Learning to feed myself...

“The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude.”
― Julia Child

Thanks, Julia!

I didn't mention much of this last year, but an important part of my time in Camden was learning how to cook.  Alex humored my interest, and my anxiety, as well as she could, and at the end I knew how to make a couple of things.  I don't know what it is about this year, but I do feel that I have a greater lease on life.  I am excited to experiment in the kitchen.

I've always said, and I really do believe this, that if I had to be a vegetarian, I could do it.  I don't have such a strong attachment to meat that I need to eat it all the time, but I do enjoy it and rely on it for some protein and vitamins.

One of my two housemates is a vegetarian, though, and that means that if I want to cook something that everyone can eat, I have to make it sans meat.

Two things have happened as a result of all of this.  The first is that I crave meat, precisely because I am more conscious that I cannot always have it.  Last year it was not as much of an issue.  No one was opposed to eating meat, but we couldn't have meat and everything else that we wanted on our budget.  Oh well.

The second, and far more interesting, thing is that I have been looking for recipes, because I am newly interested in this world of cooking.  I was a bit startled to find just how much meat has embedded itself into the wealth of recipes that I encountered.  It felt as though meat was everywhere, and it became a bit daunting to find anything that didn't have even chicken stock in it. Not too daunting, though.  I have happily begun with a handful of recipes that are vegetarian, or would be with a vegetable stock substitution.

Now, while I have all of these wishy-washy positions on meat, they are not based on anything other than my own wants and needs, and not on any sort of larger awareness.  Thus, I am going to spend some time this year learning about the larger picture - how does my own consumption influence the world?

Both the Sisters of St. Joseph and the Franciscans have a focus on the care for and integrity of creation.  I don't know if, at the end of this year, I will want a black bean burger or a Kobe beef burger, but I do want to know more about what fulfilling each desire will mean.

And, on the more fun end, I am going to learn to cook things like lentils and dry beans and tofu, so how can it be bad?

Peace and all good,
Rachel

It's foreign on this side...

I have officially moved to the other side of the river (or at least I will have, tomorrow), from Camden to Philadelphia, and for all that I thought I knew about Kensington or Philadelphia, it's a whole other world.

My housemates and I got to walk around Kensington with one of the former Mission Corps Volunteers yesterday, and I was forced to look at the realities that I had managed to avoid.  For all the time I had spent in Kensington, it is far more than Hagert Street, where the St. Francis Inn is located.  It is Visitation Parish, the Cardinal Bevilacqua Center, Covenant House, Marianna Bracetti Academy, Fiore Pizza, the Catholic Worker, and even far more than this.  It is people that I will come to know as beautiful, as my "dear neighbor," even though I am having a hard time seeing it that way now.

When we began our walk, I saw one of the guests of the Inn, Rambo, crossing the street ahead of us.  I didn't think he would recognize me, but I stayed out of view in case he did.  Rambo has a penchant for talking, and I didn't know how I would get around that if he started today.  He didn't see me.

As we turned onto the block of the Inn, I encountered Danny, a longtime guest of the Inn, and an alcoholic who had relapsed.  He has some sort of terminal illness, perhaps a consequence of his sorted past, I honestly don't know.  All I knew was that he was drunk, and that despite every effort that had been made on the part of the Inn, he was still drinking.  Whatever he has in this life, it's not enough to keep him sober.

That encounter snapped me back to the reality of what I do, and what I will do.  I cannot save everyone in Kensington, or even everyone at the Welcome Center.  The most likely scenario is that, on June 28th, when I am finished with my term of service, the people with whom I worked will still live in Kensington under the same circumstances in which I found them.  It is a hard reality.

During our orientation, we talked a bit about the two feet of social justice: meeting immediate needs and working toward systemic change.  If you don't meet the immediate needs of the people you work with, they will only be worse off.  By the same token, if you don't work to change the systems that caused that need to exist, you enable a cycle of poverty to continue.  It's not an either/or, but a both/and.

The students that I will be tutoring after school every day have the immediate need of homework help; they need to understand the work they are given and possess the tools to complete it.  Their longer term need is to know English, which I will work to help them with as well.  This need is at the interface of immediate and systemic.  In addition to meeting those needs, I will also be learning about the systems that have created these needs.

Last spring, I had the opportunity to lobby in DC, to use the force of my own power in that way.  My skin color, my level of education, my background will always give me a level of impact that Danny and Rambo will never have.  Having spent some time last year, and anticipating spending more time this year, in the service of immediate needs, I hope to be able to learn about and do more to influence systems.  Whether that means going back to DC, pursuing graduate school as a way to leverage my knowledge and understanding, or continuing to accompany the people I have come and am coming to love, I know that this year will be an awfully big adventure.

I'm slightly terrified of all of this, in the best of ways, and I am trying to remind myself that there was a beginning to my time in Camden, too.  Say what you will, but Kensington looks rougher than Cramer Hill ever did, although there are not as many abandoned buildings, I suppose.

So, I guess I just ask for your prayers as I embark on this next journey, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support that has gotten me here.  I am infinitely blessed to have crossed paths with all of you, whoever you are.

Thus continues the story of one girl who has a whole lot of love to give and a whole lot of living left to do...

Peace and all good,
Rachel

simple living, revisited.

Packing is about my least favorite thing to do.  I have too much stuff, and I can't fathom getting rid of it, except by waving a magic wand and having it all go away.  That's the thing: if it were easy, I would very soon have much less in my possession, but as it were, that technology does not exist yet.  So, here I am.

The pack-rat gene runs on my mother's side of the family, compounded by my own inordinate sentiment toward material things, whether they be clothes or books or knick-knacks.  This is how, in my twenty three years on this planet, I have filled my bedroom brimming with clothes, toys, CDs, books and other things.  Especially books.

An avid reader dwells beneath my nerdy exterior, and I have amassed hundreds of books in my lifetime.  I have so many books that I have never read, let alone opened, because I cannot read them quite as fast as I acquire them.  A side effect of growing up, I suppose.  

Many people have suggested to me that I should get a Kindle, or a Nook, and I politely explain that the real book lover in me will die hard.  I love pages, and words, and I am not ready to abandon convention for convenience.  

I do admit a problem: simple living, as I am making best attempts at, involves fewer books than I have.  I began this process last summer when I sold back a vast number of my science books.  Now, I am forced to take a critical look at what I have, and say, truthfully, do I need all of these books?

The answer, of course, I already know: absolutely not.

As I move toward this next year of service, I continue to reflect on the role of "things" in my life, and I am starting by getting rid of a few more books. =)

Peace and all good,
Rachel

Frugality is one of the most beautiful and joyful words in the English language, and yet one that we are culturally cut off from understanding and enjoying.  The consumption society has made us feel that happiness lies in having things, and has failed to teach us the happiness of not having things. 

~ Elise Boulding

...searching for starfish: the next chapter...

Hello World!

I know it's been a long time since you last heard from me, and I will try to be as concise as possible.  A lot has been going on here in Camden, both great and terrible, and I am leaving the place that I love and have learned to call home in just a few short days.

Along the way, I have been talking with God, sometimes arguing with God.  He seems to want for my life something different than what I'd envisioned, which was staying another year in Camden.  What I've discovered, though, is that when he wants something for me, he'll make it happen, and if I want it, too, then he will really make it happen.  So it was with my next step: on August 13th, I will be moving to Kensington, Philadelphia, to teach English as a second language with the Sisters of St. Joseph.  I will be living in community, similar to what I do now, with two other women, who will each be working in schools affiliated with the Sisters of St. Joseph.  I will be in a program called the SSJ Mission Corps (here's their website: http://www.ssjmissioncorps.org/).

What does this mean?  It means that I will get to work with fabulous people, again, and that I will also be able to have some contact with the people I have grown to love here.  I am very excited at the prospect of having my own classes to teach, and I will get to share this year with two wonderful women, who will make up the rest of my community.

What does this not mean?  I am not entering a community, that is to say, I am not becoming a Sister by being a part of this program.  I have the highest respect for all of these women, but right now, I am not ready to be one of them.

I'm hopeful, excited, grateful to Colleen, the program director for SSJMC, and very much looking forward to what I know will be a year of incredible beauty and growth.  I am so blessed, beyond all comprehension, to have the opportunity to do this.

For those who are looking for more Camden stories, I will do my best to post some, and also to be better in the months to come.  I thank you all for reading and following my story.  You are all in my thoughts and prayers.

Peace and all good,
Rachel

Thy Kingdom Come

One of my goals this year has been to learn Spanish, and one of the first ways that I did that was by learning the "Padre nuestro,"  the "Our Father."

It was the first thing that I memorized in Spanish, and I practiced it faithfully for a while, and then I got distracted, with my work, with the Hail Mary, with community living, with things going on outside of Camden.

Recently, when I have said the "Padre nuestro" at the May Rosaries, or at Spanish mass, I tend to forget, "venga a nosotros tu reino."  Which means, "thy Kingdom come."

The Kingdom is coming.

It is quite fitting that that line is the one I often omit, accidentally, of course, because it's a difficult one to live, here in Camden.

The Kingdom is coming.

What I envision as the Kingdom, what you envision as the Kingdom, is nothing compared to the Kingdom that is coming.  It won't be built of stone, or cement, or wood, or steel.  It will be built of real people, connected by real love.  We're building it now, here in Camden, and other people in other places all over the world are working to build the Kingdom, simply by loving and caring for each other.  And it could be finished right now, under two conditions: that all people realize that we are called simply to love and to be responsible to one another, and then to actually do that.

It's easy to despair here, where so much is run down, littered, graffiti-ed.  It's easy to despair when there is so much violence and drug use.  It's easy to despair when there is so little money, and everything is only getting more expensive.  But the Kingdom is coming.

When I interviewed for my second year with Katie Sullivan, she drove me home, and as we traveled down River Road, I squealed and told her to make the first left that she could.  I wanted to take her a different way to my house, via Harrison Street.

Harrison Street, at the beginning of the year, had potholes feet wide and several inches deep, from heavy trucks constantly making use of it.

About six weeks ago, it finally got paved.  It went from being the one of the worst streets in Camden to being one of the best.

This year has become about finding my hope, about seeing the abundant good amid the chaos.  It continues to bend me into shape, so that I am better able to love all those around me.

Thy Kingdom come.

Peace and all good,
Rachel

I'm just sitting out here watching airplanes...

The first bit of this is a story (spoiler alert!) that will appear in an upcoming FVMemo, the publication of my volunteer program.  I think, though, that most of you readers don't receive the FVMemo, so I don't anticipate too much chaos.  There is an epilogue, however, that does not appear in the FVMemo, and I have added that for the benefit of you readers.  Part one:

The elementary soccer league is in full swing at St, Anthony's, and last week [really last month], I brought the kids down to soccer after choir practice.

           

"You have to tell the coach why we're late," Emani demanded.  

           

I approached the coach to explain that I was bringing the choir members to soccer.  He began telling me that one of the other St. Anthony's kids, Raymond, was not welcome back at soccer.  Raymond had punched a kid in the face, one from another local elementary school.  

          

"I'm not in charge of the kids, I'm just bringing them down from choir," I politely told him.  

            

He wasn't entirely appeased by my words, but he went back to coaching, and I went over to fulfill my role as comforter to both children, who had been forced to sit out.  

            

I squatted next to the boy, who'd been "victim", and I greeted him.  

            

"I'm Miss Rachel, what's your name?"  Nothing.

            

"What grade are you in?"  Nada.

            

"What school do you go to?"  At this point, although the boy himself was not answering, others around, including Raymond, were piping in, and I discovered that he was a first grader at Sharp Elementary.  

            

"Would you like a piece of paper to draw on?"  It was as though I wasn't there.

            

"Okay, well, I will be over here if you want to talk."  And I walked away, a bit deflated, but certainly with the intent of trying again.  I listened to Raymond's story, which dripped of self defense and poor judgment, and I explained to him that hitting someone is not okay, and that if he ever had a problem, he should tell the coach or one of the other adults.  

            

I passed by the boy, who uttered his first sentence to me, "Can I have a piece of paper to make an airplane?"

            

"What's your name?"  

            

"Nighal," he said.  I began to have a conversation with an obviously grumpy boy.

            

"I'll give you the paper, Nighal, but only if you smile for me first."

            

"I don't smile.  I'm mean."  He said it so matter of factly.  This was the first child I had met in all of Camden who'd ever refused to be happy.  So I did what I knew how to do: I made the paper airplane and began throwing it, playing keep away from Nighal.  

            

Somewhere along the line, God made his presence known, and Nighal let out a small, closed-mouth grin.  Eventually, I gave him the airplane.  When he left that afternoon, he was truly smiling.

            

Yesterday, I brought the choir members down to soccer again, and Nighal was not there.  Raymond was there, however; he'd been given a second chance.  

            

Camden is a constant lesson in forgiveness and love.

            

I pray that Nighal continues to find reasons to smile.

The epilogue, two weeks later:

I was walking home before Friary dinner from soccer, and I ran into Nighal unexpectedly as he was entering his home.  

"Hi, Nighal!"

"My birthday was on Friday!"  A smile.  

"Happy Birthday, Nighal!"  

That was all, and that may be what it ever will be between Nighal and me, but I hope (and pray) that he knows someone is out there, caring about him.  

This year, I have had the chance to know many wonderful people, both briefly, and also very deeply.  I am grateful for all of them.  

Peace and all good,
Rachel

Notre Dame Football Tickets

Hello world!

I know it's been a while, and first I would like to say that I just discovered that people emailed me back from the blogs that have been emailed to them.  I did not realized, and I am so sorry if anyone felt ignored when I did not email them back.  That was certainly not my intention.  The posts go out with the email associated with this account, which, until now, was not forwarded to the email account that I check.

Anyway, I have a wonderful story.  The moral of it is cliche - stick to your instincts, and things will work out for you in the end.  The story goes something like this:

My Uncle Ric has teased me about having gone off to do a volunteer year, especially after he found out that I had considered doing the Alliance for Catholic Education Masters in Teaching Program at Notre Dame.  He couldn't understand why I would come to Camden instead of go to Notre Dame.  More to the point, he wanted football tickets.

"What can you get me from a soup kitchen in Kensington?  I want football tickets!"
*N.B. At the time of this comment, I had only seen the ministry at the Inn, and I did not know that I would be coming to Camden.

Fast forward to my volunteer year.  Fr. Jud, pastor of St. Anthony's, is a Notre Dame alum and very involved with the local alumni association.  They had a Notre Dame service day this past fall, and again one this past Saturday.  Steve, the husband of the cook at the Friary, is himself a Notre Dame alum, and was raffling off football t-shirts at the end of the service day.

When you ask for other people, I'm told, you are more likely to get it, but even still, my ticket was not pulled.  After the raffle, I pulled Steve aside and asked him what I could do to get one of those shirts.  I explained the story about my Uncle, and Steve gave me a shirt.  For free.  My day had been made.

"I can get him football tickets, too, but he would have to pay for those..."

I couldn't believe my ears.

I called my Uncle, left him a message, and he called me right back.  "What's wrong?  You never call."

I told him about my day, and how, if he wanted, I could secure him tickets to the game of his choice.  He was pleased, but certainly not as excited as I was.

"What would make me happier is if you told me that you were going to be there in school, too."

Not quite, Uncle Ric...

I came to Camden, and in the end, my Uncle will still get Notre Dame football tickets.

Ask and ye shall receive.



Peace and all good,
Rachel