I am reading a book called Amazing Grace by Jonathan Kozol, which tells the story of kids living in the poorest congressional district in the United States, a neighborhood in the south Bronx.  I don't have much to say about the book, other than a recommendation to read it with a box of tissues and an open mind if you are at all interested in America's educational apartheid and inequity.  I want to share with you the last paragraph of the prologue:

"What is it like for children to grow up here?  What do they think the world has done to them?  Do they believe that they are being shunned or hidden by society?  If so, do they think that they deserve this?  What is it that enables some of them to pray, what do they say to God?"

It's that last line that chills me.  How do they pray, and what do they say?  I think of the children this book describes:  people with nothing whom society regards as close to nothing, if noticed at all.  But these boys and girls at the kings and queens of God's kingdom.  And I have so much to learn from their precious hearts.  And to think that this book is on my syllabus for my grad program at DU.  God has a clever way of weaving himself into everything and everywhere, even where he isn't necessarily welcomed readily.

(Amazing Grace:  The Lives of Children and the Conscience of a Nation by Jonathan Kozol)

Never Too Far Away

This picture was taken near Kampala, Uganda at the Dorcas Children's Home in May of 2008.  During that month, I played soccer, sang, ate the best mangoes of my life, filled an entire journal, showered twice a week, made new friends, cooked with more vegetable oil than I consume annually in the States, and taught teens about American dating practices.  That May was one of the worst and best months of my short life.  But saying goodbye was the hardest part.  I cried the entire matatu ride to the airport; I didn't want to leave and knew I might never go back.  

It's been almost three years since that trip.  The kids are growing into young men and women; Uganda's next teachers, artists, doctors, leaders.  And after everything they've seen and experienced, they are joyful and believe they can do anything.  They form a true family with a deep love for one another, and out of that community will come incredible things.

I am blessed to be a part of this story.  And even after a few years, the kids aren't that far away.  Maybe physically, but they will always be in my heart.  The restoration here is beautiful.  If this isn't the heart of the kingdom, I'm not sure where it is.  Check out the full story here:   http://www.haloworldwide.org/halo-homes/bukessa and http://www.bukessafamily.org/bukessafamily.org/Welcome.html

Comprehending and Processing

Now that the final wedding of the summer is over, and I'm back "home," it's time to hit the gym with brutal force.  Somehow paying $30 every month motivates me to utilize 24 Hour Fitness, and, unfortunately, I have no excuse.  After all it's open all day, every day; however, I've concluded that I go to the gym for the future... reducing future medical costs, preparing for future, outdoor endeavors, staying healthy for the people I love and will love.  I go because it's good for me, but 24 and I haven't bonded to the point of unconditional love or even unwavering addiction disguised as commitment.  No, we sort of have a love-hate connection going down.  

I understand why everyone looks like death on a Stairmaster.  Who knew climbing 80 floors in 20 minutes-I'm sure the pros do more than 20-could be that taxing.  My friend and I want to go to Peru next summer on a hiking trek along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.  It's been on my list since high school Spanish, and Donald Miller did it, so that means I can do it, too.  But everything I've ever heard, read, or seen about this hike leads me to believe that the Stairmaster could be real helpful.  If I do 30 minutes a day until we leave, I might not collapse in Peru.  Logical thinking.  And who wants to pay $500 to pass out on the trail?  Not moi.

(Hikers on the Inca Trail:  Damn, that Random Hill setting on the recumbent just wasn't enough...")

All that ranting about the gym was a long (but apparently necessary-hello Stairmaster anger!) tangent, which proceeds to the more pressing concern:  Precious.  Despite warnings from friends and family ("you're going to cry and might not make it through in one sitting), I'd resolved to see the film.  I wanted to relax after my Stairmaster experience, and Precious wasn't the right choice.  Not only did I have a good cry, I ruined my 80-floor workout with a large bowl of ice cream (whatever... I work out, so I can eat what I want).

All over the movie, it says, "based on the novel," but we know that Precious is a composite story.  People suffer from similar abuse, illness, and poverty daily down the block from my cozy apartment.  My reaction to the film made me think about the professional route I want to pursue:  social work.  If I can't hack a movie, how will I ever do my job?  Am I cut out to hear people's stories day in and out and find some way to help them out of the downward spiral?  Who am I-broken and ill-equipped-to "handle" others' problems with some formal training and compassion?  

But what amazes and encourages me beyond my frailty is the beauty in the tragedy.  If I choose to go into social serves, my heart will be broken.  And it might be nearly impossible to completely separate from the people I serve, because they are people.  Individuals with feelings, hopes, dreams, fears.  But that relationship, that vulnerability is beautiful, and tragedy can be healed into restoration.  It might be difficult.  It will be tiresome.  It will be unnerving.  It will be underpaid.  It might not yield tangible results.  But I want to experience a better, fuller life with all people everywhere.  And I believe it is possible, even in the darkest situations.