On being at Iliff...

Maybe it’s less about searching for something new and more about discovering what’s already been laid out before you.

My paternal grandfather worked as an electrician here in Denver. He had spent his whole life on the farm in Northwest Iowa, but when my father became too ill with asthma and allergies, my grandpa Jean picked up the family, sold the farm and moved out to Colorado, a place he’d only seen once before in his life. If he hadn’t, it is more than likely my father wouldn’t have made it through that year of his life.

My grandpa maintained his farming roots with pictures of Farmall tractors and a wardrobe accessorized always by a seed cap, worn slightly askew. He wired homes and did odd jobs for people all along the way. He was an elder at First Reformed Church on Clarkson and Iowa. He wasn’t a fancy man, but he was a hard worker, a man who loved his family and who loved God. I lost my grandpa while I was in high school, but there are still many ways in which I believe he’s still been able to support me.

I was contemplating attending Iliff when my father told me this story. My grandparents lived on Birch and Iliff, so traveling east and west on Iliff was a normal occurrence. On one particular day, my grandpa, going through the intersection at University and Iliff got t-boned by another car, sending his light green pick-up spinning in circles, opening his back hatch and having all of the contents spew onto the lawn right next to the Iliff School of Theology sign. Thousands of nails, screws, wires, tools, switches, littered the lawn. My grandpa remembers with fondness the number of Iliff students that made their way out to the lawn and helped him put back together the many pieces of his life, back into that light green truck.

From there I realized that Iliff is just that: a place where people come together to fix the messes, the accidents and to serve in the unfortunate circumstances. It was that way decades ago, and it’s still that way today.

In light of the election and because I had to write a reflection for my Social Change course...

My Monday afternoon tea spot has just been overtaken by the local school children. Braces, sneakers, silly bands, body odor, cell phones, neon sunglasses, squealing. It's a terrible sight. I'm not the person who looks back on middle school or high school with sincere disdain. I didn't mind it really, I wasn't completely cast aside and never had to have braces. Sure, I made the perm mistake once and certainly had to deal with the fact that my arms and legs grew much more quickly than the rest of my body, but all in all, it was fine.

That was, until George W. Bush was elected. I had fit in quite well in my crazy Dutch town, I was tall and blonde, I have Van in my last name. There was no question Jesus loved me; I was, after all, a pastor's kid and religiously attended our youth group events weekly. No one ever questioned my morals, values or beliefs. Until I started talking about them.

That was likely my first mistake. See, 14 year olds don't talk about Meet the Press, or listen to Neil Young, or correct their teacher for using the phrase "pro-abortion". People started to look at me differently...they started to wonder.

Then we invaded Iraq. I was no longer just a tall, blonde, Van, pastor's kid....I was also a, gasp, liberal. I was a pacifist. I didn't like G.W. and I was pro-choice. I told people. I told people I wanted to educate them. I told people they were wrong. My second mistake.

It's easy to believe that your internal feelings and what you've learned at home is exactly how the world should operate. It's not even wrong to believe that, but there is a level to which you can adequately influence those around you. I, unfortunately, was the only one who believed what I believed. I became a heathen and people told me they were praying for my salvation.

It would have been easier to eliminate myself completely from the ignorant presence of those around me, but I recognized early on, that I would be a lot better off if I spent all the time I could around these people, my friends, but my political and theological strangers [enemies?!]. I endured their blank stares, their mocking, their laughter....I peeled the Bush '04 sticker off my car and replaced it with my Habitat for Humanity sticker. I let them be who they were, I listened, I disagreed and I never shut up.

It's so easy to surround ourselves with people just like us. People who worship like us, vote like us, listen to the same music as us. There is value in that type of community, but more than that, you've got to throw yourself into the most uncomfortable situations to gain your own identity. I loved all of Eboo Patel's book, but the section that spoke most to me was as he was trying to convince the leaders of various religious organizations to let their youth engage in conversation with youth from other religious backgrounds. Before Patel could explain his own reasoning, I was outlining what my own response would have been. I wouldn't have my own secure identity politically [and well, theologically] had I not exposed myself to the other side. I need the other to determine in fact, who I was. We need the other. We might not agree with the other, we might not even understand the other, but if we both agree that we need each other [or more realistically, that neither of us is going away], then we can better build a society based on community, conversation and mutual respect.

It took a long time for me to get my crazy Republican friends to respect me. I think they do now, but even when they make silly comments on the HuffPost links I put on my Facebook wall, I know they want my opinion, and hell, they need it. [Or at least that's what I'll keep telling myself.]

Happy Father's Day, Dude.

I had a wonderful evening at Rock the Garden last night and while I was lying down to sleep I found Fresh Prince of Bel Air on TBS. Watch this 3-minute clip from the episode I watched and you won't be surprised that my pillow was filled with tears as I slept.

Today is Father's Day and at this point in my life, with the job that I have and the neighborhood I'm living in, I can't help but feel purely blessed that I get to have the love of both a mother and a father.
My father loves me and wanted me [as he did with all his children].

He was there when I first learned to tie my shoes, ride my bike and drive a car. He took hours of actionless video in my first days in the world. He taught me how to pitch a softball and penciled out x's and o's so I could better understand defense on the football field. He showed me how to weed a garden and snap beans. He carried me into the house when I fell asleep on the car ride home. He taught me how to hang sheetrock, change a tire and mow the lawn. He attempted to teach me how to drive with a clutch and didn't freak out when I ruined the alignment on his car or ran out of gas on the interstate in the middle of Nebraska. He passed on his love for baseball and sunflower seeds. He baptized me with water into the Church and as we watched a Rockies game in 95 degree weather. He reads my blog religiously and helped me study for theology tests and with my math homework.

He helps me move into each new stage of my life physically, mentally and spiritually, and leaves me with a great big hug and confidence in the independence he and my mother have given me. He taught me about our Creator and showed me what a good sermon sounds like. He taught me the importance of justice, peace and service to others. He prays for me, he is proud of me, and most of all, he tells me so.

I am blessed to have such an amazing dad in my life, but I realize today that there are many in this world who must live without [the majority of the children I see each day, in fact]. And so, as I know my father does daily, I pray for those who who have lost or never known their father, that they would have that same support through other relationships in their life, especially from those of us lucky enough to have a dad in our life.

And as for me, I will be forever thankful that I have the love of both a mother and a father.

Happy Father's Day, Dude.

You can't take the honky-tonk outta the girl.

I just returned from a week spent in the small Iowa town I grew up in. I attempted to debrief on my sunny drive home through the corn fields and cow pastures while listening to commercial-free country. I eventually got caught up in the paradox of my transitional/do I even have a permanent address life and gave up, uninspired.

Until I got to work.

We're creating posters for a competition through NAHRO based on the theme, "What Home Means to You". I got a number of landscapes and houses on a hilltop pictures. Then Deon showed me his -- HEY, DEON -- written in large bubble letters.

Well, those are some sweet bubble letters, Deon, I said, but not really what we're going for here.

Let me explain, he said, Home to me is everyone yelling my name...my mom, my friends, my neighbors...because they all want to talk to me or ask me a question or hang out. Get it now?

Got it. Wow, Deon. You are exactly right.

For the past week I had people yelling my name at the OK Cafe, Northwestern's commencement, Barnes and Noble in Kansas City, Pizza Ranch, the Koffie Hoek, Fareway, my parent's kitchen, Dairy Dandy, along the Tulip Festival parade route, on the patio, at our five-year class reunion, at Double D, in Wal-Mart and driving down Frankfort Ave.

I completely agree with Deon, home is where everybody knows your name. And, oh, how sweet it is.

Haiku for LOST.

I'm a fan of LOST.

Dread Tuesday nights without it.
Best acting ev-ah.

Avocados.

For the past month(s) I have basically lived off of the most delicious dish I've ever created. I'm no cook [my family will firmly attest to this], but I bet they'd even be impressed with this one. Basically, I make couscous [which takes literally 5 minutes], cut up an avocado, sprinkle some salt, add kidney beans, walnuts, a little olive oil and the juice of an orange. This covers two meals and it's so good that I eat it over and over again [with slight variations].

All this avocado eating has literally given me dreams about one day owning my own avocado farm. After some research I learned that most avocado farming is about the watering, and knowing how advanced irrigation systems are these days, I think I can handle that. I would bring my crop to the local farmer's market and I'd wear a hat like this:

and it would be awesome.

I believe it was my Yakima, Washington birth that makes my heart lean towards the tree fruit life. The best date I've ever had was spending an afternoon four-wheeling through the apple orchards with Popsicle in hand. [Ah, first grade....you were good to me.]

I love the life in the city and I plan to build a "career" [whatever that looks like] within an urban setting, but when I tire of that [or choose to retire, I suppose] I think the life as a farmer would suit me well.

Plus, I look good in those hats.

Two things.

1. Listen/watch this. It makes me happy. It speaks to me. She is a stud. She is the woman we should all believe we are inside.


2. I'm busy planning summer. All my kids want to go swimming and go to the lake and a water park and go camping. Only problem -- almost all of the girls don't own a swim suit. So I've enlisted the help of my church and family to help me purchase suits for the girls. We looked online and found some good ones under $20 at Kohl's. The girls are super modest and were very concerned that the material would "show our dots". Priceless.

I really love my job.

I get to go roller skating and to the science museum. I get to play UNO and have four-square tournaments. I get hugs and renditions of We are the World. This is a great way to spend a year serving my country.

I've been really busy these past few weeks. Many people have no clue what I do every day, and when I explain that I run an after school program within St. Paul Public Housing, they usually exclaim how lovely it must be to have to work from only 3 to 6 every day. This, however, is not my life.

In any given week, I may have meetings with new residents, other service providers in the community centers, the Minnesota Alliance with Youth, the Wilder Foundation and my many supervisors. I plan daily programming, purchase supplies, snacks, etc., write grants, interview and hire workers for this summer, manage/find volunteers, arrange buses for field trips, help with homework, find ways for kids to serve their community, plan special civic engagement projects, come up with creative art projects and games to play outside...all while developing good moral character within my kids. :)

I've mentioned this before, but without a doubt, my favorite moments are when I find myself with a small group of kids, sitting on the kitchen counters and talking about life. Perhaps I love this so much because growing up, my house was known for its full pantry of Little Debbies, Oreos, you name it. My friends and I spent countless, irreplaceable hours in my kitchen -- it's where we tackled life's biggest issues and answered the biggest questions-- like breaking up with our boyfriends or dying our hair...so important.

Today, with trail mix and Goldfish in hand, the girls and I talked about what life was like back home. For three sisters, home is Thailand, but for a new member of Youth Connections, home is Ethiopia. The sisters talked about the freedom to run around the village in the rain and play in the mud. H, from Ethiopia, laughed and squealed, "No!" when the girls asked if she rode camels everywhere. They all talked about the food they ate, with shared utensils and the two plates the family owned. They all shared their feelings when their names were finally posted and they were able to get on a plane to go to America. The sisters talked about how they cried to be leaving their neighborhood. H said she cried when her two brothers were forced to stay behind. They all detested the food on the plane and giggled when they remembered the Americans speaking English to them as if they were to understand.

Today, Asia and Africa and America came together...sitting on kitchen counters...eating Goldfish.

I wonder if there's room in the national defense budget for Goldfish?

Spring Break is exhausting.

Yesterday another AmeriCorps worker, Kari, and I took 40 kids roller skating.

Today, I took kids to a greenhouse where we planted hot peppers, tomatoes, basil, green onions and marigolds to use in the first community garden at Dunedin. Amanda, our greenhouse hostess, told the kids that it's a good idea to plant foods that complement each other near one another, for example, basil next to tomatoes, etc. She asked the kids, "What should we plant hot peppers next to?" Almost in unison, they exclaimed, "Noodles!"

Tomorrow I'll be hiding 180 plastic Easter eggs.
[And waiting for my family to arrive for the weekend!]

Eight year old poetry is the best.

Here's another poem I discovered on the Dunedin blog.

Written yesterday, by Chee. [Enjoy.]

I like the color Red.
Red is the color of my bed.
Red is the color I like best.
When I get to the color red I always want to rest.
My pet on Club Penguin is named Fred.

Two things.

[1] I found Premium Blue Bunny ice cream for $2.49 today at Cub. There is nothing better than Bunny Tracks. Seriously.

[2] I've encouraged poetry writing for my kids lately. I got one poem from a disgruntled [typically adolescent] 14 year-old girl today. After reading it, I told her how much I loved it, but I loved the proud look on her face even more.

Thinking
By: Bao

I am thinking that the world will never end,
I am thinking that all the people that I love are deep inside my heart,
When I am thinking of something I feel that something is in my heart.

But what I am thinking you will never find out,
And what I am thinking you will never know.

Sometimes I'm thinking that the sun and the moon are deep inside my heart,
in my heart where I keep thinking.

Such beautiful weather, yet I leave you with this.

Minnesota is showing us signs of spring this week. Delightful! I plan to blog of my spring happiness, but I came across this article(s) and had to share it.

So much is going down in Greece lately, and after spending a summer in Athens I can't help but feel like the refugee crisis has contributed to the state Greece is in today. Economically it's clear that Greece really dropped the ball, but I also feel that they weren't supported enough as one of the first stops on the Refugee Highway, and that may have contributed to its current state. Either way, I hear about Greece and think of refugees and their journey, and on that note, you should take two minutes and read this from the BBC.

PS.

Loving this right now.

February may be gone, but I'm still here!

It appears as though February got the best of me.

I assure you, I'm still kicking. I really want to keep faithful to writing because I have officially been accepted to Iliff School of Theology's Masters of Social Change program (and recently received word of a stellar scholarship). With graduate school right around the corner, I need to stay on top of some of these basic skills. [I've also began Rosetta Stone en Espanol!]

Work has been full of grant writing, Global Youth Service Day preparation, field trips, summer program planning and welcoming of new kids. I get hugs, I get attitude, I get impossible homework and A+ worksheets, I get tired, but all in all, I wouldn't have it any other way. I mean, look at these kids, so freaking cute.
I spend the rest of my time going to Oscar-nominated movies, suffering through my Lent decision to give up meat and eat at least one meal a day of rice, drinking good beer and lots of tea, going to art shows, experiencing my first roller derby, baking bread, missing D.C., religiously watching the Daily Show and Colbert Report and anxiously awaiting the answers to my LOST questions.

A heartfelt thank you, February, but honestly, I'm really freaking glad to see you, March.

Lights will guide you home...and ingnite your bones....

One of my defining characteristics is my uncanny ability to recall people's names and the significant (or even insignificant) details about their life. This "power" becomes even greater if I find myself coming into daily contact with you. In elementary school I was always the girl who could tell you first and last names by seating arrangement of my class after the first day, in college I could name your hometown...you get the picture.

Some people are quite envious of this ability, and most days I would agree that this is a pretty sweet thing I've got going on, but there are moments and sometimes hours where such a load of information becomes quite heavy.

You see, I may not remember plots to movies I've seen or titles of books I've read, but I will remember your name, your face and your story. They are always beautiful names, beautiful faces, but sometimes, they are not so beautiful stories.

You should also know that I'm not the type that cries at the movies or while witnessing a beautiful sunset...I don't do it very often. But every once and a while, usually while its quiet in my home or dorm room or apartment...when everyone has gone to bed and I'm brushing my teeth, suddenly, as if I have no control over it at all - it comes. The beautiful faces, the beautiful names and the not so beautiful stories. It's a terrible messy thing, toothpaste and toilet paper and me curled up on the tile floor, wading in a saltwater puddle.

Tonight it was J, one of my 14 year-old boys, who set me off when it hit me that he can't tell time yet. Then that shot me to C, 8, who had to stay home from school Thursday to take care of his baby brother. Then to E and G, 6 and 9, who never get enough too eat or sleep. Then the faces of all my kids who don't know their father. And then there was no stopping it. I went back to my refugee friends in Athens, the faces even more beautiful, the stories even darker...the futures even more uncertain. It's times like these when I wish I could forget the stories, just keep the names and faces. I suppose I would have to give up faces and names, too, to really free myself, but I think its the stories that makes the faces and names so beautiful....sigh.

I pick myself up off the cold floor and decide that tonight I'll fall asleep to some Coldplay. Tomorrow I will wake up, the burden a little lighter, and smile because I know some very beautiful names...I see the most beautiful faces...and I get to be a part of the most beautiful stories.

Minne-SOH-tah

At this point, it appears as though I will be a resident of Minnesota for only a year [future plans are not set in stone, but Colorado seems to be calling my name next]. In this year, I am determined to discover all that is Minnesota. I expect my adventures to pick up once I have thawed out of these frozen months, but even so, these are my favorites thus far.

Minnesota State Fair

Punch Neapolitan Pizza

Minneapolis Sculpture Gardens
Concerts at First Ave
Jucy Lucy!
Art Shanty Projects

Better the Saints than anyone else.

I am not a Vikings fan, but because I live within walking distance to the Metrodome and Mall of America Field [and because the Broncos had an incredibly disappointing year], I was a Vikings fan in this postseason. It was a tough evening, but had I not been living in Minnesota right now, I would have cheered for the Saints tonight. Why? Because I love New Orleans.

I had the opportunity to travel to New Orleans for the first time in 2006, six months after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita hit. I went back again 18 months after the hurricanes. It is a beautiful city, with beautiful people, and I can't think of a team who deserves a trip to the Super Bowl more.

Jackson Square

We love New Orleans!

Crawfish! Delicious!

Tons and tons of beads!

After a hard day's work gutting a home that had been flooded.

9th Ward

Good food; great parades; lots of color

9th Ward

Go Saints; Beat the Colts!

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." MLK

Together with other Wilder Foundation AmeriCorps Promise Fellows, I took four of my kids from Roosevelt to Central High School's Martin Luther King, Jr. Rally and March.

I was hoping for some really great pics from any number of Twin Cities News Stations, but it turns out the Vikings' game on Sunday makes for better news than one of the most historical men in history. Sorry, Brett Favre, but you have nothing on MLK. Here's a story I managed to find from the Star Tribune.

It was a cold and early morning, but in the middle of the march, G looked at me and said, "Hey, this is actually fun."

"Everyone can be great because everyone can serve."

After the march we all gathered at Wilder for pizza and scarf-making. Since 1994, MLK Day has been a Day of Service, so we decided to make scarves for the Jeremiah Program, serving in St. Paul.

All in all, it was a whole lot more fun than watching TV at home and at least for me, another "awe-ha" moment [a popular Ndub vocare term]. I want to work to end to hopelessness, inequality and injustice. I want love to illuminate in this world, in this country, in this state, in this city...and specifically now, with these children.

Canada and King

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." MLK, Jr.

Last night, Target gave all of the Twin Cities the opportunity to hear Geoffrey Canada speak as part of Martin Luther King, Day events. Gathered in the Basilica of St. Mary, we had the opportunity to be inspired.

[There are tons of clips I could show you of Mr. Canada, he's been on Oprah, 60 Minutes, you name it, but I'm choosing this one because if Stephen Colbert can't help but give you a thumbs up, you know you are legit. ]

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Geoffrey Canada
http://www.colbertnation.com/
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Economy

Now more than ever I believe the ideas and concepts of Geoffrey Canada need to be the next steps of America. I could go on and on, but I think he speaks enough for these programs and ideals that he doesn't need my two cents worth.

For me, the most refreshing part of hearing Mr. Canada was his humility and genuine desire, no, demand, for positive progression. More often than ever, in this political climate, we hear great ideas drown in rhetoric abhorring or blaming or diminishing the "other side". We spend more time pointing out what's wrong with the system and far less time making room for ideas that seek to correct our failures. Certainly, Mr. Canada points out the system's failings, but he does not place blame or attack any situation, instead, he uses the traumatic numbers of the prison system to say that if we are capable of creating such a large system of negativity, then let us reverse and create an even larger system of educational equality and positivity.

Even more, Mr. Canada's "talk" doesn't include references to his own life, his own struggles and subsequent success. He speaks only to the picture of sincere change he's working towards. So often "inspirational" speakers choose to focus on the negativity they left behind, but Mr. Canada focuses solely on where we're going and how we're going to get there.

...and that is truly inspirational.

Snowed in...again.

I have one of the steepest driveways into my garage that you can imagine. On other days, I was certain that it was a heated slope, but this morning proved otherwise. As I wait for maintenance to scoop and gravel, I figured I'd fill you in on my Christmas happenings.

I left straight from work on Tuesday evening to avoid the weather that would sweep across the Midwest on Wednesday. I don't love driving in the dark, but my iPod kept me good company and there wasn't much for blowing snow except for a patch between Worthington and Sheldon. I got home and hunkered down for what was going to be a very white Christmas.

The snow came late Wednesday evening and didn't stop until Saturday morning. Unfortunately, this meant that our two great aunts wouldn't be coming for Christmas dinner and, like many other churches in the area, our Christmas Eve service was cancelled. Luckily, Dad and I had ventured out to stock up on movies, so we filled the void with a 2009 great, Up. For the rest of those snowy days we played games like Farkel and Ninety-Nine or Bust, Jenna and I took turns reading Unlikely Disciple, watched a lot of The Office, Jenna baked a fabulous cake, we ate peanut brittle and fudge, sledded down the driveway, attempted to make snow angels in four feet of snow, and took walks around our snowy and virtually motionless town. Our tradition of Christmas Day Evening with the Carlson's survived, so with good wine and soup we played a rousing game of Telephone Pictionary and Apples to Apples. Even though Christmas was certainly unusual this year, it gave us quality time with family (something you can never have too much of).

With cabin fever looming, I was able to set up dinners and coffee for the next week with some of the most fabulous OC people. I got to spend time with with my closest friends from high school, have coffee with a high school co-worker on break from law school, meet with a friend who got engaged over break, have lunch with a college roommate on break from Duke, get supper with a friend back to start student teaching, and get breakfast with friend in town from Madison. For New Year's I ventured down to Omaha for a 2007-2008 RA Reunion. We filled our time with shopping, cooking, laughing and celebrating the new year with other Northwestern friends. I also got to see LJ for a couple hours before she headed to Lincoln when we ran into another dear friend unexpectedly at DSW. All in all, I look back on break and think I could have gotten a lot more done (there are many applications to be filled out for grad school), but the social emphasis was just what I needed. Being surrounded by people you love and taking time to talk about life and encourage one another is one of the best Christmas presents I could receive and a fabulous way to start 2010.

So Cheers! to 2010, may you be full of exciting adventures, joyful reunions and unexpected blessings.

...but please, stop with all the snow.

I survived the Holidays, now I should fill you in.

I've never been a New Year's Resolution person, but if I was, I would tell you that it's my resolution to update more regularly. Resolutioned or not, I promise not to be so MIA this next month.

To begin, I better update you on our Holiday happenings at Youth Connections. Many of our days were filled with snowflake making, Santa Claus coloring,

gingerbread house decorating, sugar cookie frosting, writing letters to Santa and Mrs. Claus, Selena Gomez, and Hannah Montana, sledding, and seeing Cinderella at the Children's Theatre.

Thanks to my grandma Josie, my sister, and my parents, my kids got new mechanical pencils (a real hit), candy canes, hot wheel cars, fingernail polish, lip gloss, playdough, Yahtzee!, and Monopoly to help celebrate the season. There is nothing better than the squeals of children upon receiving a shiny new toy or sugary treat.

It's safe to say that many of my kids didn't drown in wrapping paper on Christmas morning, but the stories leading up to Christmas Day assured me that they, too, felt the joys of the holiday season, on both the consumer and spiritual level. Most days the kids gushed with stories of the Christmas baskets or Toys for Tots gifts they received. A local church set up an "Adopt a Family" program for the Christmas season, but instead of bragging about the gifts they got, the kids mostly wanted to tell me about the families who gave them the gift. For them, the coolest thing was meeting their adopted family. I truly believe it takes a village to raise a child, and that includes presents at Christmas. So with that, a belated and heartfelt thank you to those who donated to the Salvation Army Bell Ringer, Toys for Tots, Angel Tree gifts, your local food pantry and all other such organizations. The happiness I witnessed was the best gift I could have asked for this season.

Coming soon...Snowed in for an Iowa Christmas.