Happy New Year!

For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes.
-Dag Hammarskjold, Swedish diplomat (1905 - 1961)

Dear ones,

Pilora's with Kelly and Bee.

Skating in Rob's yard with K.Fehr!

It was wonderful to be home for Christmas and to see so many of you. There was a nearly-48-hour period during which I never set foot outside of the confines of our house, which was pretty crazy. Overall, I had a very comfortable and happy visit at home and the week passed quickly, as always. Highlights include: having dinner with Alex and seeing Jess in Milwaukee on Monday night, grabbing coffee with Mara, eating at Pilora’s (our favorite… we give them so much business) with Kelly and Bee and catching up, seeing Katharine (!!!) and spending some time ice-skating on Rob’s backyard rink, eating cheese curds, checking out the Nutcracker exhibit at the Paine, and—of course—all of the Christmas festivities, including Grandpa’s Christmas Eve games, an extravaganza that words cannot even try to describe and pictures cannot do justice. I think the best Christmas gifts this year were my parents paying for part of my flight home, Rosetta Stone French, a crew of ducklings for an impoverished family (thanks to the Jesions and Heifer International), and a slow cooker from Santa. Pretty great.

It was also nice to come back to Gresham and see some of my housemates. Slowly, we are all trickling back in to our house from our various holiday travel adventures. Jillian went home to Buffalo, NY; Jenna went skiing in Utah with her family; Erin went home to Tacoma, WA; Lindsay went home to Davis, CA; Colleen went home to Escondido, CA; Daniel went skiing at Mt. Bachelor and then went home with his family to Washington; and Linds went home to Keizer, OR. When I got home, no one was around, but then Colleen returned, followed closely by Lindsay and then a day later Erin and Daniel. We won’t be complete until January 4^th, but following the New Year we’ll have Jenna and Linds back. I’m excited about the second half of our JV year (though it’s a bit more than half) and I think that our relationships will continue to deepen, which I look forward to. Tonight, of course, those of us who are around will be finding a [cheap] New Year’s Eve party and celebrating the first moments of 2011, hours after the first moments of 2011 on the east coast! You’ll all be in my thoughts as we move into another year.

Cutesy cousin picture.

I’m grateful that I was off today. Yay, agency holidays! I spent the morning on a solo hike at Powell Butte, only about two miles down the road. I woke up and the sun was streaming through my windows (a bit of a rarity) and I decided I had to get outside. It’s cold here, though not Wisconsin-cold, but it was a brisk and refreshing kind of cold for the most part. The barren hillside of the butte was a bit breezy, but I ventured into the mossy woods and marveled at the sound of the wind rushing through the trees as the tall and aged tree trunks ached and moaned in the cold. My favorite thing about forests in the Northwest is how lush and green they are. There are ferns on the forest floor, and there’s beautiful bright green moss crawling up most of the tree trunks. Some of the bark actually takes on a sage-turquoise color that I’ve never found in nature until this year. More than once, I stopped while hiking and closed my eyes and just listened to the woods around me. I had my iPod with me, but it didn’t even occur to me to turn it on and block out the natural symphony all around me. It was a really nice two hours, and when my chin was frozen and my belly was rumbling, I jumped on the 9 again and went back home for a hot shower, some lunch, and a visit to Café D (surprise surprise). Not a bad last day of 2010 so far! We don’t have concrete plans for the evening yet, but it is sure to take shape.

Cousins!

As for New Year’s resolutions, I’ve decided I’m not making a plan. My resolutions from last year were probably something about quitting my fifteen-year nail-biting habit and acquiring a musical talent, neither of which I managed to accomplish in 2010. But then again, a lot of really wonderful things did happen in 2010, which I never could have anticipated. So I have a feeling that any 2011 plans will come develop organically in a similar way. I hope the rest of my JVC year helps me to grow in community, in faith, and in awareness of my self and the world. I hope my family is healthy and happy and safe. I hope that my heart is peaceful, generous, and patient—and maybe that’s where my work is cut out for me sometimes, although my loving community is a nice context for practice. I also hope that I am able to risk delight, and on that note, I share a reflection from my journal last evening. These will be my last words to you all this year. See you in 2011! Have a safe and joy-filled New Year’s!

RISK DELIGHT.

Mt. Hood never gets old.

Today at work, Barbara treated me to a chai at Café D and told us all to go home early. The sun was out, I went to the gym this morning, I came up with tons of fun ideas for Molly’s visit (in less than two weeks!), and I got some good things done at work. Not bad! Work continues to be fulfilling and sometimes shocking, though I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon lately: I’ve stopped being terribly surprised when I ask someone what grade they’ve finished in school (part of the intake process) and they say “Second.” I’m no longer finding it odd to create the first resume that a 56-year-old man has ever had. And when I have to read someone’s mail to them out loud because she can’t read, I hardly flinch. Signatures that look like 1^st-graders’ writing, questions about seemingly simple stuff… I mean, maybe it should be odder to me, but it isn’t anymore. Every once in awhile, though, I have hyper-awareness days when, suddenly, I am struck by many of the aforementioned daily occurrences and moved by all of them.

Today one of my clients told me her house has cockroaches. I wanted to cry. She was still smiling, but her kids have seen rats before bed. Her husband was deported a few months ago (I helped her track him down in a nearby detention center when she had no idea where he had been taken). Sometimes it’s just too much.

Grandpa's games. There are no words to describe this...

At Spiritual Direction with Joyce Ann, she gave me some Advent prayers, one of which consisted of a quote along the lines of this: “We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure but not without delight. We must have the stubbornness to find goodness in the ruthless furnace of the world. To make injustice the sole object of our attention is to worship the devil.”

Like Fr. Byrne’s talk about beauty last month, this quote reminded me—as my mom has also—that there will always be something unfair and unjust and non-socially conscious to zero in on. We are obligated to do that sometimes, often in fact, even if it means that fun must be what we sacrifice because the means do not justify the ends. And yet, there is so much beautify and so much delight in the world! I have occasionally become irritated with people who are happy 24/7 and always talking about how great life is and how beautiful is this world (well, with the exception of Jill, whose eternal sunshine never annoys me). It almost strikes me as irresponsible on a certain level to take that approach because ignorance is bliss but we are not supposed to be unaware of the suffering of others, of our privilege, of the relation between the two. More than once, I have stopped short of being able to have a full-out good time because a sadness, a guilt, a heavy knowing that made me painfully aware of the fact that, while life may be amazing in my beautiful corner of the world, somewhere else one of my clients (or someone like them) I s going without.

 

Where is the balance? I seem to always be looking for balance. I don’t think I’m a pessimistic person; I do enjoy life’s simply pleasures, and today was a fine example of that. I am usually happy, although I can bask in the occasional poetic melancholy. Still, I am an Enneagram 8. I am able to find and be bothered by what’s wrong, what’s unfair, and what’s offensive more than other people. Call it my talent—ha!—or my burden. I cannot pretend the world is an ugly place; it simply is not, an d everyday I see God in my housemates, friends, family, clients, coworkers, and in strangers, and I am reminded to DARE to be delighted by that beauty in spite of the ugliness that may exist right alongside it all. Sometimes I really do feel like delight requires of me a certain commitment to risk-taking.

Sometimes the sad and the sweet are so inextricably interconnected (such is life, no?) that I can’t peel the layers of each one off the other and insist on pure delight or pure offense. But I do know that focusing only on the problems and inequalities that are equally as present to me on a daily basis is not always life-giving. Sometimes it’s motivating, but sometimes it can seem hopeless if I do not also make room for small pleasures and for guilt-free delight. Neither bliss nor injustice should consume all of one’s energy and attention. Delight need not always direct me immediately toward guilt. I feel myself becoming empty and then over-flowing in alternating rhythms all day. I think it is only in the emptiness that I can know a certain part of the Divine and of myself; I also realize that I will never know the fullness of either without tasting joy each day.

Boochie, come to Oregon!

Sometimes the joy moves me so close to sadness or tears that I mistake it for pain. Last week, I saw a baby chatting away in baby-speak to a seemingly homeless guy next to her and her mama on the bus and I could not keep from smiling broadly. That same lovely afternoon, an elderly, wrinkly lady told me at the bus stop that she was excited about waiting at her next bus stop because it faced the sun. After we got on the bus together, I told her to enjoy the sunshine at her next transfer. Two stops later (an easy walk for most, she got off the bus and headed to her sunny haven, a rusty bench beside an abandoned building and a deserted parking lot—facing directly into the warm sun. I guess it’s about perspective sometimes. I felt tinges of sadness (or something like it in both instances, though I don’t think these were sad moments. What is it about such pure joy that almost drives me to sadness? It’s a fine and beautiful line, I suppose, one I’m still learning to walk, but life is hardly ever just one thing at once.

Grandpa and Zena.

A man who works with me in the youth ministry program at St. Henry’s has been an enigma to me, but I always make it a point to say hello to him on Wednesdays and on Sundays at Mass. After Taize two weeks ago, he unexpectedly opened up while walking me home (a sweet offer considering I live across the street). We were knee-deep in conversation before I knew it, discussing family and community and school and God. I am reminded again and again to remain present to whatever might come. People surprise me. God surprises me. Life surprises me. I have had so many good conversations and so many giggles with my community simply because I make myself available and then it happens. I think that’s the point. Be ready. Be still. Be sturdy. Be empty. Be soft inside. Like a manger, as one Advent prayer phrased it. And then be FILLED with confusing and complicated joy.

Me, Lucas, and baby Miranda.

I guess my 2011 goals are for eyes and ears and a heart that are always open. And my prayer, in the words of Mary Oliver, is this: "May I never not be frisky. May I never not be risque." Because life happens outside the box. Risk delight!

With much love, cheers to the New Year.

Amanda

PS: Speaking of joy and friskiness, see below for a special belated Christmas greeting from Gresham. Remember, people are complicated too-- no one is ONLY nice or naughty.

 

 

Rough Week and a Reflection

Hi friends and family,

I wanted to write again because this week has been tough at work but I've also received lots of love. I've been pretty stressed, and I was also responsible for a fairly colossal error, which was NOT fun. I picked up the pieces by calling to cancel twenty appointments, thus disappointing that many individuals to whom I  had promised assistance with light/heat bills. Things have been a bit harder without Sandra here because there's not always someone around who has the answers I need. Still, I have a wonderful staff at work and I'm grateful for everybody at EPH. I have a lot of responsibilities, perhaps more than I should have considering I am a volunteer with just four months under my belt, and this week I just feel like I'm buried under a bunch of work. I know I'll catch up eventually, but the major emotional blow was definitely having to cancel those energy assistance appointments.

Anyway, thank you to Molly for spending an hour on the phone with me during Finals Week. Also to Jill for the belated and wonderful birthday surprise ($$ for Cafe D!) and to St. Nick who mysteriously found his way to the Gresham community and showered all eight of us with treats. I very much appreciate your long-distance love. This week has definitely had its blessings (despite my complaining). We had dinner with the Jesuits and Lindsay and I went to the Contemplative Mass at St. Ignatius afterwards, which is always nice. I had tostadas for lunch one day at work. I tackled Lindsay in the living room. We got a Christmas tree (carried it a half block home, as I mentioned) and have now made decorations for it. My ornament is pretty hideous, but some of my very talented housemates have embroidered owls and other lovely ornaments. Tonight, at Mac House in Portland, we're having an Advent gathering for current and former JVs, support people, family and friends. I would love to share with you the reflection that I'm reading this evening. It will follow this entry.

Finally, I want to clarify one thing: I AM excited to come home. It's just going to be a bit of a shock. And I am very aware of the fact that many of my clients have family in Mexico and do not have the means to go home for the holidays, so it does set me apart from them and I am trying to close that gap just a bit this year. Still, please don't get me wrong... I fear I may have hurt some of your feelings, but that was NOT my intention. I am most definitely eager to see you, hug you, and spend time celebrating Christmas with you. My heart is merely split, that is all.

Have a wonderful day. Keep me in your prayers, please, and I'll keep you all in mine. Here's tonight's reflection. Happy Advent. Lots of love.

Amanda


THE WORD "I"



Franz Wright

Harder to breathe

near the summit, and harder


to remember

where you came from,


why you came


Winter's

harder, and harder to say

the word "I"

with a straight face,

and sleep--


who can sleep. Who has time


to prepare for the big day

when he will be required

to say goodbye to everyone, including

the aforementioned pronoun, relinquish

all earthly attachment

completely, and witness

the end of the world--


harder in other words

not to love it
not to love it so much

REFLECTION (mine):
During Advent, we get the feeling that we, like the speaker in the poem, are climbing toward a summit or a “something bigger”— and we are. As we journey toward the grand celebration of Christmas, we too might find that it is difficult to breathe and to remember where we come from. Mainstream society has been telling us that it’s time for Christmas since just after Halloween and if we’re not in Christmas mode, we have fallen behind. We have been inundated with Christmas songs, Christmas sales, and the stress of the holidays. How can we resist this whirlwind of activity? Who has time these days to remember who we are and why we have come here when there are gifts to purchase, houses to clean, and cookies to bake?

It is easy to lose ourselves in this festive cacophony; it is certainly easy to overlook and even entirely skip Advent, a liturgical season that seems completely out of sync with the rhythm of our hectic lives. Yet, this time of active anticipation, against the tide of secular culture, moves us to breathe deeply and gently, examine our ways, and allow ourselves to feel not pressured and constricted but liberated and expanded. During Advent, we create room inside our hearts and our lives for reflection, service, penance, and quiet. But rather than stretching ourselves so that we can “do” Advent along with all of the other things we’re trying to do, perhaps the key to Advent is accepting that it is less about doing than about simply BEING: being attentive, being aware, and being present in this moment rather than counting down the days until Christmas.

The speaker in the Franz Wright poem struggles to reconcile a love for the world and its creatures with a sobering understanding that the end of his time on earth is fast approaching. In these fragile and finite moments, the speaker becomes aware of a profound, almost painful, attachment to this life. Despite this tension, he is able to articulate a deepening love that can only be the result of a genuine inner freedom. Perhaps in these final days, weeks, or months, he finds himself more in tune with the everyday wonders that he has, for years, been a bit too busy to appreciate. Perhaps he now sees that these simple miracles are the things he will miss the most when he has gone from this life. Perhaps he is discovering within himself a capacity for joy, gratitude, and compassion that he never thought possible. Maybe he, only after having arrived at his life’s final stages, is finally released from the rush of trying to get somewhere.

Stillness is not something that we normally associate with the busy weeks leading up to Christmas, but gatherings like this one remind us to slow down and savor, to simplify, to focus on the interior rather than the exterior, to put our energy into relationships rather than material things. As we approach the third Sunday of Advent, we might ask ourselves how we’re doing so far. Has it taken us these past two weeks just to quiet ourselves? Are we still starting Advent, even as the Advent clock ticks away? Or have we been able to take advantage of this opportunity to refresh and reflect before the jubilance of December 25th?

We prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus, but we also prepare for the daily arrival of Jesus into our hearts. Amidst all of the noisy chaos of the season, we turn inward and listen for the peaceful voice of the Spirit within us. We ask who we are, why we are here, and where we have come from— and then listen patiently and with much hope for the still, small whisper of response. We commit ourselves to one another and to the Lord through service, community, and reflection and invite God into our lives in a special way. Like the speaker in the poem, we also prepare, each day, for the moment when we will leave this world for another. We are reminded that detachment is hard, that this world is a beautiful and incredible place, and that we have but a small period of time to let it seep in. Advent invites us to examine the ways in which we spend these precious moments and to re-dedicate our lives to the practice of boundless, Christ-like love.

This is the hard work we should be doing during Advent, and we might take a moment to consider: What is our ultimate destination, and what value does this journey hold for us? What is the opportunity that we have been given this Advent season, and how have we responded to it? Where have we seen God’s amazing work these busy days? Who or what has been a light for us during this dark winter? What have we done to allow Christ’s compassion, justice, and peace to settle in our hearts and minds? How might we breathe easier so that when the time for celebration arrives, we are rejuvenated and overflowing with joy?

Stop and take a look.

Happy Advent!

For Catholics, the Liturgical year has begun anew with the beginning of the Advent season, the four-week period of preparation and patience before the Christmas celebration. Although Best Buy, Target, and pretty much every other retailer in this country have already been promoting the holiday spirit for several months, Advent asks us to be calm and a bit counter-cultural as we resist the inundation of commercialism. Instead, we’re supposed to spend these weeks praying, doing penance, and in service to one another. We are to make a space in her lives and in our hearts, amidst all of the busyness surrounding this season, for peaceful and quiet reflection. It’s a check-in, a time out. A gentle crescendo. A steady and deliberate procession toward the coming of Christ. It’s hard, but I think Advent is a beautiful opportunity to take inventory.

With that, I find myself taking a look at how I’ve done so far in this program. The four pillars of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps are spirituality, social justice, community, and simplicity. Together, they provide a pretty holistic blueprint for the life I feel God calls me to live, and there is much to explore when thinking about each of those values. They are inextricably connected so that simplicity has everything to do with social justice, spirituality, and community, but the individual words are helpful in terms of my own focus and reflection. There’s a lot packed in to each of these—so much so that you’d be reading for quite awhile if I shared all of my thoughts on all of them!—but I think that I will share a few lessons/conclusions/food for thought/goals/ideas related to the central tenets of JVCNW and my attempts to live them out.

First, with regard to simplicity, I think that our $80 personal stipend can easily be mistaken for the sole rubric by which to measure one’s progress. While living on the $80 is in fact one of the goals of JVC, it is just one tangible and consistent (across all JVC regions and communities) method for encouraging simple living. Living on a stipend and patting one’s self on the back after spending less than the allotted $80 each month doesn’t mean that this one gets checked off the list, though. Simplicity, as I’m realizing, has everything to do with where and how I spend my money. The stipend has helped me get more creative, it has helped me savor delightful treats when I do choose to spend my money on them, and it has been responsible for many memorable moments that have followed from a decision to do something or go somewhere just because it’s free.

Guess who I got to see!!! That's the Alhambra, PS.

Yet, simple living is also about where I put my energy, how I spend my time, the way I use my words, my perception of silence, my use of technology, and my interpersonal relationships. I am making attempts to single-task (less simultaneous walking/texting/eating). I am resisting the urge to fill every moment of silence (while reading, scrapbooking, or writing) with music; instead, I reserve my iPod use for my runs, and I try to spend more time in a calm silence that I’m beginning to accept and enjoy. I leave my cell phone in my room when I’m at home so that I’m able to be more present to my community. I’m trying to listen more, use fewer (but more thought-out) words, and enjoy—more than anything—the simple company of a friend or two. My calendar is still full (always will be), but I am careful about my commitments and I think about what might be the best use of my time and energy, focusing on quality rather than quantity. Like I said: I’m trying.

These are just a few of the small, less obvious ways that simplicity is infiltrating my everyday life, and they extend far beyond the materialistic focus that the $80 stipend attempts to erode. Still, I will say, living on the $80 is still part of the deal. I’m tempted to say, “Oh, I get this,” and then pay less attention to whether or not I still live on the stipend; but the point is to do it for the whole year, even after I think I understand the more deeper and underlying principles. It’s a balance of grasping the ideology and also committing to—and following through on—this one, tangible, trackable challenge.

Social justice is something that’s never far from a JV’s mind, especially because we spend our days at nonprofits and social service organizations. We work in clinics, domestic violence shelters, homeless shelters, meal programs, food pantries, environmental justice organizations, refugee resettlement programs, law offices, and myriad other agencies and offices. But the primary goal of our work, diverse as it may be, is to serve the under-served, to look at the world from their perspective, and to work to create institutions and systems that reflect the truth that there is no “us” and “them.” Many of the problems we work against or work to solve are deeply entrenched in our social structures. They are connected to one another in ways that are sometimes obvious and sometimes far more subtle. Everyone who comes into El Programa Hispano has a number of issues. In one appointment, a client might ask me for a food voucher to a meal program, a recommendation for an immigration lawyer, assistance with their energy bill, counseling for their child, and help with a phone call that they can’t make in English.

In the Alhambra. So beautiful!

Realizing that these problems are all interconnected can be overwhelming. Where do we start? When I think about all the work that has to be done at EPH, I am reminded how under-qualified I might be for this position. I can’t help thinking that someone else could do certain parts of my job far better than I can. And when I do help someone, it’s tempting to get discouraged even in that moment of joy simply because I know that there’s so much more they need, so much policy and systemic change that needs to be overhauled, and so many more individuals and families who have not yet received help. This is humbling because I am reminded again and again that I am but one person, that I am a broken vessel through which God is working toward some purpose that, to me, seems to never come to complete fruition.

I am understanding, though I sometimes have to re-understand it, that “it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness,” even if I can only light one, small, weak candle. Helping one family stay warm this winter, regardless of the fact that there are thousands of other families who are about to get their heat turned off, is in and of itself an accomplishment that merits joy and gratitude. I am also trying to remind myself that, although perhaps someone else (a native Spanish speaker?) could perform certain daily tasks better, I am the one who is here. As Teresa of Avila said, “God has no hands or feet on earth but ours.” I’m the one who’s here. The client in front of me is the person I can help in this moment. This small reaching-out is an act that could, for all I know, tip the scales. I can never know the good that I do, and some things that seem small to me (writing a letter for someone) are much bigger for others. I can never see the complete results (this is where faith enters). I must remember to be joyful, grateful, and appreciative of the beauty I see everyday despite the fact that I always remember its ever-present twin of oppression, injustice, and pain.

And, like everything in JVC, this angle—the world through the lens of my low-income immigrant clients—promises to “ruin me for life.” A social-justice oriented life always asks questions, always digs deeper, always searches for connections. It means thinking about my food (where does it come from, and how much energy is used to produce it?), thinking about my language (does it say what I really want to say or do I rely on culturally or racially inappropriate expressions?), and reconsidering my “norm” (why drive and deal with parking when public transportation is a perfectly effective and more affordable alternative?). In an effort to experience solidarity—something I don’t think I can ever fully do—I try to think about my clients, and this adds a richness but a weightiness to my decisions.

When I come home for Christmas, as excited as I am to see all of you and as blessed as I am to have the chance to spend the holiday with my family, I am well-aware of the fact that most of my clients can’t fly home to their families, some of whom are in Mexico. When I eat at a restaurant, as much as I enjoy the experience, I can’t help but wonder about the hard-working, low-wage workers in the kitchen, bussing the tables, and washing the dishes. When I stand at the bus stop (the subject of a recent poem I wrote), I feel myself treading a strange line, somewhere between the strangers huddled beside me and the guy in the Volvo, sipping Starbucks at the red light. It’s not bad or wrong to drive, to buy a coffee, to take a vacation, etc. But this year is certainly giving me another dimension of thought and consideration regarding those privileges. Many of my clients are hard-working, family-oriented, wonderful people. But even those who are fortunate enough to have full-time employment struggle to take care of their families. Recognizing that I am, by some sort of grace I did not earn, part of a system that allows my hard work to guarantee some sort of security while others working just as hard are all too familiar with doors being slammed in their faces… that’s the point. And then acting on that.

As for community and spirituality— I’ll be brief because I feel like I’ve already gone on too long— I learn and grow daily. My housemates are a wonderful group of people, and I can’t tell you how thankful I am to have landed in a house full of spirited, compassionate, thoughtful people. They’re not exactly hard to love. Still, we disagree. We come from different places, we have different ideas about things, and we communicate differently. It has been a challenging but rewarding journey so far, and if anyone thinks “love” is a fluffy, sparkly noun, I beg to differ. Love gets its hands dirty. Love gets naked (not literally… necessarily). Love assumes the best even when it would be easier to place blame. Love remains patient even when writing someone off would require far less effort. Love sees potential where there isn’t obvious promise. And “like” isn’t always a prerequisite for “love.” In fact, there’s something about meeting someone and deciding, “I will love this person.” You don’t have to like them. You don’t have to want to spend time with them. But loving them does just as much for you as it does for them.

This, and everything for me, is closely linked to my spirituality which, more and more, finds its roots in Matthew 25 in which Jesus reminds us that whatever we do for the naked, the hungry, the ill, the imprisoned, the thirsty, and lonely, and the stranger… we do for him. Even the smallest gesture. Jesus hung out with a pretty rag-tag bunch of individuals. Jesus touched people, ate with people, spoke to people that no one else at that time would have ever gotten close to. Jesus preached love of neighbor AND love of enemy. Jesus assumed goodwill of the sinner, the tax collector, the prostitute, and the worst criminals of his era. What does it mean to live out this sort of radical love? It certainly means stepping outside of my comfort zone and stretching the limits of my patience and my faith in others. It requires vulnerability, as real love always does. “Love,” says one of my favorite quotes, “means being out on a limb together.”

In my house, and in my relationship with God these days, I feel like I’m slowly learning to bare it all when it comes to the person I am, the person I hope to be, and the present moment in which I find myself (and all of its joys and difficulties). In doing this, I expect and know that I will be warmly received by God (always) and by my seven housemates (most of the time… no one’s perfect!). This mutual trust allows each person to be him or herself. We work out the kinks in each of our personalities, but we do it in a communal context. We love one another despite the fact that we piss each other off. Again and again, I am amazed by my housemates. I know that I have spoken words that have been hurtful. I know that I have done things that were less than considerate. And still, most of the time at least, I feel pretty safe and pretty loved. No earthly love can be as unconditional or as constant as the love of God, but striving to live that love is one way, perhaps the most important way, to follow the example of Christ. For me anyway, that’s the whole point of this year. I am still learning and still improving, but these last four months have certainly provided much opportunity for growth. And still so much, to quote the poet Denise Levertov, “is in the bud.” I am only a third of the way through my JVC year, and I anticipate many more important experiences and insights.

Alcazar Real, Sevilla, Spain.

Now, for a swift subject change. As some of you may be aware, I recently spent a week in Spain, visiting my dear sister in the southern city of Granada and, from there, exploring the hub of Andalusian culture, Sevilla. My Picasa site features a full album of photos from the trip, so I won’t expand too much here. I will say that my first adventure on the other side of the pond was greatly enjoyable, thanks to the company of Mom, Aunt Vic, Al, and our Spanish hostess Britt. I had some reservations about traveling to Europe in the midst of my simple living JVC year, and to be honest it felt pretty strange to be eating out, ordering bottles of wine, and buying souvenirs. Still, there is a balance that must be struck, and I would have regretted not going to a far more serious degree than the guilt/confusion I wrestled with when considering what to do about this opportunity.

I am glad I went. I am happy I got to see part of Britt’s study-abroad world because it was so very valuable to come home to Mom and Brittany, who both knew the sound of my host mom’s voice, the taste of an empanada, and the sound of Jose Miguel’s guitar at the local pub after my semester in Chile. Plus, southern Spain is beautiful! The Alhambra is striking and incredible. The twisted, cobblestone streets of Granada and Sevilla are exactly as I imagined them. The tapas are delicious and possibly the best idea ever. How could I have missed this experience? The trip, with three of my female family members, will always be a memorable one. 

Mama and her babies. And Plaza Espana.

This year, I don’t exist in a bubble. The homesickness would be a struggle, but in a lot of ways it would be easier to stay here, to not come home this year. I wouldn’t have to figure out how to integrate into my life at home the things I’m thinking about or the changes in myself that I am making here. Too bad life doesn’t work like that! The wonderful family and friends I had before JVC will be with me throughout and after this experience. I will have opportunities. I will have decisions to make. And I think it’s important to live a synchronized life… because it IS all connected. There are not distinct realities going on here, so although the Spain trip was a strange and sudden merging of my “lives” that I wasn’t completely prepared for, it may have been a good experience to have. Coming home for Christmas, I know, will be another lovely but slightly strange experience. I look forward to seeing many of you, though, in particular Grandpa, Dad, and Buckles, since it has been too long without the men of my life!

Thanks, as always, for accompanying me on this journey. Thanks for your prayers, your packages and letters, and your support and patience. Thanks, Mom, for the wonderful vacation. Thanks, Jill, for the belated birthday surprise. Dad, thank you for the football updates. Brittany, thank you for hosting us despite our sometimes overwhelming and frustrating needs. Molly, thank you for being my soundboard. Katharine, thank you for being strong, smart, and beautiful… and for giving me hope that I’ll see you AND Josh in the same month come February. I love you all, and I’ll see (some of) you soon.

XOXO,

Amanda

PS I have decided that I love Oregon/Portland. 

PPS We bought a Christmas tree and carried it home a half mile. It's gorgeous.