Not So Mysterious
Lately, words have escaped me. Some of you have been waiting patiently in the silence; for your understanding I am grateful.
It’s been suggested that I’ve been being “mysterious”… much to your chagrin, apparently. Truth is, that’s hardly the case. It’s true, I’m not talking about the new product launch just yet. But the abundance of photo posts as of late has more to do with the reality of my days. I get to the end and find I just can’t summon words. I’m tired. Emotionally, in ways I’m still trying to find words to express.
I spent most of this Spring working on getting Day Camp together. Last week, we met for our wrap up meeting and it’s been decided that I’m the natural candidate to be the coordinator again next year. In a momentary lapse of judgment, I said “yes.” In part, because we’re moving to a new model next year and having some continuity is going to be necessary. But also because my experience with leading these sorts of events is very much, “you learn the first year, you LEAD the second.” I’ve already told them that 2010 is someone else’s job. I’m moving on to other endeavors.
It’s a difficult decision, really. Because while I know I should shepherd our Day Camp program through the next step, I can see my future path—and it’s calling me. It’s got a blow horn and my number and I’m losing sleep over it already. I keep saying, “I can give you time this year, I can give you MORE time next year. . . ” and my instinct is to drop my entire life and give my whole self to it NOW.
I hate this compartmentalization of our lives. It’s ridiculous. We are whole people, with wounded souls that seek resolution in a wounded world. Yet, salvation comes in pieces. Clarity comes in parts. Wholeness is a choice to see the complexity for what it is. We don’t get that perfect peace in every moment. Instead, we string parts and pieces together and we hope for the best in the meantime.
In my meantime, I’m beginning to question my very existence. It’s always about ego, isn’t it?
I will confess, I feel helpless a bit. This new horizon involves feeding children with the Summer Food Program. I’m giving them what time I have this summer–which is a pathetic day or two a week. My heart wants to be doing this work full-time; my reality isn’t going to permit it. My own sense of safety and sanity are deeply at risk—and this is where I fall down, and where I struggle beyond what you’d imagine. I’m not sure I can do what my heart requires. It’s a step in faith, to believe that I can be OK absorbing all this grief. Creator God, “Help thou, my unbelief”.
Two years ago, I spent a little time with this program and fell in love. There is, in my mind at least, nothing more central to the gospel than feeding people. When you sit down at lunch, munch on a PB&J with a bunch of kids—just kicking it in the summer, this reaches souls in ways you cannot imagine. For some of these children caring adults are more scarce than the next meal. And two years ago, I was assigned to a location where the kids came mostly for the social interaction. I spent a week talking trash about Izzie from Grey’s Anatomy and speculating if Meredith and McDreamy have what it takes for the long haul. I took home that lovely feeling of being with amazingly needy children and several names I now offer up to the Universe regularly.
This year is a different story. My location is so violent and so turbulent and so impoverished, I come home and weep. Migraines ensue. These kids show up for lunch because they’re hungry. For some of them, this is the only meal they’re going to see in the day. I cannot convey the depths of hunger here. I wish I could–I wish I could capture this poverty for you, in such a way that it could change their world. In my first week, I’ve broken up a fight and fielded a phone call from a colleague about how to report suspected neglect. They are scrapers and fighters and survivors. They have to be. Every last one of them breaks my heart and makes me question if loving my own is enough. Maybe, maybe we should be loving more than our own.
There are not words. I don’t have them. I’m crying through this stupid post; I wish that you could know the horror of seeing a child collect half-eaten lunches to save for the weekend. Not her lunch, mind you, she ate that; but the lunches of other children because it’s a LONG time until Monday. Or the horror of having to tell small boys who are late for lunch, that they can’t eat: we have a deadline, we have legal obligations that mean we can’t leave perishable food. Dear GOD!, these babies are hungry and I can’t feed them. I don’t know if the divine is hearing my prayer. It’s this simple truth— that has me questioning my choices and my ability to keep moving forward with this—a lunch is not enough.
I’ve been asked to consider being the volunteer coordinator next year. (Just as a total aside, HOW IN GOD’S NAME IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE AREN’T PEOPLE WILLING TO DO THIS WORK????) Due to my commitment to Day Camp, I’m not in a position to take it on fully. But I’ve committed to helping the current coordinator (possibly job sharing) next year. I suspect she would run the kitchen aspect and I would be put in charge of drumming up volunteers. Let me tell you, I intend to do so with a vengeance. I get that not everybody is as passionate as I am about feeding kids. I will also admit, that I cannot fathom why that is! But I do appreciate we all have our worthwhile causes. But people, please trust me when I say–that when it comes to causes, you will NEVER be the same after spending just two hours with this program. You won’t see food the same. You won’t look at your possessions, your own life, your own sense of direction the same. And the gospel, the gospel becomes crystal clear. It’s not so mysterious.
