Fall in love; stay in love.

Love is something I have struggled with my whole life. Love of God, love of self, love of others - it's been 24 years, and I'm still working at them. Of course love was always there, in a sense. It is why I sobbed at my grandfather's funeral, why my life came to a screeching halt when my mother endured a life-threatening heart attack. But love is often there in the big moments - it is intrinsic, the need to love and be loved in these grand, dramatic ways. But what I'm still figuring out is how to love in the small moments; how to make love part of every moment of every day; how to love in the impossible moments; how to make my person and my character infused with love, piercing hearts with it.

At John Carroll, when I began deciding who I wanted to be and how to get there, I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to do the most, be everything. I wanted to be everyone, be perfection. I would never stop, never slow down, never think of myself, never succumb to weakness. At first, it was a need to do everything, and be everywhere. I was at every meeting for every organization on campus. I eventually found my place in Campus Ministry and service, but this focus didn't keep me from over-committing. I was at protests and marches, spending Wednesday nights at the Catholic Worker and Friday nights with a service organization visiting homeless men and women, going on retreats, in a Christian faith sharing group and the chapel choir… spending every moment finding new and exciting things to fill my time.

You could compare me to a little kid collecting seashells on a beach; I was determined to pick up every single seashell on the beach, even if some were fragile, already broken, or if I knew they wouldn't bring me any happiness at all. Even though I already had way too many seashells in my arms... I couldn't help myself. I became addicted to picking up every one that I saw.

When did I find time to study? When did I find time to breathe? I couldn't tell you.

Most importantly, when did I find the time to love? I'm not talking about love of my friends, my family, my boyfriend - though those were important, and I was neglecting those, too. I'm talking about love for what I was doing. How could I have loved when I was so tired?

But love wasn't on my mind. On my mind were the sake of the organizations I was part of and how much I didn't want to let them down, and the people being served by those organizations and how terrified I was of letting them down. They were homeless, they were victims of sexual violence, they were discriminated against, they were struggling in developing countries around the world, they were suffering at the hands of cancer. Who was I to say I was tired when my endless energies and talents were so needed in the world?

In my sociology coursework, we spoke so often of privilege, and the words from the twelfth chapter of Luke became my motto: "Of him who has been given much, much will be demanded." I knew how blessed I was; how could I not pay it forward? I demanded greatness from myself.

Love has helped me to realize that it's not about greatness – actually, quite the opposite. It is my responsibility to discern how best to use the gifts God has given me, rather than how often I can use these gifts or how to make sure to use every single gift. At John Carroll, in my attempts to use every single gift I had as often as I could, I was terribly tired and unhappy. I finally realized that that can't possibly be what God wants for me. Love cannot be possible when we are unhappy.

I've begun to discover that it's not a matter of what my deepest desires are being radically different from what God desires for me, and finding the balance between the two. I'm slowly discovering that these two things are one and the same. God wants me to be happy. God wants me to find the place where my deepest desires and the world's greatest needs intertwine. That place is where love is found.

Oscar Romero reminds us that "we cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest."

I would like to add that we cannot be everyone. This enables us to be someone, and to be that person very well.

Like I said, my years at John Carroll could have been done better. They could have been done with love. So what got me here? A tiny island in the Pacific called Pohnpei. It's one of the Federated States of Micronesia, about 20 miles wide and 13 miles long, six degrees north of the equator, home to 30,000 people. I know, you've never heard of it. But somehow, I spent the last two years there.

I like to think of Pohnpei as a "necessary detour." I joke about it that way because I'm right back where I was before I left - living in Cleveland... volunteering at Migration and Refugee Services... even in the same relationship that ended just before I left the country. So, what - did nothing change for me?

Everything changed for me. Pohnpei and my experience there taught me how to love. I learned that true love is about slowing down, and having an experience with people instead of a brief encounter. It's about fully exploring who I am and spending serious time reconsidering it often. It's about having an awareness of my strengths as well as my weaknesses, and serving others through my weaknesses as well as through my strengths. So much has changed within me. Most importantly, Pohnpei helped me to recognize not only what love is, but what it is that I am in love with. I'm in love with the peoples of other cultures.

My interactions with people from these different places have helped me to appreciate my own culture and country. They remind me of what is important. They teach me and allow me to teach them. They make me laugh. They make me cry. They make me speak in clichés. They make me realize how blessed I am, but also how blessed they are, and how rich their lives have been, despite their struggles.

The greatest part of it is that I'm not doing everything. I am allowing myself to do this one thing – and, I hope, to do it very well. I still believe in and admire the importance of human rights campaigns, and movements to end homelessness, and faith sharing, and protesting. I will insert small parts of myself into these needs of the world, but I have found where the biggest part of me needs to go.

I suppose I could feel pretty ordinary right now, compared to my vibrant college years. I spend 50 hours a week at Migration and Refugee Services, but right now, at this very moment, I can't wait to go to work tomorrow. That is love. There is a peace inside of me that I can only describe to those who feel it to.

I am happy, and I like to think that God is so, so happy for me - happy with me. I feel aware of myself, I feel ingenious, I feel like a hero. I have created my own wonderful life. God's will has been fulfilled in my life, because I have found where my deepest desires meet the world's needs. I have fallen in love.

“Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is,

than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you will do with your evenings, how you will spend your weekends
what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart,

and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”

Fr. Pedro Arrupe, SJ

Peace,

Samantha

Making a House into a Home

Hello from Cleveland! For anyone keeping an eye on our blogging schedule, I switched with Adam so he could better prepare for his upcoming LSAT. He’ll take my post on Monday, hopefully with good news about the test. Best of luck Adam!

Although we only started blogging recently, the other Cleveland volunteers and I began our placements in mid to late August, so tomorrow is actually the end of my seventh week as an HM Volunteer with Catholic Charities Migration and Refugee Services. WOW, what a whirlwind it has been!

This picture is from our first week, when Sam, myself, and a few others had to lower a donated couch off of a second-floor balcony in order to take it to a new refugee’s house. This picture pretty much sums up my first couple of weeks. We were slowly getting to know our way around the area, learning how things worked at our placements, and physically making the house more live-able. We made sure everyone had the necessary keys, paperwork, and community bank account access, and we tackled all of the other logistical issues that arose. In short, we spent the first couple weeks “moving furniture” or “making a house.”

This next picture exemplifies the past few weeks. In the picture, Tina and Sam are enjoying the amazing chicken and pesto pizza we made using arugula from the refugee’s community garden. In recent weeks, we have gotten to know each other more, and have grown closer as a community. It is in these weeks that our “volunteer house” has slowly been turning into a “volunteer home.”

Although I am enjoying my work overall, I’m not sure I could handle the craziness and stress without the support of my community. We pick each other up at the end of a rough day and celebrate each other’s somewhat random accomplishments. We talk, laugh, joke, and have even burst out singing a random song or two. As we make plans to go back to Villa Maria this Saturday for Harvest Day 2011, I can’t help but think about how much we’ve grown over the past seven weeks. We know a lot more about each other, our respective placements, our community in Lakewood, and even ourselves. So, as we prepare to celebrate the coming fall season, I look forward to the bountiful harvest of gifts that await our community. Our new home.

I want to add that the inspiration for the title of this post came from Sam's awesome volunteer fair display above. In case you can't see them, the first picture says: "this is how you make a house..." and the second says: "...this is how you make a home."

~J.P.

A Community of One and Many

Hello

It is a mix of Indian summer and fall weather at the farm. The days are a combination of blue skies and sunshine mixed with the cool crisp air of fall. With the change in weather comes the end of the "pickin" season. And what a "pickin" season it has been - peppers, tomatoes, okra, onions, cucumbers, zucchini, squash, and eggplant have been in abundance this year. The corn crop was damaged by deer and groundhog. The first potatoes have been dug - redskin, yukon gold and white. The harvest would not be complete without gourds, pumpkins and cornstalks.

I can't begin to share all the things I have learned since my volunteer year began in August. Most days there are not enough hours in the day to do all that needs done - planting, weeding, picking, washing, and sorting produce is just part of the day. The farm crew of John, Mike, Gary and Richard also maintain all the farm equipment and feed and care for the animals. In addition there is the ongoing work of the greenhouse - the mums are "beginning to throw color" and the poinsettias are being tended to daily in the greenhouse. With the beginning of the CSA this year the market has seen an increase in customers.

During our orientation together I often thought what my year was going to be like as "a community of one". I love reading what all of you are doing and the experiences your share and it made me realize I am blessed to be a member of many communities. My home community of Jack and Molly our loved dog. The community of the farm crew - they have welcomed me and share their expertise and knowledge along with humor on a daily basis. The HM sisters who are appreciative of the HMVS program and finally the CSA members who I look forward to seeing each week. They are an interesting group who have committed their time and resources to buying local produce. They are vey supportive of the farm and love creating good food from the shares they receive each week. So my community has grown and I love every minute of it.

beth

I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky

As I write this, I am sitting on the floor of our family room surrounded by new roommates, several co-workers and many other friends from the community. Half of the group is wet from their recent showers, the rest of us are soaked in sweat from a humid volleyball game at the community park. Though it is not uncommon for half the community to congregate at the volunteer house tonight we are celebrating Elena’s birthday. Thus, on our coffee table there is a beautiful, homemade chocolate banana cake frosted with Nutella and decorated with sprinkles plus a gallon of coffee ice cream. As I look around the room, taking in the scene and recording this moment I am indescribably happy.

As of tonight I have been back in Immokalee for a week and things at the volunteer house have been non-stop since I stepped off the plane. Last weekend was a swept away in a surge of planning. From lesson plans for our first days with the Guadalupe After School program to strategic organizing at the Fair Food Summit. The summit, hosted by the Coalition of Immokalee workers and its ally organizations, Student Farmworker Alliance and Interfaith Action, brought together Fair Food activists from across the country for a three-days of creative workshops aimed at intensifying, and winning, the Supermarket Campaign. The pace only picked up as we dove into our morning placements, teaching, and exciting evenings packed with dinner parties, games in the park, and community reflections.

Although my first week has been a whirlwind of activity, the constant in my life has been the sheer joy of community. I hope I am not being redundant, but I feel compelled to echo the sentiments Jenn expressed in her initial post about the benefits and blessings of community. The most note worthy aspect of the start of round two as an HM volunteer has been the warm welcoming embraces from the Immokalee community and my new housemates.

With Love,

Vitina

Why Cleveland!?

As I opened up my email I was filled with a burst of excitement as I realized that I would be going back to Cleveland for year five. Despite my proclamations only a few months earlier that I would never have to deal with another Cleveland winter, I felt a sense of excitement and peace when I was accepted into the program. As I shared the news with different family members and friends from Pittsburgh they just didn’t seem to understand. You want to go back? Didn’t you have enough of Cleveland and aren't you ready to move back home?

Within the last four years of living in Cleveland I have realized that the city just hasn't been given justice. There are the many stereotypes -dirty, dangerous, poor, ugly. I have heard them all. Yet, over the last few years I have grown fond of Cleveland . I love the abundance of diversity, art, food and culture that the city offers. The cute little coffee shops, beautiful old houses, and the presence of the many universities never seem to get old to me.

The last month has been filled with lesson planning, tutoring, teaching, bus riding, roommate bonding, researching, report writing, GRE studying, and an abundance of activity. At times life has been busier than I would have liked, yet I am very happy.

For starters I love being in a school during the day. I don't care how dorky I sound. There is nothing better to me than a moment during tutoring when a student has a lightbulb moment and they are filled with confidence. Those are the moments that make all frustration that I have experienced dissipate. There is something strangely calming for me about the chaos of students shuffling to and from class. I have had to adjust to early wake up calls, dressing up and being called Ms. O'Keefe. Even though I know we are adults this is all pretty new to me.

Some of my happiest moments this month have been catching a quick cup of coffee with a fellow St. Martins volunteer early in the morning, sitting up late talking with a roommate, or giving a student advice about the college application process. I'd say that my volunteer year has started off to a good start. :)

In school, you're taught lessons and then given tests. In life, you're given tests that teach you lessons.

When I was in 7^th grade I was required to take a class called “Life Skills.” I honestly cannot tell you what the curriculum of that class entailed but I can tell you what I learned. I learned how to convince a teacher that going to the gym or the park was a better alternative to lectures. I learned how to make rubber cement balls by coating folders and notebooks prior to class. I learned how to fold up notes so that they formed a triangle instead of a boring old square. I learned many things, few of which I find useful today and none of which I would categorize as “life skills.”

So when do I get to learn these so called life skills? They are not something that can be taught in a traditional classroom and they are not something that can be practiced in the confines of a controlled lab. They are learned through experience. For example, when I was living in my first apartment I had many experiences in cooking. Many involved phone calls to my mom asking her the various questions such as, “How much water do I need to boil rice?” and “How long do I need to cook a chicken breast to ensure I won’t die or get sick from eating it?” Some of these experiences ended well with a home cooked meal and others ended with me resorting to making pancakes for dinner. I had always wondered how my mom knew how to cook everything so well (hence why she was the one I always called.) It was at some point during this year that I realized she had probably gone through many of the same things I was going through. She had had to try recipes out for a first time and had probably failed and succeeded in much the same way I was. I realized that cooking was something I could get better at by practicing and learning from my mistakes (I will never again make blueberry muffins with Crisco instead of margarine). So there you have it, one life skill that I had started to learn and am still continuing to learn.

Cooking is an important life skill (come on, a girl’s gotta eat) and it is one that my current roommates are helping me to continue to develop, but it is only one of the few that I am finding myself learning down here in Immokalee. First, there is the skill of efficiency. Immokalee is a small town with the nearest big cities of Naples and Fort Myers being about an hour away. That means that taking commodities such as time and money for gas into account, we as a household have to plan our trips strategically. We no longer make a simple Target run. It is a Target run which starts with a trip to Naples to see Julie’s aunt and uncle and pick up some of her stuff they brought down for her, continues on with us hitting up as many thrift shops as we can to look for used bikes (complete with a google map to plan out our route), and finally ends at Target. Then there is the work trip to Fort Myers to get background checks. It starts with a stop in Lehigh Acres for Sarah to get fingerprinted during which Julie and I stop at a flea market where she finds a used bike and I find a birthday gift for my brother. We continue to Fort Myers for the background checks and make a stop at Hobby Lobby on the way back so that we have supplies for jewelry making night. So while my explanations of this life skill are not efficient, our family trips most definitely are.

Next there is the life skill of problem solving. We acquired some used bikes from various flea markets and friends. The bike that I am using needed new tubes for the tires. I was able to purchase some from the local Ace Hardware with the help of a friendly employee and a phone call to my dad. Next step was to take out the flat tubes and put in the new ones. This was something none of us had ever done before so we did what any normal person would do. . .we youtubed a “how to” video and a nice British man showed us what to do. We then realized that we didn’t have the proper tools referred to as tire clips. Instead of being defeated and waiting around we decided we could figure it out. We found that bottle openers work just as well as tire clips (don’t worry we didn’t use the sharp side). During our tire changing extravaganza the chain fell off my bike. Instead of panicking or putting it away for the night we decided it was yet another thing that could be fixed. With the visual aids of some bikes with their chains properly on, we were able to figure out what it should look like and successfully put my bike back together with no pieces left over. I took the beauty out for her first ride today and while I’m still struggling with the frame being too big for me, the bike did not fall apart and I did not die which equals a success in my book.

Finally we have the life skill of creativity. While the manner in which my tires were fixed can be classified as creative, it is not the only example in my life right now. I begin the job of working as a teacher in the Guadalupe Center after school program this Monday. I am faced with the task of entertaining and educating 15 kindergartners. Keeping control and discipline over my kiddos is something I foresee as being a struggle so I called upon my fellow roommates for some ideas. The “green, yellow, red system” was thrown out as an idea. I adopted it but then realized I needed to make a visual for my classroom to track the students’ behavior. A trip to Jo-Anns later (during a subsequent airport run for efficiency of course) and I was supplied with the tools to make my creation. Bring on the cardstock, markers, foam shapes, duct tape, staples, and push pins. Working as a kindergarten teacher is something that I am sure will continue to bring out my creativity. I just hope it doesn’t bring out my inner Arnold.

Kindergarten Cop

So that being said, I will continue to learn my life lessons this year. It is a process that is never ending and never boring.

Peace Out,

Love Barbara (aka Babs)

All night on the beach til' the break of dawn

Like the emotions most people encounter when they are placed in a new environment, or at least in anticipation of such a monumental change in life style, my journey to Miami began with a heavy bout of anxiety, nervousness, and the overwhelming feeling that I had no idea of what I was doing. I attribute a significant part of these sentiments to the fact that I left the majority of my packing to the night before and morning of my big move.

So as my road-trip took me past Cincinnati and through Kentucky, I strived to find the sense of composure and solitude that I was able to mentally achieve while at the Villa a few weeks prior. This moment came somewhere in Tennessee. While driving through the sun light Smokey Mountains and jamming out between raging house beats and my “god you are a closet hippy” collection of Phish — in a manner one would most definitely compare to the antics that took place in Babb’s car during our orientation based on looks alone — I was able to calm myself down. I suddenly remembered why I chose to do what I am along with my exuberant reaction in May when I found out that I would be setting of on this adventure. I do like to look at it as an adventure —of course an adventure that entails committing myself to help others — but an adventure nonetheless. Or maybe that is just all the Kerouac I have been reading as of late? I digress. Anyway, I arrived to Miami wide-eyed and excited to start my new life.

This is not to say that in the coming days I did not battle with my self-diagnosed manic-ness and the aforementioned emotions that come with moving to a completely new place. Frankly, the fact we did not have a working fridge for the first few days, well, sucked. However, all in all, our homestead is coming together nicely and I truly feel that I am starting to get settled.

One of the greatest obstacles in adapting to life in Miami, besides the internship, is just how different of a city it is compared to others in the U.S. Yes I knew this before coming, but no one can really prepare themselves for such a transition before they actually do it. For those of you that have been abroad, moving to Miami in some ways resembles the “culture shock” of starting life in another country. Adam and I reside on the north side of Miami, and the mix of people, cultures, and social classes makes it an extremely unique place to live. One can be in a poorer or middle class neighborhood in one instance and a beautiful, palm tree abundant, community the next. Here, one side of the road is established and oozes “Money, Cars, Clothes;” the other is a hard-nosed, dirty, desperate, eager, rugged, and respectable block, looking to make it in America.

Miami is a city where the summit of capitalism meets the histories of many people, excluded, neglected, and beaten down by such a system. Many of these peoples’ heritages extend beyond our country’s borders. Their homelands have, economically and politically, been pawns in a larger game of chess played by the United States and few others, especially in the last century. But now they are in America, or have been for some time, empowering there own cultures and languages in their new home. They have been dodging traffic, and continue to do so, trying to get across the street, looking for a better life. While it is an oversimplified narration to say the least, I thus work at FIAC. More to come on that next week. Cheers.

Immokalee 101

My new home for the next year, Immokalee, (meaning “My Home” in Seminole or sometimes “My Cage” depending on who you ask) is a small town in Southwest Florida, located inland about an hour between Naples and Ft. Myers. In the 1800s, the town was founded as a hub for ranchers but has now transformed into the agricultural center of the region where the majority of the population are employed as migrant farm-workers. An interesting fact is that between the months of October and June, over 90 percent of the country’s fresh tomatoes comes from Immokalee and the areas surrounding Immokalee. In all, over 45 percent of our nation’s yearly total production of fresh tomatoes has its origins here. So, while much of the country has never heard of Immokalee (including myself until I had heard of the Humility of Mary Volunteer Program), most Americans have likely had Immokalee produce in their homes.

The community of Immokalee feels very small but highly populated. In off-seasons, the population in Immokalee can be as low as 20,000 in the summer but doubles to 40,000 when there is employment in the fields during tomato season. In this town, where a large portion of the residents are foreign born, the demographics are about 75-85 percent Hispanic (mostly Mexican and Guatemalan), about 10-20 percent Haitian, and about 5 percent white. Most of the people here can speak some English (with wide variation), although the most fluent are often those young people that have attended or currently are enrolled in school. Perhaps because they are also trying to learn (or have recently had to learn) a new language too, people here are extremely patient in listening to broken Spanish.

Because of the various dynamics that brought people to this town, the end result is that Immokalee has both a fascinating, vibrant culture and an overwhelmingly diligent workforce, but it is also a community that has great need. Faced with long hours (often working from 12-14 hours a day), low-wages (about 50 cents for every 32 pound bucket of tomatoes), and exorbitant rent and food prices, many migrant workers are forced by necessity to crowd into the series of trailers, HUD housing, and tiny more-permanent structures that congregate around Main Street. These neighborhoods, which make up the heart of Immokalee, are about a ten minute bike ride from the Humility of Mary volunteer home. Many times, ten or more men can be found in one trailer or several families in one structure. Despite these conditions, I am amazed at the work ethic shown by the people of this community who continue to work, go to church, organize, and hope for their children’s education.

What we, the volunteers, do down here is to assist the agencies who focus on addressing some of the present need. There are various non-profits, like Guadalupe Catholic Charities, that provide direct assistance (case working, food, rent, etc). Other agencies, like the Guadalupe Center and PACE (an alternative school for girls), provide educational assistance. And, to end some of their labor exploitation and to protect the workers in the fields, many migrant-workers have joined the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, a grassroots advocacy group primarily run by the migrant-workers themselves. La Tuya, the Spanish radio station of the Coalition, helps circulate the voices of these workers and is a staple of the town. At least one HM volunteer this year will work with each of these organizations.

Overall, we have been extremely welcome here. My favorite place in town is an outside produce market about two blocks from our home where individual vendors sell produce and where many understand little or no English. But all of town is interesting. Almost everyone rides bikes or walks, wandering chickens can be seen randomly, and people can be seen everywhere wearing pants in the ninety degree heat. Today, for example, for the first time in my life, I had to swerve a car to avoid hitting a rooster walking across a side street. For some reason, that did not seem out of place here.

All in all, I could not be any happier with Immokalee. For right now, day by day, I continue to enjoy the new sights and all the treasures that this town has to offer.

Friendship is Magic. No really.

Woo, first one to kick off the official HMVS blog, no pressure. Part of me feels like these posts are supposed to build to some grand lesson like an episode of Doogie Howser or My Little Pony (depending on your generation gap). I'll try to avoid that little cliché. Instead I think I'll talk a bit about community.

When I told people I was going to move into a house with a bunch of strangers the most common reaction was “You've never met these people. How do you know you won't drive each other crazy?” I suppose the short answer is “you don't” or even "we probably will". Some part of life in community is a leap of faith and the realization that everyone has flaws, even you, but they're just one part of what makes a household. I've heard plenty of stories about what can go wrong. What I don't hear about enough are the potential joys.

Community is the opportunity to make new best friends. My Saturday morning isn't just cereal and PBS anymore. Now Saturday means four people in a kitchen trying to make the same pancake (and still possibly PBS). Going to the park no longer means a leisurely adult-like walk while I stare longingly at the playground. Why would you feel sheepish if there are several of you dashing toward the swing-set? Every night is filled with stories and memories. Each community member has some new hobby to share, or place to take you, or person to introduce. Outside friends of community members quickly become inside friends (I call them our Plus 1's). There's no reason your community has to be limited to the original members. When you have a community you not only experience your own joys, but you share in the joys of everyone around you.

People are often resistant to the idea of living in non-family groups. In a society that praises independence and individuality it requires some manner of humility to admit it will be hard to work together and difficult to learn to trust. You go in understanding that there's no way knowing what you'll get, but that's what's so great about it! Not knowing who you'll live with means every day is a little adventure. I don't know about you, but, to me, that's worth a dirty dish or abandoned sock.

~Jennifer

HMVS Volunteer Blog Posts Coming Soon!

New blog posts from the 2011-2012 HMVS volunteers will start September 12, 2011!!

The volunteers had a great orientation and are busy getting settled in their houses and sites, but look forward to sharing their experiences and thoughts soon!

It's going to be a great year!