"I have come to a frightening conclusion. I am the decisive element in the juvenile (residential) centers. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher (care worker), I possess tremendous power to make youth's life miserable or joyous. I can humiliate or humor or heal. In all situations it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated, and the youth humanized or dehumanized."
- Hiam G. Ginnott, Between Teacher and Child: A Book for Parents and Teachers (1972)
I am officially trained and certified to work with my kids now. I am scared to death. Every situation I find myself in can end positively or negatively because of my response to their behavior. The way my group runs is determined by the relationships I build. This is immense pressure.
I have a plan though. My goals every day will be to do the following:
1. Meet the basic needs of my campers.
2. Listen to what they have to say.
3. Learn one thing about a camper each day.
4. Speak only once my camper has had a chance to speak his mind.
5. Role model effective life skills.
6. Find a chance for the campers to have fun each day.
7. Laugh often.
8. Pray more often.
Tomorrow is my first day as an official "chief." Here's hoping I walk in with control of myself and my emotions, so that we can survive the day. Lord, have mercy.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
the woods have taken over.
2 weeks down. 102 to go.
I'm sitting in a pretty posh hotel room right now in Durham, NC the night before a week-long training for how to survive the woods and the kids in the woods. I've been without steady internet for the last two weeks, so I apologize for the delay in posting. I've finally gotten to the adventure, and I can't tell you about it as much as I'd like.
It's probably best that I can only blog once I've processed my experiences and gotten away from the woods. I can tell you one thing, though: I left Dallas for a challenge, and I got one.
I'm struggling with an adequate way to summarize the last two weeks that will be fair to my experiences, true to the nature of this beast I've encountered, but still communicate the hope that I feel for a promising 2 years here in the woods. Maybe bullets will be best:
I'm sitting in a pretty posh hotel room right now in Durham, NC the night before a week-long training for how to survive the woods and the kids in the woods. I've been without steady internet for the last two weeks, so I apologize for the delay in posting. I've finally gotten to the adventure, and I can't tell you about it as much as I'd like.
It's probably best that I can only blog once I've processed my experiences and gotten away from the woods. I can tell you one thing, though: I left Dallas for a challenge, and I got one.
I'm struggling with an adequate way to summarize the last two weeks that will be fair to my experiences, true to the nature of this beast I've encountered, but still communicate the hope that I feel for a promising 2 years here in the woods. Maybe bullets will be best:
- These kids are hurtful.
I somewhat expected my gentle demeanor, friendliness, and warm heart to win these kids over immediately. I could never be more wrong. I am an authority figure to them who has not been trained and does not know the ins and outs of camp. They don't know me. They don't respect me. They don't trust me. And they are not in control of their environment or situation. I went in knowing that I could never understand their lives, but I did not go in realizing this. They act based on these feelings--and I am their target. It's tough, but each day gets a little better. Not because they stop, but because I am becoming tougher. They can call me anything they want to. They can draw attention to the things that I've been secretly insecure of for 23 years as often as they'd like. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not abandoning them.
- These kids are damaged.
A child got exited from the program this week, and in the two weeks of transition from camp to a detention facility where he'll spend the next 3 years, his family would not take him. Right now, he's in a homeless shelter. These kids have been dealt the worst hand possible and live in some of the worst situations possible. They've done what they think is right to protect their family, what is cool to fit in, and they've done dumb things to survive. Some of them don't know better. Some of them do. No child should be in a place where his family is so fearful of him that he cannot go home. I want better for these boys. And deep down, they want better for themselves.
- The staff is exhausted.
- The woods are beautiful.
Simple as that. I live in nature. I live among the trees and the foxes and the wind and the cool. I see the sun rise and the sun fall every morning and evening. I see the stars shine above without hindrance. I see the moon wane and wax. This is my life. I am so grateful.
More to come....
Saturday, January 9, 2010
here goes everything.
I did it.
I am currently in Wilmington, North Carolina and only have one leg of my road trip left that will take me to my new life tomorrow.
I have to say that I'm a little shocked that I actually went through with this. A piece of me was worried that I'd pull the same stunt I did 2 years ago when I decided last minute to not follow through with my PeaceCorps committment. Parts of me knew that this was an entirely different situation. 2 years ago, I was just about to graduate from my university and was in a relationship that I thought had great potential. Two years sounded like eternity. I wasn't ready.
Now, I appreciate my opportunities more--and more than that--the opportunity to let God do God's thing. My life has been transformed in the past two years, some for the good, some for the not so good, but at the end of it all, it is more than obvious that there is a greater being at work in my life connecting dots I'll never see.
My friend sent me some incredible encouragement this week as I traveled across the South including the following quote from Alan Alda:
"You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover will be yourself."
Tomorrow begins a new chapter in an incredible book that is being written for me. Never in my life would I have pegged this as where or who I would be at 23 years old. Leaving Texas has opened up the world for me. I can do anything, go anywhere, be anyone I want to.
The drive from Texas to North Carolina was incredible. 1800 miles with myself. Well, not just myself. Winter storms, hilariously ironic billboard placements, southern gospel stations (thank you, Tennesee), and facebook kept me company too. There was one point in Texarkana as I was traveling on 30 East headed for Little Rock where there was an exit to go 30 West back to Dallas. For some reason, I panicked and thought to myself, "Turn back! Now's your chance! GO BACK HOME!" The option to turn around was unexpected. Usually, on a highway, you only have one choice--continue on. The signs always lead you to the next city, always countdown to the next happening. Rarely do you get an option to turn around. Once I calmed down and decided to press on, I became grateful for the highway. If I would have flown to North Carolina today, I don't think I would be in such a good place. I needed every single mile of my 1800 mile trip this week. I needed every quiet moment, every snowfall, every stop, every adventure to make it to here and now where I can say, finally:
I am so excited about tomorrow.
I am currently in Wilmington, North Carolina and only have one leg of my road trip left that will take me to my new life tomorrow.
I have to say that I'm a little shocked that I actually went through with this. A piece of me was worried that I'd pull the same stunt I did 2 years ago when I decided last minute to not follow through with my PeaceCorps committment. Parts of me knew that this was an entirely different situation. 2 years ago, I was just about to graduate from my university and was in a relationship that I thought had great potential. Two years sounded like eternity. I wasn't ready.
Now, I appreciate my opportunities more--and more than that--the opportunity to let God do God's thing. My life has been transformed in the past two years, some for the good, some for the not so good, but at the end of it all, it is more than obvious that there is a greater being at work in my life connecting dots I'll never see.
My friend sent me some incredible encouragement this week as I traveled across the South including the following quote from Alan Alda:
"You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover will be yourself."
Tomorrow begins a new chapter in an incredible book that is being written for me. Never in my life would I have pegged this as where or who I would be at 23 years old. Leaving Texas has opened up the world for me. I can do anything, go anywhere, be anyone I want to.
The drive from Texas to North Carolina was incredible. 1800 miles with myself. Well, not just myself. Winter storms, hilariously ironic billboard placements, southern gospel stations (thank you, Tennesee), and facebook kept me company too. There was one point in Texarkana as I was traveling on 30 East headed for Little Rock where there was an exit to go 30 West back to Dallas. For some reason, I panicked and thought to myself, "Turn back! Now's your chance! GO BACK HOME!" The option to turn around was unexpected. Usually, on a highway, you only have one choice--continue on. The signs always lead you to the next city, always countdown to the next happening. Rarely do you get an option to turn around. Once I calmed down and decided to press on, I became grateful for the highway. If I would have flown to North Carolina today, I don't think I would be in such a good place. I needed every single mile of my 1800 mile trip this week. I needed every quiet moment, every snowfall, every stop, every adventure to make it to here and now where I can say, finally:
I am so excited about tomorrow.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
a call to the wilderness
I leave for North Carolina in 36 hours.
My heart is full and heavy and hurting and excited. My heart is overwhelmed.
In the wee hours of the morning of New Year's Day, we lost my cousin in Louisville in a one car accident. As I've watched my mother and heard of the rest of my family's mourning, I've found myself oddly detached from it all. Over the last week, I've found myself oddly detached from everything. Strange moods, inability to converse with people beyond the surface level, silence once the conversation crosses into more serious territory, a dam blocking a flood of emotions tempting the strength of my structure.
It's because I'm overwhelmed.
I'm overwhelmed with the sheer amount of loss that I have experienced this past month. Loss of a meaningful job with a co-worker that has become one of my best friends. Loss of a home that I've made for myself over the last two years--an unexpected home filled with a group of supportive women, families that have taken me under their wing, men and women I call friends who love me more than I could ever deserve. Loss of my family close by--a family that is grieving, a family that is struggling, a family that is my source of strength. Loss of a church home that has embraced every part of me and given me a place to use my gifts. Loss of an aunt who was a warrior. Loss of a cousin who was a father and a life yet lived.
I'm overwhelmed because in the midst of all this loss, I feel a call that I've yet to put words to. This is a call much greater than the one I've expressed so far in this blog. It's more than just a call to the hard places--a call to work with youth in a way that is transformative. I feel--on some level--that it's a call to find God.
Since the fall of 2006, I have been on a journey to discover a Christianity I can believe in. That journey has led me through doubt, self-discovery, faith, trust, skepticism, hope, love, hurt, disbelief, regret, resentment, life. Recently, though, I've become unsettled in the stalemate that I called on my search when I moved to Dallas. I wanted to believe in Jesus. I needed to believe when I came to Dallas because I had nothing else--no purpose or hope outside of God.
But lately, I've felt the pull of my Creator asking me to finally reconcile my doubts and find the hope and grace God offers through Jesus Christ, to understand the purpose of the Word of God in my life, and to know eternal life. To do this, I need space. I need to be in the place where I am free to connect with God how we have connected best--in nature, in peace, in the wilderness. I need to be in a place where I don't fall so easily in to the structure I grew up with and the beliefs I've been told to assume as my own, but instead am challenged and tempted so I can know where my hope lies.
Jesus and others in scripture spent long periods of time in the wilderness. It was in the wilderness that they grew and matured and began the Lord's work.
This is going to be the hardest part of my journey. As I write this, I am struck with fear that it won't turn out as I hope, that I'll let the enemy win.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore have hope: because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:21-23
This is the true journey of my heart and the most important one.
My heart is full and heavy and hurting and excited. My heart is overwhelmed.
In the wee hours of the morning of New Year's Day, we lost my cousin in Louisville in a one car accident. As I've watched my mother and heard of the rest of my family's mourning, I've found myself oddly detached from it all. Over the last week, I've found myself oddly detached from everything. Strange moods, inability to converse with people beyond the surface level, silence once the conversation crosses into more serious territory, a dam blocking a flood of emotions tempting the strength of my structure.
It's because I'm overwhelmed.
I'm overwhelmed with the sheer amount of loss that I have experienced this past month. Loss of a meaningful job with a co-worker that has become one of my best friends. Loss of a home that I've made for myself over the last two years--an unexpected home filled with a group of supportive women, families that have taken me under their wing, men and women I call friends who love me more than I could ever deserve. Loss of my family close by--a family that is grieving, a family that is struggling, a family that is my source of strength. Loss of a church home that has embraced every part of me and given me a place to use my gifts. Loss of an aunt who was a warrior. Loss of a cousin who was a father and a life yet lived.
I'm overwhelmed because in the midst of all this loss, I feel a call that I've yet to put words to. This is a call much greater than the one I've expressed so far in this blog. It's more than just a call to the hard places--a call to work with youth in a way that is transformative. I feel--on some level--that it's a call to find God.
Since the fall of 2006, I have been on a journey to discover a Christianity I can believe in. That journey has led me through doubt, self-discovery, faith, trust, skepticism, hope, love, hurt, disbelief, regret, resentment, life. Recently, though, I've become unsettled in the stalemate that I called on my search when I moved to Dallas. I wanted to believe in Jesus. I needed to believe when I came to Dallas because I had nothing else--no purpose or hope outside of God.
But lately, I've felt the pull of my Creator asking me to finally reconcile my doubts and find the hope and grace God offers through Jesus Christ, to understand the purpose of the Word of God in my life, and to know eternal life. To do this, I need space. I need to be in the place where I am free to connect with God how we have connected best--in nature, in peace, in the wilderness. I need to be in a place where I don't fall so easily in to the structure I grew up with and the beliefs I've been told to assume as my own, but instead am challenged and tempted so I can know where my hope lies.
Jesus and others in scripture spent long periods of time in the wilderness. It was in the wilderness that they grew and matured and began the Lord's work.
This is going to be the hardest part of my journey. As I write this, I am struck with fear that it won't turn out as I hope, that I'll let the enemy win.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore have hope: because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:21-23
This is the true journey of my heart and the most important one.
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