Those who can, teach.

The coolest thing happened the other day in the lab that I teach.  One of my students was two hours late (this is not meant to be sarcastic, but I have to tell you this so you understand the rest of the story).  Because she was so late, her lab partner began the lab without her.  He was a bit nervous about having been cast off on his own, but as the TA, I tried to help him as best as I could. 

Unfortunately, my co-TA had come down with strep throat and at the last minute, she couldn't come to lab.  I, too, had been cast off on my own.

The professor was around for some of the lab period, and there are only ten students all together, but I learned a variation on Murphy's Law that day: all of the students will have questions at the same time.

My co-TA is an undergrad who has taken this particular course before, so I have been especially grateful for her experience.  In some ways, I was no different from my student who was temporarily without a partner.

An hour and a half into the lab period, that student got my attention.  We worked through another point of confusion with the experiment, and he said to me, smiling, "I really learned a lot today."  

What was equally awesome was the care he took with his lab partner when she finally arrived.  Newly an expert at this particular activity, he began explaining to her some of what he had done.  While I would never wish for my students to be late to lab, this was the best possible outcome.  It reminded me of a line I heard once:

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” ~ Maya Angelou

Peace and all good,
Rachel

I suggest this is the best part of your life...

I have been hanging out in this corner of cyberspace for far too long without making a peep, and the longer I stay silent, the easier it is to stay silent.

I moved back to New York in the middle of July after a wonderfully fruitful year with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Philadelphia.  My time as a volunteer, both in Philadelphia and in Camden, continues to inform my worldview as I transition into this next chapter.

During my short vacation, I was able to go to Chicago, where I spent several days at a conference, Catholics on Call.  About 45 twenty-something Catholic young adults gathered from all over the US (and even one person was from Canada!).  It was a phenomenal way to process all that has been on my heart these past two years.  There were several presentations, but for me the most fruitful part was hearing the stories of other young adults, just like me.

Soon after Catholics on Call, I moved out to Rochester, where I have begun school at U of R.  I love being back in school.  It's a ton of work, for sure, especially as I ramp up my math skills.  I have made some truly silly mistakes as I slowly un-bury all the things that I used to know, but it is fun, and I love that I get to be doing it.

I live with seven others: four Sisters of St. Joseph of Rochester and three volunteers.  Two of the sisters are nurses by training, and one of the volunteers just graduated in Biology.  It's fabulous.

Looking back through my journals from my senior year of college, I was reminded of all the support that I had as I prepared to head off into a next step that was so far removed from all that I had done.   As grateful as I hope that I was then, I am even more grateful now for that support.  To be back in school, for me, is more than just a continuation of an idea that grew and grew throughout my college years.  It is the way that I feel I can honor all that I experienced in my two years of service.

I'll leave you with the song that's been in my head of late...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kbvTPlYgNw

Peace and all good,
Rachel

Can Anything Good Come From Nazareth?

I had all sorts of dazzling words in my back pocket, but in the end, after being off the grid for so long, these are all I can muster:

This August, I will move to Rochester, NY to pursue a PhD in Chemistry at the University of Rochester. 

These past two years of service have been full of grace, and, with only a few days before I am to see my brother graduate from Le Moyne, I know that I am ready to make this next jump.

In an email that I wrote just the other day, I noted that, "I don't have any kind of certainty, but God has never wanted that, just my openness and my courage to come and see what good things can come from Nazareth."*
*For more on this reference, click here!

There are many "Nazareths" in my life, but I have found time and again that good things can and do come from these places, if I look for them.  The goodness can be found in the midst of a reality that holds sorrow, joy, awe with the same set of hands, and all of those things only serve to make it sweeter.

More to come.  I hope that you readers are all well, wherever you may find yourselves. 

Peace and all good,
Rachel

This is where I am at.

(It's short and sweet today.)

What choice will help you to be more loving?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtS4ef0vqhU

doing justice doesn't always make cents...

After a crazy two months, I am back and better than ever.  I am at the tail end of application season (grad school) and (knock on wood) I hope that I won't get too sick again.  

Much has happened, but for now I will leave you with the article I have written for the upcoming newsletter for the Welcome Center, where I work.  It's the story that spawned this post in November.

**********************************************************

My afternoons at the Welcome Center are busy and varied; I play "office manager," "lesson planner," "tutor" and "photocopy maker" on a daily basis, while also always trying to be "ready for any good work."  With my desk in the reception area, I am often the greeter of many of our dear neighbors.

One afternoon in November, Edona arrived at the Center directly from her job as a cafeteria worker for a local school. I had only met her once or twice before, but I knew that she had been one of our dear neighbors for quite some time. That day, she had a velvet carpet bag for a purse, which carried her money, three pears for her lunch, and some other sundry items.

"That is a pretty bag," I told her.

"Do you want it?" Edona asked.

"Oh no, thank you," I replied.

It was too late.

Edona began emptying the contents of her purse into a small plastic bag that she'd had inside. "Take it," she insisted.

"Thank you very much, Edona, but I have a bag." I pulled my own purse out from under my desk, as if my word wasn't enough to prove that I did not need the bag.

Edona would not be dissuaded. The whole scenario had reached the point where it was no longer going to take a polite declination of her offering to stop her from giving me that bag. She had turned it inside out and was picking crumbs out of it. I stood in the reception area, thoroughly mortified. In my mind, I was stealing. I had a bag already, and I had another at home, and I could get a bag if I really needed one.

That following Sunday, sitting in church, I heard again the story of the widow who gave all she had. In his homily, the priest recounted a story that he had been told about Mother Teresa. One day, she encountered a beggar who knew of her great works. He wanted to give Mother Teresa his whole day's earnings, about thirty cents. For that man, thirty cents was everything. It meant that he might be able to eat that day. Giving it away meant that he would spend another day hungry. For Mother Teresa, thirty cents was hardly any money. It wouldn't buy much. Taking that man's money, however, meant that he could earn back some of his dignity by feeling connected to her mission.

Mother Teresa took that man's daily bread, and I took Edona's carpet bag. They each offered freely all that they had, and doing justice meant accepting them, as they were.

That bag is a constant reminder to look deeper. I recall stories of people with bottomless bags (Mary Poppins and Hermione Granger come to mind), and I know that my heart must be like that bag, bottomless, open, and freely given.

Edona already knows about bottomless hearts; the proof is that I am the one with the carpet bag.

I needed that bag more than she did, after all.

Look beyond the bread you eat...

Last night, after a long day of classes and tutoring, I came upon Maria, one of Sr. Pat's students.  She and Sr. Pat were talking about how Gabi, Maria's seven year-old daughter, loves the ham at the Welcome Center.

"Do you want a sandwich for Gabi?" Sr. Pat offered.

"Yes, thank you," Maria replied.

"I'll make it," I piped in.  I walked over to the bread drawer.  There were sandwich thins, oat nut bread, and rye bread. 

I have never developed a taste for rye bread, perhaps because it was introduced late enough in my life that I never felt "accustomed" to it. I trained myself to prefer whole wheat bread and other, "healthier" alternatives to white bread, but rye bread hasn't stuck.

As such, I couldn't imagine any seven year old wanting a sandwich made of rye bread. 

The potato bread was all the way upstairs.  And okay, it sounds lame to me now, but I in that moment, I was willing to let anything be an obstacle.

I seriously considered making the sandwich with one of the alternatives.  I couldn't see Gabi wanting any of them, though.  Some seven year-olds don't even eat the crusts on their bread; if I handed her a sandwich with oat and nut pieces in it, I could envision her handing it back to me. 

It's fairly simple to predict the inclinations of a seven year old girl.  Extrapolating beyond that, for extra people or for different situations, becomes more complicated with each additional layer.  How can you know what someone would want?

The heuristic approximation is sympathy.

                                                  *****

In December of 2010, as a senior in college, I was bagging Christmas presents at the St. Francis Inn.  All of the bags that I had were too small for this box, a present for a young boy that was a guest there.  Completely baffled, truly, I presented this dilemma to the volunteer who was supervising me, Kelly.

"What would you want?"  That was her answer, or something similarly sassy.*

The implication was that, obviously, I had to find a bigger bag.   

Would I want a present half sticking out of the bag, not in the least bit surprising to its recipient?  If I were giving this present to someone, what would I want it to look like? 

Kelly's question challenged me to look beyond the act itself toward the way in which the act was performed.  By doing this, instead of being an act of responsibility, it becomes an act of love, a demonstration of concern for the person on the receiving end.

                                                  *****

I walked upstairs and grabbed the potato bread to make Gabi's sandwich. 

It could have been nothing, but it was everything.



*(Side note: I love Kelly, and I love her sass.  I know she is channeling it wonderfully in her fourth grade classroom!)

My first official blog endorsement for John Flynn.

I wrote the following poem/lyric in January of this year after seeing John Flynn perform live in Philadelphia.  I was moved by the caliber and artistry of his stories, and used that inspiration to channel my own experiences into this bit of writing.  I came back to it today after an encounter that left me without any words but these.  

Also, this is my plug for John Flynn.  I think he's phenomenal.  But you can judge for yourself.
http://www.johnflynn.net/


"Two Coins"

Two coins.

That was all she had,

all she could afford,

and as they fell out from her hands,

she said a prayer to her lord.

"I’m asking for tomorrow.

You’ve blessed me with today.

I don’t need much of anything,

just extended stay.

I’ve got so much to finish here.

Please help me see it through.

Whatever is your will for me

is what I will to you."

I took the silver coins she gave

and held them in my hand.

It wasn't much, but it would buy

her way into the promised land,

and as she gazed into my eyes,

I memorized her face,

for never had a clearer picture

been given me of grace.

"I’m asking for tomorrow.

You’ve blessed me with today.

I don’t need much of anything,

just extended stay.

I’ve got so much to finish here.

Please help me see it through.

Whatever is your will for me

is what I will to you."

I hoard the much that I’ve been given.

She gave all she could afford.

At night on bended knee,

I whisper this prayer to my lord:

Please teach me her example

each and every day.

The love she has is all she needs.

Don’t take her soul away.

I’ve got so much to learn from her.

She’s teaching me to do

whatever is your will for me.

That’s what I will to you.