by four large, porous tents, each one a different color (red, yellow, green and blue) and it reminds me of those parachutes we used to play with in gym class when we were little.

I'm meeting with Vince and a teacher from the school and we're talking about the youth group we're starting next month. Yellow bounces off our faces as we talk and we all look a little bit like we might have jaundice because of it.

It's nearing 4 pm and the homeless men who are part of the Guadalupano Homeless Project (GHP) start filtering into the plaza. They will line up at the GHP office to check in and get their towels and begin their nighttime routine. We're in the middle of brainstorming topics we can hit on during our youth group - life, death, relationships, family, rejection, love etc etc when we look over an see a man sprawled out on the brick tiling of the plaza, on his belly, reaching under a plastic table. He's whispering softly and petting Lupe, the green-eyed black cat that is lying under the table.

What a blessing to have caught a glimpse of that moment! Just the simple, quiet companionship between a man working to stand on his own again and a feline having found her home.

Reality Check

It's 4:45 pm, a time at which the playground outside is usually filled with churro-devouring children, flying footballs and screams skipping between the school building and open air. But today the atmosphere outside is eerily quiet. The 4:45 church bells are ringing and birds are chirping and the sun is shining but there's a quality in the air that reminds me of the excited nervousness I feel during a potentially imminent emergency, like a tornado warning. It's as if the uncertainty of damage that could be done and injuries that could be sustained is a damp mist that gets sucked into your psyche with each breath. Things are tense around here today, because it's the day of Tim's funeral.

Tim was a member of a prominent gang in our area (a few members of which whose names I know and whose potential I hope to see realized) and was killed in a drive by shooting last week. There's been talk of retaliation on behalf of Tim's fellow gang-bangers and, as far as I know, relatiation doesn't often go unretaliated...

My roommate knocked on my office door a bit ago with a bewildered, flustered look on her face and asked for a ride home. She was going to take the bus but, as she started walking down the street, noticed a huge group of guys congregating around the park area. The police advised the track coaches that they should cancel practice, the after school program let out an hour and a half early, and parents who normally allow their children to walk home from school met them half way.

As staff, we have been asked to be present at the weekly Via Crucis (it's sort of like stations of the cross...we do it every Friday at 5:30 during Lentand then to "provide a calming presence" at the 7 pm funeral.

I'm not even going to act like I'm not a bit nervous about the whole thing. For some reason, walking around "hot" streets right before a funeral of a drive-by shooting victim just doesn't seem like a good idea. But if no one stands up for peace and reclaims the streets as property which belongs to not just certain gangs but to everyone else who lives here, how will it ever come about?

I'm not entirely sure I'll be going to the Via Crucis, but I can show my support by going to the funeral. A lot of the kids I work with knew the guy who died and my presence will say a lot about how much I care about them, even if they don't recognize it.

Until now I've felt pretty secure in where I live and work. However, the events of the last two weeks, combined with all the concern and tension over tonight, have me reevaluating that sense of security and comfort that I have enjoyed.

Please pray for peace, on the streets of Boyle Heights, in our world, and in our own hearts.

Avoidance

It's time for me to come clean: I've been avoiding you, dear blog, for the last month or so.



I would love to say that my absence has been because of busy-ness - that my life is flourishing with social butterfly-like activity; that work has been boomingly busting; that I've felt so unconditionally accepted and involved in my community that I haven't noticed a need or urge to reach out and be expressive.



I just haven't known what to say. So I've been avoiding it.



Ha, and now I have so much to say that I don't even know where to start!



I dropped my cell phone in a puddle one rainy February day and now I don't have one. It was a slow, agonizing death for both my phone and my sexy phone number (it doesn't get much sexier than 357-4000), but I've been without it for several weeks now. I would love to say that not having a cellular device is unbelievably liberating. But my phone and I had a pretty healthy text life (not to mention actual phone calls!) and I'm both amazed and taken aback at how much I depended on that thing for support. Of course, it's not the device istelf that has helped me through tough times, but the contact with loved ones it facilitated.



I'm 7 months into my 24 month service agreement and doubting (see post "I'm a doubting Teri" for more details) and feeling daunted at the task. I've said it before: I love my job, love my boss, love the kids I work with and don't mind LA so much. So why the crap can't I be happy here? Is it a matter of just deciding to be and ignoring any other emotions that pop their ugly little heads in the door? No matter what I do - no matter how much I work out, pray, eat, don't eat, talk with my roommates, don't talk with my roommates, turn to my family for help and advice, turn to friends for help and advice, turn even to strangers for help and advice - I can't seem to go more than a few days without having some kind of emotional explosion behind my closed bedroom door (or, like last night, behind the wheel of the car) which requires half a travel pack of Kleenex and a wardrobe change for my pillow when I finally pull it together.



Perhaps it's the spiritual emptiness I feel in what I expected to be one of the most spiritually abundant times of my life. I don't know. I'm done trying to figure it out.



It hasn't all been doom and gloom though. I'm noticing that kids from the school who I have never met know my name and say "hi" to me as I walk past them on the playground. It's really heartwarming to experience that. And today we had meditation with the 7th grade girls and I couldn't believe the power we have to make twelve 13 year-old girls lay absolutely silently for 45 minutes!



Oh! And last week we had a "Girls Night Out" with the high school girls from our Confirmation class - an endeavor that has been floundering a bit in the area of attendance - and 17 girls came to Yogurtland with us! And what a blessing it was to buy $70 worth of frozen yogurt and walk around Little Tokyo eating it in 50 degree weather!



So there you have it. I'm back. I'm done neglecting you and keeping you from the goings-on of my life (and I don't say that under the assumption that your happiness and well-being are dependant upon being updated on the goings-on of my life - I wouldn't dare be so presumptuous).

Please accept my sincere apologies.

Girls vs Guys

Tuesday, 5:30 pm:

My boss walks into my office, puts down the plan for our 7 pm Confirmation class and says, "This is shit! Fix it."

And I look at him calmly but with irritation and say, "Ok. How do you want me to fix it?"

"I don't know," he whines, "just fix it. Make it better. Work your magic."

So with an hour to find meaning in the plan that some of our (wonderful) leaders came up with and "make it work", I scramble to make the class a good one.

However, I'm blinded by frustration. My boss has been MIA for practically a month doing various things - taking a 2-week trip to Miami for grad school, leaving for Fresno for 5 days for vacation/a restorative justic conference, sinking into a "nothing" phase - and has left lots of loose ends for me to tie up. So I'm dealing with it, doing my best to push it to the back of my mind, trying to think of a way to make a lesson plan that talks very maturely about sex (something that's hard to do with 15 -, 16-, 17-year olds) and turn it into something that still gets the point across (the point being "You're more than just a man or woman...you are glorious and wonderful and God thinks you're perfect the way you are). Confirmation kids are starting to show up and are demanding my attention; confirmation leaders are starting to show up and are demanding my attention; Vince is not mentally present and is no help.

"God - some patience please? Inspire this. Make it yours. Make it work. Please?"

7 pm:

70 kids are sitting in a circle in the Bungalow, with 4 in the middle. We're trying to facilitate a game of "Taxi" with scenarios that deal with gender roles. None of the kids are willing to volunteer and the volunteers we do have are just sitting there. I'm worried that this is going to bomb and we're going to lose them before we even get them.

Some girls suggest that Marisol (another leader) and I do the game. So we do. And they think it's hilarious because we were two girls coming from a party, who like the same guy, and he likes Marisol more becaue he doesn't like girls with red, curly hair as much as girls with straight, black hair (boy doesn't know what he's missing!) . So we've got 'em. And that's good.

7:40 pm:

We break the boys and the girls up into gender-specific groups. Then we kick the boys out into the kindergarten classroom (fitting, no?) And we tape two big pieces of butcher paper on the wall. I say to my girls "Complete this sentence: I am a man, therefore I..."

"Cheat!" "Abuse!" "Don't put the toilet seat down!" "Am a good listener!" "Provide!" "Hit it and quit it!"

...were just a few of the shout-outs in the crowds. Each of the girls had a chance to write what they thought about guys.

And then we flipped it - "I am a woman, therefore I..." (the way they completed that sentence was a little different...)

"am bitchy!" "criticize" "gossip" "clean"

8:00 pm:
We're still brain storming and the guys are pounding on the door to get back into the Bungalow. We lock them out until we're done.

8:05 pm:
We're done brainstorming so we let the boys back in. We tape up the boys' lists and compare.
We talk about the differences and similarities between what each group thought. And each group had strong opinions.

And they LOVED it.

God made it work. Thank God!

I'm a doubting Teri

I love my job, I like LA alright and, despite the mishaps and issues I've had with my roommates, they're tolerable, at the very least.

Yet I find myself wondering if I can (if I WANT to) do a second year of JVC, and the arguments for staying and for going are strong and balance each other out, which leaves me in a state of irritated limbo.

So would somebody PLEASE just tell me what to do?

This experience has led me to a much deeper appreciation for the great friendships I had all through college and perhaps feel their absence is a completely normal phenomenon post-college, regardless of employment status and location. However, I can't help but feel like I would be more comfortable (and for some reason, less lonesome) if I were back in WI, closer to my family and doing what I spent 6 years preparing to do.

At the same time, I can see the value of what we're doing here at DM and though I'm frustrated when things don't go right (which tends to seem like more often than not), the fruits of our labor are so sweet when they ripen that it's hard to fathom how we ever arrived at such a delicious outcome.  And the potential that our program and our kids have is dauntingly inspiring.

I thought this was my dream job - hanging out with teenagers and giving them a safe place to be heard, support they need, and someone who cares more about them than whether or not they've done their homework or passed a test or done their chores or...

And it's been a lot of fun.  But I don't feel like I'm reaching my own potential here and I wonder why.  I also wonder if I ever will reach my full potential and when I do, will I realize it?  

So the result of my pondering is:  I am where I am.  And I'm not entirely sure where to go from here.  Do I stick out another difficult year of living in community and dealing with all the drama and issues that come with it?  Do I stay at my job but try to work something out so I don't have to do JVC for 18 more months?  Do I call it quits and go home and start my life as an overworked, overpaid, under-appreciated teacher?  Or do I just stay in bed for the rest of my life and hope that someone will bring me food every day and pay my bills?

I think that last option sounds tempting...  ;)

Commentary

Just a quick note:

I've been wondering why I haven't been getting many comments on the blog (aside from the fact that 2 people including myself probably read it...), and then I realized that the way I had the settings required people to be a member of the blog in order to leave comments.

Not anymore though! So please, feel free to offer your thoughts!

5 Stars for Starbucks

Some people may criticize our country for its capitalist ways - I once heard one young woman complain that there is a Starbucks on every corner and that such over-abundance crosses the line and becomes nothing short of gree and gluttony.

There was and may be once again a time when I agreed with that sentiment. However, on an afternoon that has faded into evening, when my friends dropped me off on a street corner in DC and I had to wait 2 hours for my train, Starbucks took me in, sat me down, gave me (well, not GAVE me - I had to pay) a tall steamed milk and a bag of chai tea and let me read and write and attempt to solve sudoku puzzles until it was time for me to leave. Heck, they even let me use their restroom a time or two!

And when my train arrived 20 minutes earlier than I expected, there Starbucks was, waiting for me with its arms wide open, its windows twinkling and its bright green sign guiding my way. Again, it took me in, sat me down, and this time GAVE me a tall wild sweet orange tea - "Just say I charged you," the guy not having such a great day behind the counter told me.

On an afternoon faded into evening such as this, all I can say is, "Thank you Starbucks, for being so greedy, so gluttonous, so wonderful."

Incredible.

Roughly 2 million people showed up for the inauguration of Barack Obama.

0 were hurt.
0 were killed.
0 were arrested.

Incredible.

Extending open hands to unclenched fists...

It's 6 am Tuesday morning and my party and I are bundled and ready to face the biting cold of January in Virginia. We're preparing ourselves for a historical day and I'm not fully aware of the magnitude of what I'm about to experience.

We shrink from the cold the moment we step outside, pulling on hats and tugging up zippers to deny to even the slightest hint of cold into our layers. It's still dark but we slide into our blue Chev Malibu rental car and shiver as we settle onto cold leather seats filled with hope for a sunny day; a new day.

The toll road (which is notably newer, smoother and more well-maintained than those in LA!) is empty and though we've gotten a late start, we're encouraged by the seemingly abandoned road. We head to the metro and a quiet morning ride gives us time to wake up and summon our energy for the day.

We get our first taste of "traffic" (which is really pretty cute compared to the jams in LA) as we pull into the parking lot of the metro station. Though the line is long, things go smoothly and we find our spot on Level 3 A.

The cold jumps on us as soon as we step out of the car (you'd think a Wisconsin girl would've anticipated it better, but it caught me off-guard too!)

I realize how intense the day is going to be when I walk into the train depot and it closely resembles a mosh pit at an MXPX concert, only without the thumping music and body surfing. It takes my friend Jana and I at least 45 minutes of waiting in line just to buy our tickets!

We join the mob on the platform and are disappointed when the next train that comes through is full. The next one doesn't look promising either, especially since my toes are starting to sting from inadequate footwear and I'm getting nervous about standing outside in 20 degrees for three hours with the seeming equivalent of wool socks and argyle slipper. As the train squeals to a stop we get bold and make room for ourselves in the middle.

We get stuck at the next station coutesy of technical difficulties on behalf of the train ahead of us and to be honest I'm relieved to have the chance to stay in the warm.

The passengers in the car with me aren't irritated or upset at the hold up. Rather there is an electric pulse of happiness and patience pumping through the train. Sure, we're tired and we're cold, but as many see it, Hope is going to be realized today.

"Please be patient, folks," the conductor chimes over the radio. "We all in this together," he says in loose paraphrase of our President-to-be. We all smile at the conductor's upbeat attitude and at our excitement for the day.

As our train approaches the capitol, the conductor keeps announcing stops that have been closed and it looks like we're going to embark upon a pilgrimage to get to our destination. He tells us that pretty much the only option is MacPherson station, so we hop off here and follow the crowd about a mile and a half to the National Mall.

The streets are closed off to traffic and are filled from sidewalk to sidewalk with people heading at varied paces to be part of Obama's "Welcome Wagon".

Tamaya, Ryan, Jana and I claim our spot on the brown grass in the shadow of the Washington Monument. We park ourselves here, anxiously awaiting the beginning of the ceremony, first because it's time for a change and secondly because we're cold and some of my fellow inaugural enthusiasts are worried about frost-bitten toes.

The same energy that pulsed through the train is flowing through this peaceful mob of parents with kids, college students, grandparents and teenagers, singles and couples of every racial background you can think of.

Those of us who can see what's happening on the screen (which occassionally include me) cheer and boo in chorus as favored (and not so favored) politicians and public figures make their entrances. I feel a little bad as G.W. enters to a chorus that didn't suggest a request for an encore presentation but was more enthusiastic and willing to contribute to the harmony of praise that rang through the crowd as Obama was projected on the screen.

I'm amazed as a field of 2 million + people becomes absolutely silent to watch their new president take his oath and as they wait like kids sitting under a Christmas tree to hear his first words as Commander in Chief. There are cheers of assent and hearty "Amens" shouted throughout the speech and I forget for a moment that I'm not at a prayer service but an inauguration.

I'm cold; the wind is sinking its teeth into my double-layered legs; the sun is playing a fickle game of hide-and-seek; my toes are stinging and my nose is numb. But I'm AT the INAUGURATION of the first BLACK PRESIDENT of the United States. And though I'll believe it fully when I see it, I believe it can - that it will - happen; that our country can be changed for the better.

I know it's probably going to take a bit of an overhaul of the way we live now, but I think that with the encouragement and example of a man who truly values hard work and preserverence it can happen. Obama appears to embody everything I personally have been seeking in a leader: honesty, work ethic, a down-to-earth demeanor, humility, trustworthiness, sincerity. I look at Obama, and feel like I know him - Like I could just walk up to the White House and say "Hey Barack, how's it goin?" and he would sit down and talk with me about what's up. I think that he will represent our country well and hope that he'll provide an example that my generation and the ones after me can look up to and model ourselves after.

The ceremony is over and it takes a good part of 2 hours for the National Mall to clear out. We are frozen - our feet are stiff and my legs don't want to move - but are warmed nonetheless.

We again take over the streets with our numbers and as we approach the metro stop at Foggy Bottom there are security guards breaking the crowd up and allowing only a certain number of people into the station. No one gets upset; no one pushes or swears. They just wait. When our group goes in, some people behind us start cheering "Oh-bah-mah! Oh-bah-mah!"

I'm a little shy in admitting it, but today, for the first time in a long time, I feel consciously proud to be an American.

Bienvenidos a Mexico

When my sister asked me what I did this weekend, I told her, "Went to Mexico," as casually as I would have said "Stayed home. Watched a movie. Not much."



Her response: "MEXICO?!?!?"



But it wasn't really a big deal. A few people from DM were going and had an extra spot and said I could go along with them. And I really appreciated the simplicity of the trip.

We drove down Friday night and hung out at a beautiful house owned by a couple who is now living in San Diego. They come down every now and again to do outreach. Along with our group, there were some students from San Diego and a group of students from Loyola Marymount University in Santa Monica.

After a delicious dinner of toasted rolls with beans and a salsa of cilantro, chiles, tomatoes and onions, most of us went for a night hike led by tall guy named Pete who'd been there before. As we set out, the Santa Ana winds suggested that a sailboat would have been a more appropriate means of transportation than our legs - it was what I'd imagine a sand storm would be like! We bowed our heads and leaned forward into the wind as we made our way up an increaingly steep hill until we got to our destination: A part of the mountain that offers a majestic view the city of Tecate.

The winds were so strong at points of our descent that it felt like we were the targets of a herd of little boys who'd just gotten bb-guns for their birthdays and were target-practicing! The gravel and sand bit the backs of our legs through jeans and jogging pants alike!

Saturday was an early morning (well, for those of us who actually thought that 6 am meant 6 am and not 8!) and after breakfast my group headed to the water-damaged house we were going to work on.

The story of this family is simultaneously amazing and heart-wrenching:

The two kids we met were 14 -year old Michelle and 12-year old brother, Yoel. It's my understanding that they have younger siblings but we didn't meet any of them that day. What's so extraordinary about these two adolescents is that their parents aren't around - their mom died and their dad is in jail for at least 15 years and they have no other family to take care of them.

You know the phrase, "It takes a village..."? It's entirely true in this situation. The family court system in Mexico is so bad that these young kids are better off to stay in their house, without adults, than be put into "foster" care. So their neighbors watch after them - make sure they have food and clothes, go to school etc.

It was really a blessing to watch Michelle and Yoel interact with the adults from our group, especially one man, Arturo. He had his two daugthers along with him on the trip, but the fatherly love he showed to these two kids put a smile on my face despite their sad circumstance.

Michelle and Yoel weren't the only kids who got to experience unusual love while we were there; two kids from our neighborhood (let's call them Manny and Eddy) also got to see their dads, whose presence they've lived without for years.

Manny is a tough, scraggly kid with spiky hair, sparkling eyes and an attitude that makes up for his small stature. That's the Manny I get, anyway. He's the no-nonsense, "don't mess with me" type and he means it. But in Tecate he was a kid. He was free of the pressures to be a tough guy he feels in Boyle Heights and was so warm and goofy that I barely recognized him. His interactions with the other young people there - rough housing to rough house and not to prove himself - revealed how entirely transforming love can be.

This trip to Mexico wasn't life changing for me. And I'm glad that I didn't come back blown away by the poverty that I saw or feeling a sense of accomplishment for having helped someone. Don't get me wrong, there's validity and importance to feeling those things. But it wasn't a big deal. Just a great way to spend a weekend.

The Swing of Things

My first four days of being back at work since returning from Christmas vacation have been much more encouraging and defeating than I expected.

It all started at the airport on Sunday night when the airlines forgot my luggage in St. Louis and my cellphone company suspended my service and I couldn't get in touch with my roommate who was going to pick me up and I had to take a cab home, the driver of which didn't speak English or Spanish but Ukrainian, a language I can't speak at all and didn't give me change back from the $70 I gave him for taking me the 30 miles from LAX to East Los Angeles and making me car sick.

Wow, welcome back, huh?

The good news: I got a Christmas card from a friend from back home who gave me a very generous Christmas present, which made up for the money I'd just spent in getting home and the $15 luggage fee I paid American Airlines to forget my luggage.

Coming to work on Monday was encouraging - everyone was happier to see me than I expected, and I really felt like my presence was missed while I was away.

Most Tuesdays we do meditations with the middle school students, which are really a unique experience considering most schools don't offer the chance to adolescents/young teens to take an hour a week to be quiet and do their best to concentrate on God. Sometimes I dread leading these because (believe it or not) teenagers aren't always willing to actually focus on God and the message and they aren't always forthcoming with their reflections on the experience. But this week, man, the girls in my group had a ton of energy and were engaged in the exercise as well as the discussion. I was blown away at how much thought they put into their answers and how much they wanted to share. That meditation is what has gotten me through the rest of the week.

Tuesday night we had confirmation and, after showing the first 30 minutes of "Field of Dreams" (our theme is "God calling you by name"), we broke up into small groups for discussion. I was pretty excited to hear what the kids had to say until we got into small groups and nobody had anything to say. I tried everything: calling on people; letting them write on the white board; I even gave them the opt-out of "You don't have to say anything - just nod your head for yes, shake it for no"! I know much of the success of any discussion depends on the willingness of the group, but I left feeling like a failure.

Although, I was (once again) encouraged by a kid who stayed after class to help me straighten up. As we were scooting tables across the floor and figuring out where the chairs belonged, he started telling me about what's going on in his life - which is pretty huge considering he's a guy and has a lot of cultural pressure on him to be macho - and he even showed me some of his poetry. I was honored that he chose to open to me, but I couldn't figure out the motivation. Then, as we walked out of the room, he told me that he'd stayed there to keep out of trouble. He and another student had gotten into a bit of a disagreement (the other kid was threatening to throw punches) before class and the kid who stayed after had the wisdom to avoid further conflict.

I was pretty impressed.

Then last night we had a meeting with the kids who have graduated from our middle school and have received scholarships to go to Catholic high schools. It was complete disaster, mostly because my boss and I didn't really plan anything. Why we thought playing Catchphrase with a bunch of 13-14-year olds for an hour was a good idea is beyond me. And we got what we put into it: Squirrely kids who wouldn't shut up or do anything for more than 15 seconds. And that's not even an exaggeration.

Not exactly the most harmonious note on which to end a long day.

But there's hope for them (and us!) and I've definitely learned a lot about energy in and energy out: it's not always a positive correlation. But the more energy you put in, the more you can say, "Well, at least I tried."